A romantic poem by me, originally published in January 2017 on my facebook page.
A romantic poem by me, originally published in January 2017 on my facebook page.
R.I.P. (Rest In Pieces, Mazumba)
And so I met Jibbies, my dragonfly informant, against my earlier impulse and advice from friends and family to call Putin.
We got talking and I was affrighted with the treacherous plan folks at Insectopia were plotting against planet earth. He told me of them sending out spy agents across the world to infiltrate and destroy all factories insecticides are being made.
After that, the locusts would then swarm on fields and consume every crop necessary for human survival. Their operation was tagged ‘Humans Race Against Time’. Because according to him, when the full, random but related incidents start to happen and the consequences become dire, humans would eventually fight to save food and any scarce edible item available. Even breadcrumbs!
The roaches have already through their DNA sequencing encoded their nuke resistant cells into other insects. (In case you didn’t know, cockroaches would inherit the world upon a nuclear apocalypse because they are able to withstand extreme radiation exposure due to the fact that they have slower cell cycles, only moulting about once a week. This allows them to escape the radiation fallout relatively unharmed because minimal cells are damaged as they are not dividing and replicating rapidly as human cells do).
Amongst many scary things Jibbies told me the insects were planning against humans, of which a nuclear war between countries was the crowning, I asked WHY? Jibbies shrugged sadly and said “They are angry humans have destroyed their habitat in many ways and having been pushed to the edge of extinction, humans still fumigate and flit their homes and environments.
Then I said, “It’s because them insects spread diseases to us and he replied, “Has any insect ever been convicted or at least indicted for spreading diseases to man like man does to man?” My heart sunk as I remembered Patrick Sawyer.
On that note, he left but warned me to be vigilant as they would come relentlessly at us and only one weapon was effective against them. I tried asking him what weapon was that, but he was long gone.
Well, I later figured it out on my own and surprisingly I’ve always had it. The question now I am asking you my amiable reader is, “If Cockroaches Would Survive A Nuclear Holocaust, What The Hell Is In A Can Of RAID?”
Meanwhile, that is Mozumba, a highly trained assassin that tried sniping me earlier today. Quite a relief, I killed him after much gun-fu between us.
I just feel like all these creatures I’ve been using in stories have ganged up against me…This morning, while on a bike and singing along to a velvety Bobby Rave’s song playing in my earphones, a FLY flew into my mouth FIAAAM! I coughed and coughed to spit it out, but it had already gone past my larynx. I became terrified, wondering what kinda kamikaze mission such vermin had in mind for me.
More frightening was the fact that I Raided a secret agent cockroach back to stone age earlier this morning. I don’t know what to do now, should I call my man Putin to send in his Sputnik to Insectopia in revenge or should I call my informant dragonfly, Jibbies to find out why his folks from Insectopia are trynna dissipate me? Cuz my pectoral muscles are now hurting and my chest seems to be itchy. Oh Goodness, what did I do?
To be continued…
Krrrrrrrrrrr! That was my gate creaking loudly, as I walked out from the kitchen quickly and peered through my room window to see who was opening the gate like he was using it to practice for an endurance sport in the upcoming Rio 2016 Olympics.
I managed to catch a glimpse of him as he scurried away like a squirrel who just happened to discover a mine of nuts. I almost wanted to ask him what the matter was, but he was long gone before my oratory nerves could come into action and I left him and walked back into the kitchen cooking my rice and stew with respect to the poor bird who gave up its life for me so I could eat…Now that’s True Love.
The moment he got into his house, I started hearing the sound of broom sweeping the floor, furniture scratching against the floor as they were being shifted, dust blowing out from his window, but I paid him no mind and continued stirring my pot of stew as the aroma filtered through my kitchen windows into the vast air.
Thank goodness we don’t have bears in Nigeria. Cuz if we did, a lot of bear attacks on humans could have been happening with bears being able to smell food from 32 kilometers…But trust Naija, they’ll purposely start cooking all day so that bears can come and they trap it for food. Over time with thousands of bears killed, the cuddly creatures would manufacture their own gas masks.
Back to the guy sweeping, the next time I looked at his room, I could tell he was sweating from mopping his room because the sweat beads on his face shone more than a mirage on a hot day in Maiduguri, though all days over there are hot.
The next thing I heard was a large and continuous splashing of water as the shower ran endlessly and after what seemed to be hell reaching freezing point, it stopped. Then came the long Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu, Ssssssssssssssss sounds. If not that I knew this guy could be putting on some body spray, I could have thought he was flitting his house, but again it was afternoon and most Nigerians flit houses at night. Almost as if they are giving the middle finger to the insects like “F**k you, now die! Looking for blood to suck eh? Come suck fire.” Lol! Silly insects, they’ll never learn.
After the sprays, I heard him tugging at his generator, trying to pull it from the veranda into the compound and the next thing it was on. By then fuel scarcity hadn’t started so he could still afford putting on gen in the afternoon. I saw as he came out to spread his towel and given the powerful nostrils I got from my mum, I could smell his fragrance being superb. Almost as if on cue, he turned around looked towards my kitchen window, smiling he asked, “Ah Pretty Stan! Na you dey cook this thing? Choi! My Chef.” I wondered, so in all these times, he hadn’t given a thought I could be around with my kitchen window open and demarcated from his apartment by about 35 feet, I responded with a little sigh to show I wasn’t doing anything spectacular and said “Bros na me ooo! I still dey learn naa.”
About 10 minutes later, I heard a knock on the gate, I came out and asked who it was. The knock came again, and before I could utter another word, this my Fresh Guy neighbour ran past me and opened the gate. First came in long, brown slender legs that stopped at the hemline of a lovely mini-skirt and when I looked up and saw the beautiful face, she smiled and greeted me with my neighbour even failing or forgetting to introduce his Highness- Pretty Stan aka Stanley Yayo, I was like “Oh! So this is the reason why all the fast clean-up, bathing and switching on the gen was for?” I shook my head, walked into my crib, served myself a hearty meal and forgot about them.
To Be Continued…
“The product must be one which we would be proud to advertise. A lawyer may be able to defend a murderer whom he knows to be guilty, and a surgeon may be able to operate on a man he dislikes, but professional detachment doesn’t work in advertising. Some measure of personal commitment is required before a copywriter can sell a product.”
Developed & Created the book cover design of ‘The Common Case of Damian Vongcir’ by UK Publishing Writer- Uyi Eguavoen.
After four years of working at Landmark bank, Damian Vongcir was at the height of his career. He was pleased with his job and his life, believing it was taking the path that was meant for it until a single event changed the picture. A banking relationship he had introduced had been used to defraud the government. The bank moved to protect its own reputation and he was to take the fall. All of his past glory and good deeds no longer mattered. He was the villain. While he waited for his fate, his marriage which had been overshadowed by his timeless devotion to his work was nearing the precipice. At that point he began to harbour doubts about the career path he has chosen. By a stroke of fortune his luck turned. He struck a big deal that sent shock waves through the bank. It was like bringing home the Holy Grail and suddenly he was loved again. In the revelry of his accomplishment he fell into a brief moment of reflection from which he found the truth that freed him from all his fears. He must then make an inevitable decision- between work and family, fear and happiness.
Associated News Links: http://www.yohaig.com/newspapers/the-nation/preparing-for-a-new-nigeria/
“Always hold your sales meetings in rooms too small for the audience, even if it means holding them in the WC. ‘Standing room only’ creates an atmosphere of success, as in theatres and restaurants, while a half-empty auditorium smells of failure.”
– Ogilvy on Advertising, p. 172