Death's Last Call

Idly wondering what the hullabaloo was all about, Keinde angrily flipped through the pages of her book. The minutes were precious, she couldn't afford to miss her deadline.

The noise drew closer still and she could vaguely make out what the crowd was chanting

"Crucify him."

"Burn him."

"Kill him."

"We want Belialas."

Not again she groans. This was a blood thirsty lot, ever ready to kill innocent souls egged on by the brotherhood's apostolates. Who on Earth would prefer Belialas the terrible over whoever was been led to the slaughter? This fella they were burning or stoning or crucifying at this early hour must be one hardened soul.

Since moving to this neighborhood, it had been one lynching or the other. Her family had strongly resisted her relocating to such a neighbourhood they termed as scum. Even the name pointed  out to the hopelessness of it, Dead End Zone. She wondered whether the developers were high on something the day they came up with such name.

Many said the early settlers had had one misfortune or the other befall them and they had hurriedly fled considerably lesser than they had arrived, hence the name.

Whatever the story, Keinde couldn't be bothered. She was here on a mission and was going to see it through. The life of a Journalist was a perilous one, not to talk of that of an investigative journalist.

Word had reached her Organisation of the nefarious activities carried out by the Sect called The Brotherhood and she had been dispatched to go digging.

It was said that they were responsible for most of the disappearances and killings reported on the media and the neighbourhood lived under their shadow.

The crowd's chant intrudes into her thoughts. With a sigh of exasperation, she gets up to close the window but her hand freezes as looking out, she recognises the cause of the crowd's ire. What? It was the young Rabbi, a really charismatic fellow. She had sat in on a few of his teachings and had even interviewed him. He was one of the few who openly rebuked the activities of the brotherhood.

Surely there'd been a mistake? Such a nice man, what could he have done? And the crowd chose him over Belialas? No, something smelt fishy and that's when her journalistic instincts kicked in. She could feel strongly that this man's death was tied to her investigations.

She rushed back to her desk, grabbed her note pad, a pen and tape recorder and rushed out the door. This would make for a good story she thought.

Photo Credit: Google

MMC: An Unusual Worker

When news made the rounds that Ztembe had been sacked, there was a collective gasp of shock. No it couldn't be Ztembe. Ztembe the golden girl, the one who always pulled through with deadlines, the one who always brought in the big bucks. Everyone was in awe of her skills, even the most difficult of clients.

That Ztembe, getting the boot? No, it couldn't be, can't be. Everyone was certain there was a mix up somewhere. Everyone but Ochuko.

Theories were put forward and then discarded; maybe she'd had a fall in with management as Ztembe was one to talk when she ought to be silent.

Maybe Ochuko did finally pull some strings another conspiracy theorist postulated but that was quickly shot down. Ochuko would not do such a thing. Yes, there was bad blood between them but the most he could do was get her transferred to another branch, not outright sacking.

While speculations ran rife, no one bothered to ask the subject matter herself and she was quite enjoying the tall tales her little birds brought back to her.

Ztembe was quite unconcerned about the whole affair, all she thought of was that the day should end already. She had gotten into similar situations like this before, so this for her was a piece of cake and she would make mincemeat out of whoever came for her she had decided. Surprisingly, no one had approached her yet. As if they knew her state of mind.

Meanwhile, the conspiracy theorists were running out of fodder for their isms and nihisms and found themselves in a quandary; to approach or not to approach Ztembe, that was the question.

In another part of the office, Bimpe and Sempei are engaged in intense conversation.

"No, that's not what I heard," Sempei objects. Topic of discussion was Ztembe's sack.

"According to Zubi, you know Zubi now that works in HR?" She continues after Sempei nods in affirmation. "She said that management had re assigned Ztembe to PO and Ztembe turned it down being that, she was overqualified for such a position".

"So is that why they sacked her?" Sempei cuts in.

"Wait na, e never finish. Ztembe told them that instead of her taking up that position, she'd rather be sacked."

"Chei, that girl, that girl. That her mouth too sharp. So wetin kan happen?"

"Na the matter they still dey drag."

"But come o, I hear say she don go hire lawyer, say this tin wey management do dey against labour law. Na true?"

"I don't know o, but You know say Ztembe go school so e fit possible."

"Hmm," Sempei sighs, she looks thoughtful.
"Wetin you dey think?" Her friend asks.

She sighs again, "You know, I just they think am o, many tins wen dey dey do here no good at all. Take for instance, that three years I worked straight, no leave. E good?"

Bimbe has no answer for that. She was the kind of employee that asked no questions, as long as her salary was paid on time. She couldn't understand  Ztembe and her many fights with the management.

