Abnormally Normal Sturvs.

Abnormally Normal Sturvs. 
When one tries to make too much sense, it might end up being nonsense. Same way when one tries to understand something’s, it ends up creating more confusion. 
Its the only reason it makes absolute sense that a top aid, to the President( who has been gone for 103 days) Garba Shehu , gives a ridiculous reason for the presidents work situation and the majority accepts it. 
It’s the only reason why when you are interviewed or asked a question in the future about why you president was working from home,  you can look the interviewee square in the eye and mention one word…. RATS. 
I mean,  the President has been ill,  down with a sickness we don’t know but have to pray against and has been on leave for like 3months.

Do y’all because of service to the nation want the President to add Lassa fever to the one wey dey worry am ni?  Common,  let’s be human here. N2mil worth of fumigation for PMB’s office can’t eliminate all rats na, haba.
Simply because a salary earner like myself would have been advised to resign,  or the resignation letter brought to my sick bed sef  for only one week absence o (Who send me), it would be very unfair to use that as a yardstick for a whole change Messiah like our PMB.
But hey,  the President is the CEO of the nation. He can do as he please and no one must ask questions hence be tagged an opposition…. Shiiiii. 

We have to understand that all men are equal but some are more equal that others. It’s the reason why a Governor can declare a work free day in honour of our gone for 103 days president and even go as far as justifying it. Many market people surviving on a “day money”would suffer it but who cares,  the president is back from abroad and working from home….. Let’s pop  some burukutu y’all! 
Of course the budget for the statehouse clinic might surpass the budget for some States General Hospitals but who cares?? 3.87bn is way too paltry for the health of the staffer of Asian Rock mehn! How do you expect the world to take us seriously when we can’t take the Heath of our President seriously? 
We have to travel to “foreign” for “kuolity”  healthcare despite our promises to stop public office holders from doing the exact same thing! Oh my, the office of the President of Nigeria is a private office… My bad. 
The Great Ojukwu… May his soul Rest in Peace.

2003 Was The year…. And my darling president remembers vividly that one man,  the man who championed a call to secede, met with him and a One-Nigeria deal was struck. Nnamdi Kanu was in custody for months, but it took a 103days health leave to make our President retrospective….the words of the great Ojukwu came back in full glory…. 

Of course we are just hating on this great man of the people…. He isn’t a magician… The past governments looted the treasury….His current SGF kinda diverted fund…ssshhhhhh

But y’all choose to forget he wanted this job so badly he contested twice! He should be prepared, right? Nah. 
“Wo” , The abnormal is normal now. No need for fuss “Jare”





I know, I know. Its been a loooooooong while. Am sorry y’all. So so many things have happened to yours truly o jare…Fatherhood, Careerhood, even some ‘fillage’ people have tried to make me not write but GOD pass them…I have broken the yoke of barren spell of Writing! Lool!

             This, is my gift to y’all! My first-est blogpost for 2014! Its another BLOG-BUSTER y’all. Share, comment, enjoy…Nykelodeon is baaaaaacccck!



The “Awuff” Miracle.



Mehn! Times have really passed o! I mean, this is lagos, looking orderly, neat, got gardens and all…na wa o. Used to remember lagos before the advent of Babatunde Raji Fashola’s Government…How dirty and rowdy places used to be, most especially our markets. Oh! If you used to go to ‘Oshodi’ back then, “pipul full evrywia like “tambolo“! The mount-everest like heap of dirts, scattered round the market also serves as a toilet for the indefatigable citizens of the state e.g area boys, agbero’s, etc to “kaka” on. Its was almost impassable…everywhere was always blocked. Foodsellers, Fish and meat sellers, et al could be seen setting up shop right on top of decaying, putrid feaces with flies buzzing…ooh. Oshodi, where I stopped by to buy “boli” and groundnut one day like that and the seller, while attending to me saying,”N50 ni eyokan” was washing her baby’s butt.https://mail-attachment.googleusercontent.com/attachment/?view=att&th=143b6fe923db64d4&attid=0.1&disp=inline&safe=1&zw&saduie=AG9B_P_9jd-Q5a5exeFJCeM7wG1V&sadet=1390398835287&sads=6JeWR4CwcgZznttyuNb8TpW_LNs


She almost made me vomit as she just cleaned her hand, littered with faeces and water with the tip of her apron and used that same poopoo filled hand to turn the “boli” I was eyeing! Mehn, I told her not to worry o..trust, na confam ‘epe’ she swear give me! Lool.

   Oshodi market, it was the defining factor for lagos, the most popular place, the undisputed home to Area boys, agberos, theives, ‘omo-ita”, molues, pickpockets…everything that made lagos thick could be found there.

