My life is extraordinary. Not because I think so. What reminds me of that every time is my glossy glass uniform. My initials ‘X.O’ are in gold inscription. My makers say I’m ‘Extra Old’ but I know I’m also ‘Xtra-Ordinary’. Others associate me with the hug and kiss reserved for the elites who appreciate my uniqueness. The mere middleclass cannot comprehend my worth. You dare not spill me. I can pay the salaries of peasants a hundred fold. You may call it arrogance but Continue reading
It’s been 3 months of working from home and I think the most popular phrase I’ve heard myself say is ‘Leave it!’. Sometimes I’ve said it in succession so much so that I’m thinking of releasing a cover of the King of Pop’s classic with a chorus like this:
Just leave it! (leave it) Leave it! (leave it)
All she’s gonna do is break it
Sure she’s not working. Sure it’s my plight
If it gets broken who’s gonna buy it?
Just leave it, leave it, leave it…(leave it ×4)
Bless my daughter. She is quite the inquisitive type, always wanting to know how things work, why things light up, and how everything that can fit in her hand tastes. Interestingly enough like me she takes hygiene very seriously – when I use the sanitizer dispenser I rub my palms. When I pour some for her she rubs both palms and then uses one palm to clean her tongue (only she knows where she’s been).
Working from home couldn’t be more adventurous because you don’t know what she’s almost going to damage if you’re not looking. I have a rough daily count of my Leave It chorus:
My phone whilst charging – Once a day
Water dispenser without a cup – Twice a day
TV remote already replaced – More than twice a day
My official laptop – I’ve lost count
Well my consolation with this behaviour is that it’s only a phase and like the Corona virus it will pass very soon 🙂
At most wedding ceremonies I’ve attended in Lagos I was a mere spectator; marveling at such things as the reprimand of poorly clad bridesmaids by the priest, the sometimes risqué shenanigans of the MC or the conversion of the dance area to a bureau de change for showering the newly weds with. But back in London I got my first taste of participation when I was asked by my good friend (and university classmate) to be his Best Man.
Wedding 1: Role – Best Man (Novice)
- I substituted the groom’s shadow for the duration of the wedding ceremony
- I was entrusted with wedding bands which I had no choice of forgetting…or else
- I served as an eye-witness and co-signatory on the marriage certificate
- I had to give a (memorable) toast at the reception without shooting myself in the foot
Wedding 2: Role – Best Man (Fairly experienced)
- I was approached by a colleague at work whom I knew fairly little about
- My selection was based on: looks, availability, and capacity to afford a new suit
- I was armed with handkerchiefs to wipe the sweat off the groom’s face
- I had to pick all the cash thrown at the dancing newly weds for about an hour or so
- I had to give a best man speech…about a guy whom I knew fairly little about
Wedding 3: Role – MC and Groom’s man (Experienced)
- I was the impromptu MC at my younger sister’s traditional wedding ceremony
- I helped usher different veiled women who came to deceive the groom but failed
- Some months later I was a groom’s man at the follow-up white wedding
- I bought yet another custom suit
- As for the entertainment, let’s just say Michael Jackson would have been proud!
Wedding 4: Role – Best Man (Veteran)
- I had to purchase a plane ticket, charter a taxi which drove me over 6 hours to Oz
- I bought yet another custom suit and a pair of shoes.
- Resumed cash collection duties and exchanging small denominations for the large
- I gave the proverbial toast…to an audience unwilling to raise their glasses *hmm…*
And now for the grand finale – who got a refusal at the fifth wedding; the bride or the groom?
The answer is BOTH. It was I who categorically refused to be their best man just so I don’t I become the butt of some MC’s joke (e.g. ‘Wait a minute, weren’t you the best man at the last wedding I performed at?’). I thought to myself, ‘The next wedding I get actively involved in will be my own so help me God.’
Four years down the line this became my reality! My Crazy Nigerian wedding – that’s a post for another day 🙂
Image credits: Partycity.com
Living in Lagos does things to you. Even the most patient of hearts can get stirred up by the antics of inconsiderate human beings. Many Lagosians I’ve come into contact with are not keen on queuing even though it is a civil gesture designed to give some sort of order. How else would a cashier know who is next to be served?
On several occasions I’ve had to literally bite my tongue to avoid hurling harsh comments at the following character profiles:
Pull up to the bumper: These kind of people don’t care that their basket, trolley or crotch keeps bumping into my innocent, unprotected behind. They reserve no apologies and they keep dry humping you until you’ve gotten off the queue. Grace Jones can relate.
One Two Step and Slide: These clowns see you in the queue and rather than go to the back of it they just pretend to be oblivious, stand by your side and slide into you like a DM. There’s nothing clever about this behaviour yet it appears to be common with impatient folk in these parts. Big Shaq probably gets me.
Other Side of the World: What makes these people the most annoying is that they impact everyone in the queue – not just me. They come from the opposite end of the queue and start their own queue because the rest of us have zero sense of direction and chose to buy time not groceries. Everyone gives them the look of death and beckon on the sales attendant to ignore them (or else). KT Tunstall knows what I’m talking about.
