Where are you from? What language do you speak?

It’s been a minute. Being away from this beloved space for a whole month has made me realize how “busy” I’ve been recently. I’ve missed writing here, but for the love of all I hold dear, I can’t seem to find the creative strength to write a new piece. #writersblock. And so I have dusted this up from my drafts. It’s a post that should have come up sometime in August, but I never got round to it. Old but gold; to me anyway. Enjoy.

When I was about to begin secondary school, father made a rule at home: We were all to speak Igbo and nothing else. We took it for one of those rules that never lasted. It took one brain-resetting knock on the head from Father to an unlucky scapegoat for us to know that this rule had come to stay. Smh #Nigerianparents

In this day and age, one might ask, “what’s the need of learning a language that won’t pay my bills, probably has no value on the global scale, won’t help the situation of the country, won’t help me progress in my career, and probably will not add anything of value to me personally”? A good question, but one which I will not even attempt to answer. I will only try to appeal to your reasoning.

I can only say my point of view, and invite you to chime in. My belief is that when the gazillion languages in the world were created, there was a purpose for it. Language is an intrinsic part  of every culture, and you cannot claim to be a member of a culture when you have no interest in the language.

I find it weird when I see children of people who live abroad speaking Yoruba and Igbo and Hausa fluently, while homegrown children cannot make a complete sentence in their language. The worst part, I have noticed, is that 80% of these “team no native language” children do not even speak English correctly. Shame. It’s a different thing if you have decided to renounce your heritage, after all, there are tons of people in the UK and the US who try everything possible to rid themselves of everything that identifies them as  Nigerian. I have nothing to say about this lot; I’m not proud of the fact but I’m sure they have their reasons.

Say, we’re in a gathering of young people from different parts of the world, and it gets to the social part where we get to introduce ourselves and tell a bit about where we come from. Jean easily introduces himself as French and can speak his language to prove it, Juanita is Spanish and very proud of the fact, easily speaks her native language , Bill is the only native Englishman, but knows a sprinkling of German, Lee is Chinese, and speaks nothing but his native language at home. Last but not the least, comes Obi, who speaks nothing but English. He says he is Nigerian, he answers an Igbo name, has Nigerian parents, but has nothing else that links him to his native land. Okay, maybe I painted that scenario but, now you see what “rootlessness” can mean.

What irks me to no end, is the fact that some parents deliberately prevent their children from learning their native language. Why, in heaven’s name? I remember someone telling me with a proud smirk “I don’t speak Igbo, you know”. I don’t know if she expected me to start jumping for joy. Ngwanu, clap for yasef! 👏👏 There is a pride of association when you belong to  a certain tribe or group of people, because regardless of the ills they are known for, there must be something good about them. My Igbo brothers are known worldwide for being very money smart, even if it means doing illegal stuff. There is almost always an Igbo name when criminals are being listed abroad for crimes like drug peddling. That’s still not enough to blind my eyes to the awesomeness of being an Igboman, knowing my history and culture, and having good background to drive positive change for the future. I remember reading what Adichie wrote on tribe and language (paraphrased) :

I am Nigerian because a white man created Nigeria and gave me that identity. I am black because the white man constructed black to be as different as possible from his white. But I was Igbo before the white man came”.


We have absolutely no reason to feel that our language is inferior to any other language in any way, be it Yoruba, Igbo,  Hausa, or any other Nigerian language. True, maybe the Igbo tribe is made up of little more than 30 million people as against the rest of the billions of other people in the world, but that should be more reason we would want to put the language on the map more boldly. Pride of identity, isn’t it? I am speaking for my own language, in this instance, but I’m aware that this is not an exclusive ill. What we lack is a sense of identity. I get it. Nigeria is plagued by so many problems and no one would want to be associated with such failure when away from home. But, really, when all is said and done, it’s also not cool, losing your identity in a world where people are trying hard to hold on to the shreds of theirs. Your mother tongue is a treasure that should be preserved. According to fountain magazine,

Mother tongue is one of the most powerful tools used to preserve and convey culture and cultural ties. Children who are unaware of their culture, their language and their history will lose confidence in themselves, the family, society and the nation to which they belong and will have no other option than seeking an alternate identity. A child will associate himself with the language and culture he knows best…. Parents should find ways to help their children maintain and improve their mother language without neglecting to give affirmative messages and keeping positive attitudes about other cultures. We must not also forget that we live in a multicultural society and we should teach our children to learn about other cultures and respect them as well.

