TherapyHouse, one cool and helpful blog blog I have been reading

Imagine, I have become less conscious of other blogs after I stumbled on TherapyHouse. As a Nigerian blogger and creative I get into a lot of stress issues. When I am done for the day, I take a second list at my checklist and I say " can we have a 24 hour night time"-never.

I fall on my bed like a log of wood-I am stressed, extremely and mentally stressed after the days job.

Whenever I wake up, I get up with flicks of uncoordinated dreams.

I have been going to online sites trying to connect with stress management ideas that have a Nigerian in mind. Luckily, I found Therapyhouse  and I am just glad. I have been following their posts religiously and I think they are pretty good.

What they do is to provide stress management info for you,create awareness about the things professionals, sportsmen, house wives, should avoid or employ in order to live a healthier physical health.

I took a small leap to meet the blogger, Tinu Aremu-she is a consultant physiotherapist and a down to earth lover of children with physical challenges. What baffles me most is that she is just up to no good with simple expressions-she takes you as a brother almost immediately,and that really put my nerves in order as I approached her.

One thing I left with is that she told me that a lot of physical challenges faced by adults when they retire is as a result of their lifestyle, and series of mental and bodily stress.

I asked her how she helps manage the stress of consulting, whether she works hard and plays hard like the rest of us. She said that she spends quality time with children with challenges. She said they are a very creative bunch, very boisterous and ready to learn.  

I am having a field day with online and offline therapy with Tinu now. Isn't that cool?

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"Loving Life" Artmosphere's Presents FEB Edition

Artmosphere February, 2013 Edition: Loving Life 

It’s the second edition of Artmosphere, the quintessential music, poetry, performance and arts event in Nigeria. This edition is made possible by WriteHouse Collective, a creative enterprise, culture and arts firm, and Ibridge Hub, a place for people with great ideas to meet, learn and work. It is a creative and collaborative environment where young entrepreneurs and innovators in the city of Ibadan can bring their ideas to reality.
This edition of the monthly Book Culture and Lifestyle event suits the season of love but presents love in a multifaceted and dynamic way. No wonder the February edition is tagged “Loving Life”. The curator, ‘Femi Morgan, notes “Love is the stretch of words, insufficient for describing Life, yet Love brings forth life. Love is not despair, it is giving and forgiving. It is faith and grace; it is pleasant prejudice and subtle worship. Love means different things to different people.” 

The February edition of Artmosphere tagged “Loving Life” holds on Saturday, February 16, 2013
Venue: NuStreams Conference Centre, KM 110 Abeokuta road, Alalubosa GRA Extension, Ibadan.
TIME: 3pm to 6pm

This edition plays host to Tade Ipadeola, renowned poet and winner of the Delphic Laurel in Poetry 2009, an award known as the enigmatic Olympic prize for poets around the world. The event will also feature Servio Gbadamosi, spoken word poet, lyricist and entrepreneur, and Michael Azusa, spoken word poet from the University of Ibadan, amongst others. 

Kent Oxygen, and Michael Obot, seasoned alternative music acts will also be at “Loving Life” to spice the event with love songs and the nostalgic songs of the oldies. 

At “Loving Life”, we will be officially unveiling the electronic versions of Tade Ipadeola’s new literary offering, The Sahara Testament. The collection of poetry will be available and compactable to the Ipad, Nook, Kindle and e-reading public in Nigeria. WriteHouse Collective has acquired the authority to make it available in Nigeria, in order to ensure that Nigerians can purchase the book without any foreign exchange hassles. Ipadeola wrote The Sahara Testament over the space of seven years. During his writing, he challenged his muse by getting acquainted with the culture, arts, life and living of peoples across the Sahara desert. This collection promises to become a definitive work of literature that transcends language and race.  


Tade Ipadeola 
Tade Ipadeola, a Nigerian, was born in 1970. He has published two volumes of poetry-A Time of Signs (2000) and The Rain Fardel (2005). He has also published short stories and essays. In 2009, he won the Delphic Laurel in poetry with his poem “Songbird” in Jeju, South Korea. His third volume of poetry, The Sahara Testaments-a sequence of 1000 quatrains on the Sahara is his latest work.
Tade Ipadeola is currently serving as the PEN (Nigeria Centre) President.
Tade lives in Ibadan where he practices law. 

