Thank You For Flying With Me

Dear Subbies and everyone else who read, liked, commented, smiled and enjoyed my posts in 2014, I say a big thank you for having you here with me following my stories and my silly rants.
Sheedart, I have not forgotten the assignment you gave me. Phredoh, Cynthia, Tabitha your comments on the just concluded series – LIES WOMEN TELL were truly encouraging and invaluable. It pleases me to see y’all actually entertained by my writing. To the writer of BEST MAN DUTY, I want to say a big thank you for pushing me to do this series and for holding my hand on those really hard days. And to every ghost reader out there, keep reading but start commenting in 2015.

I love you all and hope to read your comments on my new series starting in 2015 – LIFE of A GIDI BROKEASS.

Thank you all for flying with me on WordPress. Thank you WordPress for keeping this space open for me. Have a wonderful 2015.



Dapo knocks on the double door before him.

“Come in” a voice calls from within.

“Good evening Dele. This is past 5pm. I assume you are less busy now?”

“Yes, yes. Do come in. I was just waiting for you. Lara is returning to Lagos tomorrow or the day after and I want to spend as much time with her as possible” Dele supplies

A grunt meets his announcement. Trying to contain his disapproval, Dele continues.

“I have carefully read everything in your school’s package and feel it is reasonable”

“Really?” Dapo asks surprised

“Yes, really. You will find this check covers your immediate needs – application fee, visa application and interview and registration fees to secure your place in class”

“Oh really!” very surprised

“Yes really. Why do you keep saying ‘really’ as if you expected otherwise?” Dele wondered

“Maybe because the last time I was at your house, you didn’t sound so agreeable.”

“Don’t be ridiculous! What did you expect me to do? Hang my boxers on my head and dance ‘Shoki’! I had to read through everything and be sure it wasn’t that mischievous friend of yours hatchng a hare-brained scheme.

“Ha-ha-ha not ‘shoki’ exactly, probably sekem. Lol” Dapo retorts

“Did you drive? I could drop you off if you want…”

“I drove. I will soon leave my car behind anyway so I might as well drive while am still here” Dapo says

“Yes. That’s right. I would be so glad to cruise your baby all over town, however I want without your pigeon eyes double-checking for scrapes” Dele suggests

“That’s funny because you are a more meticulous driver than I am” he replies as Dele starts to shut down his laptop in a familiar going-home ritual.

“Dele, please don’t tell me you are still using this laptop! I have changed my laptop twice already! You are so old skool” Dapo accuses

“I agree. How else do you think I have maintained a relationship so well? I prefer to describe it as ‘being a staying guy’”

“Err if you say so. You are the boss”


“Hello. Are you on your way already or you want me to come pick you at Sandra’s?”

“Oh! I’ll come myself. Don’t worry about it”

“How about your luggage? Won’t that be a hassle?”

“Don’t worry about it. I will call a taxi. Besides, it is just one piece of luggage and my handbag” Lara replies

“Alright. What time will you get here so I can be expecting you?” Dele asks


“12? I said I wanted to spend the whole of today with you not half the day! You are leaving tomorrow. I want you to myself the whole of today. In fact, am coming over to pick you right now. End of discussion” he hangs up

“Oh shit! I have to leave now. Can you take me back to Sandra’s place like right now please Mofe?” Lara pleads

“Right now? But, I just got you here like 5 minutes ago”
“5 minutes? Nope. More like 30 minutes” Lara replies

“Well, to me, it is like 5 minutes. I barely even started” Mofe sulks

“Not exactly. You started just fine…..remember?” she teases

“hmmn” a deep sigh

“Can we leave now please? I don’t want Dele to get there before me.” she cajoles

“Why are you suddenly in a hurry? You can just tell him you were coming from your Uncle’s place or something. He does know you have an Uncle in Abuja, right?” Mofe pokes at her

“Not now Mofe. Please, let’s just leave” she begins gathering her scattered lipgloss and compact mirror that had spilled when Mofe tackled her immediately she stepped into his sitting room earlier.

She had not been exactly surprised when he did that but she had to pretend that she hadn’t seen it coming. *snort* what real woman is ever taken completely unawares by a man that has the hot pants for her? *snort again* she had only agreed to come here this morning to confirm her suspicions. A naturally curious person, always wanting to be sure her instincts had divined correctly each time. Yup! She had been right again this time but she couldn’t help wondering when this habit would finally put her in trouble. Mofe had called her phone this morning and she was surprised to hear the device ring somewhere in her sleep. Obviously, she had forgot to turn it off last night. Picking his call had just been to humor him because she just had another splendid ‘Malik dream’ which she didn’t want anything to erase just yet.