    2003 came, GSM was the in thing. Then, the prices of SIM cards would buy you a new Blackberry bold 5! I wanted one so badly. My dream phone was the Samsung SGH R225.https://mail-attachment.googleusercontent.com/attachment/?view=att&th=143b5352f25d975f&attid=0.5&disp=inline&safe=1&zw&saduie=AG9B_P_9jd-Q5a5exeFJCeM7wG1V&sadet=1390398708262&sads=j_iX7-UxK5oMEk0Mu1vnEIwGSqM

We used to call it blue face then. I wanted it badly but as pepper nor rest, I was left fustrated. As one of the biggest boys in the hood, I had a rep to uphold. I tried to save, the moni nor reach. That when my ‘padi’, Subeiru told me about Agbalabi Oshodi.



  Agbalabi Oshodi was an enigma. He was a Doctor of the unthinkable, he was a champion of the well, Masses. He was the light, the candle light @the end of some Oshodi tout’s tunnel.

   The thing is, Agbalabi was a magician. A very revered one who according to Subeiru was once ‘guru maharaji’s right hand man. Omo mehn,I was scared straight away, Guru wetin? The man that I was told turned a popular “jazzman” into turkey! Ah! Imagine what his number 2 guy go fit do! Noo ooo! 

   My head snapped up straight when Subeiru and some others claimed Agbalabi Oshodi would double and even triple any money I have and that they planned on going there. Mehn, I envisioned myself using my dream Samsung blueface phone, the chicks that would trip and fall 4 me, my rep in the hood…mehn, my mind was made up. I must make money!

  Of to oshodi we went and lo and behold, the queue to see Agbalagbi perform was quite much that we had to ‘settle’ area boys N200 each before we got in. With my ‘koro-koro’ eyes, I saw someone drop N500 into a tin as directed by Agbalagbi and in mere seconds after incantations and crazy dancing by Agbalabi, plenty money appeared in the tin. Yeeeepa! E don be today!  Na ghana-must-go I go take carry money waka from this place today ! My N15250, all my savings would be doubled o! That’s almost 30k! And if I now triple it nko?! Mehn, my brain was on overdrive, plotting ways to spend the money.

  My turn came, I tentatively dropped N5000 into the Tin. After like 1min, N9,600 was handed back to me by Agbalabi!! Omo mehn!! This is real!!! I yelped with joy as my guys hugged me. Trust the area-boys, they were on my case instantly and in no time, my N9600 was reduced to N6700. I now had N16,950. Not good enough o, not good I told my friends. You know how conscience works now, the Jesus part said, I should just walk away jejely, the other side said I should achieve my dream. I weighed the situation, I was a good economics student na and I also had 100percent faith to go with it. I just had to play again. Like they say, Maximum Risk, Maximum reward, right? Right.

   I rejoined the queue, my body phone me like mad, urging me to turn back” but the oliver twist in me “just no gree”.  After what seemed like ages, it got to my turn.

  Agbalabi, looked me over, gave me a wicked, evil grin and told me to take a leap of faith in crude yoruba language. People hailed me as a previous winner and gave me encouragement. Now, I wanted to put N10,000 in the tin o but the person before me testified that he put N3000 in the tin and has got N11200 ! Omo, I threw caution to the wind o, I drop N16000, my whole everything save N950 inside the biggest of the tins as the large crowd screamed!

   “What is happening,” I wondered? People were running and falling over eachother, gun shots were ringing in the air and commotion was everywhere. Yet, I didn’t move as my eyes were firmly riveted on the largest of the tins where I placed my money. In my mind I was like, even if devil himself show for this place, even if the earth open up to swallow anything for this place, I must to collect my money o! Subeiru and my guys had vanished, area boys gone, even Agbalabi has disappeared!

  Aaah! Noo oo! Dis no be action feem na! No ooo! It cannot fit to possible, lai lai! It was like I was in a trance. I wanted to move towards the tin to recover my money but I just couldn’t will my legs to move.

   As the dust settled, 3 policemen stormed the shop, wearing C.I.D on their backs. They were carrying out a raid! Yeeepaaa! It was then I found my voice after a tsunami causing slap from one of the officers landed on my cheeks.

  “Small boy, wetin you dey find for here”, he asked? I was stammering, looking perplexed. Anoda ‘sapas’ connected firmly with the space between my ‘ogo’ and neck and mehn, I saw everything clearly…the planned raid, the process of the fraud, the paid crowd and participants and the fake ambiance. As the police briefly left the shop, I attacked the tin in which I placed my entire life savings…the money was gone. No Agbalabi, no money. I was duped. No dream Samsung phone.

   To top my pain, the CID man as usual with police, looked at my bloodshot, about-to-cry eyes and said to me,” hey, wey you? So, small boy like you kon buy igbo abi? See as your eye red’! You own don done today!”

  My people, I just couldn’t take it anymore, I cried like I have never done in my life! After pleading and crying, he left me alone after I have parted with my last N950 and the 3 of them simply disappeared.

  How I trekked back home, I swear till date, I don’t know. Of course, subeiru and co came to sympatize with me…I showed my appreciation by pelting them with stones! “Awon weyrey” !  



