How to lose your appetite in 3 seconds

Okro-soup-goatmeatIt was a day not quite like any other day when I popped out of the office with a colleague for lunch at a nearby local restaurant. I was so hungry I could eat a horse (word to my stomach). I settled down to an aromatic bowl of okra soup with a generous ball of pounded yam and I couldn’t have washed my hand any quicker so I could dig in. It was halfway through my gulps of satisfaction and eyes rolling to the back of my head that an over zealous restaurant staff decided to reach over an switch on the air-conditioning close to me. Nothing prepared me for the next thing that happened.

Let’s make this a bit more interesting. Which of the following scenarios took place after the restaurant switched on the air-conditioning:

  1. A baby roach crawled into my okra soup
  2. Sweat from the restaurant staff’s forehead dropped into my pounded yam
  3. A gush of soot hit my face and landed on my entire lunch plate

Now only one of the above scenarios actually took place today and was immediately followed by a thousand apologies and an offer of a replacement meal. The winners get a social media treat courtesy of the Crazy Nigerian so have a go ūüėÄ


Entry #64 – You goofed!

I don’t know why I felt like writing about this…maybe it’s because I feel a few of us might have experienced something similar in the past. People’s reactions vary when they are accused of doing something they didn’t. Some flare up, some argue, some ignore it and some just give in maybe due to fear (if its coming¬†from¬†a huge mo’fo), uncertainty or just plain forgetfulness. I tend to get a lil’ heated when I get accused falsely and I don’t blame anyone who feels the same way.

About 3 weeks ago I popped into a fast-food joint and asked the bored looking sales assistant to give me a Lemonade drink(which was called ‘TEEM’). There were other brands in the refrigerator but I distinctly remember telling to give me TEEM as she hesitated to choose the right one. To my surprise she brought out two lemonade drinks and started to run the till. I looked about me just to make sure I didn’t come with anyone else and then I asked her she gave me 2 drinks instead of 1. She said I told her so!

Somewhere between ‘TEEM’ and opening the fridge this deaf lady heard me say ‘TWO’. And that was how a trivial argument started. She wasn’t planning to charge for 2 drinks but she was adamant that I said I want 2 drinks. I told her she¬†heard what she wanted to hear. Perhaps¬†she wanted one for herself¬†and this was her sly why of¬†trying to get it. She goofed!

Another similar case (of a milder¬†nature) happened yesterday while I was preparing to write¬†a professional exam. I was sitting at a desk¬†marked ‘004’ which was my examination number. A fair, pretty young lad strolled up to me, paused and But then said to me, ‘You’re in my seat’. I didn’t even flinch because of how wrong I knew she was. I kept calm and just asked her (nicely) to show me her examination card. She handed it over and then I read out to her really slowly¬†‘104’. Her embarrassment¬†and scurrying off¬†was¬†enough pleasure for me. She goofed too!

Now I have¬†to reassure¬†any potential (female) readers that I’m not a misogynist and that men goof too. I just¬†didn’t recall¬†any similar examples at the time I wrote this piece!

I LOVE YOU MUM (see! I love women :D)

Entry #62 – Couching Blogger, Hidden Laptop

I feel like I’ve been on the longest holiday ever…away from WordPress, that is. I’ve been focusing more on other aspects of my life in recent weeks and the demon of Procastination has been deterring me from adding new entries to my blog. Well, so much for the demon…I’ve exorcized him like Constantine and finished him off with a roundhouse kick РHaiii ya!

¬†Speaking of movies, I believe I am officially the last person in Lagos to have finally watched Avatar last weekend. I feel so behind with movies. You would think that the Avatar clock on the right-hand side of this blog would imply I had seen the movie at least 5times (fooled you all, hehe!). I must say, it was worth the delay‚Ķthe story line, the action, the cast, the love scene‚Ķok, the love scene could have been better. I believe this movie would have beaten The Blind Side if they had done justice to the Avatar love scene. Yes, if Jake Sully (in human form) made love to Netiri then James Cameron would‚Äôve probably cleaned out the Oscars. I guess the only dilemma would be how to make a cripple mating with an 8ft blue alien with a tail look convincingly romantic. Anyway, the ending leaves more to be desired‚Ķbut it does take care of the ‚Äėmating‚Äô puzzle!