Note that being fluent in our language and knowledgeable about our culture and history should not in any way affect the value of other cultures in our eyes. I, personally, have a great respect for the richness of the Yoruba traditions, and the pride with which they display them locally and globally. I am not even as fluent as I would like to be in Igbo; a couple weeks ago an elderly client of mine whom I’d come to respect a lot told me a proverb and it took me a few minutes to unscramble it. Made me appreciate the language more, I tell you. One new proverb added to my repertoire.

I also discovered that many parents are quite clueless. I mean, if you grew up never having travelled to your hometown, knowing only bits and pieces of your mother tongue, and being ignorant about the tradition of your own people, it goes without saying, that your children will be even more clueless. At the liaison office of my state here in Lagos some weeks back, I witnessed a complicated situation. A young man(very handsome if I might add)  needed his state of origin certificate, but did  not know the town he came from. I was dumbfounded, to say the least. Even after doing some research and almost trying to trace his ancestry😁, we were stuck. He was raised by a single mother, and over the phone she was almost as clueless as he was. Eventually, after like a hundred phone calls, a relative hundred times removed, arrived and helped to rectify the situation. I was pproud of one thing though. Despite never having been home, he could manageably speak his language. It’s never too late to learn, anyway. First of all, I believe the stereotypes have to be dispelled.

1. Speaking your native language fluently does not in any way make you less sophisticated. I actually find my native language, Igbo, very sexy. Ignore the weirdness, it’s just me. Doesn’t mean I find the phonological interference funny when I hear people speak Igbotic English. Contradictory, no. There’s a balance somewhere in between.

2. Speaking only English or whatever predominant world language, without knowing your own native language, is not a sign of being knowledgeable. You actually get better at other languages when you have a good grip of your own language.

That said, how do we ensure that we don’t raise a bereft generation Z?

1. Making your native language a language of love, rather than a language of strife. I remember that as kids, mother spoke Igbo to us mostly when she was mad at us and wanted to scold us. It made us respond with fear, rather than interest. But after years of travel and meeting people back east who spoke nothing but Igbo to us, we saw it as a way of life. I dream in Igbo and I think in Igbo frequently. Father also had a habit of telling us Igbo folklore, featuring “mbe”, the tortoise, and his cunning ways, and other animals like “agu” the tiger, “odum” the Lion, “enwe” the monkey, and “Enyi” the elephant. Good times😍

2. That brings me to the second point: travelling to your hometown as frequently as possible. I probably learnt more Igbo proverbs eavesdropping on my father’s conversations with his fellow kindred men than I learnt in Igbo class. Following mother to the local markets in the village also helped us learn many colloquial terms we would never have come across on our own.

3. Reading to them in your native language. In the year that father made the law about speaking only Igbo, we began a daily rotation of the Igbo Bible at morning devotion. After stumbling for months over the words, we became much more fluent in reading Igbo than most of our peers. Go dad!

4. In the case that you also do not know the language, learn with them! It’s never too late.

I realize that this article is about as inadequate to exhaust a topic as sensitive as this one, as taking a basket to the stream can be, and so I invite your contributions. I’d love to hear from you.

Nke nwere isi, enweghi okpu; nke nwere okpu, enweghi isi.  An Igbo proverb which means: The one who has a head, has no cap, and the one who has a cap, has no head. –  Author: probably one of my ancestors. 😉 

Sincerely, Chibugo.

Monday Humor : Designer ko, designer ni!

How una dey?  It’s been a while we had a good laugh in here. Lets get right to it.

I was at a gathering of some sort and since we were few in number, we mingled and talked to each other. As usual, to avoid too much talk, I was a watcher. I watched people evaluate themselves to determine who was in the same class as them, so as to know whom to talk to and whom to avoid. I don’t know how people just assume your financial status from how you look. I’ve had friends in my uni days who would scrape the last five thousand Naira they had just to look “among” in any party or get together. Kontinu.

So as the people assessed themselves, I assessed them from my corner. The girls were the most open about it. You walk across the room, and they would evaluate you from head to toe. I could almost see the calculations going on in their heads. The price and quality of your “human” hair, the kind of make up you have on, how you speak, the designer brand of your clothes or shoes or handbag… There’s that thing about public gatherings where there are many females that makes me very uncomfortable.

