5 Nigerian Foods That I Consider Over-hyped

Let me start by sincerely apologising to my non-Nigerian readers for, you shall not understand what is going on here. I just have to do this!
Huge hugs for you guys though…

1. Ponmo

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Credit: Sisiolobekayn

Need I state the obvious reason behind my feeling of over-hypness of this thing Nigerians treat like gold??? It is just cow hide!
Cow hide!!!
It has no nutritional value nor any value whatsoever other than to be cooked and chewed and chewed and chewed.
God help you if the cooker of your Ponmo did not cook it well, you wee enterit!

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Get Out!

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So the other day, I sat by this girl in class who couldn’t just stay out of my space! I mean, the space was just enough for a voluptuous chocolate beauty like me;););), now imagine having someone literally breathing all over my face, talking in my ears and spreading food all over my body!
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Aaarrgghh!!!

Why can’t people just man their spaces and not get into someone else’s? Why must you keep touching my arm, stroking my hair and twirling the strap of my handbag between your fingers all because you’re so engrossed in whatever you’re saying and you can’t help but ‘touch something’.
Keep your hands to yourself!

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Oya, die O!

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Colours As I See It

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Yes, Josh picked a picture where I looked so 2003!:? The only saving grace is it's a fine one:mrgreen:

My awesome crime fiction-writer friend Joshua Olanrewaju, the affable LordJosh, invited me and some other amazingly-gifted persons to write for his #30DaysOfNovember trend last November.
We were asked to write on anything “as we see it”… I wrote on colours. Yup, colours! Believe me when I say I’m still suprised with my choice till today!
I’ll let the piece do the talking…

Life is indeed colouful. We can feel in the pink one day, with our bank balances comfortably in the black, and the grass seemingly no greener on the other side of the fence. Then out of the blue, something tiresome happens that makes us see red, turn ashen white, even purple with rage. Maybe controlling our varying emotions is just ‘colour management’ by another name
-Alex Morritt

What is it about colours? you’d ask; especially since I am the one writing about them (I mean, what lawyer writes about colours, yeah?)

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Brothers Get In Here!

Hello Bro!
Come, I want to break a sister-code (that one that says never to break the code?); it’s a new year and I am tired of your singleness, you’re using it to frustrate the sisters!
I don’t have a lot to say. Just very few cogent points that if adhered to, will transform your love life.

1. Use Maclean Toothpaste!
Ah, did you just say that they don’t produce it anymore?
*HandsOnHead*
Please, for the sake of your romantic destiny, goanfind it. You know why? YOU NEED YOUR CONFIDENCE BACK!
Shebithat is what Maclean purports to do? Then go and find one and use it because, to get the sister, you need confidence!
No correct babe likes a man that cannot even properly and confidently ‘present his case’ to her – NO!
A guy who was recently on my case called me a few days ago and asked to see me. I asked to know what for and he kept saying some stuff that had no head nor tail and this headless and tailless something he was saying, he could not even say properly – he was sounding like a nursery school kid who forgot the lines of his poem in front of the audience in the school’s prize-giving day! I felt like weeping for him – for that sole reason, I declined the request.
If you don’t believe this rule, carry out an inquiry from the ‘babes’.
I say no more!

2. Buy Turari
Yes. If you cannot afford proper perfume, bikobuy Turari.
Issallow ehn.
Smell nice!
After the babe has spent an hour to draw fleek brows and wear Ruby Woo lipstick, you wee now come from nowhere and come and be smelling like moin-moin from last week and you want the babe to say ‘yes’?
No. She will not say yes!!
If I Hear!

3. Wear To-match
See ehn, to-match does not necessarily mean buba and soro, sometimes, to-match is wearing a top and bottom that fits! Fits in colour, texture, size…
Brother please, stop dressing like WW III descended on you before you stepped out of your house.
Wash and iron your clothes, Polish your shoes, keep clean nails, cut your hair, put vasline on your lips and above all, PLEASE WEAR YOUR RIGHT SIZES!
Hian!

4. Study Student’s Companion
Yes O!
That book that we used for English in secondary school? Abeg ehn, find it and study it like your destiny depends on it because, it actually does!
All these grammar that you’re using to bamboozle the sisters is not werking.
We’re tired! (Can I get a witness sis?)
It af do!
Learn how to speak well!
Filing your matter and presenting your arguments properly is very crucial to your case or else, it will be struck out! (*DancingShakitiBobo* My lecturers need to see this. They’ll be very proud of me!)
Even if it is Yoruba you want to speak or Ibo, or Hausa, please, co-ordinate your grammar well!
Toh! Ayaf said my own.

I’m Out!

I Hate Christmas

There’s no wreath on the door. The Christmas tree we dust and place in the living room every year is still in its resting place under the stairs gathering dust. Although I love to be up to date musically, my playlist hasn’t changed. I’ve found the courage to tell myself the truth.

I don’t believe in Christmas.

***

In the days before the ‘fall’, Christmas used to be fun. We would spend days planning the menu and deciding what to wear. My brothers and I would debate what beach would be best for us to spend the day with my suggestion always coming out as the winning one.

At the beach, We would run out of the huts where our parents talked with our buckets and tiny shovels. We would build sandcastles and moats and play pretend. We would have too much to eat and go home exhausted with sandfly bites all over our bodies. Christmas WAS fun.

On our way to school, we sang ‘Jingle Bells’ in the car with the volume at the highest. We cried when we didn’t get parts in the school play and we laughed like hyenas when the presents where just what we had asked Santa for.

We were young and stupid and grateful

and we loved Christmas.