                                                      Michael Asuzu 

Michael Asuzu is a spoken word poet and student of Mechanical Engineering at the University of Ibadan. Michael believes in demystifying and making poetry accessible to a wider audience. He brings his words to life by infusing the foundational elements of pop and hip hop culture into his poetry performances.



  Servio Gbadamosi, 
Servio Gbadamosi is a spoken word artiste, lyricist and creative entrepreneur. He has earned his corporate experience as Human Resource personnel, Art organizer and as a Social Media executive. He is currently the Managing Partner/Head of Research and Development at WriteHouse Collective. His poems have appeared in different national dailies and in Crossroads, an anthology of poems chosen from across Africa and the diaspora in memory of Christopher Okigbo.  He is the unpublished author of the viral collection, A Tributary in Servitude. He will be performing a medley and some poems from his upcoming collection of love poems. 


Music Acts

Kent Oxygen 
Hassan Kehinde Daniel, Kent Oxygen is an African folk and Jazz artist. He is a lyrically rich, comedic and inspiring songwriter. The graduate of Computer Science and Statistics from University of Nigeria, Nssuka, is fecund in the use the acoustic guitar, piano and drums. Kent Oxygen started his career in the 90’s where he rose as music director at his church. 

OluMichael  
Micheal Obot AKA Olumicheal is a song writer and singer. He reaches out to his audience using the soul genre. 
Obot is a graduate of Accountancy but he prefers the music counts of the piano. He is currently working on his album, and has already recorded singles such as “Show Me Love”, “Only You Can Make Your Dreams Come True”, “Aiye Ole”, “Eledumare”, and more

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Artmophere, "Timelines" was Splendid

Artmosphere, the leading poetry, music and performance event, which I am part and parcel of went successfully. Our planning paid off.

A big thank you to those who came to the event. See pictures and news links on our facebook page WriteHouse.

you can also read the The Guardian Newspapers, Nigeria  for highlights of the event.

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Time Lines; Artmosphere, music, poetry and arts event in January.

Artmosphere Jan Edition; Time Lines

WriteHouse Collective, a creative enterprise, culture and arts firm convenes the January edition of Artmosphere, the quintessential music, poetry, performance and arts event in Nigeria.  The monthly Book Culture and Lifestyle event, is here with its January edition, tagged “Time Lines.” This month’s event is scheduled for the 19th of January at ibridgehub, Nustreams Conference Centre, KM 110 Abeokuta RD, Alalubosa GRA Ext, Ibadan. The leading music, poetry and arts event will is slated for Saturday, 19th of January, 2013, time is 2.00pm-6.00pm.

Artmosphere; Time Lines will play host to Funmi Aluko, prolific womanist poet and internationally acclaimed writer, Atilola Morounfolu, spoken word artiste, creative entrepreneur and author of Antonyms of a Mirage. The event will also feature Nwachukwu Egbunnike, editor, blogger   and author of Dyed Thoughts, and Rasaq Malik Gbolahan, home grown poet. There will beautiful music performances, and free books for early comers.

Time Lines will also play host to the announcement of winners of the creative writing prize in prose, poetry and drama categories. Creative Alliance, a firm with a shared philosophy of promoting literature and literariness announced its’ writing competition mid last year through several art platforms and radio programmes in different parts of the country.  

‘Funmi Aluko

Olufunmi Aluko is a relentless writer who has made her presence felt as a member of Association of Nigerian Authors (ANA), Women Writers of Nigeria and as the current Treasurer of Pen Essays and Novelists, Nigeria Centre.

Aluko has cut her teeth as a journalist with stints at the Comet Newspaper (now The Nation), Sun Newspaper and National Interest Newspaper. Her interest in deep social malaise has seen her work as a social worker with a couple of Non-Government Organisations before coordinating her own. Pathway Initiatives is an NGO concerned with the aspirations and the challenges of venerable children.

She has had her poems published in several Newspapers, Art Journals and Anthologies in Nigeria. Some of this anthologies and publications are Lagos of the Poets – An anthology on the city of Lagos, Ashes and Diamond, Confluence - (ANA Anthologies), A Melody of Stones – (A 2003 publication of PEN Nigeria Centre),Wings of dawn – A publication of The British ,Council Nigeria and Women Writers of Nigeria (WRITA), Position International Arts Review amongst others.  

Aluko has participated in the Poetry segments of Black Heritage Festival and the Play, Laughter, Arts and You (PLAY)2009 and 2010 editions.