So I overheard two lovely ladies having a discussion while a third sat close by. It began on a note like “Oh I love your handbag! Where did you get it?”, in a fake accent that almost made me choke on my drink. It moved down to the dress one of them had on. The other one fawned over it so much that I had to look too. It looked shapeless to me😕, but then, what do I know about fashion? When the wearer of the dress finally left, the two of them got down to the real business of dissecting what she wore, bit by bit. They finally got to the dress. The other one said with spite: “I was just watching her tell the lie. My ears couldn’t believe it until she said it the third time. Mogbe! Why people too dey lie naa? I dey there for Yaba early morning market, the day wey she pick that dress for okirika! If not for the fact that she almost fought with another lady because of that dress, I wouldn’t have known her. But because of that fight, I recognize her, and I recognize that dress. Nonsensical nonsense!”


You know when you want to laugh so bad that you have to leave for fear of giving yourself away? 😂😂😂 I had to immediately change positions, using my movement to cover my laughter. Don’t blame me joor. Lagos girls will not kill somebody with forming.

I hope you had a good laugh at the expense of our dear Lagos girls. Biko how much is fuel in your area? Our country is becoming a place where only the rich can survive oh. I can’t think of one thing that hasn’t increased in price this period… Meanwhile don’t let your blood pressure get too high. Its not worth it. Cool off with these two posts here and here. They’re from the earlier days on this blog and if they don’t lighten your mood, I don’t know what will.

If you have any funny stories that aren’t too embarrassing to you, which you’d like to share, send them in an email to bugovidase@gmail.com. Have a productive week!

Three lessons you could learn from basketballer Stephen Curry

You don’t need to know basketball to know Stephen Curry. He’s that popular. Lets learn a bit about his background. Born on March 14 1988 into the home of NBA player Wardell Curry, young Steph began playing as soon as he could but his father seeing his many weaknesses, groomed him to be a better player. This was not enough though, because he had the “disadvantage” of being slighter than most athletes in his game. As a matter of fact he was often overlooked in selection because of this when he was younger . This however spurred him on to perfect the skills that have earned him the name “baby faced assassin” today. So, three years ago, he wasn’t even an all star; four years ago he had chronic ankle problems that threatened his career and kept everyone on edge. How did he then go from that to being NBA’s most valuable player of 2015? Here are some lessons I have gathered from Stephen Curry’s journey, which I think everyone could learn a thing or two from

Be the best version of yourself ;every single day! @stephencurry30 on Instagram

1. Never be regular; exceed your former self: Stephen had his fair share of rejections, especially at the beginning when he was younger. That drove him to look to creative means to work around his lightweight and stature. But that’s one of the things that are great about Steph: his work ethic. He is full of talent, but hear this: he’s always in court long before training begins, and by the time others get in, he would have worked up a sweat and would be ready for whatever. After the session, he would remain behind and wouldn’t leave until he had scored five free throws in a row. If he scored four and missed the fifth, it didn’t qualify. It had to be five in a row. Even in this time of great fame, he spends much of his off season time honing his skills so that he’s in excellent form. Now that’s what I call commitment to improvement. Having a disadvantage turned into a blessing can only come from commitment to making it so. He is in the same league now as much bigger and heavier guys like LeBron James (250 pounds, 6 ft 8, and Kevin Durant, 240 pounds, 6 ft 9 ; both great champions in their own right. On a good day, Stephen weighs 185 pounds and his height is at 6 ft 3. Therefore he knows that every throw matters, every dribble, every back pass, every single move has to be honed to perfection so that he’s a lithe monster on the court.


Like the saying goes “the only room that is never full, is the room for improvement”.

2. When success comes, do not forget what drove you at the beginning: Stephen has always been outspoken about his faith, and used to write 4:13 on his sneakers when he played in his college team. (Philipians 4:13 –  I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me). When he got a deal with Under Armour who makes his shoes now, he had it printed on it. After every winning shot, he often beats his chest and points to heaven, as a reminder that he’s playing for God. He’s 28, but is married to his college sweetheart, Ayesha Curry, whom he met in church years ago, and they have two daughters. How does he do it? You may ask. His value system. I don’t know the details of how he balances pro basketball with a family, but he’s doing it, and doing great at it! He has an example in his father Dell, who played pro basketball for 16 seasons but was blessed with a family that stayed together. He says he wasn’t afraid to take the plunge! That’s what faith and a good family will do for you. I believe it would be the same even if he wasn’t famous. Do not forget what drove you at the beginning.