“Hello?” she breathed into the mouthpiece

“Hey girl! Did I wake you up?” he had asked

“No. The mouse in my pillow did. Whatyathink?” she had bit out

“ha-ha you know you shouldn’t use sarcasm when you are just waking up. It’s actually sexy in my head”

“Mofe, did you call me just to tell me how sexy my sarcasm is?” she retorted

“No. Sorry. I wanted to see if you were not too busy this morning.”

“Why?” wide awake now

“I wanted to come pick you up and show you my new place. You have not been in town since I moved”

“Oh really! Okay. Lemme wear something. Come over in 20” she says

“Great! See you soon”

“Yea. See ya” she chirps rolling out of bed and whistling off-key. She steps into the jacuzzi at the corner of the room, hurriedly washing with the liquid Olay Sandra keeps for guests. She was just toweling dry when she hears Mofe’s trademark long horn.

“Don’t worry, it’s Mofe. I got it” She calls out to Sandra fixing breakfast as she walks out of the room in a terry bathrobe, to open the door for Mofe.

“You seeing Mofe this morning?” Sandra calls from the kitchen

“Funny right?” he smiles crookedly “He just calls me like 15minutes ago inviting me to come and see his new place”

“New place? What new place? Mofe never told me he moved houses!” Sandra returns


“Yes. Really. I’ll ask him when he comes inside”

“Come in. Door is open for you” Lara calls out “Please give me 5 minutes to put something on. Sandra is busy in the kitchen” Lara informs him as soon as he steps through the door. Not waiting for much but a nod from him, she rushes back into the room.

“You got a new place Mofe.” Sandra asks coming into the sitting area

“Oh! Hi Sandra. Good morning” he manages

“You got a new place?” she repeats with a straight face

“Well, you see, it is not exactly a new place per-se, err I think Lara has not been there but you have. So, it is a new place for Lara.” he tries

Scrunching her brows in thought, “So, this your new place is the same place just outside Kubwa?”

“Yes.” pleading with his eyes

“Hmmn. Now, am beginning to get where this is going!” laughing really hard, she makes to return to the kitchen then turns back “You owe me if I keep quiet” waving the wooden spoon in her hand at him

“Yea, yea, sure. Big time. Please just don’t say anything” he begs again

“How much are we talking?” she persists just as the door cracks open and Lara steps outta the door

“What are you two talking about?” she asks looking from one to the other

“I was just asking Mofe to stay for breakfast but it seems he is in a hurry to go and show you his NEW Place. Isn’t it Mofe?” Sandra says

“Yea. We will come back for breakfast” he attempts a flat smile

“Okay. Sandra please leave mine in the microwave. I’ll wolve it when I get back. Shouldn’t take long. Let’s go” turning to catch Mofe staring appreciatively at her short flouncy skirt and sleeves silk shirt.

“What?” she asks

“Nothing. You look good is all” he replies with a smile “can’t I appreciate a fine girl again even if she is my friend?”

“Bring something back o. Preferably, Money” Sandra calls out from the kitchen

“Don’t mind Sandra.” Mofe says pulling Lara towards the door when she tries to ask Sandra what she meant.


Getting to his place, taking in the environment, commenting on the fact that the house seems to have just two other occupants in the compound making a total of three which in her estimate was pretty cool – less people to fraternize with, the better.

“This place looks pretty cool. Just you and two neighbors. Nice!”

“Thank you”

“Does your landlord stay here?” she inquires

“No. He has another house in Asokoro. This is just one of his money-generating investments”

“I like the color and the fact that the flats are not connected to each other and there is still plenty of space for sit outs and small parties”

He laughs “Do you ever see past parties?” he asks amazed “Every space you see, you already see a party going on there and you are not even an Ijebu lady”
“Oh well! You can’t blame me” shrugs “C’mon. Come and show me the inside of your apartment. Am curious” she opens the door to step out of the dry Abuja sun.

That was when he opened the front door, allowed her go in first and while she was ooh-ing and aah-ing over his super-fine drapes, coffee table and chairs, he turned, locked the door, turned her towards him with her mouth open for the next ‘ooh’, he kissed her hard and long as if he was going to suck the ‘aah’ out of her before she gathered enough composure to respond.

