Good afternoon, true believers! I have great news. Your favorite radio show, Crux of The Matter (or ‘The Koko of The Gist’ like me and my twin Deoye likes to call it) is now on TV.
Crux of the Matter is a show that focuses on relationships and sex – in fact, hear from the beautiful host, Elsie Godwin herself:
‘Crux of the Matter’ Debuts This April on R2TV
‘Crux of the Matter’ talk show debuts on the 5th of April, 2017 on R2TV. Hosted by Elsie Godwin, the Relationship, Dating and Sex based talk show will objectively tackle various issues bordering on relationships between men and women with interesting guests.
Produced by Royal Roots Communication Limited and Mind-Mastik Media Collage, the show is a thought provoking and insightful program which dissects the aforementioned issues in the Nigerian and African context with a no holds barred approach.
“A lot of us would not come out to discuss sex openly in order not to be viewed as being morally bankrupt or accused of not conforming to societal norms,” says Elsie Godwin, the host of the show. “There is also a particular category of people who would rather discuss or give their opinions on such issues only on social media platforms, but act or speak contrary in reality,” she added.
According to Elsie, Crux of the Matter will neither be held back by those theatrical conventions, nor swayed by other people’s perceptions, criticisms or the so-called “societal norms” as regards relationship, dating and sex. Crux of the Matter will bring to the fore sensitive issues most of us would only want to deal with in our closets.
Elsie Godwin, who is a Relationship, Literature and Lifestyle blogger, is familiar with the topics as she also hosted the show on radio for one year before moving to TV.
“I am excited that the discussion is moving to TV after one year on radio. It gives me great joy to have these conversations in order to uplift and enlighten people.”
Guests on the show will include – but will not be limited to – Celebrities, Public Influencers, Relationship Consultants, Health Advocates, Bloggers and people with first-hand experience or knowledge of whatever topic is being discussed.
Crux of the Matter, designed to enlighten and entertain both the young and old, also aims to uphold the value of family, love and acceptance in the society.
Crux of the Matter airs every Wednesday on R2TV (GoTV Channel 112) at 9:30pm (WAT).
Watch the first montage below:
Youtube link – https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JBGtDwlDnwY&feature=youtu.be
Make it Date.
They said we forgot.
They said that’s how we are; we’re shouting now, but in a week or so we’d have moved on to more important things. Until the next rape, till someone else beats their spouse to death before we start shouting about domestic violence. That until the next suicide, then the hashtags will start pouring in, and the support groups will remember their responsibility again.
Until then, they say….
And for a moment – it did seem like we did. Life goes on, doesn’t it? We get swept up in our drama, our touch points – things we do to keep ourselves together. We started to talk about forged certificates and government jokes and jokers – and we let suicide slide. For a moment.
But no, we didn’t forget. How can we forget about one of ours?
It may seem like nobody’s listening; especially in today’s world in which everyone is clamoring for attention. It may seem as though we’re waiting for the next bandwagon to ride to wherever it desires to take us, the next Facebook posts, the next hashtags.
But it’s not true. We’re here. And we’re listening.
You are not alone.
#MentallyAwareNg #WeHearWeCare #SuicideWatch
I’m sorry. I’ve been slow putting this one out here – and its simply because there has been so much on my mind.
So what else is new?
Without further ado, I’d like to share with you a sneak peek into the pages of Lẹ́bẹ́: First Cut!
There were no stars in the sky that night; Chibuzor could tell that much from his position as his vision seemed to dim and brighten alternatively. He was conscious enough to regret not backing up the latest designs for the clothing line company he and his girl were setting up; conscious enough to know the police could see what was happening to him but refused to do anything; thinking about how he was alive with nothing worse than a headache and ripped pants to show for his ordeal. He could hear the clatter of plastic on tarmac and tried to sit up.
A light-headed feeling rushed in on him; his stomach rebelled – he quickly lay on his back once again. From the sounds, it didn’t seem the thieves had noticed him.
