Tag Archives: funny

Giddi Commute Series- Abegi Sa!

Abegi Sa!

This evening’s drama was straight out of a bad Nollywood movie. It started out as the normal story, dánfó driver on Lékkí-Èpé Expressway driving nonsense. He scratches someone’s Prado Jeep and tries to escape. Mr. Prado Jeep gives chase and of course he catches us after all of two minutes. Where exactly did Mr. Dánfó driver think he was running to, what with the usual traffic on Lékkí-Èpé Express way? So, Mr. Prado catches us and steps out of his car in full military uniform. Kpekélé kpekèlè, arúgbó je gbèsè! Of all the Jeeps in Lagos, this dánfó driver went to scratch a soldier’s own! I don’t know much about the Nigerian Army but the guy’s uniform looked so impressive, he must have been a top guy.

The passengers who had been raining abuses on the driver before then became subdued and kept shut. You know how when someone presses the mute button and the TV just shuts up kpam? That’s how we all just swallowed our voices as if on cue.

The Soldier simply went to the driver’s side, pulled his door open and dragged him out by his shirt.

“Oga abeg…” the driver started. The rest was silenced with a bone shattering slap.

Kai, I felt that slap from where I was sitting. The driver tried to fall to his knees (or maybe his knees just gave way beneath him) but Oga Soldier simply dragged him up by his shirt and delivered another slap. At this point, we all overcame or speechlessness and started to beg earnestly on behalf of the driver. The conductor went over to prostrate himself flat in front of the Soldier but mba, him no gree. Before we knew it, some minion Soldiers had arrived at the scene. Of course, a big boy Soldier like that one doesn’t walk alone. They just jejely took Mr. driver and carried him to their pick up truck and drove off with him.

“Ah, tiè ba lóòní!” someone exclaimed.

“The kain beat he will chop today ehn?”

“Na where dem dey carry am go?” a woman asked.

I was thinking the same thing but was afraid of what the answer would be.

“Ah, dem dey carry am go barracks be that!”

“When him see Soldier again, him go run!”

“Conductor, you no go go look for your driver?”

“Abi oh, you no go go bail am out?”

“Na where him wan go look for am?”

“If he follow them, them go just beat am join!”

“Abeg, who sabi drive for here?” That from the conductor.

We all stopped in our commiserations when it hit us that we were now sans a driver and had only just reached Ìkàté.

“Ah, it’s true oh, how person go reach Àjáh now?”

“Abeg give me my money oh make I join another bus.”

The pity party was over. People really weren’t smiling at all.

“Make una no worry, we go reach Àjáh.” The conductor said.

“How? We go fly?”

“Abeg no waste time jàre, make we quickly find another bus enter.”

“This man go sabi drive the bus.” The conductor said, pointing to a man on the second row.

All our collective necks swung to look at the man. The man sef swung his head to see our would-be savior only for him to find all eyes on him.

“Me ke?!” he exclaimed.

“How you take know say him sabi drive?” someone demanded.

“Abi you don become Octopus Paul?” someone else said.

“Na wetin be that?” some other guy asked.

“Na where you for dey when them dey play World Cup?”

“Which one consign me consign World Cup?”

“See you, them never born you that time.”

“Shey you even sabi who Obasanjo be?”

“How I no go sabi that one?!”

“If Octopus Paul still dey alive, he for tell us tey tey say PDP no go enter again!”

“Abeg stop that nonsense! Him for warn us say na like this dollar go cost!”

Were these people for real at all?! We were stranded here by the side of the high way and they’re arguing over Octopus Paul! Lagos really is a crazy place.

“Oga, abeg come drive the moto commot for here.” The conductor implored.

“How you take know say I sabi drive?” the would-be savior asked.

“I see as you dey control the driver.”

Say what? What does that even mean.

“True oh, im dey tell am to cut him hand that time when he jam that soh-ja!”

As in seriously! So that’s all that’s needed to qualify for the driver’s seat?

In a heartbeat, everyone on the bus was swearing by their mothers that they just knew that the man was the black reincarnation of double-oh-seven himself.