NB. Well folks, I still ended using my Dream Samsung Blueface in 2005 sha.



 Written by Nick Benson Osagiede.

  You can interact with me on twitter @nykelodeon

 Stay blessed y’all.


The Poop Dilemma.



Most times when I see peeps defecating in public places, soiling their bodies in the bus or in class, seeing peeps exploding with poop, I always abuse the living daylights out of them. I mean, how can an adult ‘shit for body’? Yuck! “There is no justification whatsoever for it jor”, I always bellow.

Unknown to me, fate sat down waiting to make it my turn. And when it came, it came so hard on me. It was a bright Thursday morning. I had an interview at Lekki but mehn, I was broke, very very broke. ‘Yahoo-yahoo’ was in its prime but fearing the ‘what-goes-around-comes-around’ effect, I had long decided not to do tread that path. I grudgingly took the molue http://wp.me/p2sMMf-10 , my first love, and surprisingly, it was a scandal-less journey.


Everything was moving very smooth, I even finished my interview on time, came home, ate my lunch of bread and Portuguese beans and spiced it up with Hollandia milk. Off to my friend’s crib I went. At least man go unwind after the day.


Boarded an economically disempowered rheumatism-causing danfo with a crayfish seller seated to my right and a ‘don’t-touch-me ugluche’ with ‘gbagaun-cious tendencies’ to my left. As we all minded our business, trying our best to seat comfortably, the first sign came, mess kash me. “Chai…inside dis cramped bus, with the lack of breeze, omo mehn, if I ‘minister’ into this bus ehn, we fit get accident o! That filled my thoughts, with both my mind and tummy in turmoil. But as the ‘mess‘ no gree go, I angled my butt to deliver…


Now, this thing would have happened to you reading this sef…where you feel like you wanna ‘mess’, or ‘pollute-the-air’ (or fart, in standard English) and as you angled your butt to get the perfect setting before your release, you suddenly realize something else well prepared to follow the mess comot your body ‘by force by fire’…you know that feeling shey? That’s exactly what i felt that fateful day. I thought it was mess but lo and behold, as e hook me, I immediately knew I was in trouble. “Na shit dey worry me and dis  kain shit na die!”.


Got to my friend’s crib, bobo don comot. My mind started racing, “how I wan take shit now nah? Na house sure pass o”, I took the supposed face saving decision. Quick quick, i jumped into another bus. This time around, traffic was not my friend. The traffic was so heavy and we had to snail on. I almost died in the bus as my tummy was on fire.


 I felt like my belly would soon explode into tiny pieces of the beans and milk combo that was manifesting in my tummy. I kept scanning for any bush or eatery but for where, I no see any. The olodo driver just dey match brake anyhow making us shove forward and backward, hitting bumps and forcing yours truly to hold back leakage of catastropic odourous compounds stemming from the deepest regions of my belly.


The lady beside me was sincerely scared as she obviously thought I was about running mad! She gave me that ‘e-be-like-say-this-one-don-craze’ look. I had to sit with one bottom cheek and angled my bumbum so that any change in movement won’t depressurize my bowels!


Thank God for endurance and strength. Just as sudden as it started, my stomach troubles disappeared. The bus moved and the road was free. Relief washed over my entire system.


As I sat properly, the bloodclaat tummy rumbled again. This time around, it gave a very loud, disturbing sound. Lucky me, we were near the next bus stop. The bus had barely stopped when I jumped out. Sweaty palms and forehead, I asked for and was shown a public toilet. My people, if you see the mound of poop I saw in the Water Closet eh! It was as if some people were hired to mould the shit kon put for dia. It was so bad that flies were performing orchestra on it! “Chei! Shey na for this kain tin I go tanda put my yansh? Lai lai”. I paid the agreed N50 for ‘toileting’ and sharpaly hailed a bike. “My house nor too far, I go try hol am”, I decided again, and moved on.


As fate would have it, it was those ‘aboki , them ‘mallam born-champion’ types that only understood ‘GO’ that carried me. The bobo nor get Stop or Slow down for him dicko o. Na so e dey enter am, potholes, bumps, pavement, anything and everything. My right hand gripped the okada seat, my left spiritually held my tummy as I prayed I don’t release the nuclear warhead inside me. My whole body was strained and barely, just barely, I was able to manage holding on. Finally, after what seemed like eternity despite the Bobo practically flying, I got home and fantasized seeing myself seating on my WC, downloading away…

“Ah! Welcome Nicko” “Omo baba e”, “you have really grown o!”, were what greeted me. Today of all days, my family was having an impromptu meeting! Yeeeeeee!


I was pushed from one family member to another, introduced to countless numbers of people whose names and titles I forgot instantly as I grimaced with my tummy killing me. Each time I tried to escape for the toilet, another uncle or aunty will sha try to introduce me or drag me to meet someone…mehn! Even when I politely asked to be excuse that I was pressed, for wia? Dem nor do like say dem hear me at all.


