THE ZIBAH FILES: Memoir of an Otondo (Book 1)


My name is Zibah and I was a CORPER

Ah! It’s finally over (well almost). What am I talking about? NYSC service year of course. Yeah I get, it’s pretty easy to forget that I am a Corper (I forget too). A lot of people ask pointed questions about the relevance of the scheme, me, I’m just glad I’m about done with it. In the course of the scheme, I’ve transformed from a quiet, withdrawn and often self absorbed bloke to an outgoing and chatty one. R-I-G-H-T?

I was posted to the Ministry of Health. Remember how they pulled that lousy stunt of ‘NO POSTING TO PRIVATE INSTITUTIONS’ from my set? So, was pretty glad it was a Ministry and not one of ’em obscure schools in Mushin or Ajegunle where I would have had to teach JSS1 pupils older than my father. I made my way to the Ministry the following day secure in the knowledge that they already had an office with my nameplate on the door. Boy was I wrong, not only did they not give me an office, they bleeping rejected me and told me there was “NO SPACE”, that was after I had enjoyed over four hours of romantic chill-feast with the Sun and I had suffered through a mental image of Zibah in a classroom with 50yearls old men smoking and fornicating while I preached Integrated Science.


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THE ZIBAH FILES: Mademoiselle Soccer Mum (BOOK 2)


My name is Zibah and I was a CORPER….

No, my intro isn’t lame, what were you expecting- “My name is Zibah, I am a werewolf” or I’ve three balls? Get a grip already. Anyway, back to the Zibah Files. If you are just joining me, check out book 1 here, it’s currently a bestseller in New-York (I shit you not). Zibah Files is a memoir detailing my service year to Nigeria. It gives an insight to what a patr…..who am I kidding? Zibah Files is an avenue for me to bitch and moan about how unfair life was to me for about a year while I wore a horrible green and white costume (NYSC sorrow). Hope you enjoy it though, if you don’t, kindly send me a mail so I can respond by forwarding my bank account details for you to deposit a lump sum thus I can comfortably resign from my day hustle and spend more time making subsequent posts interesting.


It was an appalling situation, I just don’t get to be a teacher, form a bobtail club-Climate Change Club (say that in The Joker’s voice style. uh-huh! repeat it) and dress like a soccer mum I just learnt that I also have to work with three different public schools; one school for each day of the week except CDS days and Fridays (weekly meetings at the ministry). They extended me the courtesy of selecting schools of my choice. How thoughtful.


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THE ZIBAH FILES: Dusk (Book 3)


 The Concluding Sequel

 My name is Zibah and I was a CORPER…….

Sorry about the title, I can’t help being overly dramatic, after all I do have my eyes on an Oscar for amazing script-writer or screen writer, I’m yet to work out the nuances in the categories I’m interested in just yet. This is the concluding part of Zibah files (see Zibah file 1 and Zibah file 2) and it promises to be amazingly short. Did I hear u groan? I have been sitting for over two hours on the same spot and I fear my behind will meld with the unforgiving hard concrete if I sit any longer.

I am in a class facing over 256 kids; some are sitting on planks likely fashioned from scraps. The room is stuffy, smells of perspiration and…desperation (I added that for effect…Oscar, remember? Try and keep up) and barely contains the students. It’s a challenge whirling around and illustrating a point on the white-board without my rear brushing the lips of the girl whose make-shift chair is literally on my leg. Did I mention that most of the student’s laps double as a desk?

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You know how wise people say wise stuffs like don’t throw stones at glass houses, don’t cross the road with your ears plugged (like i did here) or look left, right and left (or is it right, left, right and left again? Insert confused face here). Well, Zibah here seems to have issues taking to such wise words.

“lol..that is preposterous. I can’t imagine being in such a position” I say.

Oh that’s me with an ear bud tucked tightly into my ears, rocking Ke$ha’s “Die young”, pinging on my Blackberry Torch device and walking absent mindedly on the road. Its final clearance today for my National Youth Service programme (NYSC). So I’m all decked in a Tom Ford white t-shirt, gucci grey belt, Tommy Hilfiger’s white shoes and a bag hand-made by Donatella Versace specially for my corper wear. Of course I know fashion heavyweights, what do you take me for? My fashionable dressing is to show ’em lazy ladies that can’t function without egunje (bribes) at my assigned Local Government that sticks and stones may break my bones but “….under the sun and in the rain” ain’t got nothing on me (ok that didn’t rhyme so well, I apologise Rihanna) .

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    Word has just reached me that the evil tyrant Jacob has kidnapped my dear Isabella to get at me.

    “J-A-C-O-B” I yell in fury.