“Waaaait! What was that?” she asked

“I was just….”

“I know what you just was. It was a rhetorical question.” she snapped “what I’d like to know however, is why it happened. Why did you kiss me Mofe” he had her full attention now and although she had a good guess already of what his response was going to be, the question begged to be asked. She was not going to be an easy! Waiting for his response, she folded her arms and affected a borderline angry stance.

“I…..I…errr..I like you” he stutters

“*snort obviously or you won’t be kissing me” derisively

“Well, I have just been thinking about you a lot lately and was wondering if you think about me too” he stops waiting to see if she would take the bait

“Continue. Am listening. Don’t come any closer until you finish” she warns when he takes a step forward with his arms making to pull her towards him.

“Lara what do you want me to say! I like you, ok? I’m attracted to you. I was jealous when you said you were going on a date last night and I told myself I had to see you and tell you before you returned to Lagos tomorrow” he finishes

“I see. But why would you be jealous naa?” she teased gently “I have met many of your girls and I don’t complain besides, we have been friends since high school. Why are you suddenly attracted to me?” looking at his face, she realizes he was too far gone in his emotions he won’t be able to give a coherent answer, she decides to let it go for now. She would find those time slices where his guard was down and she could tease him mercilessly with this she told herself

“it’s alright though. We are still cool” she told him rubbing his arms in a soothing gesture while telling herself that was a first and last time not because they were old friends, but because he kissed like an Ibadan boy – like he was going to suck all the sexiness out of her.

He looked at her as she came closer, steeled himself against her dainty touch. He was not sure why he was suddenly reacting to Lara like this. He had been through high school with her when she was a tomboy and had almost no friends because she was self-conscious about her closely cropped hair. He had also been there in University when she had gone wild dating a new guy every fortnight – her criteria had been ‘the guy had to be hot’. He remembered being disgusted at her wildness back then and wondering why she wouldn’t pretend to be a virgin like the other girls instead of flaunting her conquests around campus. It was their second year before they held a conversation after years of waving and only saying ‘hello’ whenever they met on campus. That day, she had come to watch a movie by herself and he had been surprised to see her alone. Usually, she would have a guy there to buy the ticket, the popcorn and drinks while she sat on the side waiting. He would go get her and shoulder the way for her to get into the theatre. That night she had been alone and he was also alone because his date had cancelled on him. Unfortunately, he had gotten the tickets earlier in the day and decided he would watch the movie even if he had to go alone. Jet Li was one of his favorites. She was there for the same movie, he had an extra ticket, why not! He had enjoyed the movie with her company and he was surprised she made such a good movie companion, squirming, gripping his hands and burying her face in his shirt at the right time. He was glad his date had cancelled. Subsequently, he had seen Lara in a different light and would stop for occasional chats when their paths crossed on campus. He never forgot that night.

They were in the kitchen and she was saying how much she liked the way he had managed the space by putting in high shelves since the kitchen was just a few meters across. He moved to open the guest toilet which was off the kitchen before crossing the room to open another door and invited her to look.

“Ohh! This is soooo pretty and cool. Is this your bedroom or a girl’s room?” she teases

“It is mine. Does it look like a girl’s room?” he asked surprised

“Well, the cream and lavender drapes with the lavender rug and bedspread…..” she trails off when he begins to laugh uproariously “What?”

“You think Lavender is feminine only”
“Well…..isn’t it supposed to be?”

“I hate to disillusion you my dear, but when I went to make these purchases, there was no ‘girl’s only’ tucked above the shelf where the fabrics and rug sat. Besides, women do not have absolute monopoly on colors” He announced. Proud she had liked his room

“Do you remember that night we watched that movie together in school?” trying to distract her from an argument on feminism

“Do you remember that was the first time we truly had a conversation on campus?” he was trying to re-introduce the mood

“Errrr I don’t remember” she says screwing up her face in an attempt to recall the memory

“You don’t!” amazed “How can you not? It was the most beautiful movie”

“meh! It was Jet Li” she states flatly

“You don’t like Jet li?”

“Errr Let’s just say I prefer Chow Yun-Fat but that’s not important. Why should I remember that day? Anything special happened?”

“Nothing” disappointed

“Nothing?” looking at him with raised brows “so, why do you look disappointed if it was nothing?”