After finally getting to the toilet, it was occupied. I almost cried, cringing as my “belle dey turn me” and begged the occupant to “please do quick”. The occupant killed my hope as he replied, ‘bros, mesef just enter now now’ !


 I don die!


Na so I go take embarrass myself for dis place wey every full ground? Mehnnnnnnn!

As I immediately made way for the door, headed to my neighbour’s house, the poop hooked me to the point that I couldn’t walk. I kept ‘uhmm-ing, and aaah-ing, and cursing the spirit that made me eat beans and milk as I slowly made my way to the door, delicately avoiding any physical contact.


After barely making it to the sitting room, my uncle just had to tap my belly and that was went I gave up holding the poopoo any longer…


 It was those smelly watery kind…the type that typifies ‘Gastroenteritis’. The one only a ‘running tummy’ would produce. Just imagine what came out of me that day right in the sitting room.


First, everywhere went dead as if an angel passed by. The next thing that followed made me almost curse the day I was born…it is exactly as you have pictured it in your mind.



Written by @nykelodeon

Nick Benson-Osagiede.

Comments are highly welcomed. Sharing, re-broadcasting, all the every so far you like it is allowed.


Other funny Stories by yourstruly…


‘Carryover tutu re o!’ on http://wp.me/p2sMMf-2f


‘Ghen ghen’ on http://wp.me/p2sMMf-2H


My JAMB-SALIM diary on http://wp.me/p2sMMf-w



Ah ! Football ! What else can unite a Nation such as ours if not footie. Saturdays and sundays are filled to the last standing position as football lovers crowd viewing centers to see live matches. Nkowbi sellers, yorghurt and “puffpuff” sellers, beer, soft drinks and any kind of liquor sellers always have a full day ! This time around tho’, its was the Champions league game between Chelsea and Barcelona and it happened on a wednesday. As usual with Chelsea fans, the noise on the streets were deafeaning as Chelsea, due to the amount of africans in the squad, got a lot of Nigerian supporters…and trust me, you wanna be on their side when they are in action.
So,  here I was, closed from work early, almost got knocked down by a “Chelsea” dry gin-drinking Chelsea fan cum Okada rider who shouted “up chelsea” as he hit a bump…hmmmn. Well, I got home in one piece, got to d already filled viewing center and wedged myself in-between a dude with a body odour strong enuff to wake a dead man and another with a mouth odour so bad that it smells b4 d dude even opens his mouth !!
Mehn, I look 4 seat taya, I nor see. The one with d halitosis was a Chelsea fan…the body odour dude was a Barcelona fan. I just wanted a good game and hoped the better team gets the win.
7.45, The game kicked off. Already, bragging, bets and wagers were set. The noise was mad, d booze was flowing, the viewing center was over packed and tensions were gradually gettin strained. A miss-pass by John Obi-Mikel brought about curses and abuses from some foul mouthed peeps. Some idiots already have started d usual “yanyanpoo” arguements.
“Oloriburuku, pass” ! Yelled one man. “Wayray ni mikel yi oo” screamed another. As d game got to the 34th minute with barcelona dominating, Messi hit the post and there, wahala began to rear its ugly head.
The Barcelona fan, body odour had creamed my shirt with sweat to the point that me sef don dey smell like am. The olodo removed his roundneck and my people, lo and behold, he had “George Bush” on his armpit !! And trust the mofo, he just had to always raise up his hands each time Barca made a good play with his “jungle” scraping d edge of my face!!  Now, mouth-odour on the other hand, had tried to no avail to engage me in a discussion about the game, each time sending me to partial unconsciousness as wave after wave of d rotten egg-smelling mouth-odour reached me. Plus, I had spittle all over my face each time he talked…mehn, I suffered.
As sergio busquets put barcelona ahead, the Bubble burst. “Wahala”, who had been lurking all day decided to come into the party.
“Goooooooooaaaaaaal”, screamed d Barcelona fans as dey jumped up, scattering everywia. It was that moment that Body odour a.k.a Barca fan decided in the spirit of celebration to give Mouth odour, a.k.a Chelsea fan a “beer” hug. And you know how quick mouth odour people’s temper can be. Na there wahala start.
“U dey craze” ? “Dem swear 4 u ? “, shouted mouthodour as he pushed barca boy away. No do no do, gbege start. Immediately, another barca fan pushed him back, next thing you know, it was a free for all fight. Uppercuts, blows, bottles, stones, chairs etc were hauled around. Some lost teeth, some had swollen eyes, some were bloodied as both sets of fans targeted one another.
“Dat guy na Barca fans”, make una hol am !, screamed one boi pointing at me . How I wan take explain say I nor b wetin ? 4 wia bois eye dey chook ?? Omo, I negotiate with my leg as I broke  Usain Bolt’s record !
After 12mins, calm was tentatively restored. Miraculously, the TV was not broken, everyone comported dia selves and we got on with the 2nd half. The tension was so strong that even passersby and shop owners have locked up. It was like a bomb was ready to go off soon.
Shortly it became 2-0 to barca and the tensions doubled. Light celebrations from Barca fans, little banter and back to the game. Mouthodour and bodyodour were staring daggers at themselves with me in the middle, receiving the shoves, banter, spittle and hair !
Unknown to us, bodyodour happened to be the No 2 man of his street gang called, “ija omode” and as mouthodour pushed him, he had run to his hood to rally his “eru iku’s” and troops to save face.
Then, Ramires just had to score for Chelsea and that was it, all hell broke lose !! As chelsea fans scattered the whole building, celebrating, hooded dudes armed with cutlass, matchete, broken bottles , and oda weapons of iniquity stormed the viewing center, doing all sorts to anybody or thing wearing anytin Bluish…
Ol boy, na vigilante finally make tins end ooo ! We didn’t even get to see Torres’s goal sef as me don dey inside my house my with my head banging from a meticulously placed knock right in the ‘koko’ of my head by Mouthodour !  
Since that day, though I still go to the viewing center. I make sure I sit at the entrance or stand near the door so that I wee now now coman avoid stories that touch afterall, na tree near tree make pesin believe say monkey dey jump ooo !!!