Another thing to be thankful for, he decided.
He lay still, feigning unconsciousness, wishing they would just go away. They were mumbling, but for reasons he wasn’t sure about, he couldn’t hear what they were saying.
“Wetin una dey do dia?” said a voice.
Chibuzor’s eyes flew open; the police had come! He stretched his hand, groping for the iron grating of the compound. He found it and pulled himself up, at the same time forcing his swimming vision to focus long enough and seek out who it was that had spoken.
What he saw however made him freeze halfway up.
A figure, a tall and dark figure stood not too far away from the left of Chibuzor. It was what this man was wearing however that made Chibuzor freeze. It was impossible to tell what he looked like because his head was covered with a hood, leaving his face in shadow. He was wearing a dark-colored hooded shirt with a huge, white skull and crossbones printed on the front of it. His hands were wrapped in white bandages; like a boxer would have on before putting on his gloves. Dark-colored jeans and ankle-length black and white Converse sneakers completed his ensemble.
He looked out of place considering the evening heat; there was nothing friendly about the way he stood, in the way darkness somehow clung to him.
The thieves looked at each other and then the self-elected spokesman for the group said, “Oga, waka dey go o. Na we reach here fest. We don even obtain am finis, tomorrow fit be your – “
Chibuzor wasn’t sure what happened. One moment the tout was trying to discourage the stranger, next moment he was staggering backwards trying to keep blood in his nose with his hands. The hooded guy was standing in front of Chibuzor now.
“Oya, drop everything wey you collect back!” the man snarled.
The other touts jumped forward, the smoker pulling out a kitchen knife from the waistband of his jeans, the second wielding a plank. Hooded guy slowly moved backwards, drawing them away from Chibuzor who couldn’t believe his eyes.
God! I must have banged my head real hard, he thought.
Nevertheless, he watched as his savior sidestepped the descending plank and hit its wielder with a left uppercut. Chibuzor winced as he heard the clear crunch of teeth clashing together in a not-so-nice way. The plank wielder went down and screamed through mashed lips and blood-soaked hands. The one with a smashed nose straightened from his crouch and, grabbing the plank, joined the knife-swinger who just sent the knife towards the hooded guy’s midriff in a stabbing move.
A left forearm knocked the knife-holding hand aside and a right jab to the throat put him out of the fight permanently. The knife fell to the tarmac with a clatter and he held his throat with both hands and staggered, thudding loudly beside Chibuzor, breath rattling in his throat.
The loud blaring of a horn drowned out the coughing sounds and a danfo screamed past. “See dis mumus wey dey fight for night!!!” somebody, probably the conductor, yelled.
The plank wielder and the hooded guy circled each slowly, like boxers looking for an opening – and then the plank went up. At that moment, a sound interjected and Chibuzor realized that a phone somewhere was vibrating. The next moment he was once again focused on the tableau before him, forgetting what he’d heard.
He watched as the hooded figure moved aside to avoid the plank with a smoothness that reminded of Michael Jackson moonwalking. He blinked – and the hooded figure was close enough to the plank wielder to hug him. Instead of a hug however, the hooded figure hit him with a swift right-left combination that would have made many a professional boxer envious. In this case however, the street lights were enough illumination for Chibuzor to see the tout’s face change color – and then, he turned his head away as the tout threw up.
The tout fell to his knees and continued to throw up, blood dripping from his nose and mixing with the puke.
Chibuzor was disgusted.
“How you…are you alright?”
Chibuzor stayed against the wall, frightened into immobility. He stared as though hypnotized at the man’s face – at least, where a face was supposed to be. The man’s voice was gruff, uncultured…not too different from what the thieves had sounded like. Chibuzor didn’t move, his heartbeats thunderous in his ears.