¬†Straight after Avatar (as if I had not already gotten a high enough dosage of Sam Worthington) I decided to watch Clash of the Titans. Quite frankly, the original and even Jason and the Argonauts (2000) were far better. Medusa wasn‚Äôt scary-looking at all. The build-up to Medusa was perfect until I saw how pale she was. She should have looked dark green or dark grey with no pupils or cat eyes and razor sharp teeth ‚Äď imagine waking up next to that in the morning. The killer scorpions were too big (the director should have stuck to about 7ft). The Craken definitely wasn‚Äôt the climax it was ‚Äėcraked‚Äôup to be either. What would it¬†have costed the director just to wait a month or two for Sam‚Äôs hair to grow long a bit? He looked ridiculous as the only guy in the movie who appeared to have stepped back in time (equipped with his pair of Wahl clippers) and sporting a shaven head. That just killed it for me instantly. Where was the romance between Persius and Andromeda? This remake is a good guide on how¬†NOT to do remake. As far as getting my money‚Äôs worth I‚Äôd say that for¬†the ridiculously low cost of the N200/$1 bootleg copy I got (yeah yeah, shame on me), it still wasn‚Äôt worth it – It was just‚Ķer…worthington!

Next time I‚Äôll get some hot buttered popcorn and some wine gums to get me through my movie binge. Rediscovering my laptop has almost been like resuming school after a summer break ‚Äď yep, it kinda sucks. But I do love my leather couch. It‚Äôs stolen the best part of my time from WordPress and is beckoning me now‚Ķ‚Ķ‚ĶMust‚Ķresist‚Ķthe coziness‚Ķ‚ĶNeed to keep typing‚Ķcan‚Äôt go on much longer‚Ķass-to-cushion attraction at 85%…situation critical‚Ķattempting evasive manouvre‚Ķshit! May day! Mayday!…The ass is going down, I repeat, The ass is going down!!! Do you copy??? ūüėÄ

Entry #61 – I’m a slave

I can’t help but feel that way sometimes. Anytime when I feel I’m not in control I just subconciously see those rusty shackles clasped around my wrists and ankles. I feel that way in the morning when I have to put on my suit and tie to go to work in order to earn a salary. I feel that way when I’m in the supermarket when I have to spend money on bread, water, milk and other groceries. I feel that way on the road when I have to obey the traffic lights at night even when there is clearly no oncoming vehicle as far as my eyes can see. I feel that way when I have to study for months just to get a certificate for a professional qualification. I feel that when one of my customers/clients hails fire and brimstone over the phone and I have to keep my cool and manage the situation without being rude. Being a slave is not at all pleasant. Everybody likes freedom. Freedom to be yourself and do what you want to do.

…The only time I don’t particularly mind being a slave is when I’m in the bedroom with my girlfriend – if you’re reading this, dear, I love you ūüėÄ

Entry #58 – My 100th Post!

Phew! It has been a long but exciting ride for me on I’ve learnt a lot from the website and from fellow bloggers. I’ve tapped into a subconscious¬†being within and given it a voice…a home…some fans…some critics…and some friends. I’ve¬†been able to view the visitors that have¬†stumbled upon my blog from all over the world thanks to Feedjit. I’ve been able to see the popularly viewed¬†posts and pages via my Dashboard.¬†This post would¬†have¬†been more¬†memorable if it was posted on the day I got 5000hits on my blog (4714 at the time of this post). Well, the bubbly is cooling in the fridge so that leaves me some time to think about how to make this¬†post a memorable one.

I could recall things I’ve said¬†in the past that¬†I wished I hadn’t: Like telling a girl at Uni¬†that I liked her moustache (it wasn’t overly prominent but since I was drunk at the time it¬†became astonishingly more visible); or I could¬†write about the time I¬†had a face-off with my car (yes, my car) as I stood with¬†the car-remote for close to 10mins pressing the lock button only for the car to lock and unlock simultaneously (what I didn’t realize was that the boot was open and the car in its ‘car-speak’ was trying to tell me ‘Look, you moron! I aint f***ing locking this car until you go and shut¬†my f***ing boot!) ah…good times; that same¬†night I¬†was unfortunate enough to have locked myself out after taking¬†out the trash (the kind of thing that happens to bloggers who get lost in thought).

