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Shoutout to the people who have pestered me for not posting for a while. I wont mention names: (namely @tonydoe78 @Walt_Shakes and @iloVeMizJay).
Some more posts coming up, including guest posts from Chuks Asoegwu.
This is an excerpt from a novella that should be out soon. As of now, still untitled.
One night in Dolpin estate, Ikoyi, three shots ring out, lodging bullets in the head, heart and groin of General Obajimi . The family tells outsiders it was thieves. But each of his three children and wife have different recollections and accounts. None of which are lies. So which is the truth?

Dear Diary,
I’ve started keeping you today because I feel like I need to document these times, for my sanity, and for the truth. None of us have been the same. Bobo has taken to religion like a duck to water; it’s his way. As I write, his fierce ‘amens’ rent the air at sporadic intervals. He is listening to a message from some prophet on his ipod. He’s trying to purge his mind and memory. We all want to.

Tara’s way is shopping and sex. Lots. ASUU is on strike so there’s nothing else to do. Mummy gives her all the money she wants. Sometimes she remembers me. Like today : "Knife Obajimi, you should thank daddy wherever he is, for giving you a big sister like me, and dying so I’d have all this money to buy you things like this”. She handed me cookies and a novel. The Electric Michelangelo by Sarah Hall. I’ve always liked reading. She figures this will be my way.

Mummy’s way. Well mummy’s way is nothing new. I don’t know how long exactly, but it’s been at least 6 months before daddy died when I came home from school almost an hour after school started. My Asthma had started again. I went to my room but the inhaler had finished. I knew there would be more in the provisions box in her room so I went there. He was standing with his back to me, naked.
She was on her knees in front of him, eye level with his groin. His hand was on her head, goading. He grabbed her hair and pulled her head away, then towards him. Her eyes were closed. He was groaning like a wounded animal.

I just needed them to move, they were in front of my inhaler.

I tried to see if I could manage the remains of my inhaler. I had no idea when they would finish, it seemed to me like they were still on appetizers. I went to Chemist’s shop, bought an inhaler and went home. About an hour later mom finished and came into the parlor. She almost fainted when she saw me. “what are you doing here, didn’t Musty drop you at school?” I told her I’d had an attack. Her mouth stopped mid-question when she saw the pack of the new inhaler on the chair. Her face fell.

Some hours later, outside my room, I heard them arguing. He was telling her to be strong. That she would do it if she loved him. That this was a sign, that I was eventually going to find out. She entered my room and told me she had something to explain. I didn’t want to hear it, so I explained to myself for both of us. “Daddy is never around, always beating you when he is. You fell in love with our houseboy”. She recoiled like she’d been slapped. Truth did that. She bit her lip as she turned to go. She wanted to Euphemize it, make it more of a fairy-tale. Make me too young to be so blunt. Afterall I was only fifteen. I went into her room after she’d left and took all my inhalers.

LADUN (MRS OBAJIMI):

I wanted him to die. That i can admit this shakes me to my core. But what shakes me about it is the numbness I feel. My eye didn't 'clear' and 'remorse wash over me' as I felt the recoil of the bullet leaving the chamber. I did regret however, the fact that I'd shot his groin. which won't kill him, and I didn't have the guts to pull the trigger a second time.

You hate me now. You with your perfect lives judging me. The contented housewife who never wanted for anything. Who turns round to kill her husband. And she was from a poor home too. No wonder amidst such opulence she would fall for the houseboy. The houseboy!
Tara is out, i'm not nearly ready to start reining her in. Bobo has gone for vigil. The house is empty, only Nife and I are home. Just like that night. Eerie as hell. I go to her room . My hand is on the knob when I hear it. Stiffled crying. I wonder why she's crying. Probably for the wrong reasons. The bastard is dead i tell myself, wishing I could tell her too.
 *takes a bow and struts off stage like a boss*
Please drop your comments and critiques,they wld be very appreciated.
Ff me on twitter @hapygypsy, I'm not yet important enough to not follow back.

