Archive for February, 2012

Birthday Bed

“Bed bed bed, put you to bed, bed bed bed” was singing beneath my closed mouth as I was anticipating the blissful conjugation of the long arm of the clock to 12 and the short arm to 5. Would have played the music of J Holiday out loud if not for company policy against music: What kinda crap company makes a policy against “Bed”!? Sickening thoughts. My enthusiasm to leave work was as a consequent of the SMS I got earlier. The text message that triggered the holocaust, a message that could make Hitler’s dead body(wherever it is), want to have a one night stand with a Jew of Abrahamic descent. “Honey, I’m waiting for you. The bed is well laid for your birthday *wink*” was the message from my 6 month old wife. I don’t understand why women of these days love to put a man in trouble on the day I was born; I could have jumped from the 11th floor if not for security interventions.

My shirt was soaked in sweat as I lost control of my body. I wasn’t coordinated whatsoever and my mind, soul and body were fixed on the prize. A prize I gave lots of yam tubers and kegs of palmwine to get. If you think its beans, try marrying from the eastern part of Nigeria. Stock market wedding ceremonies. When you have a babe that is a lawyer at the top of her game with a big legal firm, believe me, you will invest.

Exit time came; I rushed down to my car, with the smile of an idiot that just saw food; beaming with glorious incalculable glee. We got married months ago and work has been so hectic for both me and the lil lady holding up my ring in her finger, but through it all, we still try to find time to be naughty and keep the fire burning; it’s not like mine ever died. We seldom have sex, we only make love (whatever you term that to be). I was already picturing the whole scenario in my head and forgot to even reply my boss when he said “Birthday boy, you’ll be working on the report at home right, should I be expecting something tomorrow?”. “Report fire!” I said behind sealed lips.

Started the car engine and turned on the stereo for some inspiration. “O ya Funke, Pakurumo”, I turned it off immediately. What kinda person in my soggy bottom condition would wanna pakurumo? I remembered I had an iPhone (my only phone) and at the stage, I knew my head wasn’t in the right place. Stuck earphones into my head and jailed J Holiday into a prison of replay.

Every Lagosians’ second wife was out again, Lady Traffic. So demoralising, but the song on repeat kept me going. I was feeling the song, didn’t look, almost hit the red Kia Picanto beside me, whose driver shouted “Are you mad?”, to which I replied “Baba e!”, knowing fully well that it was my fault; his car was looking like a glorified boxy Pringles case. It’s a Lagos thing, even when you drive like a moron, you retain the moral stand to curse and abuse. Then salvation came; Danfo nuisance was the cause and it was cleared on time. I fired my 2 year old Honda accord to the maximum. Third Mainland Bridge was unusually free and I knew the deities were on my side. They know what’s up.

My phone rang and it was my wife, I didn’t pick up because I wanted the suspense and fire to stay breathing. I was going to get some dragons to breathe more flame into the fire. What is quality birthday love making without some giant scented candles and some chocolate boxes with a bottle of champagne? Nothing. I stopped by at the store to grab all that, because the house supplies were out. I changed the music to “Spanish eyes” by Backstreet Boys as I smiled to the cashier. How on earth did she know I was on a mission? A mission I signed up for; paid for: For life. She smiled like she could see right through me. Maybe because I was in an obviously unusual hurry.

Got into the corner of the street and I could see the roof of my house at the horizon, my heart skipped a beat and a rush of blood left my head downstream. Got a beep on my phone from the little bride and I knew I was late, but I had more than enough to make it up. Checked the message and it was still enough to start a civil war and turn Hitler impotent. “Pick your phone honey *kill joy* your parents just came in, said they’re here for your birthday”

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Close to a Song

Not in many words, not in many lines, not in a trailer load of gift can I say it well enough. It’s been on my mind for a long time and I’ve never been shy to make it show. The fact that I love you is even known to the soldiers that died in the Trojan War: They saw it coming, they tried fighting it, they died fighting it. I love you – those three words have my life in them.