3. Give back to society: Stephen has been involved with the UN’s nothing but nets campaign, which they use as a platform to provide aid to countries still battling with malaria. Stephen pledged that for every three pointer he makes, he would donate three nets to the cause. He is involved in many other charities. We could learn from this, since here in Nigeria, it seems to be the unspoken rule to succeed alone. You can read more about Stephen Curry here, here, and Here.

I hope this inspires you to go beyond the discouragements and obstacles. Number one lesson is probably the most important advice us young people need today. Here’s to the success of the dreams we’re working hard at. May we all succeed.

Monday Humor: I Did A Bad Thing And I’m Not Remorseful!


You see this job of mine, it requires a lot of moving around. I am constantly prospecting and so I never stay in one place. Imagine someone like me, who is content to just sit indoors and read for days, becoming such a “crayfish” on the daily!

I don’t have a car. That means I spend half of my working hours jumping from bus to keke, bus to Okada (motorbike) or bus to bus. Sometimes I get fed up and just trek if I’m familiar with the environment. Don’t be surprised if you one day see me walking down your road like a soldier on the way to battle, with my earphones on(probably listening to hiphop or rap) and my steps very long. Hehe. I’m just saying.

So, like I was saying before I deviated, I am paid to waka waka on a daily basis. Its much more than that but let me not bore you with details. I have learnt how to deal with all kinds of people on the street. To be honest, the streets are strict, man. You need a sixth and seventh sense to outsmart the people you will meet there. A notorious breed are the drivers and conductors. These guys are the kings of the streets! Without them, the vast majority of carless Lagosians would be left helpless. They know this, and they are quick to remind anyone of it. Some days, one could be lucky not to come across anyone of them that would wear your nerves down to the last thread. But lets be real. If you go a day using Lagos public transport, and you are not shoved, insulted or at the very least, treated shoddily by them (especially the conductors! 😤) then you better offer sacrifices to amadioha when you get home. I kid, I kid.

That was how I entered this danfo  bus oh. Omo, it seems the conductor’s wife beat him up that morning because he was in such a sour mood. When I wanted to enter, he insulted me for being too slow. When I entered, he insulted the guy beside me for giving him a 500 naira note for a trip of 100 naira. When I was to get down, he insulted me and my ancestors for not remembering to yell out my bus stop because I was “pressing phone”. I alighted, feeling too tired to care. There was no traffic but my buttocks were tired of the hard wooden bus seats. Then I realized something. I was still holding my 100 naira note and the bus had sped off!


The conductor had insulted away his payment! I would have felt bad on a different day but that day, I was happy. Kai! You can’t imagine how happy I was. I immediately hailed the FanMilk guy on his bicycle and bought my SuperYogo tetrapak. (Yo, If you grew up in Lagos and you don’t know Superyogo, tell your parents to go and buy you a real childhood). I felt no remorse whatsoever. In fact, that was the best tasting yogurt I had had in a veeeeeery long time.

Nonsense and ingredients!

Happy Easter dear friends. As Jesus rose, that is how every good thing that had died in your life will start to rise now now now. Kiakia, ozigbo ozigbo! No be play o. Believe Jesus, and believe me. 😁. Ngwa, my nsala soup haff done. Eees time toh go. Till my next post, Have a stupendously  splendid week ahead! Kizzez!

Sincerely, Chibugo

My pipu, have you heard of the Woman and her Ink writing challenge by Access bank? I entered for it and I need you all to vote for me. Every time you share my article on social media, you earn me points. Epp my ministry by sharing my article on your social media platforms. Head over to the website and read it. There are a lot of articles on there. Its really amazing. Knock yourself out! You can read mine and vote here!  Tainkiu!

RAPE: No One Deserves It!


