Jesus Christ and Bruce Lee

On this faithful day I was pursued by a beastly dog and was saved by Bruce Lee and Jesus Christ.

Some days are rather unexciting, this day in particular was proving to be a real bummer so I made a firm decision to do something positively engaging rather than wallow in drudgery and porn (kidding!). I was in Lagos Mainland so I decided to take a leisure stroll through a quiet residential part of Surulere. I have been taking leisure strolls usually lasting over an hour for years, overtime I have developed enviable endurance worthy of embarrassing a camel and challenging those Kenyans athletes that only win marathon events at the Olympics.

The weather was perfect; windy. My selected location was serene and upper class. I grabbed my mobile phone, my wallet and ATM card (never leave the house without cash, I learnt the hard way the day I wound up in the great company of our amazing police officers and had only N75 in my pocket. I became intimately familiar with their station’s interior before the end of the day), shoved my feet into my ridiculously pricey slippers (never smile at a pretty sales girl, they are adept at financial witchcraft) and set out.

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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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Hoe Hoe Hoes!!! Merry Christmas

Hoe Hoe Hoes!!! Merry Christmas.

The season of giving and rejoicing. Endeavor to touch a life; a widow somewhere, an orphan here, a suicide bomber there, a heartbroken chic etc. Share the love.

Finally, to those who are closest to your heart, show them how much you love ’em (emphasis on show).

Merry Christmas y’all
Love you plenty *scoops yogurt*

P.S I’m Lactose-intolerant after 9pm Dunno why, I’m hotwired like that so I would answer to the yogurt later today.

P.P.S Brace yourself, 2013 is upon us…*Battle station PEOPLE*

P.P.P.S Hilarious Christmas video. Share

P.P.S.S (sorry na, this is the last one, I promise) Go easy on the fireworks, some of us like it quiet.

Live, Love and Have fun



    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.




Ok, Lagos has got to get a grip. The level of suffering is appallingly appalling (Zibah is allowed to write this kinda English so back off). Recently, Lagos turned most of her inhabitants to Israelites, trekking long distances to their various Promised Lands with the not-so-recent ban of commercial motorcycles (Okadas).

I remember the day after the announcement (wasn’t aware of the development then cos I barely ever watch TV and my blackberry was having a fit even going as far as giving me the finger so no internet access); I was lugging my laptop on my back and heading towards my IT centre for tutorial classes. Poor naïve Zibah stood by the road and waved his arm in a fancy gentlemanly manner at every passing Okada rider. For some reason none of them made to stop or slow down; all I got were glares and puffs of smoke from their irritated motorcycle’s exhaust pipes as they sped off. I was mystified. When I go by public transport, I usually observe commercial bike riders falling over themselves to get passengers so what was with the attitude? I did a double check to ensure I did not have a “Please don’t pick me up” tag clipped to my shirt. No, no tag, I went on to check my fly (I’ve gone peek-a-boo unknowingly several times leaving my pebbles exposed to the gawking of evil eyes), everything checked out. After waving fruitlessly and standing for close to 20minutes under the angry glare of the Nigerian sun with drops of sweat sliding down my drenched back and backing a gradually obesing laptop (the sh*t seemed to be doubling in weight), I dropped all zibah-freshness and started yelling “OKADA, OKADA…..YOU DEY GO” (trust me; I too wasn’t aware I was fluent in Pidgin English *chuckles*). I ended up walking all the way to the centre as apparently none of them were prepared to ‘dey go’. Continue reading