Ramblings Of An Angry Nigerian: IN PURSUIT OF GIRLFRIEND

I am not blogging about politics this week. I am too young to come and die because of Nigeria. I’m not being patriotic? Whatever. If patriotism entails losing my life screw it! There are 170 million problematic people in Nigeria. Don’t let anyone talk you out of your life by deceiving you that your one death will save 170 million complications. A certain Jesus of Nazareth has laid his life for the the world including 170 million PP (problematic people). Any other crucifixion is counterfeit. The only thing I can say on politics, if I must, is to invoke Thunder on Nepa. For two weeks now I have only seen light three times: six hours, three hours, twenty-five minutes. My being online is largely dependent on the generosity of my landlord. Nepa, Exodus 14:14 to you!

That’s all. Let’s talk girlfriend.

For a while now I don’t disturb any girl and no girl disturbs me. There are one or two crushes but no energy to toast anyone (let them ask me out na. There’s nowhere it’s written that a man must do the asking, I strongly stand for gender equality–and the unalienable right to toast and be toasted). Well, Nigerian girls have more use for their time than asking an Angry Nigerian who is also broke out. So I was left unasked.

So I lowered my ego and decided to do the axing.

But to convince myself I was doing the right thing I decided to draw three cardinal reasons for going into relation ship/boat.

1, To make Linda Ikeji jealous.
2, My mother said something like I should looking around. Hehehe.
3, Every nigger has a girlfriend except mee!!
3B, I just want to touch a female breast (hehehe, only kidding… aswear Pastor, only kidding! Sorry for swearing).

So I drew out my strategy. But something worried me. Few days before I decided to go into a relation boat I saw something like this on social media:

When you are happy and settled and begin to save, and prepared to accomplish something worthwhile the devil will come and give you a girlfriend.

Perhaps this was the writing on the wall for me. Or was it just the evil antic to keep me off the good things of girls and keep me subdued in perpetual girllessness? I shrugged. I will go, If I perish I perish.

First strategy was buying that Hausa perfume that smells in your body for one week. Two, I brought out my Sunday best. Then I became extremely friendly. Normally I am a frowner. 90 percent of the time I am frowning, 9 percent I am sleeping, 1 percent I don’t know where I am. But I began to smile, smile, smile, sheepishly, sheepishly, sheepishly. Then I committed suicide, I got a German accent. I would enter a bus smile at everyone and say, “Gild afteneen every barger.” I had this shiny one thousand naira note in my back pocket while I strolled the streets looking for a stranded girl to help. I saw a lone girl standing by the road waiting for a cab and I tumble to her. “Hoy boiby, are ye streendid?”

I don’t know what pissed them off more, my Hausa aroma, my false smile or my German English? But I soon ran short of girls one hundred metre radius of me.

So I went and dipped myself seven times in the Niger and got rid of my mallam scent and the fakest accent. I looked at the mirror and I looked like somebody I know.

I continued to hunt and eventually met the following girls.

Babe One

I met her at the ATM. I was there to empty my UBA account and close it. I did that but one thousand naira wouldn’t come out, insufficient fund. I didn’t see why I should leave that huge amount for a bank that had done me so much. So I tried to recharge my phone with it. Then they took a new form, incorrect password. You must be kidding. I tried again, incorrect password. But I just withdrew with this password two seconds ago! I tried again… Click, your card has been retained, contact your bank.

I approached one of the security men who told me to wait for the ATM man. He pointed to this lady whose ATM card has also been seized. She was a stunning sight even with her worried expression. Tall, dark, in tight polo, firm jeans trousers with the poise of a model. I was tempted to resuscitate my German accent, “Thoy soized ya cord?” I didn’t. “Hi.” “Hi.” The voice of an angel. I gladly told her we had

“Hi.” The voice of an angel. I gladly told her we had the same problem. She smiled. Milk white teeth and said she had called the ATM guy and he was coming. While waiting we started a small conversation. I learned she was a student of Nekede Polytechnic, and lived in Awka but came to visit an aunt.

By the time the ATM guy came it was already dark. He got our cards out and we lined up again. Her turn came, she slotted the card in, seized, again!

She wez streendid!