Or what about the time I was frying an egg and was careless enough not to realize that I¬†put a little too much oil in the pan and¬†the oil was exceedingly hot – the result? Egg drops into the¬†pan, oil¬†splashes out of the pan…and¬†straight into my right eye! Hmm, what were my words at that time…I believe they something like ‘Aaaaaaaaah shiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiit!!! God please…not my eye (washing my eye out frantically in the¬†kitchen sink while my ‘sunny-side up’ was fast becoming a ‘black-hawk down’). Thankfully there were¬†no scars…just tears…of joy (I swear! I can see! I can see!).

And what about the time one of my so-called friends talked me into taking on a 7ft¬†bouncer? The turning point of this¬†particular¬†face-off must have been in the¬†basement-style niteclub¬†when 2 of the bouncer’s mates (beefcakes compared to my two puny mates) arrived and then he went,¬†‘LOCK THE DOOR!’ (need I tell you I made a run¬†for that door like my life depended on it). The whole incident started when the bouncer shoved me while I was distributing promotional flyers for my upcoming club gig (this was about 5 years ago whilst in the¬†UK). I wasn’t hurt by my 2 mates wanted vengeance. In the end, we talked the talk and shortly after we walked the walk (who am I kidding – I ran like hell!); Oh! I almost forgot about my bubbly in the fridge!

I guess this would be as good a time as any to make a toast (raises glass of juice…only because I know you wouldn’t really believe I would open¬†a bottle of MOET¬†to celebrate¬†100posts¬†on my blog).¬†I’d like to make a toast -” To another 100posts in the near future. With¬†any luck this blog will blossom into something bigger than I could ever imagine, and at the very least this blog would remain on the¬†World Wide Web¬†for the Whole Wide World to see long after I make an exit – The Crazy Nigerian will live on…cheers!” ūüėÄ

Entry #57 – Have you sighted a U.B.O?

I was just thinking to myself, ‘I could be sitting next to a blogger and not even know it’. It could be¬†someone sitting next to me in church. It could¬†be a colleague in my office. It could be¬†the¬†driver in the car in front or behind me. It could be just about anybody.¬†

But what if there was some  way of identifying bloggers, maybe a customized wrist-band or something.

The positives are worth considering:

  1. You could become a socialite overnight. Some people still start up conversations with asking about whether or not the other person is on Facebook. Well, you could tell someone your blog address instead and kick-off from there.
  2. You don’t have to worry about giving out your personal phone number to a stranger or deliberately giving out a phony number in the first place. Just be sure to limit the amount of personal info you display on your blog.
  3. You could build up your fanbase through your outdoor interactions and even enjoy the benefits of word-of-mouth.
  4. Who knows if you will¬†stumble upon¬†your future life partner as a result of wearing your blog on your sleeve? You’d certainly enjoy the benefits of mouth-to-mouth ūüėČ
  5. Bloggers would be better connected and able to have¬†‘reunions’ or ‘exclusive¬†real-life blog parties’ and what about real-life awards…not just online awards with no clapping audience or¬†interludes with performing artists. This is a possibilty in the near future but it has to start from somewhere.

This¬†could unite bloggers all over the world. I dare to imagine how many blogs are out there in Blogosphere.¬†Things are becoming so techy and isolated. I guess I¬†want bloggers¬†to be able to be seen outside in the¬†real world and not just on-screen. After all, we are not UBOs (Unidentified Blogging Objects) we are human…aren’t¬†we? (sigh)

Legend of the Lost Follicles

They were curly. They were jet black. They were about 4inches in length when stretched. At the tender age of ten I was quickly able to manipulate their direction by harnessing the power of the Comb; and so, like sheep to a shepherd they obeyed my every command. Back then I could boast having over a billion in my possession. Now I have barely a million left. What happened? Was this some kind of curse? Was this the evil work of my arch-enemy, Genetics? Today the silence is broken as I embark on a quest to discover what really happened to the follicles that once crowned my fertile scalp.

