They say the only thing to fear is fear itself.That fateful morning, he found out otherwise.
Innocent blinked like an owl caught in sunlight as he woke up slowly. For some seconds he was completely disoriented, and then it all came back to him in a rush. The promotion…the congratulations…the surprise party…the Hennessey…
He was supposed to be at work. He sat up suddenly – and winced, grabbing his head. It felt as though three wraps of Mama Put fufu were resting on his brain.
As he staggered off the bed, a small jingling soundinsistently inserted itself into his consciousness. He stopped, wondering where it came from – before realizing that the sound too had stopped. It started again the moment he started to move again, and it sounded like it came from below him.
He looked down – and was surprised to see ‘grey’ where ‘brown’…or at least skin color was supposed to be.
He was still fully dressed in his work clothes from the day before. He groaned out loud. Which kain…
Wincing out loud as he felt another jab from the hot iron in his head, he started to pull off his clothes slowly, trying to remember exactly how drunk he had been the previous night. No be today I start to dey drink Henney na, he thought, roughly pulling the stripped tie from his neck. And why didn’t Henrietta wake me?He turned to the bed, intending to ask his wife just that. Her side of the bed was empty.
She wouldn’t be in bed at this time of the morning, he reasoned. But where she dey? Almost immediately, he heard the tinkling of water splashing from the bathroom and smiled. There she was.
He wrinkled his nose as he pulled off his soiled shirt, grimacing in distaste. He smelled as though he had taken a dip in Alomo Bitters and Ogidigba at once. This is…this is curious; he thought. I definitely did not drink this much.
Emptying his pockets of keys and phones and loose change and wallet and – he put everything on the table beside the bed. And then he took off his shoes and every last bit of clothing, dropped them among the small heap he’d created, and then swept the clothes towards the silent laundry basket that stood in one corner of the room. He was reaching for the towel hanging above it when singing broke out from the bathroom. His lips stretched in a smile that slowly became wider as he recognized what she was singing. Brymo’s Good Morning.
He reached for his toothbrush, distractedly noting that its head was looking frazzled. Shrugging, he slowly walked towards the bathroom, fingering the day-old fuzz of hair around his jaw. He didn’t need a shave. Not yet.
The bathroom door opened as he walked towards it and Henrietta appeared, wrapped in a pink towel and patting her face.
“Hey,” he said. “Why didn’t you wake me…”
The woman took one look at him and screamed.
From Monday, we’ve been bringing you the winners of the Creatweet Contest.
Now today, the last man (by no means least) standing, Justin Irabor!
We like to call him WunderKid!
Read below to find out why:
- Real Name(s): Irabor Justin Ikhide.
- What did you feel when you actually got the airtime you were promised?
- The first thing I thought was: whoop-whoop! Free modem subscription! Second was: damn, Seun Odukoya actually came through. ‘Twas a glorious moment, is what I’m trying to say.
- I’d like you to share the most dry joke you’ve ever heard.
- “In the Yoruba Language, there are two types of Chris’es depending on their relative distance from you: the Christopher and the Christonear.” What’s even sad is that I wrote the joke myself.
- What do you think of video games?
- I think they’re awesome! If I didn’t have to do totally irrelevant and annoying stuff like going to school or getting a job, video-gaming would have become a full-time obsesssion by now. And you know that crap about action games being thet bedrock of violence crimes in the society? That’s just what it is: crap. Humanity has never needed a model to teach them violence. As evidence of my claim, I ask you to produce the person who tutored Cain on killing Abel.
- If you could be God for a day – what would you do?
- Um. Tough one. I guess I’ll just get with the program. Vaporize Satan, start the eternal life already and return to bed. I assume I’d have been sleeping before the responsibility was given me.
- Your phone. Your laptop. A pen & a pad. Choose one.
- My phone. Heck, it’s an ancient-of-days BlackBerry Tour, but it has the ability to do everything I could possibly want to do on my laptop or on a pad (no offence, lappy and pad). Take for an example: I’m answering this on my BB. Bazinga.
- Obviously, you love books and novels. What do you HATE about them?
Whew. I never thought I’ll have to state what I hated about books. When I get right down to it, I guess I hate the fact that books are esoteric. Yes, that’s the word. Book-reading is a latent cult, my friend. You have to “accept” the book to “understand” it, and therefore become “indoctrinated” by it. So if you find the tales of the Shroud of Turin irrelevant and unworthy of your intellectual prowess, you’ll never understand the Shroud of Turin.
This makes a book an exclusive club. It’s like the books “select” people beforehand who will gain anything from them. Lovers of Stephen King, for example, are pro-Stephen King even before reading any of his books. Don’t shoot me: it’s just me theoretizing here.
In a nutshell: Books have to be understood before they are understood. That’s what I hate about ’em. I hope I even make sense.
He tweets as: @oVunderkind
We thank all the amazing men and women who took part in this contest. Thank you for believing.