#ItooamHarvard

So, hopefully there will be a flurry of activity on here for a while. Posting a sneaksneak  peek of my novella thus weekend, it should be out by the end of the month as an eBook.I've also got a some articles and another short story coming up real soon so *in the voice of any Nigerian celebrity * "don't touch that dial"  Before that, though, I stumbled on this campaign by 63 black Harvard students about guest what....RACISM.

"Hol' up a bit" I said to myself. Isn't it Harvard Asin the quintessential peak of academia and learnedness where everyone has obviously evolved past such nonsense? Surely they didn't mean on campus? The campaign was in response to, among other things, an article by a white female student that had been published in which she said and I quote because it wouldn't be as delicious any other way: "Admitting black people into schools like Harvard is like teaching a blind man to be a piloy". Don't you just wanna lick your lips and read that again.

The project can be found on tumblr  using the hashtag #itooamharvard . Its pictures of Harvard students holding small boards on which are written things they've been told or reactions to things they've been told. There's more where this came from but these are the ones I found yummiest:

Are you sure? But you look Jamaican. Someone play her Jasi by BankyW just to be sure.

Tell me what's that you're holding? Read it out to me.

You mean you're listening to Enya? What? Really? *snatches your headphones to be sure*

Coz you know,that's what birthday candle wishes are for.

No really, you're like Oreos, white on the inside. Speaking of Oreos:

                             
                   Well you're definitely not a Malteser!

Awww mehn, how's Hollywood going to fill its sassy black supporting actress quota?

#teamlaiskin 

Washerey joo.

I hear there are more campaigns for other universities including Yale and Cambridge . Oh goody. 

GUEST POST: THE MIRACLE THAT IS LUPITA NYONG'O

          These days I find myself watching a lot of TV.Not necessarily because of the eye-catching programs or for lack of what to do at that moment,these days you would be amazed at the amount of untapped knowledge that could be found in that electrical box.
          This week I was watching the Oscars on the E channel and I saw someone very beautiful-beautiful not because of her gorgeous sky blue dress(which according to her reminds her of her native Kenya),beautiful not because of her great smile and incredible gait;her beauty is really inexplicable(even though she's very flat-chested),but beautiful because she is Lupita Nyong'o!

         Lupita Amondi Nyong'o,born March 1, 1983,is an actress and also a film and music video director of dual Kenyan and Mexican citizenship.Nyong'o made her feature film debut in Steve McQueen's 12 Years a Slave (2013) as Patsey, for which she won the Academy Award for Best Supporting Actress, among numerous other awards and nominations.
          Nyong'o was born in Mexico City, Mexico to Dorothy and Peter Anyang' Nyong'o, a college professor turned politician in Kenya.It is a Luo tradition to name a child after the events of the day, so her parents gave her a Mexican name, Lupita (a diminutive of Our Lady of Guadalupe).She is of Luo descent on both sides of her family, and is the second of six children.Nyong'o identifies as Mexican-Kenyan.Her father was the former Minister for Medical Services in the Kenyan government. At the time of Lupita's birth, he was a visiting lecturer in political science at El Colegio de México in Mexico City and her family had been living in Mexico for three years.
          Nyong'o moved back to Kenya with her parents when she was less than one year old,when her father was appointed a professor at the University of Nairobi.She grew up primarily in Kenya, and describes her upbringing as "middle class, suburban".At age sixteen, her parents sent her back to Mexico for seven months to learn Spanish.During those seven months, Nyong'o lived in Taxco, Guerrero, and took classes at the Universidad Nacional Autónoma de México's Learning Center for Foreigners.
           Nyong'o landed her breakout role when she was cast in 12 Years a Slave immediately before graduating from Yale with an MFA in 2012.The film was released in 2013 to great critical acclaim. Nyong'o received rave reviews for her performance and was nominated for several awards including a Golden Globe Award for Best Supporting Actress and two Screen Actors Guild Awards including Best Supporting Actress, which she won.On March 2, 2014,she won the Academy Award for Best Supporting Actress, becoming the sixth black actress to win the award, the first African actress to win the award, the first Mexican actress to win the award, and the first Kenyan to win an Oscar.She also became the fifteenth actress to win an Oscar for their debut performance in a feature film.
           Nyong'o currently resides in Brooklyn. She is fluent in her native Luo, English, Swahili and Spanish.On February 27, 2014, at the Essence Black Women In Hollywood luncheon in Beverly Hills, Lupita gave a speech on black beauty. Lupita talked about a letter she received from a young fan who stated she was unhappy with herself until she saw the actress on the cover of a magazine. In her speech Lupita talked about the insecurities she had about herself as a teenager; growing up as a dark skinned black girl, women that looked like her were barely portrayed in the media and when they were, they were not deemed as being beautiful. She said, her views about herself changed when she saw South Sudanese supermodel Alek Wek become successful.
"When I saw Alek I inadvertently saw a reflection of myself that I could not deny,” she added. “Now, I had a spring in my step because I felt more seen, more appreciated by the far away gatekeepers of beauty".
           Need I say more?.With all the bleaching,fakeness and mediocrity flying around in Nollywood,I say it would take something really special for any of our own to match Lupita's feat...Oh well...what do I know?.
                                 Chuks Asoegwu (07011918203). Find him on twitter @chuks_ea