“Forget it. It’s nothing”

“You keep saying it is nothing but your face and tone contradicts your words. Talk to me. What is it?” she insists coming closer to stand beside him but still surveying the intricate pattern of the drapes “What is it? Tell me” she turns to search his face as if the answer would be there somewhere

Allowing her come an inch closer, he folds her into an embrace as his mouth descends on hers for the second time that morning while he slowly walks her back towards the King-sized bed. He didn’t stop until the back of her calves bumped the bed frame and she stopped trying feebly to push his chest away. Allowing her come up briefly for air and also to decide if she prefers her back sinking into the bed.

“You are choking me” she gasps as soon as he lets her up for air. Looking at him with a sly smile, she told herself ‘and this is why we won’t be repeating this. He does kiss like a butcher’ I need to leave this place she thinks as her phone begins to ring from the sitting room. ‘Thank God’ she thought ‘saved by the phone’.

Mofe continues standing in front of her undecided. This had not gone exactly as he envisaged. He had played it many times in his head and in every scenario, her back had chosen the bed when he allowed her come up for air and now his head keeps ringing repeatedly. ‘What changed?’

“That’s my phone Mofe. I need to see who is calling” she says as she makes to slide past him to the sitting room. He turns and goes with her.


Saturday the 13th of September 2014. It was morning and I was still stretching catlike in bed, gingerly touching my new, hair stylist’s handwork from the night before. This young lady had spent over 5 hours to pick every strand of my hair.

 M just got to her sister’s shop reluctantly opened the door and began to dust and sweep lamenting the previous night’s work and how she had closed shop at a quarter to 12am. She was understandably tired from last night and was not in the mood to open shop. Unfortunately, she had a hair appointment coming in a few minutes and she wanted to be on time.

She was still cleaning when this fat, dark young man walks up to the door giving out tracts. He gives one to the pregnant lady M is lamenting to.

She looks at the address on the tract “Your church too far from my house I no go fit attend una service. No vex o” Pregnant lady declines as politely as she could

He directs his attention to M. She also tries to refuse but he would hear none of it.

“Am a muslim, I don’t go to church so I can’t come. Make I no waste your tract if i collect am because I nor go come. Give another person”

He insists, pushing a bit farther into the already tight shop.

“You must collect am if not I go vex beat u”

“I don’t want. I say i no dey go church” She is starting to raise her voice frustrated that this particular young man isn’t getting her simple message “Go Away”.

“I will be very angry if you don’t collect it”

“I no want ah! na by force? I say I no want abi u wan beat me?”

He moves further into the small 6×6 space effectively putting the pregnant lady behind him and outside the shop.

“leave her now. she says she no want the tract. na by force?” pregnant lady chides from behind him

“If you don’t collect it, I will beat you” he threatens and she must have obviously thought this was a rhetorically idle threat.

Next thing, he rushes towards her, she feints to the side as far as the small cramped space would let her. A chair stops her midway, he grabs at her, pulling her towards him while simultaneously reaching for a pepsi bottle lying on the floor beside the door. He breaks this on her head in a single downward stab.

“yeeee! O pa mi o. o gun mi pa” she screams

Pregnant lady looks in, realizes this was no longer a tete-a-tete, rushes in and tries to pull the mad man off of M, he turns towards her, arm raised, still holding the bottle with a crazed look in his eyes. She decides he has really gone over the bridge and rushes back outside to get help.

From across the same street, another woman comes to try and remove the mad man from astride M. He turns on both women and they flee for dear life. They stand screaming in the street for help which wasn’t coming while M screamed on intermittently from inside the shop like a woman in labor pains.

“ye! O gun mi pa o. ye! Ori mi o” no help forthcoming in the broad daylight

The screams continued for some minutes before she staggered out of the shop with blood running down her arm into her dress from a slash in her wrist. Two fountains spurting from the sides of her head. She looked like one of Van Goh’s painting come to life and walking the streets of Lagos. She was floundering in the street like a fish out of water.

Her assailant stepped out of he shop and looked on calmly as if nothing untoward had happened.

M staggered into the arms of the pregnant lady who was already crying because the girl looked like she would pass out any minute from all the blood loss.

However, they managed to put her on a motorcycle, asking the motorcyclist to take her straight to the police station to lodge a complaint before treatment at the hospital.

The poor girl. She had been stabbed on the both sides of her head, one spot at the back of her head and various slashes on her wrist while trying to protect her neck. A shard of bottle about 3 inches long was removed from the right side of her head at the hospital and it took a while to staunch the flow of blood from the head wounds.