Thank you so much for staying with us – prepare for the next, bigger and better installment of the Creatweet Contest!
God bless and good night.
Good morning, Scribes and Friends!
Yesterday we brought you the guy who came first in the Creatweet Contest; Roland Ndu Akpe – you can catch his interview here.
Today we bring you the ONLY woman standing – Nneka Ezealor-Oladimeji
Read and enjoy her interview questions below:
ï‚· What movie character best describes you?
Hmm, let me see.. That would be Queen Latifah. In almost all of her movies
ï‚· In 140 characters, describe your first crush.
Oh! Those lips! Always halfway into a smile. Dark, wavy hair. Hint of a mustache. Perfect height. Medium build. Hands that got you dreaming.
ï‚· How many tweets do you have at the moment – and how many times do you tweet on an average day?
2420 tweets. The number of tweets depend on my mood, but I’d say about 10.
ï‚· What will a best seller you wrote most likely be about?
It would be a romantic comedy.
ï‚· In 140 characters, describe your last kiss.
Stopping me mid-sentence, his tongue & lips joined forces to douse the flames of passion his hands had ignited. The flames had melted me.
ï‚· What is the greatest lie you’ve ever told?
(Laughs) That would have to be when I lied to a corps member who was teaching at my secondary school. I looked a bit older than my age back then. He liked me and kept sending me love letters and snacks. So when he started badgering me to “reciprocate his love in kind”, I lied to him that I wasn’t “normal”, that I wasn’t really human but some spirit. The look on his face was priceless! He never spoke to me again till he left the school and he always avoided eye contact with me. He was afraid of falling under my “spell”. And I, I was glad to have him off my back.
Thank you ma’am!
She tweets as @neker17
Isn’t it fun?!
If you could sit her down and have a one-on-one interview session with her, what would YOU ask?
Join us tomorrow for the third winner!
You may also like: The Creatweet Contest
Good morning, Scribes and Friends!
The Creatweet Contest was fun – real mad fun as y’all know. Even as we’re gearing up for the second installment, we bring to you the guys who won the first one!
First under the slide is Roland Ndu Akpe…the guy who also walked away with the book – The Yellow World.
Read and enjoy his interview questions below:
- Who wrote the last book you read? Why did you read it?
I have not been reading any one book in particular of recent. Just at different spots in a literary journal and a few other books. Saraba Magazine’s Africa Issue; started Jose Saramago’s Seeing about a week back; ‘Lacan and Science’, a collection of essays on Jacques Lacan, edited by Jason Glynos and Yannis Stavrakakis a few days ago in traffic and Tade Ipadeola’s The Sahara Testament.
And I read, and read them, because I can’t not read. To know is a need, a craving I will be dead to ignore.
- What sort of girl do you think you would make?
I have never given it any thought. I would be an entirely different person with oestrogen and progesterone coursing through my bloodstream, I am sure.
- Sleeping. Eating. Watching movies. And shopping. Which would you like to be paid to do?
Eating, definitely. And, maybe, shopping for footwear.
- Which Nigerian artist do you think Beethoven would have liked to work with?
Off the cuff, Asa comes to mind.
- If you were to direct a Nollywood movie, which actor and which actress would be your ‘must haves’?
Muyiwa Ademola, before he got fat, and Stella Damasus.
- In four short lines, share your thoughts on the book you were given – The Yellow World.
The book with its hardcover shows quality packaging.
The cover with the yellow sphere coincides with the title.
The author looks very much like the lead actor in the Indian movie ‘Three Idiots’.
The first three sentences are because I haven’t read it as at this moment.
Real Name: Nduka Roland Akpe.
Writes as Rolands Ndu Akpe.
He tweets as: @Bloody_Voyeur
Join us tomorrow for the next winner!!
You may also like: The Creatweet Contest
Sometimes I get so ahead of myself,
It’s true – I do get ahead of myself
What makes it laughable is I cannot see myself
Forgive the repetition but I’m trying to be – myself (hehehehe)
Sometimes, I don’t pay attention to my health
I lie; that usually is the case
Until that knot tightens and shortens my breath
And tells me; “slow down! It’s not a race!”
Sometimes, I don’t even know what I’m doing
I just string words together and they become fluid
Flowing from pen to paper to keyboard, words be screwing
Microsoft Word – I impregnate and birth new things
Nitwit? No, I see different like Isaac Newton
Never bow to the stress; I internalize it,
Okay – I admit that’s kind of selfish
But we deal with things differently, don’t we?
Still I walk on – like a crip; get my walk on
Bow in front of the system, get my work on
Ignore the distractions, the sounds, the noise
Those things are there to make you lose your poise
But this is not about me – no, rather Him
I get through it all because He carries me
So if I ever touched you with a line I wrote,
Please thank Him instead; it’s usually Him I quote
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Someone said armed robbers should take on the wealthy. I beg to differ.