GUEST POST: GOOD PEOPLE GREAT NATION

Today's post is a guest post by prodigal writer  and poet Chuks Asoegwu. If you ever want to guest feature your work, its as easy as contacting me. My lazy self welcomes you enthusiastically. I will be featuring two of his works today;  this poem, followed by an article, and more subsequently. Enjoy, comment, share! 

Good people great nation,
Where knowledge is not might,
Where we can't read for 30 minutes,
Yet we would gladly club all night,

Good people great nation,
To illegality we comply,
Where darkness is a norm,
Where we jubilate at power supply,

Good people great nation,
Where our leaders have no shoes,
Yet they trample on our rights,
And give us things we didn't choose,

Good people great nation,
Where politicians steal by day,
And robbers by night,
Yet they all go to church to pray,

Good people great nation,
In the north its insecurity,
There's a guy with billions on his head,
And even he claims religious purity,

Good people great nation,
With so much oil in the south,
A people so richly blessed,
Yet they feed from hand to mouth,

Good people great nation,
Where we never miss a feast,
They even want to break away,
At least that's in the east,

Good people great nation,
Where morality is as forgotten as faxes,
Its the wild wild west yo!,
Where people don't pay their taxes,

If we only run our mouths,
Without sacrificing for our generation,
That's all we will ever be,
Good people great nation.

Follow Chuks Asoegwu @chuks_ea on twitter

TODAY I RANT : THE STATE OF EVE VS CAREER WOMAN.

PS: I’M CURRENTLY TOYING WITH THE IDEA OF A SECOND BLOG ,WHICH WILL BE A LOT LESS SELF ABSORBED THAN HAPYGYPSY AND MORE RADICAL AND TINS. OR I MIGHT JUST DO THAT ON HERE. THIS PIECE WILL BE ONE OF SUCH ARTICLES FOR “SELEKE” (TENTATIVE TITLE FOR NEW BLOG) IF I GO ON WITH IT.PARDON ME IF I AM NOT AS WITTY AS USUAL, I’M A LITTLE TOO BALLISTIC FOR THAT. DO DROP YOUR COMMENTS.ABOUT THE ARTICLE AND WHETHER OR NOT I SHOULD START A SECOND BLOG.

After sharing the grace in church today I remained in my seat, seething and barely able to keep still. This was usually the part where the whole congregation bowed their heads and thanked God for the word they had just heard and asked for the grace to obey and all. I bowed my head, but no such words could come out. The only thing I could blurt out was “God you can’t possibly mean this can you? I stood up and was walking towards the door when the usher tried to stop me, asking that I at least let the ministers file out. Everyone else was still seated and basking in piousness.

A few months ago I had come home angry as well. We’d had an interactive session that somehow degenerated into a men versus women debate and in listing the uses of women; everyone who talked kept listing bathing the kids, cooking, etc. not one reference to the fact that women too worked. That was just foreplay. Today we had something like that, the topic was “strengthening a marriage’’. The anchor was a rather successful businesswoman. You know; the type that everyone always invited to their events so that if nothing else, they would receive some money as an apology for her absence. The one whose children everyone gave treats so they could be in mommy’s good books.