Written by Nick Benson-Osagiede with the handle @nykelodeon on Twitter.

Once upon a ‘molue’ Part II.

Once upon a molue Part II.


After what Mr Okitimako did to me, i vowed not to ever board a molue again ! However, as we all know, man proposes GOD disposes…one tin-one tin, i found my self standing at Oshodi bustop waiting for yourstruly, Molue. What choice did i have sef, with 70 naira left on me, i got no choice na ! except of course, i get ‘witch-craft’ !  It was that time of the year where @one chance’ was rife and to avoid stories that touch the heart, i decided to travel safe.

After 20minutes, a rickerty, rheumatism-causing bus, came bounding along and to my surprise, half of the crowd were going to obalende as well ! wahala number one, this means war ! after wasting enuff time waiting for a bus, i wasnt gonna form ‘bigboi’ and let this one pass, lai lai. As if reading my mind, one frail looking man standing close to me gave me the ‘oya-make-we –see’ look. Choii  ! Today na die ! Over 100 peeps waiting, armed with uppercuts, blows, slaps, and push to make boarding the already filled bus a success.

obalende aiye joko’ , bellowed the conductor  ! Within seconds, the almost filled bus was ‘fulled’ to the doormouth with sweaty, ‘gingered’ lagosians . Now, after such hustle to board a molue, a lot happens to a successful boardee…there is this exhilaration and highness, followed by a ‘gingered’spirit and an extreme edge of temper instability…there is this king of the jungle feel…

It was 9.25pm, a very late hour for 3rd mainland bridge plyer. The bus had headlights…very bright ones like a candle flame as one could hardly see the road and i know y’all wont believe this but the driver actually tied a recharable lamp to his side mirror !  it was those unique kinds of molue that had the driver’s seat barricaded like a cage and  a small door 4 d driver to pass thru. The bus was poorly lit, giving the sweaty, body odour smelling bus  an eerie feeling…like something crazy just had to happen.

From no where came the shocker…due to the time, the driver and conductor decided to up the tfare by 30naira making the total tfare a whooping  100 naira ! choooi ! immediately,Ii knew world war 4 was about to start because most like me, had budgeted 70 naira ! The already ‘gingered’ crowd were ready for anytin, with their tempers on the edge, an aluta was brewing. How could they increase the tfare just like dat ? who dem be ? wen fuel is still 97 naira ? i pray ooo ? we no go pay ! Inshort, pipul blood don dey hot ! One don dey tap the condutor 4 head, sparking another round of shouts and insults ! As the noise got to a maddenIng cresendo , the driver did a miraculous thing…he left the steering wheel to aim a well directed curse!  Jesus !!  a woman almost fainted as the bus hit a bump and almost skidded off the road. Mehn, there was commotion everywhere, with the driver, barely having his eyes on the road as he kept turn back , hurling insults.  una mehn….still on the first row, demanding for 100 naira, with no one ready to pay, the conductor wasnt ready to capitulate. After enuff shouts and ‘aluta’ chants by the commuters, and with the driver’sreluctant  interference, the conductor grudingly accepted 70 naira and everyone was happy. As we got on the 3MB from Adeniji Adele , we could see the road better thanks to the street lamps on the bridge.

All of a sudden, the bus started quaking, jerking like an epileptic patient,  forcing the driver to stop .