I stepped up. “I am here for you.” She told me that what she needed was transport fare but I insisted and got her cold something before she boarded the bike. We exchanged numbers (of course!!!) and in that Beyonce voice she said, “I will give you a call.”

When I arrived home, I saw the call. Potential Bae calling. It was like listening to music. She thanked me for the help, said warm flattering things, made my heart swim before saying good night.

Hurray! I have done it.

As I was stoking my ego, the call came again. This girl can’t have enough of me! She said she couldn’t sleep and wanted to just talk. Ah ha, let’s talk! And we talked, talked, talked (for forty-five seconds) and would have talked till the Second Coming but she remembered an important call she was to make, could I please send her small credit?


I was in bed already for the night, but I dashed off and got the card. My area is a poor area so 400 naira card was the highest I could get. Although the last time I recharged that amount for myself was in May 1982. I sent it in under five minutes after the request.

Thanks honey, came the message. I went to bed fulfilled. If tomorrow someone calls for those with girlfriends to come out, I would rush out. Her call woke me up. Sleepy head, she teased. Hmmm. Good morning beautiful. You have a beautiful early morning voice, she lied. But it filled my belly with happiness. By the time the call ended I was boiling in a smitten temperature.

Around nine she called. Yes, love. She said she was in the bank but can’t reach the ATM man. Could I please send small credit so she could call the man.

Of course. Gimme a minute. But I took ten minutes. I am a busy man now. And it’s not as if I had a carton of recharge cards waiting on my desk, in this economic confusion. I sent 200 naira card. She called to say a quick thank you and promised to talk to me lerra.

But she didn’t call lerra, and throughout the day. She didn’t call at night. The next morning, no call; afternoon, no call. Evening, I called Potential Bae.

“Hi babe.”

“Who’s this?”

I stopped breathing. “It’s me.”


I swallowed my ego. “Me, Kingsley.”

“Kingsley from where?”

On Christ the solid rock I stand
All other ground is sinking sand
All other ground is sinking sand…


Babe Two

This one is from Edo. Came for holiday in her sister’s family place. Fair, average height, full of things and graceful. And really dazzling to the eye. So all the guys began to rush for her attention. These are guys who had girls and who were looking for number two or number three. I had no one. Life is so unfair.

I wanted to pull out of the crowd so I put my lazy brain to use, I went to the provisions shop where she bought things and spoke with the owner, a very understanding Nsukka guy. I told him anything the girl bought was on me. Tell her to keep her money then write it down, I will foot the fecking bill.

Yes sah!

You see, I have a way of making the mountain come to Lai Mohammed. She would look for me. Two days later, no one looked for me (except my landlord, to torment me). So I went to the shopkeeper, after a terrible Arsenal performance, livid, to cancel the bonanza. How much is the bill?

3,865 naira!

“What! You are a kidder! What is she buying that’d cost that much? Is it not normal noodles and chocolate and chewing gum?’

“Ah, the girl has high taste…”

“With my money? And she doesn’t even have the decency to look for me. Do I print money? Cancel, cancel! Lemme see the record!”

As the shopkeeper made for the record someone tapped me on the back. I turned. It was the Edo girl.

“You must be the guy paying for my purchases…’ British accent. ‘I have been looking for you. I want to warn you”–and she shut her eyes pointing a long finger at me. “Never you ever, ever in your lifetime pay my bills again. I can afford my bills…”

“Yes ma. But I haven’t done any harm yet. In fact, I have un-never the bills. You can settle it. Less than Four thousand.”

She flinched a little. “Is it that high?”

I smiled. “Ask the guy.” I made to pass her.

“Wait… Actually, you can pay for this one but subsequently” (she shut her eyes) “never ever dream of…”

“Better open your eyes and count out the money.” I hissed.

“It’s like you have hot temper.”

“You don’t know me. I am Abacha’s number two, a Stalin fellow of the order of Mussolini…”

And she burst out laughing. “Hey, you are funny!”

I looked her in the eye and saw remorse. Some girls can be real proud, You are funny been their way of saying I’m sorry. We locked eyes for a couple of seconds. “We can’t be shouting at each other like this,” I said. “How about we go sit on that bench and talk things over?” “Alright.”