What she and most of her colleagues however failed to see was that in the long run, it would pay off not only for Ztembe, but for everyone else.

Photo Credit: wemagazineforwomen, Source

Sunday Special: The House Yonder I

This here is Mr. Grief, he lives at No. 6266 Despondency lane yonder down the hill, off Salvation Street. He had tried several times to be allocated a house on Salvation Street, but his requests were always denied or maliciously thwarted by the vile Mrs Bile who acted as estate manageress.

All his life, Grief had lived on Despondency lane, he was sick and tired of it. He saw how the other folks lived on salvation Street; they were happy and healthy and he wanted that too. From an early age, he knew something wasn't right, like something was missing and what he needed was right on Salvation Street. He could feel the pull strongly.

***

"No, no, you misunderstand me Bile..." Pause
"Uh-huh, exactly..." Another pause.
He was on yet another lengthy phone call with his estate manageress. An outsider looking in would see a shrivelled up figure of a man hunched over a desk phone. He cut a pitiful image, like the world bore heavily on him.

He had grown weary of having to say the same thing over and over without any change. The one sided conversation finally comes to an end and it is with a sigh he returns the phone to its cradle.

He looks out his window, the one looking out on Salvation Street. Oh, how he longed to be there, to be like those happy people, he tries to smile but realises he can't quite pull it off. It's been so long he smiled. He couldn't remember the last time he smiled.

Another world weary sigh escapes from him, how did they manage it, those folks? They laughed and smiled so effortlessly, everything they did was so effortless.

He had lost count how many times he'd sat here wishing for the same thing, a house on Salvation Street, he could just picture it. He feels tired. 

Tomorrow, he thinks, tomorrow, I must go to see the man everyone talked about. The man they called Rabbi.

***To be continued...

Photo Credit: Jesusdaily.com

Babysitting the Phone

It was the height of boredom, the lowest of spirits and the laziest of days that made me sit by my phone. Waiting for it to ring, to beep, to do anything. Just one beep, one sound I silently plead. 

Within, I brace myself, breath held willing for the phone to do something; anything. With the situation I found myself in, I was willing and ready to take anything-or so I thought-as self-validation, to show that I was important, I was loved, I was missed. That I was cherished and highly treasured.

So sat me by the phone all day.
Waiting.
Hoping.
Pleading.
Wishing.

“Ring, ring” cries the phone. This jerks me out of my thoughts - deep, deep thoughts. Finally, I crow with delight, feeling pleased with my wishing skills (my genie’s the best). It is with joy that I pick the call. But wait! Who calls? 

It’s a network call, advertising their decent call tariffs. I sigh and begin the long wait all over. At least, the phone did ring even if it was only my network provider trying to rip me off. Oh well, I was remembered I console myself.

Photo Credit: ijustmetme

My Dream

This is the Nigeria of my dream.

A Nigeria where a pretty young lady can afford a comfortable lifestyle without being labeled an aristo/call girl/runs girl.

A Nigeria where one's lifestyle's choice isn't questioned, where one can stay single for as long as desired without society calling names and making up stories about the reason for that and intimating that something must be wrong with you else you should be hitched by now.

A Nigeria where I can walk to the park without being harassed/tackled by touts and nearly brought down.

A Nigeria where I am free to be me in all my weird glory; a deviant, an anomaly, strange and different and be relatively safe.

A Nigeria where I can freely talk about my faith/beliefs without being labelled a religious bigot/fanatic.

A Nigeria where I can speak grammatically correct and sound English without being labellled an efico/show off/forming.

A Nigeria where I can trust my neighbor to watch my back. 

A Nigeria where the dissenting voices are patiently given listening ears in view of resolving issues

A Nigeria where every naturally endowed fair skinned lady isn’t attributed to skin bleaching toning. Where I make healthy lifestyle choices without being labeled a health fad junkie.

A Nigeria where I prefer my own company without being considered haughty and proud; a snob.

A Nigeria where I am recognized by merit.
Where I can be gainfully employed based on my skills and not by who I know ('connections').

A Nigeria where a young man’s wealth acquisition is attributed to the dividends of hard work and not 'yahoo'/nefarious activities.

A Nigeria where I chose to be my own woman and not called a failure because I have neither husband nor child.

A Nigeria where I can walk down the street poker faced without random strangers asking me to smile because pretty girls ought to smile more.

A Nigeria where friendship(s) with opposite sexes exist without speculations running rife.

A Nigeria where I am not shouted down because my opinions differ from my neighbor’s.        

A Nigeria where I write this down and not have hastily drawn conclusions about my person.