“She don go police station go bring olopa” The mad man was informed

“Make she bring them. I dey wait for here” He calmly responded and also acted true to his words.

When someone promises you saying”I SHALL NOT LEAVE YOU UNTIL YOU ACCEPT JESUS AS YOUR LORD AND PERSONAL SAVIOR”, they just might mean it literally. However, let’s call a spade a spade, there is no compulsion in religion. Forcing someone to accept your spiritual beliefs should be the least of your worries until you are certain you have enough good deeds to get you into heaven already.

Yoruba people say “s’adura kin s’amin, kosi ija ni church”.

hmmmmmn diariz God o!

Why I hate my NEIGHBOR(S)

I live in Festac town, 101 road close to this new annoying hotel – Newton and I hate my neighbors. I know it is not a very nice thing to say about other people, but if you had to live with them too, you would come to share similar compliments for them.

First, allow me to describe the house I live in. 101 rd is a close like all Festac houses got planned in the ’70s and it is somewhere in the nether regions of Festac. It is at the extreme, forgotten, where no one likes to visit. Infact, most people don’t know anyone who lives there. Anyway, I live here but how that came to be is a story for another day. The house I live in, lets call it a compound. The compound has a large parking space that never seems enough for the tenants. There are eight flats in the compound, mostly occupied by Easterners (the crux of the matter).

I and my next door neighbor downstairs are the only westerners. However, I decided he is one of them since his wife is actually an easterner. Aha! I believe he may be the nicest if he actually brought his nose down out of the clouds.

Then, there is this annoying, annoying man that lives directly above me whom I suspect must be into something nasty like ferrying cocaine pellets in his anus. Why else would he have no known job, walk as if he had something up his pants, return home 1am everyday to wake me up with his annoyingly loud generator (as if na me send PHCN work) and throw down used prophylactics behind my window. I dey really wait to treat that guy fu**up(pardon my French). I am usually drawn to people but I dislike pokenosey people and especially when they are men. The first day I met this guy, what he said to me was “are your brothers out? when will they be back?” I wanted to set him straight there and then like “Dude, why not sit here and watch the gate for them! Am not their time-keeper!” Meanwhile, what the silly man really wanted to know was if the said males were my brothers or not. Ridiculousness!

Next thing I knew, he was knocking on my bedroom door early the next morning. I was startled at first until I realized it was him. Then, I was mad. Thirty minutes later, I was in the bathroom and he was at my bedroom door again and am like “Fool! there are two other doors to this apartment. How about you actually find one that isn’t my bedroom door before I slam you with a rape attempt suit!” I bet the wife he squirrelled away somewhere in Europe would very much like to hear about the different ladies he brings home at night. Well, now you can see why we don’t slap hands and hug.

Then, there are the loud boors directly in front of my apartment who are so loud everyday, they wake me up with rap music before my wake-up time. The only consolation I get was a few days ago when an aunt lost some money in the house and was trying to bring down the decking that I was spared rap that morning(not that I don’t play rap music myself though). She went like this “Nobody is going anywhere in this house until I find my $200. Who took my money in this house?” I am not ashamed to say that I was happy at the quiet that morning. Plus, they also play that silly thing men play on their TVs and they yell a lot when they do it too. I think they call those stupid games for grown men PSP/video games.

Next, there are the girls who walk almost naked all over the compound, right to the front of my apartment to spread out and break my clothesline because they broke all the clothesline on their side already. They are annoying too.

There is also the scary-witchlike (don’t ask me what a witch looks like. you know them when you see them) grandma that lives in the apartment above and across from the annoying-generator-at night guy. This woman never goes anywhere (which can’t really be possible). Anyway, she is always there when I am spreading clothes on the line and she doesn’t ever say anything. She just creeps me out staring at the back of my head like she doesn’t approve. I never say ‘hello’ to her because I am not sure she won’t respond with fire from her mouth. That’s how much she scares me.

In addition, there is the apartment that has too many kids in my compound. They have just two boys but I think that is too many kids if you can’t control them and all they do is run around when they are at home, break other people’s stuff and scream a lot. Those kids would annoy you too if you had a bad night and was trying to make up for it during the day or if you were simply trying to get some work done around the house. They are in dire need of a long switching.

I can’t remember who is left out but basically, those are the major irritations in the compound and I have come to the conclusion that living with Easterners must be a very very dense and insane thing to do if you are not an Eastener yourself because their way of life is simply, simply not compatible with mine what with loud rap in the AM, creeping in late at night, knocking on my bedroom door, generators starting up at 2am, kids trying to break whatever stuff you leave outside your apartment, and loud boors being loud.