¬†From my second year at primary school I was the Lord of the Afro. I had a few worthy competitors but none could keep theirs as rounded and silky-soft like mine. I understand now why girls spent a long time in the bathrooms. I would admire my curly black locks and think, ‚ÄėMirror Mirror on the wall/ Whose is the fullest fro of them all?‚Äô And my imaginary response from the mirror was, ‚ÄėYo dawg! You sport the meanest, bad-ass, afro on the f***ing planet!‚Äô. However, something went terribly wrong in my sixth year. It was an accident at the barbershop and it was an experience that I will never forget.

After school one fateful day I was escorted by mum to the guillotine. How I wish it was my head that was chopped off – that would have been quick and pretty painless. I sat in the black leather chair and watched as the female hairstylist cleaned the clippers she planned to execute my beloved possession. I remember my mum giving her specific instructions: ‚ÄėMake it low but not too low‚Äô. Ok, perhaps this could be likened to the How long is a piece of string – dilemma. It was a conspiracy and I think my mum and the hairstylist were in on it together. The mirror was so high up that I couldn‚Äôt see what the f*** she was doing. She was having some mindless gossip session with her colleague and I just watched chunks of fluffy black follicles rain down before my eyes‚Ķand the chunks got smaller and smaller until‚Ķmy mum eventually came to my late rescue shouting, ‚ÄėWHAT DID YOU DO TO MY SON?‚Äô I went from Gary Coleman to¬†‘Scary Old-man’¬†in 10mins flat. My mum said it wasn‚Äôt that bad but when I beheld the horror in the mirror I looked pretty much like‚Ķa dick, to be brutally honest. I found one of my dad‚Äôs golf caps and I tried it on to hide my baldness – now I looked like a dick with a cap on.

The next day at school would be a real test of my guts. Could I get away with wearing a cap throughout the day without being confronted by any of the teachers about it? Fat chance. I barely made it through the first hour of Mathematics when the teacher told me to take my cap off. I hesitated. He repeated it and promised to flog the living daylights out of me if I didn’t (and believe me, that guy could flog a dead horse back to life). I slowly reached for my cap and I after I took it off nobody really paid attention to the Long Division Technique on the blackboard. My classmates were jeering and pointing at my perspiring, glowing head. I don’t think I looked at anybody in the face for more than 3seconds that day. I didn’t go for recess, but that didn’t help. Some just stayed back to pick on me even more. I was called all sorts of names. It was the giggling and whispering amongst the girls that really pissed me off. I was a 4ft walking microphone…with arms.

Alas, my tale is far from over. My head would not remain a shiny, opaque crystal ball forever. My hair would grow back like Samson in the bible (and then I‚Äėd push the pillars of my school building apart so that the concrete came crashing down on all those who mocked me!!! – nah, not really). I would regain my crown and join the big leagues again with Soul4Real, Craig Mack, Undercover Brother and The Nutty Professor…

Entry #56 – Hit and run

The (Black) Chery A520

2days ago I was driving back home in my black Chery after work in the evening when I encountered an overzealous motorpsyhcolist motorcyclist  at a roundabout. I was well on my way to detour into my street when the bike decided to cut across at the last minute. It was a very close shave. I braked suddenly and the motorcyclist also swerved to avoid a head-on collision. However he scampered unto a nearby kerb in the process and lost balance Рboth he and his male passenger stumbled to the ground. I, on the otherhand, sped off!

Technically I didn’t hit the bike or its passengers so could this really be called a Hit and Run? I think the appropriate expression would be Brake and Run – that’s what I did. The reason why I ran is that Lagos motorcyclists can be notorious for their guerilla¬†justice i.e.¬†ganging up with other motorcyclists¬†and then outnumbering Poor You. Before you know it, stories are being fabricated against you and everything you say is a lie. Your car could be vandalized and you could even be¬†picked up by LASTMA (these road marshalls are the equivalent of the Gestapo around these parts).

Sincerely speaking, if I had made contact with the bike I would have stopped and parked off the road to attend to the pseudo-casualties. I had the right of way and the bike cut across, jumping a red light.¬†Well, I’m sure the¬†motorcyclist and his passengers were okay. It’s not like they lost balance¬†on the main road and got trampled upon by uncoming motorists.¬†Now that would have been a sight…yikes!

Lagos Life – A guide to choosing stuff

Grab your trolley and lets go shopping around for…stuff in Lagos, Nigeria. I’ll show you the top choices of the¬†average¬†Lagosian but note that the list is not exhaustive.