Aaaarrrrgh ! On top 3MB, the longest bridge in africa? @9.52pm ! ahhhh ! how we wan take reach House? Nooooo it must not happen ooooo ! First, it was noise, unrest and fear. Next came the insults, and normal rebuke of poor maintenance . Next were the tirades of people with ‘experiences’ and of cos last came the way forward. However, in the midst of the melee, we forgot the driver ! The dude with the bus’s key had crossed over to the other side of the 3MB ! Everyone @ first thought there was a problem until we saw the conductor race like a mad man to meet his ‘oga’ on the otherside of the bridge . That was when the conspiracy dawned on us…because we failed to pay 100 naira, the driver decided too leave us in the over crowed bus in the middle of the 3mb @ 9.52pm ! The driver and conductor have taken their  pound of flesh !

‘ Yeeeeeee !’,  ‘oloriburuku’, awon weyray’,  enuff curses rented the air ! chai ! Have you ever laid foot on the 3MB? Standing very close to d rail, breeeze blowing like crazy, with the bridge doing a kinda vibrating something , like its moving and of course, the acute reality that no bus or car would stop 4 anyone @ dat time of the night plus the fact that ‘man nor fit swim’….mehn….it was a live nightware ! Maybe i ‘bluetoothed’  the fear to everyone else bcos all of a sudden, the realisation that we were alone, In the middle of the Third mainland bridge, with the nearest treakkable distance being IyanaOworo, a far 100km away 1 mehn…people humble straight ! We started pleading, begging the driver and conductor with reckless abandon. To make matter worse, the crazed driver had even started walking in d direction of iyana oworo !!!! aahhhhhhh !

oga driver, pleaseeeeeee’, one woman cried !’Joor baba okomi, ma shey bayii’, another pleaded. Even the boy scout co-ordinator wey dey form  ‘Staff’ follow beg. For where,  The guy just bone awa side…chai…there is feeling that comes with the realization that sumtin very bad can happen…you go just humble. Na so we dey, some dey comtemplate how dem go negotiate the movement on top bridge. A man was even trying to signal some fisher men below  to help..like say him go jump d bridge ! my mind was spinning oyut of control as i tot about my life , only child, no wife, no girlfriend, no sugar mummy, no pikin, no will, nothing…na so i go just kpai ! chooooi !

Kon see as prayer warriors begin to dey cast and bind ! Some were invoking all kinds of spirits to come save the day. Some have started calling family and friends to break the story. Many tried flagging down cars and busses at formula 1 like speeds…for where? No one stopped.

After what seemed like ages, Eventually, we all succeded in persuading the driver who insisted we paid first before we continued the journey. After another 15mins on the bridge spent on collecting another 30naira from all of us, the driver eventually hopped into his seat.

‘taaayuuuunnnnnnnyunnnnyunnn’, nothing.

Tayyyuuuuunnnnyuuunnnnnyunnnnnnyyyuuunnn…., nothing. The ‘molue’ would not start !

Fearing the wrath of the passengers, the driver attemted to bail but one ‘soji’ guy grabbed him sharp sharp ! After another round of abuses and insults, we diagnosed the bus problem…no kickstarter…meaning we had to push the bus till it starts !!! mehnnnnnnn, wetin eye see dat day eh, e heavy for mouth ! we had to take turns pushing d bus to start ! After anoda 19mins, we got the bus roaring, with billows of smoke covering the bus like lord vildermort in dem Harry porter movies.

Mehn, that day no b beans at alll ! as we rolled into anthony, i breathed a sigh of relief. The almost silent bus came to life again, and  everyone, including the driver became chatty and cozy as we all laughed  and recounted the events  of the night. We eventually reached oshodi  around 10.54pm and the driver, out of his ‘finite’ mercies decided to take us down to ‘Cele’ free of charge…your guessed right, we declined !!!!!!


Written by Nick Benson-Osagiede .

checkout other interesting stories …

once upon a Molue Part I …  http://wp.me/p2sMMf-10

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Carryover tutu ré o !!!

Carry over Tutu re o !

There is a funky way “pure water” sellers in Lagos advertise their good. The scream, in a shrill voice, saying, “pure water tutu re ooo” ( cold water is here o ) It was back in 2006 during my ND program that a particular test, screamed in this exact way in my head, saying, “carryover tutu re oo !” the fear of carryovers or what some butty-olodo’s call “reference” was the phobia alll students had to deal with. This is my story of a close shave i had with “carryover” !

“He’s coming ! for real, he is coming oo !” was what woke me up from my slumber. I was about to face the test of my academic life, the dreaded 4 unit course with a history of leaving obituaries of result in its wake ! I was on course to face What would determine my grade point , my final result and of course my rep in my department. I got up, Stretched, adjusted my clothes, especially my trouser (as my N50 bend- down- select Belt has gone Haywire !), took my ‘foolscap’ note and tore off 3 double sheets of paper. Its a vow, yes, a pact i have signed with the god of Exams and test that this particular one was gonna go down ! I was set to Jam this Morphology test at all angles and i will do that with all random rapid motion ! As expected, the noise in my class was deafening and catalysing it was the Herald arrival of our Morphology Lecturer, Mr Osomo Kusibe .