Predators prey on the weak. In other words, the weak are food for the strong. Why should an armed robber prey on a thief like him – when there are thousands of other people who would give him about the same thing with less stress? Why should I bother myself with Abgani or Genevieve – when there’s a girl right next door who’s hotter than both of them put together?
I’m at the office and I’m bored. They’re arguing as usual – arguing about something the president did or didn’t do. As though if they were there they would do any better.
I’m sitting there with an amused smile on my face – but I’m as far away from the office as salvation is from me. My mind scurries around like a rat in a maze – catching thought after thought and discarding it as fast as a child playing with hot coals. I’m bored.
The door opens and closes as I try to listen to the fools arguing. Their arguments are so irrational and disjoint – and then someone asks me what I think?
“What do you think?”
I look up – or maybe I wake up, and there they are looking at me with expectation.
“I think you guys are jobless, arguing with each other about what the president did or didn’t do. Nothing you and I say here is going to make any difference – and it isn’t like anyone of us would be more productive anyway.”
They are quiet. They are actually quiet – and then one by one they breakup the discussion and walk back to their tables, watching me from under their eyes. Heh. If what people thought actually meant shit to me…
“I didn’t know you were this harsh o. Haba. Why na?”
A hot mouth breathes into my left ear. It actually tickles an annoying bit.
I turn and look up, and it’s her; the small-boobed-tiny-waisted-bubble-butted-bow-legged dream that is the new secretary. She smells like a freshly-opened pack of Golden Morn would smell, as she bends over and I almost have my nose in her perfectly-created cleavage. She wants to play – but prudence calms my overeager senses. It would be awkward if she suddenly disappears.
I clear my throat loudly and she adjusts herself. “What is it you want?” I ask her coldly.
I have successful confused the poor girl. I see the look of dismay that appears on her face. I couldn’t give less of a fuck. “There’s a time for work, luv. And a time for playing. After work, if you feel an urge to continue – you know where to find me.”
She stumbles towards her cubicle in a hurry, almost breaking off one of the heels of the quite-high stilettos she was wearing. Behind me, I hear smothered laughter and turn towards the source of the sound. I hope to quell it with a cold look, but someone else starts laughing…and then the whole office erupts in laughter.
“But ol boi, you harsh die I swear! Abi you be gay ni?” That was Ife, the office jester.
“Maybe,” I answer, looking at him speculatively.
Maybe I am. You never know…
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I’m working in my kitchen at the moment. Working.
I’m bent over the sink, cleaning something. To my right is the cooker on which boils some spaghetti – a meal I’m making for the prostitute I brought home last night.
I know what you’re thinking. What man in his right mind brings a prostitute home in the first place – and then makes a meal for said prostitute?
A man like me I guess. Aren’t prostitutes human?
But who cares; right? It’s the whole idea – your harebrained concept of ‘right’ and ‘wrong’. That is what it boils down to; no?
It’s okay. I understand completely. Do allow me illustrate something to you.
If you grew up in a house where it is the norm to take pieces of meat from the pot whenever you felt like it, you would think it was the same everywhere else. Therefore, if you went to a friend’s house and did the same thing, and you were called names and insulted – wouldn’t you think they were crazy?
So therefore – see above the fluidity of the concept of ‘right’ and ‘wrong’.
I mean, take Lagos State for example. Okadas are banned; okadas are illegal according to the state government; but here and there you see the police and military men riding on bikes. In other words, ‘okadas are only illegal if you are a civilian’.
Which brings to mind another concept – “all animals are equal but some are more equal than others”.
Yeah. My country in a nutshell.
So – I’m in my kitchen, I’m hard at work. To my right is the cooker on which spaghetti boils – a meal I’m making for the ashewo I brought home last night. I chose her because she was easily the prettiest of the whole lot – and she was not wearing that much makeup. Her lips were full and they glimmered redly in the Opebi roundabout streetlights.
I don’t like the color red much – especially when it’s brash and hardly subtle. But on her, it looked interesting enough to make me make an exception. And so I brought her home.
I pause in my work and snatch the bowl of Golden Morn beside me. I shove a few spoonfuls into my mouth and munch on it greedily, and then I quickly check the boiling pasta. It is ready.
Indeedy. All animals are equal but some are more equal than others.
I mean, if Tuface died tomorrow the whole world would know, right? But if you died this moment – who apart from your immediately family would give a hoot? Who; asides from that hopeful would take note; would take a minute to morn you?
Every human being must fight to live; must fight for the right to be alive. If you are just there and things just happened to you and you never make anything happen – you don’t deserve to be alive.
I mean, Tuface touches lives; either positively or negatively. Whose life have you touched lately?
Heh. I’m almost done with my work. In a few minutes I will serve my pretty prostitute breakfast and then ask her the same questions I have been posing to you guys all morning. I’m not worried that she won’t answer. I have a couple of ways with which I intend to convince her.
One is the breakfast I’m preparing. The other is the thing I have been working on all morning.
I have been sharpening my largest kitchen knife.