Time, our best enemy
Ever willing to run
Fast, and even faster
That we cannot lay hold of it
With it comes a cloud of change
That subs our vocabulary for
‘once upon a time’

Once upon a time
You used to come around
We laughed together
And exchanged sorrows too
We exchanged ideas
And learnt from each other
In trying times, you stood by
Providing a shoulder to lean on
A friend, much closer than a brother
You proved to be

Once upon a time
We used to hold hands
And smile at each other
For no particular reason
As though it were involuntary
Like that of a 3-week neonate
Sometimes I whispered in your ears
Even when nobody else was around
Just to re-assure you, though unnecessarily
That I love you

I granted my greatest interview
And you popped the question
O what a feeling
Of Immeasurable ecstasy
Yes was the answer
I won’t forget in a hurry
The exchange of vows and rings
The hug and the long kiss
All I could see in your eyes was bliss
Especially when you said
“Till death do us part”

Time has flown by
And like a stage play
Curtains drawn, end of play
Ours have followed suit
Quite prematurely – a tragic genre
It’s so saddening
How yesterday’s friend
Have become today’s foe

I remember vividly
When we made up differences
With magic words
And settled disputes
Within the walls of our home
The tides soon turned
Shouting and cursing became the order of the day
Ever present was our baton of blame
Passed endlessly
Till it got to neighbours

Now on our separate paths
Cos something has done us part
And I can’t stop to remember
What used to happen
Once upon a time…
When we used to…




I had just spent five minutes in the toilet and it seemed like I just finished watching a UEFA Champions League final with extra time and a world record long penalty shootout session.

My lungs were about to burst. All my abdominal muscles were in full use and my eyes were blood shot and ready to pop out. I did not know if water was pouring from somewhere or the water dripping into the water closet was from my body. Was I crying? Did I have a runny nose? They were insignificant. All I was concerned about was getting out this baby. The harder I pushed, the more defiant it became.

Then I decided to put the blame on God. “O God, why me? Why did you allow this happen?” God must have heard my cry. With one last determination, I stood up, sat again, clenched my fists and teeth, closed my eyes, nodded my head and said to myself, “Yeah bro, you can pull this off.” I breathed in slowly and with a loud exhalation forced out whatever cement it was that I had in my rectum.

Bravo! There’s a crowning – I looked back and I saw it! Oh bless God, He answers prayers. Then with a series of gentle respiration, the whole length was out and I heaved a sigh of relief.
I then understood why some short events are termed “a long story”. I cleaned up and thereafter determined to drink at least two litres of water every day.

Drinking enough clean water is very helpful to the body. It helps in eliminating toxins and body waste, staying safely hydrated and also essential for digestion. If you exercise or live in a hot environment (both of which can make you sweat), you may need to drink a little extra. Also, pregnant and nursing mothers need additional fluid so as to stay hydrated.

So, drink on friends!


You see him everyday
Mostly in the mornings
He’s probably the first to get to work
Maybe because he’s sharp
Or rather cos his job entails only little make-up
Whichever way, he’s an early riser

Counting money is his business
A potential first class accountant
He’s infallible but always right
And even when you think otherwise
He’s quick to point out your ‘mistake’

On the average, he’s a good receptionist
Always willing to welcome you
Though sometimes forcefully
He helps with your baggage – if you have one
All the while, reminding you of his charges

He’s not bad at fashion either
Combining all sorts of designs
You’ve never seen nor thought of
Some other times, he prefers to be a runway model
Showing off wonderful muscles
And more importantly, an array of tattoos
You could call him Mr Nigeria

His communication is awesome
Always adopting Warri’s lingua franca
He has a wonderful voice you can hear clearly
So deep he could sing bass for a church choir
And no matter how dry he is
He always tries to crack jokes
Only that you’ll like to hear them from afar
No thanks to the perfume oozing from his mouth
Due to various alcoholic beverages

He is so rich that he spends only big money
So you set him on the edge
When you disobey his basic rule – ENTER WITH YOUR CHANGE
And he doesn’t mind effing and blinding
Even if you’ve got grey hair in your nostrils
Basically because he’s not a respecter of persons

Now you know who I’m talking about
He’s the Lagos bus conductor
So diligent, an accountant, a receptionist
A model and a superlative multi-tasker
You’ll agree with me that he’s immensely talented

And one more thing
Remember that he didn’t fall from the sky
He also has a family
So enough of the insults and curses
You heap on him and his generations
Instead, the next time you see him drive by
Chauffeured by his boss
Just holla at your boy and say


The only thing Enitan hated more than a cat was the devil himself. So she was perplexed when she heard one mewing behind her window. Looking at her clock, it was 5:21am. She slipped out of her cover cloth and with an act of alacrity grabbed the cudgel lying by her bed. She didn’t know how it got there but she was grateful to whoever had put it there. She ran to the door, flung it open, turned and walked to her window side but she didn’t see any cat. However, she heard its soundU a few metres away. Since she never lets any cat go scot free, she decided to give a chase. The bushy path along which she ran was very narrow and it was the wetness of the grass that made her realize that she didn’t have her slippers on. But she continued doggedly. Soon, the sound became louder and it seemed to be coming from a nearby hut. When she got to the hut, she peeped inside but instead of seeing a cat, she saw a baby in a pool of his blood crying and mumbling the first syllable of her name. She was frightened out of her wits. Her hair stood on end. In a flash, she dropped the stick in her hand, turned back and bolted. Her heels almost touched her back. However, the cry rang louder in her brain and she didn’t seem to find the way home. The farther she ran, the louder the cry. She ran, and ran, and ran…

When she woke up, she was sweating all over and you could hear her heartbeat as clear as if you were using a stethoscope. She was lost for words and all she could do was stare into the darkness. After about a minute, she reached for her lamp and turned it on to check the time. It was 1:57am. She closed her eyes and thanked God it was only a dream.

