Blog Archives

Blog Posts,

Borrow Borrow, When Will You Pay Back?

Based on popular demand, I have decided to write a blog post to drag some people’s edges today.

If you are a chronic debtor, this post is for you.

Is this woman talking to me?

Yes, you, papinko jabalaya.

You’re looking at me with side eye. I no dey fear you.

If you’re reading this article, it is very likely that someone you are owing money subbed you on a social media post and your amebo carried you here.

I just want to say that if you are owing anyone money in this economy, you are a wicked person. No matter how small the amount may be, kindly PAY IT BACK.

Don’t use “boss,” “rich woman,” “rich man,” “my rich friend,” “oga mi,” “my helper,” “comrade,” and related hailings to owe anybody. If you committed to a refund at a said time and date, keep to your word. Don’t be an unfortunate person and allow the person you borrowed from start calling you incessantly. Why does anyone even have to remind you to pay back a debt? At your big age and shoe size?

When nobody gives you anything next time, you will say it is pride.

If you do not have a refund plan, its’s pretty simple. DO NOT BORROW. Instead, ask the lender to willingly give/dash you before you collect the money, not two weeks or three months after.

For selfless people that will rather give out their last dime than send on personal needs, debtors have a way of making them feel stupid.

Here are some things to never say to a person you owe:

  • The money I am expecting has not come in
  • Na because of 5k you dey call me like sey I hold your life?
  • Country hard
  • Omo, e get as e be
  • I should have never borrowed this money
  • Respect yourself please, I will pay you in due time

Especially if you will be drinking wine and going to expensive places on Instagram, these excuses dun mek no sense.

Another class of people are the ones who borrow and pay back part of the money. Sorry, who will complete it?

Omo you know how country dey” is really for you and your Umunna.

Repent ye of your heinous crimes this day saith I, the Messenger of Refunds.

Be a good citizen, pick up your phone and refund that money now (with a lirru I’m sorry for theatric effects).


Now, let us talk about people with big eyes. Oló Júkòkòrò.

When people give you access and you move mad, they will revoke it faster than you know. Why will you go somewhere new like someone’s office or house and “make yourself comfortable”?

See, even a 5-year-old knows that “make yourself comfortable” is a myth.

You’re in someone’s private space for the first time and you are opening fridge and looking for what you did not keep. Opening pot, sizing their clothes and shoes. Using things you can either never buy for yourself or won’t replace.

Omo, the person might not say anything but lobatan oh. You will never hear from them again.

For these things to happen, you have to be reaaallllly close. If you are not close, sit won place.

Special shout-out to people who put others in tight corners by asking for personal items like shoes or wigs or outfits. Who raised you? You don’t know what contentment is?

If they borrow you now, you will slim-fit before you return.

Last one, I promise.

If you are in a public place, try dey get your own water. Corona is outside. How you people are comfortable asking random people for “a sip of water” beats me. The person that brought their own water does not have two heads. If they even tell you it’s lemon-infused or one tin one tin, you will still collect and drink. Tueh.

Change your ways, dear. It’s 2022.

Blog Posts,

Why NYSC?

Hey Gems!

This is my first official blog post. I know you’re used to all the poetry, fiction (and non-fiction) that I keep serving you guys. Thought I’d try something different today. So, here we are.

Today, I want to talk about NYSC. Yes yes, Youth Service. I have so many unanswered questions about the thing eh. Like why? Why do I have to leave my comfort zone for a year just to prove to Nigerians that I went to a higher institution? Why, oh why?

Corper Weeeeeee

I’ve figured that the best things I have achieved in this my life were done when I left my comfort zone. I’m not a fan of adventure like that like that, but I look forward to adjusting to a totally new environment – and yes, leaving my comfort zone again and again.

I really don’t know where Nigeria will troway me for the next 365 days, but I hope I’ll be able to grow my art, my career, and change lives – even if it’s one person’s life. I’m looking to join literary bodies or creating one if there’s none in existence in the area.

Lord plis, let the toilets be usable. I lowkey wish I could carry my house toilet to camp. No lies. So many things are fuelling my anxiety. Will the water be clean enough? Will it be too cold to bath with? How many packs of wet wipes will I be allowed to carry? Will there be constant electricity? Will I be offline because of poor network? What about thieves? Will they steal my provisions while I sleep? Do they sell FreshYo in camp? Will I survive the weather? What should I do with my hair, edakun?

God abeg.

I haven’t even packed, but I’m sure that chin-chin and biscuits will fill half of my box. No time.

