Last year, I was at a fancy restaurant in Port Harcourt, and on the second night, I decided to swallow some Eba, for what do you call a Nigerian with no Eba in their system? Not-a-Nigerian I got my Eba and Oha soup from the buffet table, and settled in to “chop life”. I looked around, and there was no sink, no bowl of water. I signaled a waiter over; he came over, good looking dude. “I need a bowl of water, so I can wash my hands and eat” This young man looked me over and probably thought to himself, “how did scum get in here?” then he said, “We don’t provide water, use the cutleries.” No please, no sorry, no ma’am. I’m pretty young, but it is standard practice for waiters and waitresses to “ma’am” guests. I don’t quite care about it, but this time I noticed the absence. Oh well, who cares? Not me. The young man was looking particularly cocky and waiting for me to say, “Oh, sorry sir, I’m not used to civilization or .” I was having none of that. Eba is not the same wi...
THE TORTOISE AND THE OWAMBE PARRY – A PARODY OF THE FOLKTALE "The Tortoise and the Feast in Heaven" Once upon a time, in the kingdom of the animals, which is in the same area as the kingdom of the humans, but on an underground level, there was a scarcity of food. The king of the animals, who of course is the lion, had spent a lot of the kingdom’s funds on his daughter’s fancy schmancy wedding. His daughter was an ignorant, private-college-flunking, makeup-abusing, designer-clothes-wasting, finstagram-disturbing lioness. Nobody liked the lion’s daughter. Come to think of it, no one liked the lion either. No one really knew why he was king, he just was. Well, in his favour, he did have the loudest roar in the kingdom; and apparently, noise rules. Anyways, the lion was king. The kingdom was broke. The tortoise was hungry. The tortoise, as you probably know, was never one for hard work. The tortoise loved to chill. He liked to kickback, sip sprite, chew on some good...
ON THE CHAMPIONS LEAGUE AND MODERN COUPLES Dear Gentlemen, On behalf of all the enlightened ladies in the universe, I apologize for our inappropriate Champions League behavior over the years. For every second of the match we made you miss, I apologize. For every time we insisted you pull your eyes away from the TV to help us chose an outfit, I am sorry, we’re not exactly the most selfless category of humans. Here’s a drink for that bicycle kick you missed and had to settle for a replay of because we just had to make you laugh at that instagram post. We shall mend our ways; we’ll give it a shot anyway. Dear ladies, Supporting your boo’s football club is not only about wearing a jersey and a bandana; cute, but not enough. I know the game is 90minutes+, but come on! We make them read lines from books they’re not very excited about. We make them stand in the kitchen, frozen; because we want them to stay and keep us company, while touching nothing. We tempt them with del...