“E for beta if you begin dey go o, because dem go wake soon,” hooded guy said, waving in the direction of the touts who were slowly moving again, holding parts of them that hurt. The tout throwing up had stopped, but he was bent over on his knees holding his stomach, rocking back and forth and making moaning noises. Chibuzor left the wall and staggered a bit, feeling for and finding a lump on the back of his head, aware his headache was now a distant pain. He looked at his savior with disbelief.
“What are you, Daredevil…or what…?”
The hood swung his way – and even though he couldn’t see inside it he felt a burning stare.
“Carry your tins dey go,” the voice from within the hood said.
There was a cold finality to the sentence that started Chibuzor moving. He looked around, and spotted his valuables scattered amongst the groaning bodies. Quickly he darted between them and scooped up his laptop, phone, wallet and twenty naira one after the other. Stashing them into his bag, he turned towards the hood who was pointing back towards the busier side of Opebi – the left side from where they were standing.
“Selfie?” Chibuzor asked.
Click here to buy Lẹ́bẹ́ First Cut for only N500!
Depression is a bastard.
I don’t know anything anymore.
You know, I used to be pretty sure about stuff. Like, I had it all figured out. I knew everything I was supposed to know; you put two and two together and you get four. Facts, not sentiment.
However I came to a realization; facts are not always truth. Two and two do not always make four; sometimes they make twenty-two. There are several ways to do any one particular thing, and no matter how much you think you know, there’s still so much you don’t.
What do you think will happen when your ‘truth’ meets a greater one? When you realize that everything you think you know/are is nothing but a dot in an ocean, a little something that is just a mark on the surface of things? When you find out, no matter how much you think you know, you actually have no idea?
I pray the sky doesn’t fall on you that day. I pray your world does not collapse like mine did.
I’m sitting here, on the railings of the Third Mainland Bridge, sucking the last drops from the bottom of an Absolut Vodka bottle. It took me a little over an hour to finish that bottle – but I’m as clear-headed as I was when I began. I look at the bottle again, and I realize it’s empty. I hurl it at the tarmac in frustration; it comes apart and shatters into thousands of fragments of varying sizes. They stare at me, looking at me with indifference.
The bottle is the one that’s all over the highway. Yet I’m the one that feels broken.
It’s two minutes to eleven on a Sunday night. This was not how I planned to spend my evening. I returned from Ibadan a few hours ago from a production meeting of sorts, a meeting that kept being stonewalled because of some people who think everything can be bought. I did my part and left – but I would be wrong to say I was satisfied.
I came home, there was no power so I just had a shower and tried to cook. I made pasta – but by the time the meal was ready, I was no longer interested in eating. I threw everything into the dustbin and went to lie down.
I tossed and turned for several hours. I was tired, physically and otherwise, but sleep decided to stay away. I couldn’t take it anymore, so I get up and get out of the house.
It comes to me to go check the closest thing to a girlfriend I have. We spoke extensively while I was away but I hadn’t told her I would be back that day. So I figured to go visit her, and depending on the reaction I got, I’d either stay there or return home.
So I’m headed to her place, but as the cab carrying me gets closer, my mood spirals downwards. All sorts of thoughts take root in my mind and start to grow. It’s not very considerate to visit her unannounced. What if she’s not home? What if she’s having her hair made – or she has guests over? What if her mother came visiting?
By the time I’m done with that thought cycle, the evening is dead on me. I’m starting to wish I hadn’t left my house. Depression; the kind I have not experienced since I saw a therapist last October descends on my spirit, pretty much like the curtain that signifies the end of a stage performance. Quite abruptly, I find myself staring out of the cab window contemplating the meaning of life.
I cannot go thru with this, I thought. Even if she’s not doing anything, and would be excited to see me, I am not in any mood to socialize. The smartest thing I can do now, for myself and people I might run into is to head back home.