We didn’t understand that mum had to pay through her nose to get us new bikes and toys and clothes during Yuletide like Dad used to. The Christmas Eve before he left, We didn’t know that the papers that made Dad and Mum argue when they thought we had gone to bed weren’t bills but divorce papers. 

We didn’t understand why Dad stopped going to the beach with us. We didn’t understand why he had to move to another state to live with another person with another kid. 

We didn’t understand why mum’s explanation for Dad’s absence was cold hard silence.

We were young and stupid and we didn’t stay that way.

We grew up to see that other families weren’t that way. We grew up to see Dad’s with Mum’s who lived together with teenage sons. We grew to realize that we were an anomaly in the school system. We were a demography bound to produce more like us. We grew up ashamed of our home that didn’t have cute family pictures with Dad in it. We were young so we adapted.

We learnt to live and we learnt to lie. We learnt to live a lie.

Dad wasn’t around because he had to go on business trips abroad was my favorite  line. We accepted that we were the reason our parents couldn’t stay together and since there wasn’t anything we could do, we would not waste time grieving. 

We grew tired of singing ‘Jingle Bells’ and ‘Joy to the world’. All the talk of reindeers and snows and mangers and angels finally got to us. We had been raised Muslim so we weren’t under any obligation to endure Christmas and all the pain it brought.

Along the line, we fell in love with the Man on the Tree and surrendered to him. Somehow still, it was too late. We had become too old for the magic of Christmas to enthral us.

***

It was when I opened the door to let my brothers into the house that I noticed there’s no wreath on the door. The Christmas tree we used to dust and place in the living room every year is still in its resting place under the stairs gathering dust because nobody remembers it. I make a joke about how having black Santas isn’t cool. My brothers laugh to honour me. In their tired smiles and weary eyes, I see the truth we’ve known since the divorce but haven’t told each other. 

We don’t believe in Christmas. In fact, we hate it.

***

Adeyinka Shittu writes less depressing things on his blog. You can follow him on Instagram and his is oh-so deep twitter.

And remember to send my Christmas gifts!

Merry Christmas!

‘In The Morning’ by Korede Kugbiyi

Here’s Korede’s debut piece on Queen Oset’s Blog; it’s a random collection of ‘morning’ thought… Enjoy!

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The morning!

There’s something weird about the early hours of the day…

Something Nostalgic…

Something rather mysterious…

It’s something even you can’t help but do

INTROSPECTION; CORRECTION; CELEBRETION

It happens so fast that if you don’t pay enough attention, you’ll not even notice it happened….Like a gentle whisper it speaks softly but firmly; the more attention you give to the voice the louder it gets.

Like today…I woke up this morning… I had my body stretched with some yawning… And it happened!!…The moment… The event of last night flooded my brain; like a raging Lion you cannot tame… Memories of how I rocked my 25,000 naira tuxedo to my graduation party, thoughts of how for the first time I ‘rocked’ a girl… To the plenty selfies I took with dem chicks who can’t help but pout, to the plenty hugs from friends telling them of how I would miss them.

For the first time I had some liquor in my system… Hmmmm my taste buds were bathed with this bitter-sweet substance; for every time you feel like dropping the bottle, you end up second guessing and the sweet taste holds you ‘spell bound’, and I remember telling myself ‘there’s nothing wrong in taking it for the first time na‘… and then I started feeling nauseated dang! Have you ever felt light headed before? Mehn! Trust me, you don’t know how it feels until you have a taste of it… The perfect response to those early morning thoughts was just to smile…

‘Phew, thank God it’s all over’ I said to myself… Still basking in new found freedom… Like a slave who has just gotten emancipated from slavery, I felt liberated from the chains of assembly lines, white socks and school uniform!  I thought that was it.., I could swear that was what the early morning thought would give me…

And then… Another thought line slowly crept in; like a slow poison the uncertainty crept in, and it brought with it fear, regret… WAEC result!  I have never been this afraid of the first five digits of the alphabet before!

. ‘Maybe if I had studied harder, physics exam wouldn’t have been sooooo….’

‘Shut up! You tried your best.. Do you want to kill yourself’

‘But…’

‘But, what? Trust in God’ (That that moment where you start talking to yourself in 2nd person)

And like Jesus speaking to the raging storm, I managed to speak to my doubts.

You’ve gotta say, there’s something about the early hours of the day.

And like today, I woke up this morning, had my body stretched with some yawning, then it happened… Mehn! the thought of going to school just drained motivation out of me Dang! I have to struggle to get a cab to school… I have an 8 o’clock class… In this school you hustle and queue for everything!!!!!! To go to school, to get a seat in class, to withdraw money from the A.T.M machine, to get cab back home!! This school is really better by stress isn’t it? And then the voice began.. “You’ll just be sleeping shaa, I thought you set the alarm for 1am ‘’ the voice continued “S.M.H… you still have not done your assignment have you? yet you want to be the best in class …hmm nawa oo’’ but I waved the voice away cos I was already late for class.

You sometimes hear this voice don’t you? You gotta say there’s something about the early hours of the day.

Like this morning, I had my body stretched with some yawning… Mourning… Like I DID IT!. I turned to the other side of the bed. He was still there busy snoring…

“I thought I was strong enough”

“I thought I could keep myself till my wedding night”

I thought about how we’ve been flirting with each other for quite some time now… One time he said to me, with his fingers taking a walk from my neck down to my chest “This is how you show you love me”…

How could I be so naïve?

Still basking in my thoughts, the moron still rolled over and pecked me, “I had a great time last night”…

Boys don’t get it do they? What can I say … there’s something definitely something weird about the early hours of the day.