Ghosts of Girlfriends past..

Half of this is a product of boredom. The other half has a slightly evil purpose.
#np – Sexy and I know it – LMFAO

Ghosts of Girlfriends past..

And I awoke, not from deep slumber but troubled sleep,
For in dream I had been privy to convos of the deep,
Hidden by a window, shrouded from moonlight I had seen,
The meeting of four witches, each with whom I had been.

They giggled and laughed, at my jokes they did scorn,
Ridicule and insult to my every pun,
As they laughed and cried, yet each one sighed;
to think of how my love for her had died.

Lysa said that she first had me,
Nelly said the same thing too,
Mary said that I first had her,
Jane said I was number two.

Yet then as I stared, my heart regretting,
I counted past fingers, the hours I’d lost
with these four witches, now spectres melting,
The Ghosts of the girlfriends of my past.

*I know no Lysas, Marys, Nellys or Janes.
*This post is not intended for a literary award.
*I still hate WordPress for Blackberry.

Ff on twitter @janus_aneni


The Girlfriends

The Girlfriends

Tangles: Episode II


Okay, last post was a little too long, but then, it was the premiere episode. Anyway, being the wonderful, magnanimous guy that I am, I hereby declare that todays post would not be long! *holds for applause*..Okay. Well, a few rules while we go on, you see Tangles is written in uhm..a sorta weird sequence (I’m sure it has a name in Literature), so, events occur in real time, but they do not literally follow sequence. You get shey? Ah well, just read sha, you will understand somehow.

*soundtrack of towncrier ringing large bell* Tangulu! Tangulu! Tangulu!

*background voice, sounding suspiciously like @JNyX_Melah* Tangles, a tale of twisted emotions…




Four months earlier…

Victoria Island, Lagos

The man in the red cape stretched his hammer towards the heavens. In that same instant, the air crackled with electricity and lightning streaked from the skies to curl around the great metal head of the mighty war hammer. Without missing a beat, the cloaked man hurled the bolt of lightning at his opponent, another man in a red metal suit. Instead of shrieking in pain, the metal man trembled as though he was infused with some additional strength. All about them, the air sizzled with electricity and the forest shook with the clashing of the two foes.

Tony dipped his fingers into the popcorn pack and risked another glance sideways. She was still there, and still beautiful. She was light-skinned and slim, as far as he could tell, and the nerdy Ray Bans she had on gave her a perfect chic look. She was pretty, and she was not noticing him. He concentrated on the movie.

The red metal man had smashed the red cloaked man into the side of a mountain. Large boulders the size of SUVs crashed down, sending a shower of sparks and rubble. Suddenly, the cloaked man spun, his thick blond hair flying about like the mantle of a god, and kicking  off the surface of the mountain, sent both of them hurtling back through the treetops to the forest below at amazing speed. They struck the forest bed in a tangle of bodies, somersaulting head over heels. The impact was such that trees were uprooted whole from their bases. The metal man recovered first. Rearing up…

Tony continued to watch the movie, but his concentration was split. Often, his thoughts drifted to the girl beside him and he glanced at her. She seemed to be enjoying the movie far more than he was; giggling at all the jokes, ‘awwing’ at the right moments, while watching the action sequences with such rapt attention sometimes her hands remained poised over her popcorn pack.

When the screen showed a sallow-faced, pasty-eyed white man in robes listening from behind a glass-walled cell to a tall, one-eyed black man, Tony decided to use his chance.

“Hey,” he whispered. “What’s up? My name is Tony.”

The girl turned to him and smiled teasingly. M’lawd! She’s really pretty!! “I thought you’ll die of shyness before talking. My name is Sharon.”

Ogba, Lagos.

“Oh fuck it!!”

She stood in the middle of a mess that was entirely her own making. Tins lay strewn all over the floor; sardines, baked beans, sausages, tomatoes, forming a sea everywhere she looked. She heard a low chuckle, and looked up. She wasn’t alone in the aisle. Staring at her through amused eyes was a tall muscular man, and he was literally shaking with laughter. Obviously he had been watching every step of the show, right from when she had stretched to retrieve the tin of sausages to when she mistakenly toppled half the contents of the shelf.


So he had been watching all this while, and he didn’t even offer to help her get the tin ehn, with his height and muscles and all. She turned her back to him and set her mind to picking the cans off the aisle floor before an attendant came by and worsened her embarrassment. Suddenly, without any warning, there he was by her side bending down to help her pick the cans.

“I’m sorry about that, and for laughing,” he added as an afterthought. “I should have helped you get that can.”

His voice was deep and warm and soft at the same time. And somehow he had read her mind. It was suddenly hard to be angry with him.

“It’s alright,” she replied. And please shift! You’re standing too close.

At that moment an attendant walked up. “What happened here?”

“The tins were probably not stacked properly, and so they fell,” said the man. The attendant said nothing, just got down and started stacking the tins with amazing speed.

She looked up at the man. He was still smiling that yeye smile.

“Thank you, you didn’t have to, Mr…?”

He just kept smiling. Ah! Go jor!

She turned away, collected a can of sausages from the attendant, and pushed away with her trolley. As she walked away, she could feel his eyes on her, and she almost swore she heard a low laugh. Feeling embarrassed and glad she couldn’t blush red, Rebecca put all thoughts of the bearded man from her mind.



He was still thinking of her.

This is crazy, he told himself. I’m supposed to be anti-females right now, not falling for the next one I see. But his mind mocked him. In his head, he could still see her smile, and hear her voice when she laughed and told him that she was allergic to bole. He smiled. But really, how can someone be allergic to bole???

Tony walked down the empty streets of his estate. The compounds on both sides of the road were quiet; the residents probably off to bed at the hour. He wondered if his uncle was awake. He certainly hoped not. The man’s complaint about Tony’s late nights was sure to wreck his happy mood, it would be best to avoid the grouch. He scuffed his sneakers against the tarred road and thought about his day.