Now lemme tell you a little about Mr Osomo Kusibe.

The word, Baby-faced Assasin best describes the man. His surname in English simply means, “DIE THERE” ! He was a cool Handsome man with an easy smile and a very very corrosive heart ! He was a dedicated sadist who holds the enviable record amongst lecturers as the one with the most Carry over students and to top it all he was the Rector’s Padi-padi !

Back , to my gist, my everly random and randy class as if undergoing vapourization, unleashed the most concentrated and annnoying fart you can ever imagine coming out of a human ! The day of reckoning has finally arrived. All my 2days of noctural living and vigils would be tested now. The good sheep would be separated from the goat. The Unserious, olodo students dem shall smell Morphology plasmodiophoromycetes today !

“effico” , “iwe factorial”, “my husband”, “ i would sit beside you today”, etal were comments passed from one olodo to another as every man was perfecting plans to make the day a victorious one. Efficos were just feeling high. Some of my fellow nocturals came up to hail me. Why not, me sef suppose feel high now. I spent 2 sleepness nights reading a book vigourously , cramming, memorising and assimilating for a test that would fetch me only 20marks ! You say just 20 marks abi. Well, if you are working towards getting a mortuary chilled carryover, nothing do you ! One of my gees told me no shaking. You sef, tell me how e wan take be na ? After all my wahala plus my head is so hot from reading that the book sef don dey pursue me, mehn, Osomo Kusibe is dead ! I would kill, assassinate, annihilate, vampire-rate, cremate and chop-late the Morphology test ! Morphology for where, na me and am 2day!

Come and see my class. People don dey book seat for “tag team”, “Voltron” and “giraffing” formations ! the poor efficos today go chop money ! Even nerds weren’t left out as i could spot Tolu my friend, surronded strategically by 5 olodo girls ! You need to see how “parasitic association” full everywhere ! choi ! all for this test oo ! You wan try me, my cans of BAYGON and RAID don dey my side. Any parasite for my side lasan, mehn na to run dem down !

Question 1, Describe… Tension rented the air. Murmurs could be heard As i was hearing some students silenting jubilating as they saw the questions, i was seeing some cursing the day they choose Food Technology as a course. 4me, i was just smiling to myself, loading my gun for the final kill. After seeing the 3rd question of of 5, i knew this was th day the lord has made ! i am gonna pass this afterall ! At last, all the questions were available and START catalysed my pen into action. I was seeing my guys attacking the question with reckless abandon. I started off with a sub-question in which i put up an extra -ordinaire performance. I was about to answer the second question when the unexpected happened…


It was like a boko haram inspired bomb, an explosion that hit me hard and made me scribble who-is-in-the-garden on my answer script! I could not remember a thing ! How could this be happening to me ? I closed my eyes again to try and refocus my mind but for where? Nothing was happening !

My GOD, i exclaimed ! Everyone looked @me. Most thought i was possessed, others thought i had made a mad mistake. Mehn, i was done for ! It only got worse as i tried to remember ! Looking at the time remaining, i started laughing Hysterically!

“20 minutes remaining”, said Mr Osomo. I was yet to answer 4 questions ! My friends were taking quick glances at me, trying to ginger me with their eyes but, nothing was happening !

“Bola, look up. You all have 7 minutes to go. When i say stop, drop your pen and pass your papers to the edge”, said Mr Osomo. On hearing this, my brain woke up and like the phenolphatalein indicator plus Salt solution on inclusion of acid, my head began to clear to reveal all i have crammed ! I was starting to get into the groove @ 6 m inutes to go ! i started rushing, making mistakes, trying to leave no question unanswered.

“STOP” !

At the end of the day, most of my coursemates, parasites, symbionts, Voltrons, Giraffe’s, efficos and spiri-koko’s were agog with dongs of praise, cries of excitement and aloofness of failure. I was the talk of the day, with some suggesting over-reading is gradually making me a candidate for yaba left ! Everything i read flowed like suya and garri in my head. Was it a punishment ? mehn , i went all supersticious looking for what and who to heap my misfortune on ! Was it that woman that i didnt greet this morning that cused this? Was it shukura, who snapped her fingers at me for not borrowing her my book? Choi !

“Carry over tutu re ooo,” screamed shakiru ! he has already booked himself down for a chilled carryover . Tufiakwa !!! thats not my portion ! i still got one chance to prove my mettle…the Grand stage, the finals, the Exam ! dat exam na do or die affair ! I must use all means possible to pass !

Carryover tutu re o ! Nonsense! Tufiakwa ! GOD forbid ! PS: I finally made a B2 !

Written by Nick Benson-Osagiede .

Please, your comments are highly welcomed. You can follow me on Twitter on @nykelodeon

NYSC: The Incredifabulous Service.