She had been a sort of role model to me because she dressed well and quite frankly, I never saw her with her husband. I actually at a point thought she was a widow or separated. That Sunday months ago it took a bit of nudging to recall my jaw when she’d taken the mic and said same as everyone else. After I came home that day though, my brother said something which I thought was very wise in response to my anger. “If men really treated women as they should, there wouldn’t really be any need for women like me to have to react this way to every perceived chauvinistic statement because in actual fact there wouldn’t be any”. But then, the most important word in that sentence is the first.

Anyway, career woman began to give her two kobo on the matter and each point she made just made me want to rocket out of my chair and hang her for all crimes against womenfolk. Please find below counts I hereby bring against her.

1 Her opening statement was that to make a marriage work, there should be a 70-30 ratio. 70 of course, being the woman’s thanks for being saved from the evil clutches of spinsterhood and upgraded to domestic/sexual staff.

2  Next was that the man is the head and the woman is the neck and a woman should never try to be the head or make the big decisions. I.e even if he is incapable of making a decision on which hand to wipe his butt with. “a woman is made to be under a man” she said, finishing the good old mantra with “I don’t believe in all that women liberation stuff”. I refuse to even comment.

3 On stoking the fire in the loins. Women should stop tying wrapper, should wear sexy underwear and not go to hug him with the smell of onions and pepper if they are still in the kitchen cooking his dinner when he comes back from work. Because you know, it puts off a man to smell what he’s going to eat in a few minutes and even when he expands to almost three times his initial weight and looks like one huge blob of cellulite slouching in the chair, it is still her duty to look like Beyonce and smell like Chanel Noir. i.e after arriving from work and taking care of the kids and cooking and bathing, before he comes. Because if you don’t do these, it will be YOUR fault when he cheats, NATURALLY.  At this point I was wondering if at the end she was going to tell us this was all an ad for a super wife drug.

4 On conflict resolution: Do not dare argue during an argument, for he is the head. Wait till he calms down, prepare his favorite meal then give him a good backrub and apply to be heard. This way she informed us, women too can get to make decisions. Let us break out the celebratory drums people. I’ll have a glass of Champagne.

THE PIECE DE RESISTANCE:

Someone asked what you should do if your husband tells you to shut up. Her reply and I quote “if your husband tells you to shut up, I myself am telling you to shut up. Didn’t I say you should not argue with him? If you tell him shut up back and he slaps you don’t come and report to pastor o!” I mean, because obviously you caused it. Look what you did. Now go put an icepack on your black eye and think on your sins.

Incase you are of the incorrect notion she was attacking women alone, she did drop a few nuggets for the men :

1 Obviously its her duty to always apologize but try to apologize some times, behind closed doors of course, so your manly pride is intact. She did say this. She really did.

2 Appreciate her, don’t tear her down with your words. For the same reasons you’re nice to a housegirl, so she doesn’t spit in your food, obvi.

I should note that this talk was punctuated and ended with enormous applause, even from where the single youths were sitted. So I mean, our future is secure. I live in a very rural part of Lagos, Nigeria. So a good number of the women listening to this aren’t educated or learned. Thus career woman is an icon of sorts. Many of these women are probably being mistreated and this is the guidance they get, from a woman who in their eyes has it all, with the full import of religion behind her. The mistreatment of women  as dictated by our tradition is being endorsed and reinforced by the only solace of the common man : religion.

 How, does one begin to combat the many layers that have made this sacrilege  sacrosanct? The helplessness I felt was the reason for my rage. The knowledge that such religiously enforced misleading is happening virtually everywhere in the country, and millions of women are not allowed to consider having it otherwise. 

The knowledge that there was nothing I could do about it, being  neither married nor a pastor, thus I could neither claim having experience nor God on my speed dial so I could call him in their presence to answer the question that is the title of one of my latest books : “does God hate women?”. I think not, but in this court, I have no evidence. So I rant.