For the next two hours, we talked real intimately. She had this romantic way of talking, tapping you three or four times in the lap or shoulder before making a point. I sat with an intelligent frown, hmming, chipping brilliant points and making philosophical analyses. At the end of the day, I had her number, her pin, her Instagram and Facebook usernames. Atta boy! She even pledged to visit me sometime. Oh! Finally, she stood up to go.

We held hands and began to walk towards her gate, few blocks away, real slowly, 0.01km per hour. At the background someone was singing Have You ever been in Love. It was Celine Dion’s tone and lyrics all right, but the person was singing in John Okafor (Mr Ibu) Okafor’s voice.

Warris that supposed to mean?

Tweets to @Oke4chukwu

Ramblings Of An Angry Nigerian: LET THUNDER STRIKE…

The full title of this post is Ramblings of an Angry Nigerian: Let Thunder Fire The Following People/Group of People. Too long, and kind of dangerous. If WordPress sees it they will ban me; if the police sees it they will arrest me; and most interestingly, if my department sees this they will revoke my BA English (Literature) (Hons) because the title is really really under-creative.

So I chopped off six words and the authorities are duly tricked. Now let’s go to business. I have a long list of people that thunder should strike this very moment.  You know we men of God don’t harm anyone, we just ask God to do it for us. You non-men of God as well. “Holy Ghost fire the hand that holds my destiny!!” “AMEN!!!” Yes, God is your official hired assassin, Jehovah El Assassin, carrying out hits for you. Come to think of it, anyone who is wicked enough to hold your destiny deserves to die. But if your destiny is small enough for one village woman to hold in her puny fist then perhaps she should keep it. And you can channel your energy in looking for something worthy of the name destiny, it’d pay more than calling for judgement.

So I have a long list of people thunder should fire or may fire or ought to fire but I have a marathon list of prayer points, meaning that these thunder candidates aren’t in the top 200. This is how my prayer points list looks like:

1, Visa for China
2, Visa for Europe
3, Visa for America
4, Let Linda Ikeji notice me
5, Explode my account
6, Protect my family
7, Husband for my aging aunt
8, Protect me from that “ex”
9, Protect me from my landlord
10, Perfect my writing ability
129, Bless Twitter Nigeria with common sense
201, Give my neighbour the fortitude to bear his seventeenth heartbreak in two years (he’s sort of an idiot sha)…

You see, I have no room for ‘fight those who fight me’ prayer points. Not that I don’t have people I wish inside a cement mixer but they aren’t my just top priority. And thunder fire you is not really a prayer point. Amadioha and Sango are more efficient in this aspect of the economy. Holy ghost fire is more of our emergency line (but don’t get it confused, God created Sango, Amadioha and thunder, thank you).

Below is the list of people who have offended me Thunder-high. So many of them but I selected seven of them, in no order, and presented them to you to judge.


1) My Cousin’s Boyfriend
Well, she said he never/wasn’t her boyfriend. Now, he better not be because it wouldn’t be pleasing to the eye when, on the day of engagement, I am chasing the groom round the table with a machete. Now this is what happened.

During the sallah holiday in September my cousin called me. She asked me to transfer 7000 to this fellow to purchase a scholarship form for her. The deadline was past but this fellow could sneak in her payment. I was suspicious but didn’t want to sound uncooperative. She had the money but didn’t have ATM card for the transfer. She would pay back once the holidays were done and dusted.

As the good family I was and am I took a bike (not bus, to save time) to the bank. The queue was long, I waited; network was poor, I was hopeful. My turn came. I concocted the transaction and sent it, and waited for the delivery, it didn’t deliver. So I cancelled and redid the transaction. This one delivered immediately. I got an alert, 7000 was transferred to so and so. Good. I got another alert, 7000 was sent to so and so. That’s 14000! Whaaaat!

So I called my cousin. She called the guy. The guy said he was expecting a lot of sevens thousands nairas and how could I prove I sent mine twice? That I should send him the two alert messages. I told my cousin I wouldn’t do that, let him keep the money. But she begged and begged and I gave in. I sent this stranger the two alerts.