NYSC: The incredifabulous service.

            By Nicholas Benson-Osagiede.


* This is an improved version written and published 10/06/2010 in Campus Life, The Nation Newspapers.


The NYSC scheme is still the only surviving educational “reform” till date. Be that as it may, a lot of questions have been asked about the objectives of the scheme and till date no justifiable reason has been given for “forcefully” exposing students to dangers, brutal killings, abductions and kidnappings, on-your-own survival and the ultimate search for the “thing –wey- no- loss” in volatile places that even armed and trained members of the security force wouldn’t dare go.


The uncertainty on where one will be posted is enough to cause frenzy. Little wonder parents and students lobby to get their postings to place they at least have a link to. Accolades must go to the NYSC officials for effectively combing the length and breadth of the country to get some “what-da-hell” places and  “i-can’t-believe-this “areas where civilization and modernization have found no home, yet graduates are posted there to serve.

The posting of graduates to these places unknown, we have been told, is to enhance unity in the country; well it had effectively helped to put students in the thick of violent religious and ethnic clashes. What is the essence of the scheme if lives cannot be protected? What is the need when corpers are not sure of their safety? This is asides coping with the crashes, accidents, ritual killings and thieves which are hazards common to travellers at day and night. Here we are, seeing and witnessing violence and deaths in some areas of Northern Nigeria, yet, corps members are sent down there.


Corpers go through a one year service period in which only a handful are lucky enough to get good postings and job afterwards.  Now, after one year, they come back into the over saturated job market which they forfeited right after graduation to honor the call to service. As experience and age are yardsticks in securing a job these days, most ex corpers end up unemployed as the requirements needed by most employers are not met.  Most would argue about self-employment but the scheme doesn’t guarantee that except a stipend assessable after service to start up a small business but only a handful get to qualify for the grant.

Some places don’t have facilities for accommodation talk less of a corper’s lodge, the ones that painfully have are “functionally derelict and economically disempowered” with no fence, electricity and water supply and in 85 percent cases, bad toilets.  Thank GOD for some organizations and associations with “family houses” to accommodate corpers as they leave camp if not, most would be roaming the streets, house-less. The very lucky ones are forced to rent apartments, at exorbitant rates in towns. How can we tackle unemployment with corps members as cheap labour, peddled around by the government? During my service year, Corps members, graduates with degrees for goodness sakes were posted to shops to serve! So many business organizations employ and pay less, waiting on NYSC to send corps members their way. After paltry or even in most cases no pay, corps members have no choice but to take up the Place of Primary assignment as their inability to get one simply results in no allawi for the month as they try to avoid extension of service.

And corpers were paid a paltry N10,000 per month! What a shame! After enough noisemaking on the subject, it was finally increased to N19800. Good news right, NO. The suffering of corps members only increased as the said amounts are never received as at when due. Some corps members in some states have to go more than 2months before they are even paid! The monies spend ages in fixed deposits, while welfare of corps members are neglected. State allowances are peanuts, also subject to the mood of the payees. Corps members at times spend months without receiving their allowances due to being rejected at Places of primary assignments. Camping in some states are as torturous as a staying in a relief camp! Most end up falling back on parent, and friends to survive through the year!


 What is specialization and expertise in service?  Despite all, most posting of graduates to their PPA’s are still not in line with their course of study. Health insurance for an average citizen is non-existent talkless of that of a corper. Due to the change of scenery, sickness is rife and no matter the illness, the bill is on the corper. Exposure to different health problems are so much that most corpers come back home looking like refugees! Traveling to your post is strictly on your own, even the cloth they give out are so substandard and in most cases won’t last the duration of the service, and incase you don’t know, the clothes and full corpers kit costs a whopping N70,000 ! Can you imagine!

Talk about molestations, female corps members bear  the brunt of these a lot. Most have been abused by their male employers; there was the case of a popular traditional ruler who allegedly raped a female corps member who was serving in his palace. Some were attacked by local masquerades and were beaten to a pulp; others have been victimized because of their inability to speak the local dialect. After spending years in schools, coupled with strikes, graduates still have to hustle.

No thanks to the system, a student that did not even serve can get a discharge certificate for a healthy fee and corpers can also leave their places of primary assignment for a better hustle and leave the “monthly thrift” collection in the hands of their NYSC supervisors for keeps. However, will scrapping the system make the country better? Will it make the government sit up and tackle the crises we currently face? Will it forestall a better future for Nigerian youths? Will it provide jobs? Will it reduce insecurity?


Why the continued existence of the program?  Why the Maybe I’m so shortsighted that I can’t see the benefits. Oh my! The benefits, how could I have forgotten: they are etched in the pages of the original NYSC document left to rot in the archives.  Hmmn, just thinking about what would happen if the NYSC is scrapped…Imagine the number of people that would be out of jobs…sigh… There is no soft landing for most Nigerian issues, shey…



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