Atilola Moronfolu

Atilola Moronfolu is a multi-faceted entrepreneur and one of Nigeria’s grand Spoken word artists.  Moronfolu has performed in popular spoken word events like Word Up, Unchained voices, and reads regularly at the US Consulate literary program, Read it Loud.

Moronfolu’s writings can be found on the blog www.hattylolla.com ,other blogs and other youtube links from which she puts Nigeria on the map. She also edits books for fellow writers and bloggers and gets them ready for publishing. 

A graduate of University of Lagos, she studied Computer Engineering. She became one of the youngest in her set as she gained admission at the age 21.   She started consulting with PricewaterhouseCoopers and won the PwC Experience Community Champion award for the year 2011, and the Most Different and Unusual staff of the year 2011.

Moronfolu left PWC to pursue her creative writing passions. She is the author of the author of Antonyms of a Mirage, the now popularly trending collection of Drama, Prose, and Poetry in Nigeria. She is work on a full-length novel.

Nwachukwu Egbunike

Egbunike transcends from the sciences to the arts-a brilliant writer and essayist. He is the author of Dyed Thoughts, a blunt, satirical and critical book of conversation on the country. He studied Medical Laboratory Sciences (specializing in Hematology and Medical Microbiology) in the University of Nigeria, Nsukka; and later Communication and Language Arts in the University of Ibadan, respectively.

Born in Enugu, Nwachukwu was a member of Orient Literary Club. In 1997, his poem “Help” was published in Okike: an African Journal of New Writing, (Number 37, June, p 73). From 1996 to 1997, he was a cub-reporter in the Enugu Bureau of National Light and Spokesman. He briefly studied German in Goethe Institute Lagos. He was formerly Commissioning Editor in Spectrum Books and an intern in the features desk of the Nigerian Tribune – all in Ibadan.

His essays have been published in the Guardian, ThisDay, Vivantes Viva, Buisnessday, Evans School Supplement and the Nigerian Tribune respectively. On the blogosphere he has written posts for Fast Editions, Mercatornet, Nigeria Plus and Nigeria Village Square respectively. In 2011 his peer-reviewed book chapter “New Media and Health Communication: Communication Strategies in Malaria Control in Nigeria” featured in Wachanga Ndirangu D (ed), Cultural Identity and New Communication Technologies: Political, Ethnic and Ideological Implications (Hershey PA: IGI Global, USA, pp 197-212).

Nwachukwu has been blogging in Feathers Project since 2006.  In 2011, he became an author with Global Voices (an international community of bloggers). He is currently the Executive Editor of Feathers and Ink, Ibadan.

Rasaq Malik Gbolahan

Rasaq Malik Gbolahan, is a student of the English literature, University of Ibadan. He writes poetry. His poems have been published in the Sun, Blueprint Newspaper and several literary pages.

His poems have been lauded by WriteHouse Collective as ' new flashes of a brilliant voice' Rasaq believes we can change the world through words.

Remember

Artmosphere: Time Lines holds on Saturday, 19th January, 2012.

VENUE: ibridgehub, Nustreams Conference Centre, KM 110 Abeokuta RD, Alalubosa GRA Ext, Ibadan.

TIME: 2.00pm-6.00pm

For more information contact, Femi 08181880563| Servio 08061139735

It’s an avenue to connect, enjoy, relax with lots of music and art performances.

Free books for early comers

This event is powered by iBridge Hub | Creative Alliance | WriteHouse Collective

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Artmosphere's City of Words

Artmosphere, a monthly poetry, music and arts events will play host to Hyginus Ekwazi, Ayo Olofintuade, Babatunde Ogunseinde and Dtone in its march edition. The march edition according to the organisers "is a special" tagged City of Words (A tribute to the City (Ibadan) that has produced so many literary giants and the intellectual headquarters of Nigeria).