So, NYSC, bring it on! (In other words, please be nice 😪 ) Who knows? Someone like Davido might magically appear in my camp to spice things up.

OBO Baddest

Have you served Nigeria yet? Let me know what to look forward to in the comments abeg.

Tainzz so much.

The Jewel,
Jasmine.

Short Stories,

Zoned

“Trix, wetin do your eyes?”

“Na pepper oh. I bin take pepper hand rub my eyes by mistake.”

“Every day pepper pepper. And you no be Yoruba.”

I smiled and pulled out a chair. I looked at my cheap wristwatch. I was twenty-two minutes early to the afternoon lecture. I whispered a short prayer and placed my head on the desk in front of me. I was almost asleep when I heard his voice.

“Beatrice, you no sleep last night?” He pulled out the chair next to me.

“Maybe she get belle,” someone said rather loudly.

I squeezed his hand and placed my head back on the desk. I couldn’t focus. My eyes and head were too heavy for comfort. I raised my head and rubbed my eyes when I felt him let go of my hand. A girl was hurrying to the back of the class. She looked plain but beautiful in a yellow chiffon blouse tucked in dark denim trousers. I saw her highlight when she passed my seat.

“Ah. This one came late because she was painting face,” I said under my breath as I basked in the wake of her strong perfume.
I turned to look at Nathan. I observed the way he looked at her; his eyes approving her calculated strides, waiting for her gaze to meet his so he could stretch a wry smile. Snapping him out of the trance, I jab his shoulder with my elbow and ask about the math assignment we had already done.

“It’s correct na. I checked it yesterday.”

“Oh.” I close the notebook. “I just wanted to be sure.”

The lecture took longer than necessary. The hall was filled with irregular sighing from students; similar to those heard when a sermon is taking too long and the keyboardist starts soloing to remind the preacher that people put Sunday rice on the fire before they came to church that morning.

“Course rep, bring the attendance list to me.”

I sighed as the lecturer began to call out the names on the list. List that students have worked on. Is it not to say ‘Sir’ for your coursemate and hope your voice doesn’t sound like your voice when it’s time to answer for yourself or pray that you were the only one Matthew begged to impersonate him? Waste of time.
I sigh again, this time louder. Nathan looks and turns his torso to face me. Good sign; I have his attention now. He rubs my arm, wearing a slightly worried look and I reciprocate by pouting and codedly looking away, in the direction of the new girl, hoping she’d see him touching me and take it as a warning sign. Maybe she’d stay away from him or even change her school. Maybe she’d–

“Why your face dey like this?” – He asks, raising my chin with two fingers. – “You don chop?”

I hadn’t eaten all day and it was almost evening. How could I eat? I didn’t even have an appetite. My stomach was filled with jealousy served with a side dish of rage.

“Yes. I’ve eaten,” I lied.

I got up to leave but he didn’t follow. I kept walking and I didn’t even sense him behind me. I stopped to look back and I saw him where I left him in the hall. From a distance, I could tell he was getting up to do something stupid. He had his default ‘God, abeg’ look on his face, shoulders slightly raised for a confidence boost and collars patted down.

He was going to talk to the new girl.

He says he needs me but I know he wants her. The problem is I do not feel worthy enough to ask if I’m not enough. And so I stand bare, in front of my scum stained bathroom mirror, recounting all my flaws and edges. Staring at myself until tears blur my vision before I retreat to soak my pillows and come up with a better reason to explain my swollen eyes in the morning.

Poems,

Èkò

Maybe one day, the ocean of life will wash me onto the shores of Western Nigeria and I’ll twist my tongue to learn their language.

I look forward to learning to speak like I’m learning to walk.

Crawling until my feet can comfortably grip the grains and stand in the beach sand, long enough to purge my blood of waina and yaji.

My ears anticipate hearing the beat of the language’s loud drums in the beautiful noise that comes with life in Lagos.

Face muscles growing accustomed to the ‘ye’ and ‘ah’ diphthongs ’til I can hold a heated conversation with a bus conductor.

At first, my tongue will definitely miss its steps and dance off-beat but eventually, I will become one with the rhythm and roll my eyes, tongue and hips with reckless abandon to the rhythm of the gangan drums.

Maybe then, I will also beat my aso-oke clad chest and chant, “Èkò o ni bajè” with the rest of the dancers.

One day. Soon. But until then, I am content with my half half English.


📷 Photo credits: @daviddosunmu @fotovangelist

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