This, is the Nigeria of my dream. 
And then some more.

Photo Credit: Google

Managing Expectations

I have learnt from experience that the only way to avoid been disappointed is to expect nothing from no one. Expectations are breeding grounds for disappointments which in turn produces resentment and bitterness (should they be unmet) in varying degrees depending on how one longed for such expectations to be met. 

Source 

Blues...

Gosh, like Alex I was going to say "what a terrible,  horrible, no good, very bad day," but Les Brown's taught me to refer to such days as character building days :) and of course, I'm not Alex.

I've been bombarded with quite a lot of character building days of late and I'm begging crying, enough already and this is is where I say...wait for it, wait, wait...

"Thank God it's Fridayyy!!!" Whew.

This week was so far from being nice to me abi the love sharing ended with Vals day? No na. Talking about Valentine, it's finally come and gone. How was it? Did anything special? Everyday should be valentine mbok, I'm in dire need of some special loving.

I'm freeeeeee...@least for now, lol

But come to think of it, is this a way the Universe' telling me to get out of the blue collared job and do my own thing? I doubt it.

Universe, is that you? Can you please be more clear and specific as it's not by throwing these challenges my way you'd get me to listen.

I'm so proud of how I've handled them so far though I've had some not so proud moments -tantrum throwing, impulsive crying, sullenness- hmm, in retrospect,  I've not exactly done so well but I'm getting there.

So, how do you handle your "character building days"? On another note, how do you handle difficult persons as well?

Image Credit: Google 

A Nerdy World

This write up's just wow, I don't know what to term it {I leave that to you}. I enjoyed reading it and I feel you just might enjoy it as well especially for the literary minded persons like myself, I'm sure you'd relate with this. 

Reading's everything, I can't emphasise that enough. It's widely said that knowledge is power and one major way of acquiring knowledge's via reading but 'nuff said already, let's get back to that piece; mind, I took the liberty of Sourcemodifying a few things like switching the genders and some books. Enjoy→

Don’t date a woman who reads. She will be interesting. Your romantic dates will be like Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland. Your late night conversation will take hours to end. She will throw ideas and expect you to bounce something back. Brain exercises are not for the lazies.

Don’t date a woman who reads. She is fine spending time on her own. She can entertain herself for hours with or without you. A Brief History of Time might be your worst enemy. You might wonder if she's having an affair with Silas Marner or Harry Potter. You will always have to share her time with books. And, when you work late, she won’t get upset; books will keep her company.

Don’t date a woman who reads. She is hard to please. Ideas and imagination are the fuel to her brain. You will chase the knowledge and become a better version of yourself. She might want to teach you How To Win Friends And Influence People.

Don’t date a woman who reads. She is intelligent. Smart people know to invest in themselves. You will have to keep up and be more than just a hot body or a fine face. Beauty fades. Intelligence will show you the road From Here to Eternity. She will turn you from Good to Great.

Don’t date a woman who reads. She will listen to your thoughts and dreams. She won’t let you sit still; she will make you chase them. It cannot be harder than The Journey To The West. She will tell you that your only limit is you.

Don’t date a woman who reads. She will Think And Grow Rich. She knows reading is always a bargain. She will borrow thousands of people’s brains to turn her vision into reality. The Richest Man In Babylon will be put to shame.

Don’t date a woman who reads. She is a critical thinker. She has seen different opinions through thousands of pages. Reading teaches great analytical skills. Every little challenge will have a strategy session from The Art Of War. If you have a tough decision, she might have the solution. And you will have to learn to accept help from others.

Don’t date a woman who reads. She has a sense of perspective. She knows her problems will never be harder than the people in The Boy in the Striped Pyjamas.

Don’t date a woman who reads. She will always want to try new things. She will always try to get more out of life. For her, life's like an adventure like Around The World In Eighty Days. She will teach you how to Choose Yourself.

Don’t date a woman who reads. Her inner child is more alive. The Age of Innocence will never come to an end. Her curiosity and creativity will survive through school. And she won’t stop asking questions to find The Art Of Happiness.

Don’t date a woman who reads. She can be empathetic. She is used to putting herself in every character’s shoes. She will be there to pick you up when you fall. She knows Attitudes of Gratitude: How to Give and Receive Joy Everyday of Your Life.

Don’t date a woman who reads. She will like to challenge you like A Call To The Wild. She will give you book suggestions that will drive you crazy. She will push you hard to grow, and to share the journey with her. Nothing will be nice and smooth like a bed of roses. But the more you open your mind, the more things you will discover. And the more you read, the more you will realize you know nothing. And you won’t be able to stop chasing new ideas.