Follow me @hapygypsy  on twitter.

"What's on your mind?"

 Sitting ON my writing desk in the living room, I would like to say I am watching the breathtaking view of sunrise. I am not.  I am staring at the ike anobi mosque opposite my house, trying to use the laws of attraction to damage their loudspeakers beforehand. I have failed. The "Allahu Akhbars" have begun.

After navigating past my lustful thoughts about Ryan Gosling and Haagen Daaz ice cream to the dank corners of my mind and back, I remained uninspired. So I fell back on the golden rule of social media : over sharing.Here's a tale from the adventures of hapygypsy, written in more characters than status updates will allow. Maybe a little embellished, but then again that's why you watch reality tv.

Ask and.......OH SHOOT! YOU ACTUALLY MIGHT BE GIVEN!
Few days to the end of last year I woke up in a mid life crisis. Passing out from youth service was in February and I had this vision of myself : home and jobless and pretending to write but unable to because I was too broke to buy a Biro because it had been two months without #19,800. My bobo had dumped me because I could no longer afford the perfume I'd told him was my natural scent and was always stealing money from his discarded clothes.

Project that a few months further and its not a stretch to when I start accosting people on the road, telling them I just needed money to get home and crossing to the other side of the road for fresh prey a là that guy at Obalende. I moved like a robot to my iPad and began tapping the broken screen maniacally, searching for vacancies.

Two hours and multiple applications later,the fever broke and I was back to my hole ridden pajamas wearing slobby self. My family was relieved. But the past always catches up with us. Early this January I received a call inviting me for an interview the next day. The call came in late and I was sleeping over at a friend's that day. Suddenly I was feeling queasy and throwing up.I couldn't even remember what post I'd applied for, only that the range of vacancies I'd applied for was from astronaut to 'leaflet distribution intern' (I assure you that is an actual thing.)

The bobo came to pluck me and take me home early in the morning. He told me how great I would do and all the other things he is mandated to say while I said 'don't flatter me' and 'please go on' when he stopped. The mother helped me find the one pair of coordinating corporate clothes i possessed. I grabbed the briefcase I'd only bought because it was such a nice shade of brown leather and was Italian. Transformation complete. I got to the reception a few minutes early and tried to snoop around to find out what post I'd applied for. Finally I settled for that of the very confident guy sitting next to me.

I entered the room when it was my turn and was asked what job I'd applied for. It felt like Frank Edoho's hotseat. I got it wrong of course, but decided to go with it and be interviewed for that post anyway. After managing to answer a few questions without sounding like a total retard, they remarked on how utterly unimpressive my CV was, as compared to talking to me. I explained that it was put together hastily in my midlife crisis while assuring them I was okay now.

Then I was asked how much I wanted to earn and when I replied, I thought my interviewer was having a coronary. I reminded myself I wasn't talking to birthday candles and shortened my throat, but the damage was done. I left there with a drawing my fellow interviewee and newest friend had done of me when we were in the reception. At least I would have this narcissistic reminder of how I would be jobless for life, I thought.

Tuesday this week, I was sifting through my mail when I saw an offer of employment in my box. I regarded it as spam, knowing if I called the number someone would probably ask me to pay 9k into someone's account so I could secure the job, a la Michael who was supposedly my classmate at FRCN and had gotten me a job at Shell(I almost gawked that one sha). However I received a call the next day asking why i had not responded to my mail. I barely kept from blurting "are we joking here"

Having accepted the offer and set to resume to Thursday, I took a look at my hippy/misfit wardrobe and the fretting started, for worry abhors a vacuum. What should I wear on my first day, cause you know you don't want to look like the office slut, or granny, or the blonde one who thinks work is about showing off her latest shoes, how wide my smile should be when I'm being introduced, cause you don't wanna look too eager and easy to bully, or stuck up........ this just got real.

Please drop your comments about the drudgery of the corporate world etc like the cult I interviewed for last week, which I would tell you about later. Now I must stop, for "virtue has gone out of me".

To Whom It May And Mayn't Concern: My Open Letter.