I waited, nothing happened. I called the guy and he said he had seen it. He would send it back right away. Thanks. I waited. One hour passed, I saw nothing. I called oganyi.

‘Who’s on the line?’ He didn’t bother my saving number and was obviously too unintelligent to recognize it. I told him who I was and that I was still waiting for the money he would send ‘right away’. He lost his temper and said didn’t I know he was a busy person. That he would send it before nightfall. It was noon. I kept my cool, when a cat has you in the balls humility is easy.

7pm I saw no alert. I called the chairman. ‘Who’s on the line?’ he asked again. My nose sizzled with irritation. ‘It’s me na.’

‘You who?’

I told him. ‘Eh hen’ was his reply. I swallowed my rage. Calmly I said, ‘That money, you didn’t send it again?’

He flared up, ‘Don’t you know I’m a busy businessman?’

‘But you made the promise.’

‘My frien’ I say I’m busy.’ He dropped the call.

I called him, he didn’t pick. I called and called and called. He finally picked. ‘Nna, you are disturbing me o.’

‘Then do the transfer!’

‘My frien’ you are stupid for talking to me like that. Do you realise I am an elderly person?’

I was chocked with red-hot fury but I still wouldn’t blow my money away.

‘Did you abuse me?’

‘Yes, I abused you what will you do?’

‘I don’t want to quarrel with you,’ I began.

‘Me, I want to quarrel with you, abuse me back. Idiot.’ Click, the call ended. I called my cousin and explained all to her. She pleaded with me to let the guy be, that she would collect the money when she she met him for the form. I went to bed moody.

About a week later, I lay in my room totally depressed. I had missed an interview due to late information and was practically broke. In fact it’s not false to say I was in a casket and just waiting for someone to push me six feet and cover me with sand. An alert came in from my cousin, 14000 naira! I quickly reached for my phonebook and called the crook.

‘Who’s on the line?’

Haha, I told him who I was.

‘Eh hen, what do you want?’

‘Goat, I want us to quarrel. Abuse me, let us abuse each other…’


2) UBA Bank
This is the most annoying bank on earth. This bank employs the most insensitive, arrogant and hostile attendants. Poor ATM network, spammy text messages, and, most annoyingly, no credit alert, which means someone will send you money and you won’t know, and you will be hungry while sitting on top of cash and the person is cussing you for being ungrateful. On the contrary, they have the most instantaneous debit alert on earth.

Sigh. UBA run heartbreaking hidden charges. Today you have ten thousand naira, tomorrow it’s 9,986, next tomorrow 9,897 naira. We’re talking savings account here but let your money enter the next month and your balance would have shrunk to 8,756. Hahaha. It’s magical mehn.

Then came Buhari’s 50 naira stamp duty. I am running a savings account which is supposedly excluded from the stamp charge. UBA definitely hasn’t gotten the circular, they charge me 50 naira when I receive any amount. In fact this debit is the only way I learn of my credit alert. They charge me 50 naira when I recharge my phone. The other day I passed by the bank and I got a debit alert: 50 naira charge for passing by the bank.

I died.

3) Nigerian Soldiers on the Highway.
#PrayForOurSoldiers, yes yes, I have heard. I am doing my best, I am praying for the soldiers in Sambisa. All soldiers matter yes but the soldiers in the highway are mostly gun-toting hooligans looking for whom to punish, humiliate and destroy. In my last year in Zaria, one day, I was waiting for bus in front of North Gate. There was a small crowd waiting. When a bus came along it was a scramble. I got in but someone had matched my foot badly or I matched his badly, can’t remember. But we started quarreling, Do you know who I am? I will eat you alive and the likes. There were some market women in the bus and they tried to intervene by shouting us down, we quarreled even louder. The bus began to steam.

Just before Emanto Junction was a military checkpoint. The driver stopped and said to the soldiers, ‘There are two samari in this vehicle who want to cause civil unrest in Zaria City.’

And the soldiers ordered the guy and I to get down.

They say time heals a lot, but it’s nearly two years ago and I am still bleeding.

4) As for that “human” being who kidnapped a thirteen year old from Bayelsa, took her all the way to Kano, forcibly converted her to Islam and married her, the Thunder that will fire you is still in the gym building muscles. Imagine the despicable inhuman moronic act of satanic carnation, in my country, in 2016!