I opened my mouth, intending to tell the cab man to take me back where he picked me up from when I saw a Coldstone signpost. Ice Cream always makes me feel better, and even though I hadn’t had any since the year began I wanted some. So I told the cab man to stop. He did, I got out, paid him what we agreed and we went our separate ways, him to find another customer, me to fill my guts with colored sugar.
The Coldstone yard wasn’t too full – maybe that’s why it was easy for me to spot her bright red Toyota Corolla, one of those fancy new ones. I stopped for a moment to pull myself together and to decide if I was going to leave or stay. I didn’t want to run into her feeling the way I was feeling, but I also wanted some sugar.
The sugar craving won.
So I went in, walked through the busy Dominos floor and up to Coldstone. It seemed people preferred pizza to ice cream on Sunday evenings, and I was grateful for the relative quiet. Quickly I headed to the counter and placed my order.
I was being attended to when a girl, one of the Coldstone barristers came behind the counter, her face pink and giggling. Another barrister asked what she was giggling about, and she started to say something about a very-in-love couple that has been sitting in the corner for over three hours, just looking at each other and sighing.
The other girls joined in her laughter – but I heard it from far away. Trepidation hugged me around the shoulders and effectively held my heart. I studiously avoided looking over my shoulder, instead focusing on the girl who was putting my order together. She wasn’t laughing. She was engrossed in what she was doing, and I mumbled a quiet prayer in appreciation of her treatment of me. Eventually she straightened and passed my order to me. Her smile brought my focus back to her, and I could hear her say clearly what my bill was. I paid and stood by the counter, eating my ice cream, reluctant to turn around because I knew what I was going to find.
Eventually, I turned around and looked in the corner the barrister was talking about. I was right.
I turned away, put the half-eaten ice cream on the counter behind me and walked out, walking and running as though I had to go. I couldn’t trust myself to hold it together in there. I’d rushed out and, trembling called a cab. “Third Mainland Bridge”, I’d said.
I’m pretty sure the poor cab man was confused. He just nodded and asked me to get in. We sped out of there, going like a demon on an errand. We stopped just once, long enough for me to pick up an Absolut Vodka bottle – and then we continued.
So, here I am with all these memories that threaten my sanity. Bottle shards winking like diamonds in the lights cut a pretty picture. I spent a moment thinking about the fact that nobody would notice when you leave, when you’re nothing but a memory. Nobody cares.
Puts to mind a movie I saw a while ago. The title eludes me now, but there was a hitman played by Tom Cruise. He was talking with this taxi driver and shared a story about a guy who died on a train and had been dead for eight hours before anyone noticed.
I thought about that – and then, I came to the realization that it doesn’t matter. ‘Nothing ever matters,’ I say out loud. I taste my tongue, feeling the numbness that comes with ingesting too much alcohol at once. I looked around as a car came screaming out of the darkness. It went on for three heartbeats – and then, it stopped, brakes shrieking like a banshee let loose. Slowly, it started backing up, no doubt for some concerned citizen to attempt talking me out of my intention.
I smiled over my shoulder before straightening on the edge of the bridge I was standing on. And without preamble or drama…
Depression is real. Call any of the following lines to share your pain.
Someone’s always listening.
It’s Out Now! Click: http://okadabooks.com/book/about/lebe_first_cut/13423 and buy Lẹ́bẹ́: First Cut!
An amateur boxer is put in prison for getting on the wrong side of a rich man and roughing up police officers. Of course, he is forgotten there. Sometime later, he does the cousin of a colonel a favor and the colonel gets him released into his custody as a companion for the Colonel’s cripple son. Unknown to the colonel however, his son was the protégé of a murdered hero and he has been searching for a replacement. The amateur boxer, in exchange for help finding his wife and child helps rid the streets of a new designer drug and in the process, learns what it is to be a hero.
Lẹ́bẹ́ is a street-level, crime-noir pulp magazine-type publication and will be available on OkadaBooks from Monday the 13th of March for five hundred naira (N500). Thank you for the support!