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 In the course of the scheme, I’ve transformed from a quiet, withdrawn and often self absorbed bloke to an outgoing and chatty one.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.


Continue reading

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.


Continue reading

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?

Continue reading


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) .

Continue reading


‘‘Where are you going to? Come and get your bag searched’’ a gruff voice said. Peeking through my sunglasses at the security official who was apparently talking to me, I walked over to a canopy filled with security officials and dumped my bags before a really pretty policewoman (no offence but this is kinda rare) who asked to see my call-up letter and school identity card. She looked up from the I.D card, passed it to a female colleague and said;

‘‘Na wa o! See what maturity has caused’’ and they both giggled at my picture. Granted the photo used was horrid, I was bone thin in my freshman years and had an egg-shaped head.  Still, couldn’t she have employed a little bit of subtlety?

After the initial luggage search which was carried out verbally (seriously, would I have told them I carried a bomb even if I had one securely fastened to my privates?), I proceeded slowly down the narrow path knowing full well that the next time I would probably walk down this particular path again would be on the passing-out day in three weeks *sighs*. Continue reading