A couple days back, as I walked down the road, I happened upon a man staring intently in one direction. Naturally, I was curious and looked to find out what had interested him so much to warrant such a stare. I turned and saw the focus of his attention: A very voluptuous woman was walking down the road and his eyes moved with the rhythm of her swaying waist. I didn’t understand it. They were literally fixed on her swinging buttocks, with no shame or self consciousness whatsoever. Amazing, I thought. I passed by him and shook my head. After I walked a few metres, I felt the urge to turn around and see where his attention would be this time. Lo and behold, his eyes were trained on my backside!!! I was astonished! Now, know this: by African standards, I have a flat backside. FLAT. What could he be looking at?

I had initially thought his gaze was fixed on the other woman because of her enormous backside, but I realized that there was something more to it: No matter whose backside it was, he would give it the same treatment! Brethren, he literally undressed me with his eyes and I am sure many other female passers by would be on the receiving end of that stare. It made me think, really, about this rampant phenomenon called rape, and what leads to it. When I was younger and didn’t fully understand what rape meant, each time I heard of rape, I would usually think that it was probably because the female put herself in a provocative position and that made her get such a treatment.

I came to understand some things more clearly. A rapist will rape no matter what. There is something that makes a man cheat on his wife, no matter how loyal and physically attractive she is. That same thing makes a man rape a woman, regardless of age. This is the same thing that makes a brother defile his sister: Lack of self control. Only animals should have to be qualified under this group. No doubt, looking isn’t the same as actually doing, but a lot of the time, it leads to it.

There is a wrong notion down here that inappropriate dressing qualifies one for rape. A very stupid misconception. How indecent is a woman covered with clothes from head to toe with a hijab on her head? How indecent is a 6 year old child? How indecent is a 92 year old woman? These and many more similar cases have been recorded, and very few actually speak out for fear of stigmatization. The problem is very fundamental. We are a society that raise women with the mindset that they are something inferior, and on the other hand, raise boys to be kings of their worlds. You would be surprised at the huge number of girls/boys who have been molested by trusted family members or friends.The reality of it all will shock you.
Let me rant a bit. From birth, girls are told to conform to certain standards or else they become unmarriageable. Sit and close your legs! Don’t you know you’re a girl?/ Don’t study political science or law! Don’t you know you’re a girl?/ Don’t argue too knowledgeably! Don’t you know you’re a girl? Just smile and agree with him! You shouldn’t try to prove too smart.(Y’all gon have to kill me dead on this one) /Don’t buy that car! Its too expensive! Don’t you know you’re a girl? No man wants to marry a girl who is too successful!/ Your husband cheated on you? Serially? Ahn ahn! What did you do? (Imagine that!) Were you not giving it to him regularly? You were? What about his food? hmmm, well you just have to endure and pray to God to change his heart (Yeah, God doesn’t fight our battles for us. Wait a bit more till said husband awards you an STD for your prayerful efforts). The list goes on and on. Being a woman becomes a thing of shame. A thing that only has honour when you are able to answer Mrs Somebody(And don’t even think it ends there, Mrs Somebody. Have you had a son yet?). On the other hand, the boys are trained to possess the world. To rule. To govern. To take. Well, somebody shoot me! This is where the problem lies! They keep taking and taking! I know I’m kinda all over the place in this article but this is a rant and I’m pretty much typing as the spirit leads. While we train our girls to fit into the “good wives” category, why don’t we also teach our boys that their job is to protect and not harm the female species? Why do we not teach our sons to be good husbands too? To be good and decent men basically?

The long and short of what I am rambling on and on about, is that, one:we have a duty to protect the next generation from this high spate of sexual abuse cases by teaching them right. Two: in any true case of rape, the victim should never be blamed. Three: even a prostitute does not deserve to be raped. There is no justification whatsoever, for the act of rape. The fact is, rape is about power, not necessarily sex.  A rapist is a criminal, period. The act is usually well thought out and planned before it is done. It is hardly ever on a whim. The mere thought of anyone having to force me into doing the do is enough to make me contemplate suicide. Honestly, what are your thoughts about this?

While you ponder on whether this post is about rape or gender equality, let me leave you with these:

A woman is human. She is not better, wiser, stronger, more intelligent, more creative, or more responsible than a man. Likewise, she is never less. Equality is a given. A woman is human. – Vera Nazarian

Rape is one of the most terrible crimes on earth and it happens every few minutes. The problem with groups who deal with rape is that they try to educate women about how to defend themselves. What really needs to be done is teaching men not to rape. Go to the source and start there. – Kurt Cobain

Bear with me. I have been recently pelted left, right and centre with tear inducing stories of rape that I have come here to let off some steam. Do your bit, people. Let’s kick against rape.