City of Words is slated for the 31st of March 2012, at Cafe Chrysalis, 23 Ilaro Street, Old Bodija(Behind 411 Club), Ibadan. Hyginus Ekwazi is scholar at the Department of Theatre Arts at the University of Ibadan. He is a film critic and the author of the Award winning children novella,I Have Miles to Walk Before I Sleep, winner of the ANA Cadbury Prize 2010.He has won the Association of Nigerian Authors’ Poetry prize with almost all of his four poetry collectionsDr. Ekwuazi’s poetry collections are Love Apart (2007); Dawn into Moonlight (2008); The Monkey’s Eyes (2009); and That Other Country (2010). He is a famous critic of the Nollywood Movie Industry.Hyginus was also managing at the Nigerian Film Coporation in 1998. He has also written innumerable papers on the Nigerian and African film, one of such is in the Africa Media Review Vol. 5 No. 2.1991 ©African Council for Communication Education Towards the Decolonization of the African Film by Hyginus Ekwuazi* Ayodele Olofintuade is one of Nigeria's creative writers. She is the author of Eno's Story, a children's story book that was shortlisted for the NNLG Prize for Fiction in 2011. She is also a creative Writing teacher, an editor and a reviewer at the Daily Times NG. Ayodele has several works in progress one of which is a sci-fi novel. Dtone Martins is an alternative and Jazz artiste ( A live Performing Artiste) who has been in the music scene for sometime now. He is referred to in some Lagos circles as the progenitor of modern love songs spiced with tradition. Babatunde Ogunseinde is an alternative music act who has performed in different literary events across the country. He has also perfromed alongside Beautiful Nubia, an afrocentric music icon who is also a poet. Babatunde usually brings back nostalgic feelings with his music. Both passionate and energetic music acts will be at Artmosphere, this month. Spoken word Poets, Servio Gbadamosi and Femi Fairchild Morgan will be the anchors of the event.

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A Campaign that Went Awry

A Review of Draw No Blood, a novel by Efemena Adagama Draw No Blood is a book published by Dorrance Publishing, a US based but the story is original-capturing the exact problems that befall the Nigerian society. Efemena Agadama, a social activist and student based in the United Kingdom captures the intrigues, the fortunate and unfortunate players of oil bunkering, militancy and government’s culpability, even in the kidnappings of western officials of oil companies. It also exposes the reasons behind youth restiveness in the Niger Delta and how it has unfortunately turned into a business instead of a campaign for the saving of the indigenous peoples of the Niger Delta. “The world only gives ears to violent agitation where blood spills from a fountain along a narrow course, creating a poll of floating deaths. The world only gives medicine after death – Dafur, Rwanda, Somalia, Bosnia-Herzegovina and the holocaust Jews. Have you all forgotten how promising trees were hewn down in their prime? What did the world do to stop it? Nothing!.” This was one of the voices of the many informed militants that Efemena creates. The militants who sought not shed blood became gun totting when their means of livelihood where taken from them. Annoyingly, the elders who should have helped in several dialogues with government had become selfish and insensitive to communal concerns. Oil has changed the rich cultural systems of the people to the values of oil, guns and blood. Efemena, though a young writer allows his characters to spring up from the stories, as the events emerge, the characters are interlinked. Life in the Niger delta has been reduced to war or nonchalance, with one to choose from. Even the captured feels for the people, as the gradually begin to understand their responses to lack of hope. Efemena’s authorial intrusion is strong and overwhelming but he fails in allowing the characters to engage in exhaustive discussions or interactions. The Nigerian Government does not care about the Nigerian people but when it concerns a foreigner and their international image, all hands are in deck. “The deaf do not need to be told the power of a needle. The deaf need not hear the sound of a wave with grinding muscles before running away”. Efemena employs the language of poetry, rich broken English and well-oiled Niger Delta proverbs to convey the intrinsic message of psychological neglect. Efemena has a grasp on the songs of the Izon people which he employs in order to buttress the changes that has affected the Niger Delta. His use of fine and veritable expressions remain valid in understanding the restiveness in the Niger delta before the amnesty programme of the federal government. The book also posits that even the negotiators are culpable in the game of kidnap. These two-faced individuals are both friends of the government and the community. Using the novel, Efemena captures genocidal actions of the government especially of the Obasanjo regime. Obasanjo, ordered the murder of a whole community in the Niger Delta sometime between 1999-2003. Efemena is no doubt a philosopher of Thomas Hardy stock. His authorial intrusions are commentaries on life and existence that cannot be ignored. This technique was beautifully employed to hint the air of fear, disillusionment and uncertainty in the novel. It will take careful reading to understand the mix of intrigues and events that meet at the crossroads of suspense. Unfortunately, the average reader is not a patient one. At the end the youths realize that they are grub left for the destruction of the community. They realize that their war for wealth redistribution is a futile one.