If you ever find yourself in a queuing situation anywhere in the world please exercise patience and stay in line till it gets to your turn. Doing otherwise is just a cheap way of telling everyone else you’re a complete asshole.
…and if I didn’t manage to communicate then hopefully you’ve gotten some good soundbites out of this 🙂
As a little child growing up in London I got excited whenever I saw Tony the Tiger on TV promoting the addictive, mouth-watering Kellogg’s Frosted Flakes. The cartoon mascot was legendary – moving was such agility, strength and athletic precision when spinning that blue and white striped cereal bowl on his paw index without spilling a drop of milk. I couldn’t get enough of those ads and they worked like a charm on me – I needed my Kellogg’s fix. My mum didn’t disappoint – she took me through Frosted Flakes, Corn Flakes and Rice Krispies.
Years later when my folks and I relocated to Nigeria I was only fortunate to taste Kellogg’s cereals if my mum traveled to the UK and brought some boxes back. With time some local supermarkets began to stock them but at double the price of Nigerian-made cereals. You can therefore imagine my excitement when I recently heard that Kellogg’s was going to made in Nigeria Whoa! That could only mean great taste at an affordable price. Local competition like Nasco Cornflakes wouldn’t stand a chance. At least that’s what I initially thought.
Analysis of the Kellogg’s Fruit ‘n Fibre experience:
Taste – 2/10 (Like expired, freeze-dried raisins with a side of unsalted Crispix savoury mix – horrible on the tongue and tough to swallow)
Quality – 3/10 (This cereal couldn’t stay crisp in a bowl of ice-cold milk after just 4 seconds – put this slop in your mouth and you’ll be
Packaging – 9/10 (Definitely can’t fault the foil wrapping for suggesting locked-in freshness. I was utterly deceived.
Price – 5/10 (The price was N1,599 or $4.40. I wouldn’t buy this Kellogg’s variety of Made In Nigeria cereals again even if it was $1).
Crazy Nigerian Rating: 4/10
For the record, I’m all for supporting made in Nigeria goods but I’m not going to pretend that the quality is not wack when it actually is. Kellogg’s (made in Britain) is a brand I love and varieties of which I have had no negative experience, in case anyone thought I was trying to throw shades. This is more like constructive criticism – make the cereals with the same quality used to make cereals in the UK or don’t produce sub standard quality in Nigeria.
Off to enjoy some good ol’ granola.
Before This Is Nigeria I first watched the critically acclaimed and controversial viral video of Donald Glover aka Childish Gambino (and NOT Danny Glover’s son),my first thoughts were, ‘What the #%*@!’ ‘Oh my…’ ‘Aaaaaaah’ ‘Did he just…’‘Whoa…shiiiiii’ ‘This N-word is crazy!’ (I’m 50% sure it was in that order). This is America is an inch perfect depiction of the land of the free today, after which Americans (black and white) would hopefully realize they are all slaves to the media.
Switch continents and you may have come across the comical This is Africa version on a much lighter note. But it was only a matter of time before one of our ‘bahd guys’ in Naija produced This is Nigeria.
This video must be watched by EVERY Nigerian in the world repeatedly, so they stay WOKE! It’s not just another music video.
Falz, the talented comedian, actor and award-winning music artist, recently came out with a well-timed copy of Donald Glover’s masterpiece but with a full Naija twist. The recipe for this equally controversial concoction included:
- Killer Fulani herdsmen
- Missing Chibok girls
- SARS harassment
- Corrupt government workers
- Codeine addicts
- Big Brother Distractions
- Yahoo glorification
- Perverted pastors and more…
Whilst I applaud Falz for reaching the #1 Trending spot on Youtube I also want to give him accolades for capturing the desperately deteriorating values of the country. We clearly lack respect for human life and we are also being distracted by less important things rather than asking questions like, ‘What can I do to make my own little contribution to a better Nigeria?’ Instead the reality is like ‘Every man for himself’ and ‘By any means necessary’. This video must be watched by EVERY Nigerian in the world repeatedly, so they stay WOKE! It’s not just another music video. The last time that I saw something this daring by a Nigerian was during the #OccupyNigeria movement a couple of years ago. The crowd that rallied peacefully at Freedom park was a sight to behold, until it sadly ended when the NLC got gate-crashed the party. The T.I.N video is a wake-up call for Nigerians to snap out of the Matrix. To Mr. Falz I say, ‘Wehdone sir!’
Finally, with the T.I.A video set to cross 200 million views, the only video that could possibly eclipse this is one is a replicated video with the lead subject portrayed by a white dude **scampers off** Enjoy the video 🙂
I want to make an appeal to Nigerian artists who insist on using the derogative association of the male genitalia with the innocent, beautiful, healthy fruit – the Banana in their lyrics. The fruit is already awkward enough with its suggestive shape and length. What pains me is the fact that children sing the catchy, banana-filled songs which invade our radiowaves, cable tv and consequently, our eardrums. Nobody is safe.
A banana should only be going into one place – the digestive system. It should not be ‘falling’ on anybody. I shouldn’t have to worry about a child coming up to ask, ‘Uncle Tonwa, what does banana fall on you mean?’ How am I supposed to answer that question folks?