Sincerely, Chibugo.

She, The girl

She, the girl, has lived in Lagos all her life, and hawked almost everything hawkable. At 16, she has seen much more than the average Lagos teenager. But unlike the average hawker, she speaks correct English and carries herself like the Queen of England in her raggedy clothes, because mother and father tell her she is so. She is that girl that comes first place in class every term against all odds. With some months in secondary school to go, her parents have to make a hard choice between sending their first daughter to the University and letting her work with her Senior school certificate for some more years and save up so that the strain will be a little more bearable. University training is a different ball game, you know.

They dabble in this trade, and then that trade, to make ends meet. Three meals a day are quite the luxury. Five mouths to feed don’t make it any easier. Clothes have to be mended regularly, shoes repaired, and hair cropped. Everything is stripped down to the barest basics.  But one things is constant.: everyone must go to school. This, they all agree on. No one has the time for frivolities: even the 8 year old baby of the home knows how every kobo comes in. She, the girl, is constantly growing and filling her clothes too fast. One day, she puts her daily secret savings together and she discovers that she has 500 naira. She decides she might as well buy a blouse and a skirt from the used clothes market. Mother may be mad for a while but she would eventually get over it, after all, she tries to make good sales everyday and makes good grades at school too.

At the market, she picks up the clothes,  pangs of guilt tearing at her insides. The money could have made a pot of soup for the family. But her clothes are now so tight and the stares from the boys are getting embarrassing. She tightens her resolve and pays the money to the seller whose cries of “okirika select and pay! Hundred hundred naira!” threaten to turn her deaf.

Home now, she is determined to keep the clothes a secret from mother for as long as possible. She folds them and puts them away, but in a moment of curiosity while memorizing some mathematical formula, goes back to look at her pretty but faded clothes and admire them a second time. Putting on the blouse, which seems newer, she detects a bulge in the pocket she didn’t know was there before. She hastily picks out the contents of the pockets to continue her game of dress up, but she looks at the papers she removed from the pockets again and discovers that it is some kind of foreign currency. She chuckles and turns it over. Dollars. The laughter stops. There is no way she can keep this from mother. Her stomach tightens in dread at having to confess to shopping by herself and having to explain the source of the notes.

Mother returns from the market. Slow day for sales, she says. The girl quietly tells mother everything and raises her head when she hears no response. Mother says, “bring the clothes and the money”. She does so with trepidation. Mother hastily unfolds the money, completely ignoring the clothes. Two hundred dollar bills , two twenties and a five stare at them. How it got there, no one may ever know. They stare at this foreign money in amazement. It is just three notes, but they are thinking the same thing: by this fortunate stroke of destiny, she, the girl, just got the chance to go to school.

What you take for granted is somebody’s greatest wish –  Unknown.

Sincerely, Chibugo

Monday Humor : Pepper soup!

The witches from my village said there would be no Monday Humor post today, but Jesus said no. Here we are finally. It’s been a very hectic day at work for me, I apologize for the late post. Thank God for mobile devices, as I’m actually typing on the go. So whether you’re on the way home from work, class, or already relaxed at home, here’s one for you.

Kembu my big sister got married a couple years ago and during their honeymoon months, her and her husband made it a point of duty to try out all the restaurants in their new neighborhood. Turns out there was this pepper soup joint that they had been hearing about from friends for a long time. So they decided to hang out there one night.

Kembu made her order and her hubby decided to listen to the band first before making his order. After a few spoons of the soup, she complained. “these people want to kill somebody with pepper oh!  Haba”! Her eyes were already beginning to water and her nose was running freely. To which her hubby absently replied,” you just don’t know how to eat peppersoup. You’re not supposed to be taking a sweet drink with it. Stop complaining joor”. Kembu looked at him and didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. Just negodu this guy saying she doesn’t know how to eat peppersoup! She who qualifies as a master peppersoup eater! Chai!