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Oil is Thicker than Blood

Oil is Thicker than Blood Femi Morgan

My friend Kamaludeen-I don’t know how to pronounce his name very well slept with his school girlfriend and one of the thousand sperms won the race, resulting to a baby boy. He is just 19, although he has a face like a twenty five year old. True, struggle and suffering makes him old. Kamaludeen always had his way around things. He was a hustler. He knew the nearest joint and the married women who sneaked out to sleep with other men. They paid him to keep his mouth shut. He was generous with his poverty and when he had some small change, he flung it around and told us that “life cost nothing after all”. I always disagreed with him-life was worth something, it was worth the buying and selling and the waking up, the sleeping, the lust that makes this cycle going. But now that I am a little of age. I think I will want to agree with him. So one day when the roof of our class could not save us from the heat, I saw Kamul sit with Titi, Titi, the comely girl that I had been eyeing for all my life. When we were younger, we used to bath near the roadside leading to the Baale’s house. Even before that, our mothers were friends and we used to pull each other’s hair. Now, she is talking to Kamal the hustler and not me the patient. I thought the patient dog eats the fattest bone. I had tried to let her look at my side. I had read hard every morning in order to answer questions from Mrs Apata, the crazy civics teacher, but she still didn’t look at my side. Really, not my sides, it’s my groin that troubles me. It aches anytime I feel her presence. After the classes, I put myself in further doom by going to play football with my friends-after all I could transfer some groin power to something that may make me forget. When the bell rings. Realisation dawns on me. I am as dirty as a rag and will only watch some clean looking lad walk her home-she, giggling and shaking like a cocoon morphing into a butterfly. No one thought that Kamal would capture the butterfly. She was the daughter of Deacon Alphonsus Bamidele, Charismatic Christian Deliverance Ministries, known by drunkards as Shakara Church. You don’t have to be suspended in suspense. Kamal impregnated Alphonsus’s daughter. The whole town became a place of football chit-chats. The questions were coming from whoever-even those who have waited for the day Shakara people will be put to shame. The drunkards sang “ titi alpo ti da iyawo alpha-alufa ti di alufansa”. They also sang “Titi Jesu yo fi de, Iyawo Kamal ni yo je-titi e n she Mary eni to fun loyun ti gba kan e” ( Titi, wife of Alfa, Alfa has become worthless”, “Till Jesus comes, the wife of Kamal shall she be-Titi is not Mary,mother of Jesus, the person that did it has accepted it” . it became like the drunkards anthem especially when both pious fathers-Titi and Kamals father passed. I began to thank God that my groin did not put me into trouble, that the blood from my brain and my heart disagreed with my penis. Perhaps if I had my lonely moments with her, the story would have been different. Titi was like a tall lanky gazelle-if her parents were not saints, some old men would have come for her hand. Her neck stood out from her body, her tiny frame carried a voluptuous breast that her bra could not hide. Her tight fertile buttocks showed the shape of her panties, even when she wore a skirt. Whenever she leaves her house for some errands for her mothers, you could feel the eyes on her-from the chinks of window pane, from the eloquently wealthy holes of red bricks, from the metallic contraption of the nearby Megida whose chewing stick pauses at the merriment of fantasy unreached but hoped. She knew that men wanted her but her mother’s cane also waited for her too. All came to noth when she won her stomach lottery. It pained me more, when Kamal did not run away. He said he did it. Both parents who had started to curse God through their Christian and Muslim divides were shocked. Alpha Biteru and Alhaja Iyabo were shocked. “ what has the child of the living God got to do with the children of perdition” Bamidele Alphonsus claimed in anger. And Baba Biteru who could not suffer insults for nothing responded “your infidel daughter must had seduced someone in the bigger townships and now my son is your most promising victim- In sha Allah, you will not succeed”. They didn’t throw blow but their arrows were swift like the vicious Shaka the Zulu. It was worded warfare. The wives of both men were also engaging themselves with their arsenal of insults, curses and satiric songs. The Biteru family were from the Islamic non-tolerant sect of Rufi Jalla Jalailo and they were dumbfounded when he claimed his act-Kamal told me. Alpha asked Kamal how he knew where the hole was and which hole was it and Kamal said “ I knew it through some magazines you always read in the dark”. It was embarrassing. Kamal didn’t know that he took my price. As her stomach began protruding in competition with her breast, as her faced glowed but beauty chanced by spittle and vomit, she began to gain weight like a gluttonous snake. I began to lose interest. I lost interest finally. Pa Alponsus pushed her out to go and bear “the bastard incarnate” as he called her protruding stomach in Kamal’s place. The good Muslims were surprised and angry. Very