“I sabi drive the bus but na Igbó Efòn I dey go oh. After that one you dey on your own.” The man finally conceded.

“Oga, nothing do you, abeg help our situation.” The conductor begged.

“Na wetin you wan make I do? I no go go house?”

“Chairman no worry, I go settle you bus money reach Igbó Efòn, just hep me drive this bus reach Àjáh abeg.”

Long story short oh, the conductor psyched the man sotey he agreed to drive us all the way to Àjáh without jamming anyone’s car on the way! This is Lagos after all, what else is new under the sun?!

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Wifey and Our Parents in the Lord (2)

Continued from last week

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I’ll not bore you with details about the rest of the reception.

All I want to say is this new fad of the bride and her train doing choreography- me I don’t know about it. But of course my opinion doesn’t count. If they are happy to do it, they should by all means.

I also wont mention the little money-spraying scuffle that happened on our way out of the reception. It upset wifey then and I’m sure bringing it up now will only cause trouble.

Thankfully, we were soon sent on our merry way unto the rest of our lives. Starting at the hotel where we had booked 2 nights, before we were going to travel to Dubai for the honeymoon.  Finally, I had my bride all to myself. And me…  I had plans.

But wifey was tired so…

Continue reading Wifey and Our Parents in the Lord (2)

Wifey and Her Parents in the Lord (1)

Me, I grew up in a conservative orthodox church. My parents were Baptists and somewhere in the pews of the church, I learnt to love God. My born again experience was later down the line, but that is not what this write up is about.

Fast forward many, many years, and about 6 churches later (only 2 were actually personal long term decisions, the other 4 had ‘external influences’) I met the woman who would later become my wife.

‘Bros, smile now. Must Jesus beg you before you smile at Him in church?’ were the first words she spoke to me, complete with an impish smile.

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She worked as a greeter in our common church and somehow, my normal serious look was interpreted as ‘frowning’. I chuckled though and I confess, that impish smile was all I thought about all through the service. After service, I went looking for her. The rest as they say was history.

Our courtship took less than one year- we both knew what we wanted, were in our thirties and ready  to commit to building our lives together. We were already doing the family rounds barely five months after that fateful day.

The rounds took us to our pastors’ house. Not office, like for the pre wedding counselling. Their names were on the ‘relatives to visit’ list.

‘They are our Parents in the Lord’ she had explained.

Ehen?

 

Don’t get me wrong, I had heard the term used before- but not in any church I had been to and certainly not in reference to myself. At our present church, the pastor was called Pastor and the pastor’s wife; Mrs P. The five other churches I had attended? They had been youth fellowships and youth churches. The term had never been used.

So maybe that’s why I was surprised to be informed I had Parents in the Lord.

That asides, I was pretty stoked to be going to Pastor’s house. Wifey was really at home there, when we got there. They clearly knew her much better than I had known and they greeted me like they had been hearing about me. Mrs P asked me a few questions and Pastor had some deep advice for me.

‘I didnt know you were close to Pastor and Mrs P like that’ I remarked on our drive home.

She laughed ‘Everyone should be close to their parents in the Lord’

2nd mention. Ok o.

The wedding was a big one- my iyawo knew almost everyone at our about 2000 people strong congregation by name. Then she also knew most of her second cousins by name and number. Pastor and Mrs P officiated the church service. It was a honor really.

Left to me, wedding receptions should be scrapped. I had never been to a wedding reception where I didn’t wonder why a wedding shouldn’t just end after the church ceremony. The least important part of the whole wedding thing was the subject of so much planning and attention. And headache.

I mentioned this twice to wifey during the planning but she had just laughed and tweaked my cheek. Both times. Compromise was that I didn’t want any part of the planning process. She, my mom and her mom were delighted with my announcement. So I had nothing to do but to hope I wasnt a grouch during the inevitable, all important wedding reception.

The reception was nice, I guess. Wifey was definitely part woman, part fish the way she was able to contort her body in the name of dancing. She was definitely very happy about the ceremony (and me, hopefully). Okay, not so bad, I thought to myself, fighting the temptation to look at my wristwatch ever so often. Not so bad.