From the rising of the sun, it’s you I see. The thought of you in my head illuminates my heart more than the sun and moon could ever do. I carry a picture of you here in my heart, and your image is imprinted on my soul. I have tried learning many languages to cast it on stone from my heart but no human tongue has been able to capture its magnitude as much as it burns in my soul.

You are bigger than the sun, you make me shine more than the stars that twinkle at night. Such a lovely sight to behold, you set me free and my spirit feels free. In your eyes, the beauty of the whole world shines and always almost turn me sightless; whenever you stand before the sun and shine I get lost and have no idea why the moon ever has to be. I won’t ever trade your beautiful smile for an Arsenal trophy or the fastest car in the world (tough choice aye?).

I have you smile to warm me, I have your voice to cheer me. And even when you are not around all I have are your memories. But these things have I.

You are the closest thing to a song, you make me wanna laugh and some other times you make me wanna cry. But you constantly put me on a natural high. Who wouldn’t be high, having your words flow like the sweetest notes from the honeycomb. Anytime I’m not around you, I feel like I’ve left something behind, and whenever I’m not looking at you, I feel blind.

You’re more than an angel, you are a human that would make angels drop their jaws. When you in my arms, even if the angels come for me, I’ll tell heaven to wait.

You’re my day and my night and my world. You are my life

Time to Leave your Bobby behind

You’re alive, you’re in love he depletes you.

Woke up this morning and Twitter greeted me with rather depressing news that one of the last reminders that voice has magic is gone. She sings like it flows from her toes all the way through her body and ends up in her lungs. Depressing it is, to know that Michael, Luther and now Whitney is gone while there are musicians scared to step up to the plate and sing some real music. Music in terms of values has been on the decline and I don’t think pakurumo is match for the worst song snore Whitney ever made in her sleep. Not hating on his creativity (or obvious lack of it), but that dude just can’t light up a candle stick with his voice. But, to what I think exactly after hearing the news, Bad Company.

As one of my friends said on twitter, she could have lived longer and she could have died earlier. Imagine what would have happened if she didn’t go into drugs.

Some relationships do not complete you, they deplete you. When rolling with someone doesn’t add positive values to you but takes your remaining virtues and replaces them with vices, you know it’s time to go home. When you have a boyfriend who constantly beats you and tells you he loves you, think again, bashing you doesn’t say the story. She had you at ‘hello’, but that time so dangerously marked the start of your decline, or stagnancy, then you know it’s about time.

Relationships do not necessarily have to be romantic to be termed as toxic; it could be family, work or any form of it. Once it is making you go through hell, then get a taxi. Regardless of how sweet sour it is, if it’s hurting, it’s hurting; end it. Someone brought Whitney into drugs, someone introduced dope and weed to Majek Fashek, relationships that brought about retrogression rather than progress. If someone brings you down consistently, the relationship is toxic; and should know the right time to leave…early. Bear in mind, M.J didn’t know his dear Morphine would do him in.

Stand up and leave your Bobby behind, step out of denial; if it’s making you cry, it’s not worth it. Surround yourself with more positive people, drop a note to yourself, speak to yourself, you can be better than you think. Heal the shame and reaffirm that you are not gonna be drawn down by your relationships. Learn the words “Goodbye, I love you”, love them but leave them. Know the right time to hit the road, you may be in more danger by lurking around negative influences.

It’s valentine week (with no public holidays), rethink your relationships and evaluate which is worth holding on to and which should be gone. If he/she is giving you drugs and screwing your brains out and you claim you love him/her, goodluck to you (goodluck, not good luck). Not blaming B.B entirely for the drugs. Not entirely.

On a final note, R.I.P to all the non-famous people who died today, who lived amazing, hard working lives of their own, who toiled and loved till the very end. We may not know your name, but yes, you are worth the mention. Rest in Peace Whitney Houston.