Angry. At the mosque that day, The Chief Imam of Iluyide preached that even the religion that preached forgiveness did not forgive and that infidels who claimed all sought of spiritual power were doomed. The mosque was filled with a lot of people, perhaps to hear the gradual doom of a man who was quick to rebuke the simple lapses of those who skipped prayers. For God’s sake, the mosque was behind the bishop’s house, the church was behind Kamal’s house. That was how the events that took place between Kamal and Titi was accomplished. They were both sneaky people. The whole place was tensed. On Sunday, the elders of the town visited Pa Alphonsus Bamidele and he treated them with respect for only a while, before he started to bamboozle the poor pagans with Big English and speaking in tongues. The elders were bound, casted, bound and casted all over again till they left in disappointment. Bamidele Alphoso was a more civilized man, he did not preach at Shakara but it seemed as if the prayers of the day were directed to Kamal ‘s father. “ all the enemies of my household, telling evil men to visit me-Perish!”, “whether you like it or not victory is mine-prayer in Jesus name”. The members took the prayers up-or the victims of their prayers up seriously. Baba Kamal did not want to die, after church service, my mother and I saw him saying with all sense of fear “lia la, I lan la”-he didn’t stop, he didn’t count how many rounds of lia la he had gone. He didn’t mind the dryness of throat and thought repetition will cause. It was better than death. …. Elections came around the corner and rapidly the discussions changed in the rustic Illuyide. Kamal had decided to contest for councilor. I began to imagine what his government will look like. I and Kamal skipped classes often back then and by the time we were through I still made five credits while Kamal made two. He could hardly comprehend Civics later government, other subjects but he had keen interest in biology. How come he has ambition? Titi gave birth to Idrissu or Idris-So the boy was named. He looked like Kamal from head to foot, like a miniature limited edition of Kamal. His head was like a disfigured football pitch with little grass struggling for lack of moisture. Kamal had all the repercussion of a life of struggle, His eyes were reddish when he smoked and pale brown when he didn’t. His forehead had permanent creases like an Ankara cloth that has lost its true texture. He was muscular and tall and looked older for his age. And if you think Kamal is not handsome take a look at Pa Biteru. The parents of Titi did not come, Shakara church people went and said Amin to Muslim prayers, with a huge scorn written all over their faces. I went as a friend. I was waiting for my Jamb results, Kamal was waiting for his political party friends and chieftains to come. The baby had become bait. After all the naming and the gross extortion by Islamic clerics from Mushin, party chieftains began this elaborate partying. There was a local Fuji band shouting “future councilor” and singing songs of praise with the Islamic psalm. Kamal took a swig from the bottle, he had not seen me, so I went to meet him. He was happy I came and he said he was going to come and pay me a visit at home. He got a lot of money from the ceremony. His party people were the ones that dashed him almost everything for the naming-Including the white flowing Agbada he and Baba Kamal wore. Alfa Biteru had compromised. He said that “we give thanks to God for sparing our lives to witness the naming ( I don’t think they were thankful when the pregnancy was announced) of our grandchild”. They said that It had been appointed by God to happen and that Titi was” a good child” ( After they had called her a prostitute and had placed several curses on her during the announcement. After they had said she was come to destroy a blessed Muslim family). They said a lot of people had lost their sons without a a grandchild as a heir of their heritage but thank God theirs was different (very annoying to those who had lost their son’s lately especially Uncle Shina, who recently lost his 30 year old son). Above all “ in all things, we should give thanks to Allah (SAW) for blessing us. My son is contesting for councillorship, he has shown responsibility by accepting his duties as the father of this child, He will do well in government. He will accept the advise of the elders and take responsibility for his actions”. Biteru had become a good PR man, now that his son is vying for Councilor. He, “Kamal, the councilor” came to visit me. “You are lucky o-I heard you passed Jamb”, I wasn’t in the mood-I was broke. I said “yes”. So what are studying at the University, when you go there? “Political Science” I quipped. “So why not the law you wanted to do, you know you observe a lot” he noted, “yes, I agree,so I had thought that since all the rich children had been bribing their way to study law-No more space for poor man”. We both laughed. The tension seized. I told him I was considering Journalism instead. Kamal said “all those people who know a lot but have no money to show for it-they trouble everybody with their English, but their wives trouble them”. One of them was our tenants-the wife used to beat him well well for not providing for his children. When you get to his apartment, even pure water is scarce, you can only get to read