If Nollywood can do it, so can I. Thus, since open letters are trending this season, short of doing something related to Mandela, as there's an over saturation of that, I present my open letter to all the people that have loved, wronged and dared to live on earth at the same time as me. 

1 NEPA : all through the year you have toyed with my emotions. I have cursed, abused and tried using the law of attraction to bring back the light. So it is my hope that with every reader of this letter a witness, you will see the error of your ways. In the event that this prayer is somehow answered and I'm given 24/7 light, I'd also like  for the sum of  103 million naira only, to be debited to my account. If you're going to make an unrealizable wish, might as well indulge. 

2 To the guys I have met this year: I will take the liberty of recapping what we already know.  That I am the total package, beautiful, intelligent and good in......the kitchen. However two captains cannot sail a ship. And this one has left shore since, in the hands of a capable sailor. Thus, I would appreciate if you refrain from telling me God will punish or judge me because I no do. To the ones who for fear of being friend zoned went from "hi" to "come spend a night at my place" in almost one breath, I'm sorry if I gave you the wrong impression, but rooms are only available in the friend zone district now. Feel free to check in or check front. 

3 To my baby, Dr Olukemi Oluwagbemi. You are not getting any younger. Pls get married now while I am still around to vet your options. Frankly, I am quite tired to having to chase away the rather unsatisfactory toasters. Also, any money lying around the house does not automatically belong to you, the same way your covetous sons have applied that rule to any food they see. A couple Hollandia yoghurt incidents come to mind. 

4 To Femi Fani Kayode and Dino Melaye: sirs, you are an inspiration. Nothing inspires the youth of today to rise up and fight the powers that be than the activism of those that used to be in such power. Dear Femoo, your classic " I was not a tribalist wen...."  letter is written in cursive on my bathroom mirror. If Stella only had your oratory prowess!  Oga Dino, your very apt description that included the statement " she said that she would give each side one breast to suck, and we are sucking it, we are sucking it very well"  is my mantra for peaceful coexistence : "nipples ahoy!"  .  Grease to both your totally clean elbows.  

5 To Chinua Achebe: I hate that I never met you, but unlike everyone else seems to be doing, I shall be consoled by reading your work  and improving mine, not directing venom at your mentee Chimamanda, as seems to be all the rave now. Rest in peace. 

6 To our thousands of dead brothers and sisters in the North: and I say this to include both the victims, and those so strongly faithful in their misguided beliefs that they were willing to kill and be killed. I hope you find peace. To the anserine ones who see this tragedy as a comical hot topic , including those who laughed at the "Oga at the top" scandal not even knowing why it was funny, more  bubbles to your brain. Just don't wonder why you were unfollowed. 

7  To Miley , Maheeda, and the Media :  Guess what? We know you're women. Do not feel the need to prove the fact to us without doubt. I can also authoritatively tell you that we ALL know what a naked woman looks like, thanks to  biology and shops  apparently without enough merchandise to cover the mannequins in their show glass. Thus this mission of education you have set on, is as unnecessary as it is chivalrous, but your country thanks you. To the media, make up your mind if you want to educate or eroticize the people with your news. 

8  To our artistes:  you sunglasses indoors  wearing, shiny lipped, ostentatious lot are the masterpieces of nature. Afterall you were given the talent that has now bloated you like helium balloons, or in the case of some, the talent to act like you're actually doing something. Please go ahead, I live for your faux pas, and the versatility you all apply to singing about money, cars, and women.  And to the  one who  looks a lot like a racoon who joined the "big leagues" this year, you're proof God loves the animals too, please go on being a diva. As for the one who climbed stage wielding his crotch sheathed in white briefs, I'm just happy we didn't provoke you to unleash the dragon. 

9 To the people I meet who inspire me, including the ones I haven't. Little people making big differences with little gestures. People who are brave enough to care in these times.  To the ones like us all over the world, however few, it's comforting to know we're not alone. To the few women out there who are being strong and independent without banging everyone upside the head with the soiled title of " feminist" and it's now skewed interpretations, you make me proud everyday. 

Rambling on would be taking the long suffering of my readers for granted, thus I finish.