I REMEMBER

sad-black-manFOREWORD: The following is a work of fiction, written by Masked Man and dedicated to all those who have experienced the loss of loved ones.

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I remember vividly the very beginning. How it all began. I remember it all like it just happened yesterday. Memories etched in beautiful innocence. And every single time, it gives me a feeling of déjà vu.

An 18yr old naïve fresher on campus – that was me back then.  I arrived early to commence registration and get a place in the hostel before it gets all taken. Yes, it was hell of a tough day. As I struggled with my baggage through the door, into the room I was assigned to, my eyes beheld you for the first time. You were standing by the window, clad in black denim jeans and a grey V-neck top. Your slim figure and average height was a nice match. I remember that first smile you flashed at me. It affected me instantly. When you smiled it, it was with all frankness, like one could see your soul through that priceless smile. I still don’t forget how you came over and introduced yourself as Funsho.   Continue reading

BEFORE I DIE: 3 (Lean On Me)

????????????????????????????????????????????????????I am walking through the corridor and I notice something. Everyone is staring at me, and laughing. I keep my head down and walk on straight. I don’t want to make any eye contact with anyone. The laughs are getting louder. They are even pointing at me now.

Then a voice calls me from behind. I turn and gape. It is Trey Songz.

Trey: Hey Bobby.

He sounds as naughty as a busty blonde in skimpy nurse uniform.

I don’t make a sound. I am still shocked. I am just staring at him with my jaw slackened. He winks at me. He starts taking his shirt off, smiling the whole time. Then he then goes for his belt, he takes it out and holds it like a dominatrix’s whip. He lashes at the air with it twice. TAH! TAH!! And suddenly his pants fall off. He has on black briefs; the left and right sides are made with a net-like material, and the front side covering his big bulge is made of a nylon material. I don’t know where the music is suddenly coming from, but it is nasty.

My milkshake brings all the boys to the yard… Damn right! It’s better than yours…Continue reading

LIFE AS HE KNOWS (Chapter 8)

Blog_Life As He Knows ItPreviously on LIFE AS HE KNOWS IT…

Commitment-phobic Tunde finally makes a connection with Dele, the hunk with the beautiful eyes and brother to his colleague, Kola.

And now, for today’s episode…

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Dele watched as Tunde walked towards the gate to his house. He turned to wave one last time before disappearing through it. Dele gave a heavy sigh and placed his head on the headrest of the car. Their date had been wonderful as usual and it was all Dele could do to not grab today and crush him in an embrace whenever he smiled or unintentionally touched him.

Dele had been in love before. More accurately, he thought he’d been in love. With Angie. He was still fighting his sexuality then, and he had found Angie beautiful and wonderful to be with, up to the point that they dated for many years. But as Dele slowly started accepting his sexuality, whatever unconscious vibes he gave seemed to fuel Angie’s determination to make him put a ring on it. She hinted subtly at first, before going at it almost head-on, getting into fights with him over the issue. Then, one day, he blurted out that he couldn’t marry her because he liked men. It was in that moment he started crying, because it was the first time ever he had said it out loud, and it was such a relief. Angie was disappointed. Five years with him had just gone down the drain. But in spite of her disappointment, their connection remained strong. She consoled him and held him until he fell asleep that night. They remained friends after that night. Presently, she was seeing someone else, and things were looking good for them. She hardly complained about her beau, but she apparently still loved Dele very much, even though it’d been three years since they ended their relationship. Continue reading

I MET HIM ON CHRISTMAS DAY

g10I met him on Christmas day. One of those cold Harmattan days that has a certain sting and pleasantness about it. The kind of day that makes you believe that everything can be right with the world. The kind of weather that Femi Kuti sang about in his song, and one that also makes you wish you were doing what he sang about in the song, though not exactly in the way he prescribed.

It was another Christmas spent in the city. The city almost always becomes a ghost town during this period. It happens almost dramatically; first, there is a lot of frenetic and frantic activity, and then you go to sleep and wake up, and it’s like, “Where did everybody go?” You could do a drag race on the streets if you wanted to. The point of all this is that spending Christmas in the city is a boring affair. And in the days before social media became more widespread, it could be a real struggle just trying to get through the day without screaming out in frustration.

Christmas had become routine for me, the meal with all the trimmings, the cake, drinks, time with family… Yeah, so what else is new? I wanted more. Femi Kuti sort of knew what. Excitement! So I got up and left the house just to walk around in the street. Anything but spending another minute feeling like I was being consumed by a deep, dark void hovering above my head.

So there I was, walking on the road, and all of a sudden this guy on a motorcycle stopped by me and said, “Hi, how are you?” Continue reading

The Boy Who Had the Saddest Eyes

others 105Read this story listening to any song(s) that give(s) you peace – Marcus.

He came to St John’s Boys’ High at a time when I wasn’t sure what I was. In the mornings, when everybody taunted Ben, calling him a homo, sissy, fag, I watched and said nothing, afraid that Ben would get tired of being teased alone and suddenly blurt out that I did stuff with him too; and in the evenings, I visited Vera, a girl from Our Lady’s Girls’ High whom I liked a lot because she was always willing, always giving.

He came one sunny morning looking like a thing from hell, thin and droopy-eyed, his scalp a radiating mirror, an old, ugly schoolbag slung lazily on his shoulder. He stood beside Miss Lara in front of the class, and introduced himself. His name was Amara, which was another ridiculous thing about him because all the Amaras I knew were girls. Miss Lara gave him a seat by the window, and whenever I looked at him, he was either always staring outside or sketching something in his sketchpad. He hardly ever talked, always mumbling a one-word reply whenever talked to, and soon I began to think of him as a bag of monosyllables.

Whenever we played basketball, he stood under the dogonyaro tree outside the court, watching us. One day I asked, “Do you want to play?” and he shook his head, mumbled something nonsensical, and started walking away.

And so, apart from being called Solar System because of his clean haircut, he was also called Robot, Dummy, Alien. I didn’t know why, but I found myself riveted by him. Maybe it was because he had an air of mystery around him, of enigma. I would sit across from him in class and stare and stare at him, until he looked up from his book or away from the window, and his eyes would settle on mine, a lazy settling, like a pat on the head; and it would linger, his eyes, until, always, I was forced to look away, embarrassed. Continue reading

FUCK LIFE. BE HAPPY

DSC_1392-MLife is serious, never take her seriously.

You’ve got to learn how to laugh, how to be happy. You’ve got to have a support system to help you navigate her waters – friends, families, Alcoholic Anonymous, Ku Ku Klux gang… Whatever floats your boat.

Learn to take the bad moments in stride and be quick to get out of its funk. We all know we’re never getting out of her grip alive anyway, so why would you want to die inside before you’re dead outside.

Treat life kindly, laugh with her and at her. She might be tough but she sure understands how to take a chill pill and give you a bit of space. Laugh at yourself, learn to take your blows before the world throws theirs. Continue reading

TO A FRIEND DYING YOUNG

KD’s very first poem as written by Rapu’m. I was going to publish one of mine but he beat me to it. Have a read below and enjoy. As the name implies, it is kinda melancholic.

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singles 32Today, I stand here

Watching you lying there

Still and silent like Debby’s doll

Eyes closed like you’re playing dead

But you’re not playing

Cos I know how it looks when you played dead

How your eyes would crinkle at the edges

Like rumpled paper

Your lips trembling with suppressed laughter Continue reading