… where sa-tyres never go flat
… where sa-tyres never go flat
If you’re the smooth talker, your job is simple: form alliances, overuse words like “representation” and “inclusivity,” and write long WhatsApp broadcasts nobody will read. If you’re the tyrant, be prepared to threaten, manipulate, and intimidate—yes, even your own campaign team. Either way, nothing must actually change on campus under your administration. That’s the golden rule.
“Guy, ask about me, I dey craze gan o,” the first man would assert. To which the second man would say, “Na where your madness stop, my own begin o!” That should have been my first clue that something was terribly wrong. How could sane people want to be mad so much?
You know who you must avoid? A woman who does not cook or clean every day, who outsources food and cleaning services regularly, who has a career, who is ambitious, or — God forbid — who hires nannies to watch her kids while chasing her dreams and living her life. The icing on the cake would be an unmarried woman, a divorcee, and a feminist who is also a baddie. LOL! This category of women are tagged “bitter, wicked, frustrated witches”.
Once upon a happenstance, the people of the valley where the sun rises were beset by all forms of marginalisation, subjugation, intimidation, exploitation and all other —tions that bode despair. They were treated like strangers — nay, pariahs — in their own country. Who would blame them for seeking to break away and forge a new path? There is a limit to what a people can endure.
The last time I coughed, I looked around to confirm that Banku was not at my back to demand a tax. Anything you do here, you must pay for it. This is how we live in the Bolebaji community. The only thing Banku and his bloodthirsty boys are satisfied you do for free is shedding tears of agony. Tears of joy are not free.
The one that is still paining me is the way they make rejection emails sound so sweet. If you won’t publish my work, simply say, “Sorry, we won’t publish this. Try again next time.” At least I’d get it straight up. But no, some magazines that love drama will first raise your heart rate with the arrival of the email.
There are many types of Fine Girls. We have the Fragile Princess, the Femme Fatale, and the Fancy Feminist—to mention just a few. Before you start assessing where you fit in, I need you to know that being a Fine Girl will cost you. It doesn’t matter what type of Fine Girl you choose to be. Not being a Fine Girl will also cost you; this one is certain. Remember that you are a woman: everything you do or refuse to do in this life will find a way to pull your wig.
Before long, Nigeria, with its wealth of experience in the fine art of fighting corruption will extend its Masterclass to many African countries—because who is better to lead the charge than a seasoned expert in the field?
My grandfather? A jolly old chap he is! But he forbids politics and all government-related palavers. Such things bother him a great deal. Only two things matter to him – pool betting and palm wine. He is simple like that. Anyhow, when I got home and my grandfather pulled me aside to lament how the hardship caused by some imbecile government policies had affected pool betting and the price of palm wine, I knew there was trouble.
Many Nigerians, yourself included, have reached the conclusion that our lives can only truly begin at the airport—one hand clutching our suitcase, the other gripping our visas.
