Oga Manager: “I am Ronald”

‘Oga sir, dem don carry our motor

“Who ‘carried’ it and where are you”?

Me, I have arrest. Am police station



Hey there, Zibah! here. I am starting a new series- Oga Manager. It records my time as an Operations Manager for a health/lifestyle food and beverage company. I am uncertain of how long this series will run or the frequency of update but its continuity will depend largely on the reception this piece gets from my very thin readership (no thanks to my infamous posting irregularities). Oga Manager is not fiction (heck none of Zibah is). It details an aspect of my life that rarely gets featured here- a saner, matured and ‘professional’ Zibah. Shoot me.

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Ms. Codeine

This post addresses the dangers of forced matchmaking and the importance of ocular sorcery. Don’t sweat it, you will understand soon enough- or not.

Whereas with women there are two breasts, which invites conversation, just as a good behind presents perfect punctuation, something every man knows.

Can’t make sense of the above? Well, neither can I dear, lets move on.

It still is the month of February so we are still on the rather unexciting subject of romanticism. It never occurred to me that Jessie’s promiscuity may have something to do with my lack thereof, or that Kenny is a self-appointed hoe who ‘loyally’ wingmans his way through incalculable flexible thighs and eager hearts while explaining it away as (over)compensation for the absence of my romantic endeavours, simply put, he whores for 2.

Males consider February as the blessed month of fornication. It is also a period where hampers are given out in expectation of favor(s). Friend-zoned males are given temporary status elevation in the hopes of an expensive showing of undying love-in physical manifestation of course. This February, Kenny decided to take on the task of finding me a ‘rewarding’ female thanks to my persistent single status.

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The Black Uniform

Their disposition is as sore as the backside of our children who attend public secondary schools. Their mandate- to sanitize the street and keep the Nigerian citizen safe and pampered, a mandate they carry out through harassment and the occasional bullet hole in necessary body parts. Their justice is available to the highest bidder, earning them a concluding spot in the morning prayers of many households. Introducing you to the black on blacks, the Nigerian Police force.

Keep us from all evil and the clutches of the police today.


I Zibah have been away for almost 2 years. I have grown older (duh!)- I am 25 now and wiser to the ways of women. Beyond the 2 sentences just rendered, I intend to give no further explanation as to the reason of my being away. So carry on, go tell yo’ grandma that Zibah is back with his unique perversions. Handsomer than ever.

Let’s away our attention from my stunning narcissistic indulgence for a tick and return to the elite group of men and women whose stories of heroism and grand achievements are few and far between. I’ve had many run-ins with the law, some plain hilarious; others didn’t have me laughing so deeply.

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I’m a creative person and this thankfully extends to the kitchen. I’m also extremely choosy with food plus I live alone (mostly) so I have had to develop strong culinary skills. I learnt to cook by trial and error and in my current state I can confidently challenge most women; I am like the new breed of men, the kind who don’t get bullied by their wives or girlfriend through food. PS dear future wife, you cannot demand I choose between sex and dinner. I will choose sex, screw you silly then go make myself dinner. If you like remain boneless on the kitchen counter, when you are blinded with hunger and find yourself eating raw tomatoes and pepper you will realize that I – The Zibah will not be bullied.

Dear readers, kindly ignore the rant above; I tend to give in to momentary bouts of ZD (Zibah dementia).


I remember growing up as a child and being excited when mom would announce that we were going to have pancakes for breakfast during the weekend. I would look forward with frenzied anticipation and even manage to not wet the bed in celebration of pancake weekend. Pancakes-golden brown fluffy sweetness shaped like a tennis ball. If pancake was a god, I was its loyal bitch. Years later I had accompanied mom to the store to grab grocery when I had stumbled upon a row of pastry ingredients and my attention had been drawn to the stack of pancake mix. The wrapper had several images of extremely attractive ‘pancakes’ that looked nothing like the balls mom makes. “What wizardry is this?” I had whispered in shock then hurriedly went in search of my mother and pulled her back to the shelf.

“Mom that can’t be pancakes, yours never looks like that” I asked innocently Continue reading

Mrs. Ibironke

Hi, Zibah here. This is the concluding part of the robbery post. It contains screenshots of my initial conversation with Mrs. Ibironke (the current owner of my stolen blackberry device).

It starts with me adding my (her) blackberry PIN on BlackBerry Messenger sometime around midnight, drafting the invite along the line of “Hey boo, miss you. Add me up on BBM”. Remember this ‘Aunty’ is allegedly married and inferring from her pattern of speech, her ‘husband’ seems like the kind of man whose invite would read something like “Ibironke na me. Oya press accept”.

By morning, I noticed that I had a new contact and judging by the time of acceptance it happened few minutes after I sent the invite. She must have been shivering in anticipation at the prospect of a “Nigerian Prince” (if you know what I mean). See rest of conversation below; Continue reading