The short version of it is that Ogunda(this guy who got booted from the police for somehow money laundering) found his way into Raph Lover’s house wife which led to Raph filing for divorce. Around the same time, Ogunda also started filing for divorce from his wife as well. Anyway, after a few more back and forths in court for Raph Lover and Ogunda, Ogunda was found dead one morning in Raph Lover’s house.
When asked what he thought of the situation, Raph responded by saying:
“There was an existing court order that barred him (Mr Ogunda) from going to any of my premises and it’s unfortunate his death occurred at my premises.”
That’s just gangsta. The guy that was ploughing your wife just died in your house in an obvious murder and your reaction is the legalese version of “Well, that negro shouldna been there in the first place, let alone die there.” Continue reading →
Every few months I come across this exact scenario.
A gorgeous, brilliant, awe-inspiring, jaw-dropping woman will walk her weepy self into a group of “close friends” and share her woes. It’s always something to do with this man she perceives as perfect. Being the skeptic I am, it usually takes me all of 23 seconds to immediately realize this guy is scum. Anyhow, she goes on dreaming about said perfect person until she gets to this line:
Sometime last year, someone had the regrettable idea of inviting me to a Bridal Shower -my first since a midwife slapped my little brown ass. Of course now it’s grown bigger…, and from the looks of things…, darker .., ok.., mutation story for another day.
But yes, someone was crazy enough to invite me for a bridal shower. I say crazy because even the whole idea of weddings doesn’t in the least appeal to me. However, I was interested to know what happens in this all-girl affair. I knew for a fact there wouldn’t be any booze or, how I hoped, male-strippers hen-night style because the bride-to-be was a recently deflowered, staunch Catholic who lived by the book.
So it was that I set off for said Bridal Shower, not forgetting of course to buy a little gift for the bride-to-be. I get there, introduce myself, pour a cup of tea with some cookies and settle into the arrangement of seats.
The protagonist that returns after an incredibly astonishing and enlightening stint in some outside country to find that many of his ways and means are irreconcilable with those in his homeland is a staple in African lit. Almost every writer that belongs to the venerable Ngũgĩ wa Thiong’o-esque guard has had something to say about this character.
I recently bumped into one such protagonist.
Yes, in real life.
He’d been back for about two years when our paths re-crossed. We were in the same class at some point but never really had much of a relationship. Let’s just say he was a gregarious and charismatic mixer—one of those born-to-mesmerize types—and I was, well, I was one of those insufferable and shrinkable low-growing Violas. Continue reading →
As a kid, I had a mild crush on a certain girl that I lived next door to. And by ‘mild crush’ I mean ‘severe obsessive infatuation’. I’d sit on the porch and watch for her when she came home and sit by the window in the morning to see her get in the car and go to school – pathetically smitten was I. One day I mentioned this to a friend who was slightly older and he told me that I should tell her something. So, after weeks of procrastination and internal debate, I told her to meet me behind a certain building that was under construction nearby. Heart beating, palm sweaty, behind a building, I struggled to get the words out. ‘I….I mean…uh…I…’ Deep breath, try again. ‘I really….uh….I…’ OK, maybe you’re saying it wrong. Find another way to say it. ‘Uh…well…do you like me cause I think I like you.’ Finally!
She replied ‘Was that a question?’
‘I guess so.’
‘Then yeah, I guess I do.’
Oh joy. I grinned with 50 teeth, pushing my ears so high up, I’m sure they were touching over my head. Then she pulled a sobering darkness that put an end to my intoxicating moment in the sun.
For those that might recall, the first topic in Form 1 Home Science is “Good Grooming.” So it was that our teacher walked into the class room one hot afternoon and asked “What is Good Grooming?” My hand shot up in the air, eager to make a statement that I was the brightest kid that side of the bunduz. Because I was seated at the front, a shortsighted Mrs. Karimi had no choice but to pick my hand to which I answered “It is the art of choosing a good husband.”
So maybe I wasn’t the sharpest tool in the yard and my mom would probably have abandoned me if she had heard my answer that day. And as the class went ahead to discuss matters hygiene, I pondered on how “grooming” and “groom” had no relation whatsoever. Moving on…
I Am Not Wife Material.
Which is what I told a guy who thought we could settle down, produce a few midgets and grow old together (#marriage: so overrated). The only way to continue reading this post is if you first agree that marriage is Continue reading →