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!

90s chick; nerd, humanitarian; lover of life, family, fashion, food, art and literature; Christian by birth and choice. In short, I’m like jollof rice: you’re gonna love me. 😉

Monday Humor : Who Did It?

I apologize for the recent dearth of posts on here. I’d been having problems with my ancient laptop, and just yesterday, it finally crashed. Typing on a tablet for long periods isn’t fun, but it will have to do for now. So, here goes.

Like I said in this post, years back, Mother was the CEO of a thriving restaurant in one of the commercial hubs of Lagos: Yaba. Those were the good old days yo! Coming home from school everyday, we usually had a wide array of food to choose from as we lived upstairs and the restaurant was downstairs out front. This was a great memory to dig up, but it isn’t the reason for today’s post.

So, on this particular evening, business over for the day, some of the staff were busy cleaning, some were washing up plates , pots and pans, while some prepared ingredients for the next day’s business. Mother had just finished counting the day’s proceeds and gave a satisfied sigh. It had been a very good day. The meat delivery guy, Kazeem (how the heck can I still even remember his name? Lol) came in, loaded with the next day’s supply of meats. Mother paid him, loaded the meat into the freezer, and went to close up the shop front, leaving the back open for staff . She came in to make some calls when she stopped short: the money she kept on the table had disappeared! She raised an alarm and summoned all her staff. They were the only ones with access to the back entrance. “Who Did It?”  Everyone denied vehemently. She quizzed up, and quizzed down, swore, begged and threatened; all to no avail. Everyone was searched, including their bags. No show. The shop environment was turned upside down, but apparently the money had grown wings and flown away in 5 minutes.

At the end of work everyday, the atmosphere around the Shop was usually a light one, full of playful banter being exchanged among the workers in loud voices amid raucous laughter. That day, everyone went home in a sombre mood. Madam(Mother) had almost cursed the thief, but just said resignedly, “Let God be the judge.”

We perceived immediately she came in that something was terribly wrong. We didn’t know what it was, but we could tell that she was spitting mad, and as wise Nigerian children, we gave her a wide berth. Nigerian Mothers’ slap nor sabi English.


Fast forward to the next morning. Activity in the kitchen usually begins long before the local muezzin’s call to prayer. Mother opened the freezer to sort the meats for the day’s cooking, and Lo and behold, a thick wad of notes was wedged between the freezer wall and a bag of meat, Nnamdi Azikiwe’s face staring back at her unblinking.

Hearing her recall the incident recently, she says “I thought I was dreaming until I actually held the frozen money in my hands!” Apparently she had dumped the money in the freezer while keeping the meat, and almost gave herself hypertension looking for it. Smh. How can you be the drummer and the dancer at the same time? Lol.

The workers came in that morning expecting to see a sour faced boss, but she was in such a jolly mood that they got suspicious. After the early morning rush, she called them and informed them that the money had been found. The rest of the day took on the look of a mini celebration.

So, Who Did It? Apparently the freezer did it. Or was it Mother? I leave you to judge.

I hope this at least put a smile on your face in these difficult times.

Kisses, hugs and kulikuli, 
Sincerely, Chibugo.

I never saw a piece of paper with so much worldly power as money. It’s ridiculous. –  Chibugo

Sincerely, Chibugo

90s chick; nerd, humanitarian; lover of life, family, fashion, food, art and literature; Christian by birth and choice. In short, I’m like jollof rice: you’re gonna love me. 😉

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.

90s chick; nerd, humanitarian; lover of life, family, fashion, food, art and literature; Christian by birth and choice. In short, I’m like jollof rice: you’re gonna love me. 😉

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

90s chick; nerd, humanitarian; lover of life, family, fashion, food, art and literature; Christian by birth and choice. In short, I’m like jollof rice: you’re gonna love me. 😉