We had just taken our seats after dance in when wifey leaned over and whispered that we should go and serve ‘Mummy and Daddy’ with the wine from our table.

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Uhm, I know I’d avoided wedding receptions like a plague but I was sure this wasn;t routine. We? Serve the wine from our table? Why? There was wine on every table and we could always tell the ushers to help out if needed.

‘As a sign of respect. it’ll be a nice gesture’

Before I could say ‘Absolutely not’, she had gotten up already and grabbed the bottle of wine, smiling at me like we were both in on a conspiracy. I forced a fake smile to cover my perplexity and followed her, ignoring the suggestions the emcee felt it was his duty to make. The crowd laughed.

Halfway to the guests, I realised I didnt know which of our parents she was planning to serve. If we served one pair, the other would definitely be slighted

‘Wifey…’I whispered through clenched teeth, but she was waving away and smiling at everyone. Prom queen mode. She really loved this thing.

When we strolled past our parents’ tables, my fake smile slipped a little But wifey kept going. Just as I reached out to grasp her elbow, tired of the ‘idiot’ feeling I had going on, she stopped.

Pastor and Mrs P’s table.

They seemed amused. Surprised too. Mrs P got up to hug her. The church members in nearby tables whooped. With a flourish, she held out the wine bottle to me, to open of course, while she basked in their praises. She then collected it from me and filled their glasses.

Now, we were free to go back to the couples spot. Amidst comments from the emcee who was starting to get on my nerves.

Was I the only one that thought what just happened was a tad bit weird?

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‘What was that?’ I asked her through my fake smile

She just laughed and planted a peck on my cheek, much to the delight of the crowd.

I just should have known this was not going to be the end of it…

To be continued

photocredit: tinkhanib@wordpress.com

the top 10 things i hate about being single

There i said it- being single, when you dont want to be, can be hard.

I mean, i appreciate being able to come home tired and decide all i will do before going to bed is watch Gilmore girls for like the 4th time. And I appreciate that I have a lot of ‘Me’ time that I can dedicate to the things that are truly important to me. And yes, I really, really appreciate being able to call my family and saying’Hey guys, I got this 10 month opportunity in Tanzania which I really want to explore so… adios amigos’

But…

2 good people are better than one (Bible; 1 chases 1000, 2 chases 10000).

Plus… (I was just about to quote this really great line from ‘Shall We Dance’ but I’ll save it for when I use the quote as the title of one of my writeups- its that awesome)

Plusss. That romance part- i want, i want, i want.

Plussss. Babies.

Plussss. I want to be building my life with someone special. Even if its hard.

Anyway, I’m going to put down the top ten things I hate about being single.

And I’m going to start with…
Continue reading the top 10 things i hate about being single

Keep calm. I’m only wasting my life

No, I am not trying to trick you into reading some motivational speech, hidden under some inflammatory topic.

I really want to share the top ten tips to wasting your life.

Seriously.

I mean there are 6 billion lives on this one planet alone- why does everyone have to be reaching for a higher purpose? What does is matter if like 1 million are simply here to take up space and use up oxygen?

Anyway, hope you have your pen and paper ready. Or not.

Here goes Continue reading Keep calm. I’m only wasting my life

Navigator

This beautiful Saturday morning (aren’t they all beautiful!), I spent 45 minutes in Obàléndé waiting for the Bus to Berger to fill up. When it was finally full, the conductor sauntered over and proceeded to collect his money.

“Oga, you no fit collect money for road?” a man on the third row grumbled.

“Na for road I go pay Agbèrò?” The conductor retorted.

“So you knew that one since, you come just dey collect money? Someone from the back row said, disgusted. At this point, I knew how the drama would go, probably ending in a I-no-get-change argument. I was about to plug in my ear phones to drown out the noise when one madam beside me upped the ante.

Oníìranù, the time him suppose dey collect money, na that chingum geh him dey chase up and down! “ she said drawing out a long hiss.