Years on, she still remembers this night vividly. Not just because she has a sharp memory or that she had had the dream a few more times, but because the tears that rolls down her cheeks each time she remembers the dream comes from her heart. How she wished she could turn back the hands of time. It happened in secondary school, when she decided to exploit her exuberances. She didn’t tread carefully and soon got her feet scalded. She got pregnant. What was she going to tell her father who was a pastor? Moreover she wasn’t sure if the pregnancy belonged to Akin or Ojo. She soon heeded the advice of a friend and had an abortion. Since then, her rows of nightmares started.

Both of her parents died without knowing this secret and even now that she’s married, it’s the one thing she has not told her husband during their years of barrenness. Each time she sees her friends’ children, or carries someone’s baby, unbearable pain strikes her mind and hot tears build up in her heart ready to pour out. She hears the cry of that little child she killed and wished that life gave her a second chance.

Over the years, solitude has been one of her best friends because it affords her an opportunity to weep without disturbing anyone or rather without being disturbed. However, hope has been her other best friend. She believes that one day, her tears will stop flowing, she’ll have children of her own and her nightmares will turn into wonderful dreams. She only wonders how soon this will be.



Someone once said in my hearing that it is much easier to forgive our enemies than it is to forgive our friends. Did I believe this? Not until recently – when a bosom friend of mine did this ‘strong thing’ to me. I was hapless. My jaw dropped. It was written all over my face. Evidently, I was cocooned in an aura of surprise.“Oh no, it shouldn’t have been you.” I can’t remember how many times I made that statement. It became accustomed to my lips that I even started saying it unknowingly.


Every minute, for about a week or so, I kept wishing that it was only a nightmare. The more I wished, the more I realized that I was actually awake. It was a bitter pill to swallow. However, time heals all wound and we soon ironed out our differences but did things remain totally the same again? Had the trust had been broken?


Sincerely, from an outsider’s point of view, what Dayo did was not a big deal as such. I agreed. Anybody could but it would be more understandable if it were someone who did not know my biography. There goes it. I wouldn’t mind if any other person did it. All I was thinking was that he could do worse if he did not even know anything about me. Have you ever been in myshoes? How did you feel? How do you still feel? Have you gotten over it?


Enough of the questions. I have realized overtime that it is not so easy to ‘understand’ when we are not the ones involved. Forgiving other people is not as easy as it is being preached let alone people we never expected. It could be quite devastating but when I remember a particular Yoruba proverb, I just smile. It states, bi a o ba gbagbe oro ano, a o ni r’eni ba sere”. It translates that if we do not forget yesterday’s issues, we lose companions. This is quite true.


A lot of times, we immerse ourselves in the pain a dear one has caused us and we forget the good times we used to share. We forget our experiences through the thick and the thin. We remember not the bond of love that has held us close for a long time. So we decide never to get over it. Sometimes it could be because we simply can’t help it but some other time, it is because of we have a feel of revenge on our minds. We forget that our friends are only human and are not infallible. This realization could be quite painful especially when we imagine if we could have done the same to them.


Dwelling on such memories or keeping them on our minds is like carrying a heavy bag of stones hurled at us on our heads and vowing never to put it down. Only we feel the pain. Why don’t we just throw it away and let it be. It may not be so easy but the earlier we realize that living with such pain is detrimental to our health and even our relationship with others, the better for us.


Dayo and I have since matured and when I remember how much help we have been to each other after the incident, I’m happy we did not part ways over such a ‘trivial’ issue. Why not forgive those friends of yours today. Life continues you know. 


“No, it can’t”. “Yes, it can”. “No, it can’t”. “Yes, it can”. “No, it can’t!” There was an air of finality as she stamped her foot on the ground – or so I thought. This had been going on for minutes and I was glad it had finally ended. Naturally, I do not like arguments but due to my inquisitive nature, I decided to find out ‘what can’ and ‘what can’t’ in the next room.
It turned out that the cause of disagreement was whether money could buy love or not. I realized that this would not end quickly, so I took a seat and calmly observed the debate. Tola argued that love is not a child’s play and is deeper than any deep vein she had ever dissected. She said love is different from lust – which money always attracts and that love is a feeling that overtakes you and makes you ignore unfavorable conditions, including wealth and poverty. She also claimed that unless you have this feeling towards someone, his money can do little or nothing to help the situation.
Chioma would hear none of these. To her, love is a choice and generally, sane people go for the best options. “You choose who to have feelings for and one of the things that can guide your choice is money – good money,” she emphasized. Would any woman refuse a proposal from Bill Gates’ heir? Not even if she thinks thrice! If she says no, that would mean she was bathed with poverty water on the day of her birth.
Chioma concluded by saying that money and love have the same author and are of similar genre and as far as she was concerned, money could buy love. “No, it can’t!” Tola retorted. “Yes, it can”, screamed Chioma… and the shouting continued just when I thought it had all ended.
In my opinion, Chioma was confusing influence with purchase but I did not tell her that anyway. After trying to quell the argument, I left. However, no sooner had I gone than it started again. I did not do any other thing that day. In fact, I did not eat that night because I was still ruminating on whether money could buy love or not.
What do you think?