Mobile phone network/line:

  • MTN
  • Zain
  • Glo
  • Starcomms
  • Visafone

Bank account opening:

  • GTB
  • Zenith
  • UBA
  • First Bank
  • Stanbic IBTC


  • Tasty Fried Chicken
  • Barcelos
  • Nandos
  • Big Treat
  • Mr. Biggs


  • Star
  • Guinness
  • Gulder
  • Heineken
  • Satzenbrau

Malt drinks:

  • Malta Guinness
  • Maltina
  • Amstel Malta
  • Maltex
  • Power Malt

Chinese cuisine:

  • Jade Garden
  • Golden Gate
  • Mr. Wang’s
  • China Town
  • Flamingo

Flat Screen TVs:

  • LG
  • Samsung
  • Sony
  • Phillips
  • Panasonic

Cable/Satellite Television

  • DSTV
  • HiTV
  • MiTV


  • Silverbird (V.I & Yaba)
  • Shoprite
  • City Mall


  • Honda Elemax
  • Tiger
  • Hyundai
  • Mikano
  • Suzuki

Domestic airlines:

  • Virgin Nigeria (soon to be ‘Eagle Flyer’)
  • Aero Contractors
  • Arik
  • Dana Air
  • Chanchangi

Recreational centres:

  • Ikoyi Club
  • Lagos Country Club
  • The Beach (Island)
  • Shoprite, Lekki
  • Metropark

Bars/Nite Clubs:

  • Soul Lounge (News Cafe)
  • Club Towers Prive
  • Black Pearl
  • Bacchus (formerly ‘11.45’)
  • 10 (JJ Okocha’s)

Okay, that’s enough shopping for one day. Let’s proceed to the checkout! Show me the monaaay!!!

Entry #54 – Don’t panic…it’s only a card!

…my examination card, that is. After leaving the examination centre yesterday I could have sworn it left with me and got into my car as I drove home. I was gravely dissappointed when I started looking through my folder close to 15times. I must have checked the ins and outs of my car to the point that a passerby would have thought I was clearly under the influence of some class-A drugs…or that I was looking for a stash of the same.

What can I say? I’m careless. And so the inevitable torture cycle begins:

Anxiety – Which I’ve already pointed out. Accelerated heartbeat, dry mouth, struggling to study for the next exam…reading the words but they’re just not sinking in (because you lost you’re f***ing examination card, that’s why)

Time-travel – Retracing my steps (in my mind) and seeing that card when it last rested between my fingers…yes, I could see myself dropping it on a table as I submitted my answer sheet. The invigilator must be keeping it safe for me…yay! ūüėÄ

Doubt – What if I took it out of the exam centre, carelessly dropped it outside the premises before I zoomed off and its sitting by in an algae-infested gutter somewhere with my passport pic getting a slimy makeover? nay! ūüôĀ

Self-blame – Well there’s no one else to blame but me. It was all my fault, no blonde-girl distraction, no ice-cream truck, and certainly no facebook mobile update. This was pure, unadulterated, crazy nigerian- carelessness!

And after all this what comes next? What other ordeal do I need to go through in order to move on with my life?

Hope?. I hoped I would still be let into the exam centre the following day to do the exam anyway (even though entry without the card is strictly forbidden). I hoped that I could probably bribe one of the invigilators with a stripper (or two) if that was what was required. I hoped I would look in my folder for the 16th time and maybe, just maybe, I would mysteriously find it. I did a lot of hoping…but no, the answer was Prayer, and at precisely 8am today (an hour before the exam) I had an epiphany.

I was staring at the same page of my study pack for the last 20mins (quietly worrying) when something said to me ‘Look again around the passenger’s seat and look carefully this time’. I pulled the lever underneath and pulled the chair forward and at the side of the chair facing the car door, a white half-A4 sized card stuck out. ‘HALLELUJAH! Thank you Lord, God thank you thank you thank you I love you….oh man…whooo!…where’s my phone…Mum, guess what? I found it!…’

Well let’s say that the words I read started to sink in a bit better and now that my exams are over all I can do is sit and wait…ok…sit, blog and wait ūüėČ