“Na ya business?” Oga conductor challenged, stopping in his collection to face off the woman.

“Abeg dey collect your money dey go, this heat too much nah!” another passenger said.

“Abeg make I fire am! Abi you no hear the nonsense him dey talk?” Oga conductor asked.

“Ehn dey collect your money as you dey fire am nah!” the passenger said.

“Woman wrapper!” madam hissed.

“You dey jealous?” Oga conductor fired back.

“God forbid! Na your kind me I dey follow?!” Continue reading Navigator

Editor’s pick 2015: Jacobu

Whats the point of being chief blogger if you cant be using your veto power and picking best articles? Lol

I really loved this one.


photocredit: bible-people.info
photocredit: bible-people.info

For as long as i can remember, I avoid going for Yoruba service in church. Growing up, i didn’t have much of a choice till i was older, as the family used to go to church together. For me, it was simple, the Yoruba service was always longer than the English service. While English service starts at 8:00am, Yoruba service starts at 10:00am. Naturally, there’s a little pressure to end 8:00am service, but none for 10:00am service.

Another reason was, English was just easier, easier to speak, read, sing and write.  I mean, in primary school, speaking ‘vernacular’ was an offence unless it was during the language period, so it was English all the way.

At home, Yoruba language ruled. In fact, the only times i spoke English to my folks growing up was when i was very upset. I attributed it to being able to think and speak faster in English. Home devotion was either English or Yoruba depending on who was leading. Of course, we, the kids, always opted for English. Dad on the other hand, you have different fingers always went the Yoruba way. I daresay, most of the prayers i can pray in Yoruba today are the ones I’ve heard him pray over the years growing up.

In secondary school, i enjoyed Yoruba as a subject. I mean, i probably never got above a c grade, but i was able to read, write and speak it. If you ask me, i will say i am fluent in Yoruba. I may not be able to match my friend, kk spicy baby, but i can hold my own.

Well that was what i thought, till the last Yoruba service i attended.

The preacher said “eko kika wa la o ri ninu iwe Jacobu, ori…” (read: our bible reading can be found in the book of Jacobu)

I stopped short.

Jacobu?

That can’t be right? I mean, i was like

dumbfounded

But there is no book of Jacob, is there?

I looked at the Mrs, she was just as lost. I scanned through the Old Testament, looking closely at the minor prophets, thinking perhaps there was one I’d missed during the years of Bible study. I pulled out my tab, I have a Yoruba bible app, searched Old testament again. Still no Jacobu.

By now, he had started reading. I just chilled and listened to what was being read. I was like this is not Old Testament na, this is James!

James is Jacobu in Yoruba! I was slightly amused and embarrassed, because at this point, i remembered i’d been in this Jacobu scenario before.

I have once again committed to attending Yoruba service more.

What really made this experience important for me to pen down, is the fact that many of us are already speaking less of Yoruba (read: mother tongue) and probably not even writing it anymore. Language is a key part of our heritage, a very important one at that. Beyond the beauty of the language(s), are the depths of messages one can convey with them.

There’s so much of our culture and heritage we have lost to being westernized, I won’t even begin to list, but let’s cherish and hold dear what is ours.

As seen in Connectville…

A student had failed JAMB 5 times.

1 day, she traveled 2 visit her friend in Obafemi Awolowo University (OAU).

She became sick there and was admitted to a hospital. When she called her mom, they had the following conversation

GIRL: Hello ma

MUM: That place is silent, where are you?

GIRL: I’m in OAU

MUM: Oluwa o se o

GIRL: I was admitted

MUM: Jesu o se o, Olorun ti doju ti ogun ile wa ti ko fe kio kawe (laughing & dancing)

GIRL: typhoid fever ni

MUM: typhoid fever  ni course ti won fun e, course gidi ni o, kawe e daadaa o

GIRL: I will be discharged tomorrow

MUM: Olorun ma je, 4 years lo ma lo loruko Jesu.

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Hilarious.

For those wondering, Connectedville is the Whatsapp group page of the Connected Lagos community.

Have a nice week, all!