I have tried my best but I know that I really cant stand these loudness………

Behind the AFCON Victory – South Africa

Hello again. This week i am doing a feature on a friend’s passionate response to Percy Zvomuya’s “Deep read: Nigeria and Burkina Faso – behind the AFCON clash”. Please read Percy’s post here to understand Philip’s response.

Philip Onoriode is a PhD student at the University of Stellenbosch, South Africa.

I could not help but break with my characteristic silence when people pick on you, hate on you or throw suspicious glance at you on account of and by the natal accident of your nationality, Nigerian. I chose to break with silence because such hateful sentiment has found its way from the lowly street stories of idle and, oftentimes, ignorant conversations to the civilized sphere and enlightened space of mainstream media. I am not here to hold a brief for Nigeria so I’m just going to cut the chase and go straight to the concerns that irritate my mind. Reading Percy Zvomuya’s piece, “deep read”, one is forced to question what the essay is actually about. Is this about football, the intrigues, politics and socio-cultural affect it elicits the writer is engaging here? Or is this the vituperation of a deranged hate-peddler. The piece strikes as some delusional drooling of a loutish writer. I feel personally embarrassed that Mail & Guardian would identify with such shallow analysis. What has the wealth of a country and the population of another got to do with football? What has that got to do with winning soccer tournaments? How many world cup finals has the United States won? How many has China, India? And what’s with the reference to South Africa in a game between two other countries in the finals: Nigeria and Burkina Faso? How deep is Mr Zvomuya’s reading in this piece and how much of football analysis is embedded in the essay? In the tournament were South Africa and Nigeria rivals? Did Nigeria lift the trophy at the expense of South Africa? Is not this piece disrespectful to the newly crowned champions? What has football got to do with the poisonous stereotype Percy holds towards a country and its people? Is not this an insult to the spirit of footballing culture? These are my few general queries!
Now to the content of the essay: Mr Zvomuya writes that the rivalry between Nigeria and South Africa is that of population vs. wealth. Whatever that means, we must be careful how we perform nationalism in the public sphere. What wealth is Mr Zvomuya talking about? I should like to see how this wealth he so patriotically, delusively talks about is reflected in his person. How has this wealth reflected in the populace? How has the wealth trickled, percolated to the very dark corners of Percy Zvomuya immediate society, his own extended family to say the least? If Mr Zvomuya was a student of history(contemporary history to ask nothing more from his shallow mind), if he understood the particular nature of capitalism—a knowledge which his essay clearly demonstrates that he lacks—he would know at least two things before penning down such claptrap: first, that the category called nation-state is a completely flawed one, that the border between nation-states is increasingly blurring. And this brings me to the second lesson Percy Zvomuya needs to know: that at this present moment in history there’s no such thing as the wealth of a nation. The wealth in rich nations today among whom are South Africa, Nigeria, Congo, etc., are owned and controlled not by the people represented by their government, but rather and sadly so, by oligarchs whose power and stupendous wealth make them citizens of the world; international plutocrats who run things from across borders and time zones. The so-called richest nation on earth, the United States, is owned (I choose this word intentionally) by a handful of Wall Street executives. The wealth in South Africa Mr Percy Zvomuya so assiduously, in a feat of delusional fervor, ascribes to as a marker of his national snootiness, is created, owned and controlled by a handful of international consortium whose citizenship cuts across continents. I stand to be corrected on this.
On a personal note, I love South Africa, I live in South Africa, I have made wonderful friends and families here (I say this with sincere indebtedness to the wonderful friends and families whose acquaintance I have made and enjoyed here). We must be careful how we fan embers of hatred with the careless stuff we say in our idle indulgence of small talk; the way in which street stories of idle engagement seep into national discourse. To rehash the bigotry that underwrites the rivalry between Nigeria and South Africa is to stand on the wrong side of history. The holocaust, which eventually became one of the greatest tragedies of the twentieth century, was borne out of the poisonous sentiments of a few deranged individuals. Anti-Semitism was some personal private sentiment which found its way into nationalist discourse and the world as we know it has become the worst for it today. The Mail & Guardian is a most respected media organisation in Africa and should not be associated with loutish writers like Percy Zvomuya.

@RAyobola @genetparadise @Oscarpoems @Tamerra_nikol