In full retaliation gear now, she asked him sweetly, “won’t you make your order dear?”, and he did. It only took one spoon to remove his entire attention from the band.  He was sputtering all over the place. “Blood of Jesus!”  He yelled, looking around and rubbing his head in shock as his mouth hung open. “Kembu, is this what you’ve been eating all this time? Are you human at all”? Seeing her expressionless face, he directed his anger elsewhere. His eyes were already tearing up and his nose was running. After just one spoon. Chai! Their peppery dinner was left untouched as they left the restaurant in a haste.

In the car, he continued his tirade at the management of the place. As they reversed and got into the main road, he realized how silent Kembu was. He looked over at her, and in the dark interior of the car, all he could see were her eyes sparkling with suppressed mirth. She maintained a straight face and replied drily: “You just don’t know how to eat pepper. Stop complaining joor”. He shook his head, remembering that he used the same sentence few minutes ago. It was his turn to be confused as to whether to laugh or cry.

Revenge is sweet 😀

As any wife or husband knows, it(marriage) requires a whole lot of love and an unflappable sense of humor. – Kristine Solomon.

What are you thankful for this 2015?

Its just a day left to the end of the year, and something in me can’t believe that it was just yesterday we were welcoming the new year 2015. Sheesh! Time sure does fly.

So much has happened this year; and even as I know I’m not yet where I want to be, I’m hoping I’m on the right track to getting there. This year, there were definitely a lot of lows, but there were also some highs to balance it out. That is the equilibrium of life. I am thankful for many things, and you should be too, no matter how bad it may be. In no particular order, I’m thankful for

  1. My life: A dead person can’t eat, study, work, or blog!
  2. My family: the most annoying and loving people ever!
  3. My job: even though it drives me crazy at times it still pays the bills, eh?
  4. Good health
  5. Finishing NYSC without mishap(story for another post)
  6. My faith: I’m glad I haven’t fallen by the wayside. Grace Sufficient! 😀
  7. God’s protection: Believe me, there have been times I felt God’s hand upon me. Almost been run down by a bus, anyone?
  8. This blog: I can’t tell you how happy I feel at having what I call “an outlet for my more creative/artistic side”, and having feedback from you readers is just the icing on the cake.

So, that’s a public-friendly list of the many things I’m thankful for this year. What are you thankful for? I’d love to hear them all. Share!


We’ve moved!

First off, I have to apologize for causing a bit of an inconvenience to you by moving the blog from blogger to wordpress, but I’m hoping that in time, you will see why I felt the need to do this. This is a blog that thrives on an active reader engagement, and my former platform made it a bit difficult for readers(especially mobile readers) to give back insight, hence the move. As you can see, I’ve moved all my posts from the former blog, so I definitely mean business. Therefore its no longer going to be www.chibugo.blogspot.com, but www.sincerelychibugo.wordpress.com. I know, I know, too long to type, right? Bear with me, pretty please? Thanks.

I’m glad to be here, and I’m sure you will too! Spread the word!

What Is Christmas To You?

Christmas is here!!! I wish I were more excited though. Somebody please bring back my childhood!!! I can tell that Christmas means many different things to many different people just by walking down the street. Its funny that the real reason for the season is sometimes totally forgotten in the midst of it all. For some, It could mean

1. A time to travel home

2. A time to play with fireworks and play pranks with friends

3. A time to socialize, visit all the people you missed visiting all year

4. A time to soberly reflect on the almost concluded year

5. A time to go out, party and get “weisted”. You know warra mean

6. A time to buy stuff you know you can’t afford in order to make expensive shakara

7. A time to share time and resources with loved ones and the needy

8. A time to just sleep and catch up on rest

9. A time to be with family

10. A time to #turnup at Church

If you’re a combination of groups 1, 4, 7, 8, 9 and 10, then you’re pretty much a laid back low-key kinda person; much like me. Lol

If you’re a combination of groups 1, 2, 3, 5, 7 and 10, you’re too much of a social animal. *runs away*

If you’re a combination of groups 1, 2, 3, 5, 6 and 7, errr, I think I need to help you manage your account.

If you belong to only one or two groups, OYO is your case oh!

Just thought to peep through this flimsy excuse of a post to wish you my friends and blog visitors a Very Merry Christmas!!! I detest having to say Happy Holidays, but since I know its not only Christians that visit this space, let me wish you all a joyful Christmas celebration and happy holidays. Keep in mind that Jesus is the reason for the season, and behave accordingly! Ahem!

Have fun, but remember to stay safe too! Kizzes!!!