free copies of newspapers” he explained. I changed my mind, I would consider a change of course then-Political Science. Kamal told me he wanted someone “with sweet mouth like me” to convince people especially old classmates of ours, friends of my father and their friends about his baffling ambition. He said “If you do this for me AND TITI, I will forever be grateful”. I asked “what is your manifesto”, I was baffled with the reply. “ nah to make you CD Youth Chairman and share the money come your side”. We agreed that for the campaigning he would pay me a stipend of Five thousand Naira monthly until the day of the election, I was broke I needed it. I was not helping him, I was helping Titi- it was the least I could do to HELP THE POOR GIRL. He was happy that I agreed to work with him and he said he would pay seven thousand weekly instead. I started to regret. I should have asked for seven thousand, perhaps he would have paid me ten thousand. …… My father, Durojaiye Adelakun had passed on when I was eight years old. I was called Jaiyeola by him when I was seven and the name stuck. He left us a lot of debt and a lot of family members who were ready to deal with my mother. What is left of the wealth that is named after me is just an empty two bedroom flat-a prison for my mother especially when one knew what one once had. Lydia, my mother began to count her days not by calendar any more but by mid- week and Sunday services. The church built a makeshift stall for her and in return she signed an unuttered and unwritten agreement to clean, sweep and go to church. My father was a philosopher of some sought, he died “not knowing the lord” like my mother will say. As for me, he was a short uncompleted sentence in the developing paragraph of my life but the little I knew of him; he was a jolly good fellow-full of smiles. So I wasn’t surprised when Mama Jaiye started to scream and call the house down on me for campaigning for Kamal. She said I wanted to kill her and that I wanted to follow the wayward life my father lived. I had learnt one or two things from my community-Women don’t use their knowledge of history for anything positive, they only have it as an arsenal to insult you. Yes my father was a politician, the most important and most influential, only local government chairman that emerged from Iluyide. Mama locked the door and started to call Jesus to come and save her son. But her son was Durojaiye’s son, so I found a way to go out-the window. Days changed clothes, weeks changed panties and the elections came. I was at the University of Lagos, studying Mass Communication when I heard that Iluyide has a new Councilor. It was not Kamal. I checked the local vendor. It truly wasn’t. It was Biyeoku. He was the former council from the other township. They said he was into black market oil trading. I was not myself. My mother had mentioned several times that Biyeoku did not like people from Iluyide and that he and my father were never friends. Biyeoku “Ijaya-Baba”. Area boys called him fear that carried pound sterling around-they called him God and Money and he spent them drinks upon drinks, Marijuana upon Marijuana but never raw cash. So I came home to see how Kamal was doing. He was not sad. I was surprised. I wondered and he explained that he would not have won even if it was God that conducted the elections. I asked what the party was doing to challenge “Beyi beri-beri” a name my father christened him before he passed on to glory. He laughed a very wicked laugh and told me “ you see, politicians like your father are wicked people, they asked me to step down that I was too young but I refused.” Kamal looked away. He continued “ so one day-You know politics is the only job I have, they told me to come to the Local Government to sign an urgent document. I rushed off without bathing that day. As I got close to the palace, I was walayed by hoodlums and the beat me black and blue-look at my scars” he showed me his chest where blunted cutlass had hit him and it was then I began to recognize the roughly sown scar on his head. I was dragged by these thugs to the nearby police station where I was forced to sign a document I couldn’t even read. The pain was too much to read anything. I was like five chapters”. “I thought I would die” he grinned a very existentialist one. Some days after recovering, he was paid a televised courtesy visit by Beyioku and was given 1 million Naira, the party also covered his medical bills. By the time he got home, Beyioku, the generous had given him 15 litres of petrol and 10 litres of kerosene and a lot of food stuffs. He began to wonder. Had Beyioku, his father’s distant cousin changed his ways. Had he come to acknowledge the bond that family share. Kamal Biteru was a fool-somehow, he was street smart but was not power smart. Things started to improve in their lives again with constant support from their fathers cousin. When the Alphonsus realize that things were changing. They came first day, to pay their daughter a visit. Second day, “to play with their in-laws and settle differences” and a week later “to borrow Kerosene for their old stve and their locally made lantern through the divine positioning of their daughter. Pastor Bamidele, now preferably called now, rather than Alphonsus started to discuss politics with his son in-law.

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