    How dare he? I would end him when we stand face-to-face in battle; I would tear down mountains, destroy armies, loot Nigeria (chuckles) to get her back….my heart…my soul…my conscience. If everything fails, I shall unleash the Mayan Curse and destroy the entire universe. Nothing dare exist if I can’t get my dear Bella back. Wait for me my love, I’m coming Bella. I’m trembling from barely suppressed rage as I dispassionately toss the head of the messenger into a corner. I stare blankly into the distant horizon while fearing for my love.

    I allow myself a few minutes respite to get a hold of my warring emotions then I snap into action. Bella needs me. I sheathe my sword, examine my loaded guns and finally secure the juju Baba Sikirat gave me securely to my wrist then I grab my Ghana-must-go sack; this is for Jacob’s head and looting Nigeria’s treasury. My name is…..EDWARD KALLIN and I’m a POLITICIAN.

Sighs! Awesome script huh? Wonder why Hollywood dawdles still, give Zibah an Oscar already. Ok, y’all know I’m as dramatic as an old Volkswagen Beetle being cajoled into operation by a young male trying to get to his first mating session (erm, that didn’t make much sense to me either). I also know the short play above sucks bal*z. At any rate, the Mayan calendar has expired and contrary to popular opinion, the Earth’s still rotating. To the man that built an ark while patiently waiting for the second flooding, the Lawyers that repented in preparation for the end of days, the guys (and ladies) that took a break from daily wanking in hopes that all would be forgiven, to Edward Kallin who is currently locked in battle after losing control of the Mayan Curse etc etc what next?.

I doff my hat at ’em Nigerian politicians, there was no break in transmission. For them, come rain or Mayan, looting must progress. So what was Zibah up to 21-12-12?

It’s pretty easy to forget that Zibah is a Youth Corper (Zibah 1 and Zibah 2). I too forget save for when I have to don my NYSC garment; the white vest, green trouser and no-longer-white-with-a-few-tears tennis shoes. 21-12-12 coincidentally was the date for my PPA (place of Primary Assignment)-Advocacy Department at the Ministry End of the Year gig, I frankly didn’t want to go (may I use this medium to humbly ask the Lagos state to settle my State’s allawii na. Like wtf? I need loose cash). I was expecting the party to be a drag. There are about 10 of us (Corpers) and over 50 older ‘typical’ Ministry staff. I envisaged a war the likes of which Sparta and Troy would have trembled before when it was time for refreshment. I mean no disrespect but the staff could b pretty unruly. Anyway, it ended up a success and I surprisingly had fun. Towards the end of the event, a bowl containing ballot papers were passed around; the papers had numbers and corresponded to different gift items. Mine had the number 63 on it. There was a huge wrapped gift box I had set my eyes on but no thanks to my short-sightedness, I couldn’t make out the number on it. Anyway, by the time numbers were being announced, my very good friend Enye went to retrieve her number 36 item and returned with a crate of egg. Boy did I laugh my head off. I poked her continuously (with my elbow silly), whispered ‘mama hen’ several times and even offered to take turns sitting on ‘em eggs with her and reading stories while waiting for the collective heat from our bums to hatch ‘em.

“Number 63”

I stood up and walked gingerly to the stage with so much air to go retrieve my huge wrapped box. Here 63, this is for you and she bent forward and lifted something behind my big wrapped box. “Take this” and she handed me A CRATE OF EGG. Darn, who would have guessed, Enye would laugh her head off. I stumbled away from the stage, disappointed and a tad bit irritated and stared daggers at the lady that asked me to give her 2 of my eggs. Never bit*h.

Party still in full swing, I left the Ministry. I had a client who had fixed an appointment with me some 30mins ago. I was definitely going be very late as Ikeja traffic is legendary. Oh well I may as well take a detour and grab a bowl of ice-cream at Spurs in Ikeja Mall. At 6pm, I gathered my stuffs; my laptop and tab and just as I made to zip the bag, my tab beeped and Edward Kallin’s face appeared on it while the alarm beeped “Mayan Apocalypse” and my Oscar script looped around the screen. I had created it the day before and set the alarm for 6am. I totally forgot about the world. As I drove, I noticed that most Nigerians on the street were engaged in their various activities. Involved in themselves and oblivious to the fact that it may just be their last day.

I got home, fixed dinner, watched a few hours of threesome porn and fell asleep a few hours later. The world and Jacob can end for all I care and Mayan Curse can go haywire all it likes. I was determined to have a wet dream*cackles*.

So how did you spend 21/12/2012, in fear of the unknown, oblivious, in church or in denial? I would love to know, do share.