(I heard that the poor girl has been released, in police custody now. Then I saw a frightening twist to the story, people trying too hard to force a love story out of a crime. It’s a current story I will follow judiciously and tear apart in the next rambling.)

5) Linda Ikeji’s Haters
If you are on my Facebook list you would have known that Linda Ikeji is the love of my life, in whom I am well crazed. You look at Linda, you see a gossip blogger but in Linda I see a mentor, a leader, an inspiration, my woman, my everything. So abusing Linda is the surest way of invoking my phlegm. I have endured abuse of me on social media but not Linda Ikeji’s, you abuse her and you’ve messed with me.

There’s little to diss Linda about besides her being 36 and unmarried and purportedly bitter about it. This is cheap misogynistic nonsense, and archaic feudal ancient patriarchal bullshit that marriage is the ultimate of a woman. And it’s a shame a supposed “celebrity” Wizkid doesn’t know better. I don’t want to carry out research on the number of women of Linda Ikeji’s age who are really happy and fulfilled in their marriage, but if you think all there’s to life is grow up, go to school or not, marry, raise good children, put them in government positions, watch them marry, dote on your grandchildren, be a nuisance and die then I am sorry for you.

That Linda is unmarried says more about the sick society she lives in, it is more an exposition of the dire scarcity of good men, an indictment of the gold-digging skills that come naturally to Nigerian men, than a defection in Linda. In 500 years time, when blogging in Nigeria is mentioned Linda Ikeji’s name will ring out. She has impacted on her generation. So many of us won’t be remembered twenty or even ten years after death, and you cuss Linda. Marriage doesn’t make anyone immortal, ingenuity does. If Linda wants to marry someone today she will, all she needs need do is call for submissions, for the post of husband, attach picture and bio etc, and millions of men will fall over themselves to apply. Get the picture?

And you Wizkid, why are you not married? Your mates in Europe like Wilshere and Ramsey are married and posing with their legitimate children on social media, they don’t do baby mamas like you, they don’t fight baby mamas like you, they are obviously not as sophisticated and famous. But really Wizkid needs to grow up (perhaps he should change his name to Wizman or Wizguy–there’s power in the name o). Notice how of recent this kid has been acting restless, picking up fight in bars, saloons, streets, suya joints etc, generally acting like someone injected with chloroquine in the head. Perhaps he’s doing this to hide dwindling talent but someone with sense ought to lock him up in the freezer for six hours to cool his head. Otherwise, someday, he’ll do something very unforgivably nasty. I hope he slaps a soldier in Zaria.

And you brokers parroting that Linda has poverty mentality, are you serious? What on earth is poverty mentality? And with all your prosperity mentality how has that helped your drinking garri morning, afternoon, evening in the campus? Rubbish.

Mehn, I have to stop here. So exhaustive calling out haters. I know I said I’ll name seven people for thunder to address but I’m just tired. You don’t believe me? OK, I lied, what next? Wanna quarrel with me? Oya, abuse me now. Yes, let’s insult each other… But I must warn the following people: Lai Mohammed, Festus Keyamo, MTN, Mark Dean and Diego Costa etc be very careful. I am dangerous.

Last week so many things worthy of ramblings happened. Sunday Oliseh resigned as super eagles coach. Karma because you cannot pursue my favourite player and captain Enyeama from the team and expect to stay on the job longer than it takes a woman to carry a baby in the womb. A minute later, Siasia was appointed. That’s NFF for you, they sack you reappoint you, resack you, re-reappoint you, re-resack you etc. Siasia, tighten your seat belt.

Same day “Rev” King’s death sentence was confirmed by the Supreme Court. This man was first charged to court in 2006 for the inhuman atrocities he committed. And it took more than ten years to bring him to justice. This highlights the milipede motion of our legal system. But justice delayed and dragged is still justice. For this kind of man who really painted the clerics with an evil brush, it’s welcome justice. He even referred to himself as Jesus. OK sir, we’re gonna hang you and see what happens on the third day.

I am outta here.

Tweets to @Oke4chukwu