In recent times, cassavas haven’t had a smooth ride either. Food for thought.
I have to admit – I didn’t have a plan when I sped off and left the traffic warden eating my dust (and pocketing my driver’s licence too). I was close to my parent’s house so I drove in and parked my car there. At least the car would be safe from impounding, I thought. But that didn’t stop me from looking at my rear view mirror every five seconds for a police bike on my tail. I met only my sister at home and broke the news (okay, that sounded kinda dramatic – to break news usually sounds like one is about to announce something tragic. I digress). My lil’ sister was in shock to say the least, like she had seen a ghost that was equally shocked that I had driven off without my licence. My explanation still left my sister’s jaw on the floor. She went straight into DLR (Driver’s Licence Retrieval) mode and ran some suggestions by me.
After deliberating for a couple of minutes I even went further to call a friend whom I thought would be able to advise me on what to do, based on his own experiences. He told me to prepare to give ‘something small’. We were ready to put the plan into action. We set out in my car but parked it in a corner about 300 meters away from the traffic warden’s spot. We strolled down towards the junction where the incident happened and then I told my sister to wait behind while I approached the traffic warden who was in the midst of a policeman and some LASTMA officials (the boys in
black yellow). I caught his attention and he came over to deafen me with his broken English (insert action film music here).
‘Why you run na?’ he said with a smirk in his sweaty face.
‘I don’t want to argue. I just want my licence.’
‘No problem. I have already taken it to the station. You can collect it there.’, and he turned away with his nose up in the air.
‘What?’, I couldn’t contain my annoyance.
‘But oga, you suppose bring sumtin.’
‘Bring what? Look, you don’t want to me drag this matter’. I flashed a special ID card to him at this point. ‘I’ll go to the station and collect my licence’. I started to walk away and then he called me.
‘Oga wait. Make we go one side’. We walked a few meters away from his colleagues and got to way my sister was waiting. My sister greeted him and he reciprocated. They exchanged a few ‘pleasantries’ while I frowned (but they didn’t seem to take notice). The traffic warden insisted again that I should bring something (just like my friend said earlier) and that he would get my driver’s licence back for me. With about an hour of my life already wasted I just decided to part with N1,000 (less than $3) and to my surprise he pulled out my driver’s licence! To think that he lied and never actually went to drop it at the station in the first place. And worse still he asked for a bribe which I was forced to heed in order to get my licence….aaaargh! But the ID card sure got him rattled.
My sister and I walked back to my car and drove back home to gist about the whole ordeal. After that incident no one had to tell me to make a photocopy of my licence – that’s what I’ll be offering any official that accosts me on the road. At least that way I can drive off without ever looking back:)
Dear fans, spammers, followers and critics, it is with a deep sense of regret that I hereby announce the sudden and untimely death of www.thecrazynigerian.com due to my
forgetfulness negligence. I was meant to renew my domain subscription sometime late last year and despite several reminders from WordPress I never followed up. It’s in no way a valid excuse (after all, nobody has to remind me to eat breakfast, lunch, dinner and all the junk food in between). In the blogging community my actions should constitute a punishable offence because I’ve successfully managed to confuse my followers who may have wondered why my website is suddenly displaying this:
Luckily enough the clown, who used to own ‘www.crazynigerian.com’ and was charging me hundreds of thousands of Naira to purchase it, obviously must have been negligent too. The moment the site name became available I scooped it up quicker than a Nigerian Street sweeper backing high-speed traffic on Third Mainland Bridge. So for the avoidance of doubt, my new site name and blog address is www.crazynigerian.com
In other news, I’ve been keeping myself busy whilst my former blog got shut down. Here’s a few snapshots of things I’ve been up to:
Well there you have it – my past few months in pictures. The sequel, The Crazy Nigerian Returns is currently in production and promises to live up to readers’ expectations. Here’s a toast to the new blog address and to more funny/crazy articles like before. Bye bye thecrazynigerian.com, hello crazynigerian.com!
Teaser: Taken from the series, Think Like A Man, End up Without One by @Livelytwist with my little contribution…
Let’s just get right down to the critical issue here, thinking. Men think. Women think too much, quote me on that. It’s not a bad thing until a man has had a single thought and moved on, and a woman is still having several thoughts about his single thought, long after.
Take for instance the following scenario. A young man and his girlfriend are enjoying a hearty meal and each other’s company at a fast food restaurant, when a stunning woman walks past. The man may think one of two things: what she’ll look like naked or what she’ll be like in bed. His girlfriend on the other hand may think many things including several variations of what her man was thinking about some seconds ago.
Paranoia could follow her dangerous thought process. His eyes lingered a little too long. He must like her. He said he likes women with assets and hers are bigger. Meanwhile the man has resumed munching his burger. His girlfriend on the other hand, has moved from paranoia to “casual” interrogation—“She’s very attractive isn’t she?” Wise men know this is a trap and the correct answer for peace to reign is, “I only have eyes for you, dear.” But if he loves you, why worry?
When it comes to love, less brain, more heart, or else a woman may just chase that man away. Men dislike wahala jo! – @dcrazynigerian