Don’t date a woman who reads. You will have a hard time reading her. The key to her heart lies below thousands of books. You will have to read things you don’t like. You will read things that will make you cry. You will read things that make you uncomfortable. That is part of every relationship. It will take real effort to meet her Great Expectations.

Don’t date a woman who reads. Because she is a storyteller. Everything through her eyes will look magical. One day she might tell your children The Greatest Story Never Told.

Never date a woman who reads. She is dangerous. Even if she looks like Jane Eyre, you will always find her sexy. You'll never leave her. Because every moment is like a new story in A Thousand And One Nights. She will be smart enough to see your value. Unlike The Snow Queen, she will treat you well. One day she might tell you that your Love Story was Right From The Beginning.

<And I couldn't resist chipping in this last bit :)>

Never date a woman who reads. She's a genius. She'll tell you that a A Tale of Two Cities is more than a tale and A Series of Unfortunate Events is no barrier to achieving her dreams.

Credit: Cammiphamm

Photo Credit: Google

In the name of Love

Love's in the air.
On cupid's wings it rides.
Everywhere.
Love.
In our sleeping.
In our dreaming.
In our waking hours.
It hovers.
No thanks a little.
To St. Valentine's mettle.

Source
P.S, I totally dig cheesy :)

Yasssss😁, it's that time again, that season, where we get to pull a fast one with the term 'love' - and by 'we', I mean you cos I'm absolutely, completely, undeniably innocent of any wrong doing😜.

It's Valentine's Day and the 'L' word gets to have a comeback, to have its turn in the spotlight. It will be dragged out despite its protests of the timing not being right, bandied around, coerced, cajoled and even threatened - but it won't go extinct I assure you.

Oh poor love, now I understand why you hover, you're anxious. I am too because sadly, much atrocities will be done in your name. However, that doesn't take away from the fact that you're beautiful and worth celebrating. Feb 14th is much touted as lovers' day - though I wonder, why not Nov 6th?- and vigorously celebrated but it shouldn't end there, it ought transcend the limits of a day because it's special.

Love is beyond been tucked away and preserved for specials occasions like that dress you've got hanging in your closet which you've never worn because that special occasion's still to arrive. Every day's a special occasion in case you don't know or you've forgotten. But I digress, love ought to be an everyday act, a conscious effort on our parts. The sad thing however's that it'll be everywhere but where it ought to be, our hearts. For as much as we confess love, we also should try to show it, there's a great divide between confession and expression. But what do I know?

Mopey Happy Valentine's day ya'll😀.

P.P.S, it's all about this

Self love
Source

MMC: Horrible Bosses

What's with bosses and bossiness? I mean, that you're a boss shouldn't translate to being bossy. Or am I missing something here? I'll try not to rant about how my boss was unfair to me today, or how s/he is simply out to draw blood no, that won't do.

I simply want to understand why some of our bosses have become so drunk in power that they feel  the rules don't apply to them forgetting that there's something called karma. Or what about those that feel threatened by their subordinates, call it inferiority complex, I don't know but what I do know is that this bunch will go to great lengths to undermine your efforts at every turn. 

Nothing you do is ever right. Should you dare suggest proactive ways of getting things done, s/he feels you're after their job. Point out loopholes in a planned course of action, you're questioing their authority. Get commended by management, you're kissing ass and an ingrate. Like seriously, what do you do with this set of people? Constructive criticism? Mba, don't go there.

Would it be wrong to ascribe this to our Africanness? You know in this part of the world, we take our titles seriously. That's why you'd hear Chief, Dr., Mr., Duinne. MBA, PhD and anything that hints at being a threat to these elevated titles are rather dealt with swiftly. And my women folk (I hail una o), given that we are prone to displaying acts of pettiness - not that the male folks' excused but we're the ringleaders, lie? - you can imagine how that can be magnified in a position of authority.

Should you have a female boss, hmm, I pity you. I'm beginning to sound like the weeping prophet, lol but it's not all doom. It's just that my experience so far with my women folk has not exactly been spectacular which has also in part, informed my preference to rolling with my soul brothers.

That's not to say all female bosses are commandoes, no. I have friends who can't praise their bosses enough so yes, there are still good bosses out there, but would I be so bold as to pronounce that they outnumber the horrible bosses? Well, no. But I maintain that there are still good bosses out there and I'm one (at least I like to think so).:)

I'm pretty sure I've drawn rather hasty conclusions and my premise(s)' all shades of flawed but hey, what do you expect from a brow beaten worker? So tell me, how's your boss like? Would you consider yourself a horrible boss, yes, no? For what reasons? Share your thoughts.

Photo Credit: Google