They had fun sha. He was funny, this guy. Ajebo yes, but funny too. Who would have guessed? He was cute too sha, or God knows, she wouldn’t have answered him. And his eyes though, there was just something about them. After the movie, they had literally walked out hand in hand, laughing each step of the way like a mad pair of secondary school students. Tony had offered to buy her a drink, and of course, why would she refuse, so they made their way to Taco’s; an eatery on the second floor. Two ice-creams and half a cheese burger later (calories be damned!), and Sharon felt like she was talking to an old friend. He was so easy to talk to.

“My friends call me Shae, you should too.” That was what she told him.

She had noticed him right from the beginning of the movie. Usually, she hated when peoples phones suddenly rang beside her during a movie, but the strains of Dustbowl dance by Mumford and sons were hard to mistake. Mumford and sons as a ringtone?! Who is this guy? And that was when she first looked at him while pretending to look around.

“So what do you do Tony?”

“I just graduated as an engineer, going serving in about two months.”

“Awww..why now? I just met you.”

He had smiled one of his shy smiles then.

Sharon grinned at the memory as she kicked off her shoes. Tossing off her clothes quickly, she stepped into the bathroom. The cold shower jets stabbed her body, causing her to gasp in shock. The water coursed down her skin, soothing her; streaming down her body, tracing her curves and seeking every crevice. Then she thought of him again.

His fingers were so cool. The way he held her arm after that guy hit her by mistake, very calmly, and yet she could feel the strength in them. The guy apologized and scampered away, then he released her, but his cool touch lingered. She could feel it now even. She wondered what he could do with those fingers.

Sharon giggled.


They exchanged numbers, and pins, before saying goodnight. She took a private cab home, and he jumped into a taxi. She’ll probably be home now. A car turned into the streets, the headlights illuminating Tony for a second, before it sped past him. He could see his house already, the security lights were on and so also, the sitting room lights. Uncle was probably awake.

Tony groaned.

To be continued, next week…

Dustbowl Dance – Mumford and sons

The young man stands on the edge of his porch
the days were short, and the Father was gone,
there was no one in the town and no one in the field
this dusty barren land had given all it could give

I’ve been kicked off my land at the age of sixteen
and I have no idea where else my heart could have been,
I placed all my trust at the foot of this hill,
and now I’m sure my heart could never be still

So collect your courage and collect your horse,
and pray you never feel the same kind of remorse

Seal my heart and break my pride
I’ve nowhere to stand, and now, nowhere to hide
Align my heart, my body, my mind,
to face what I’ve done, and do my time

You’re my accuser, now look in my face,
your oppression reeks of your greed and disgrace
So one man has, and another has not
how can you love what it is you have got,
when you took it all from the weak hands of the poor,
Liars and thieves, you know not what is in store
There would come a time I would look in your eye,
you would pray to the god that you’ve always denied

I’ll go out back, and I’ll get my gun
I’ll say, you haven’t met me, I am the only Son

Yes sir, yes sir, yes it was me,
I know what I’ve done, ’cause I know what I’ve seen,
I went out back and I got my gun,
I said you haven’t met me, I’m the only son.


  • No towncriers or bells were involved in the writing of this post.
  • I have still not seen The Avengers.. 😐
  • I actually know someone whose first taste of bole was last month.
  • Dustbowl dance is not my favorite song.

ff on twitter @janus_aneni


P.S: Click the follow button on the blog, thank you. And yeah, I know half of y’all skipped the song..well, you missed the MTN recharge card hidden there.

I wonder how long it would take…


The Side Chick

There I was, five seconds later, sweat pouring from every pore in my body like I had just separated Holyfield from Tyson’s teeth. I looked down at her, smiling with her eyes closed, chest heaving as she gasped for breath, her heart pounding wildly against  my chest. I smoothened her hair back, and gazed into her eyes. Then I opened my mouth, and…said the wrong name.


<now playing> All the right moves – One Republic

This piece is probably going to annoy a couple of people, especially the ‘main chicks’, and I apologise for that. But, I enjoy annoying, it is what I do..

Oh yeah…


First off, I want to apologise to those of us who waited for the next episode of Tangles last Monday, I am uber-sorry that didn’t come out. I travelled to a place on the outskirts of nowhere and with the worst network known to half of mankind, including Somalia. Tangles would be back on Monday, same time, no delays, and a gift for the first person to subscribe.

On my Scout’s honour..*sic*

Anyways, today we wanna talk about the side chick. Everybody’s been talking about it, but what exactly does it mean? Oh, @naijamd wants to help out, yes?

“A side cheek is when someone slaps you on one side, then you turn the side cheek for the person to…”


Side chicks basically, rank more than the Friend with Benefits but less than girlfriend. The place of the side chick lies heavily in that grey area between FWb and Girlfriend, but unlike the FWB which is consensual, the Side chick hardly ever knows what she is, until just before she is dumped. So in a bid to do my civic duty, I have decided to help all side chicks I know to come to the realization of the knowledge that they are side chicks! You see, I have a dream, that one day, all side chicks would come to full knowledge of their place within the great scheme of relationships. Because, we are all born with certain and undeniable rights, and among them is the right to know if we have been put into the side-chick zone. And we would exercise our rights!! Somebody say, Yes we can! Lemme hear you…*crickets*


I have done this before…



I have rambled for long enough, time to be serious about the post. After all, it’s all about the  sidechicks today…

The side chick

*opens bale* Nna, inside dis bale I get many ogbonge (ogbonge<——do people still say this?) pointers for you in case you are worried maka ya boyfriend may be cheating on you with another honey.

First off, When you don’t know his house

Whenever you guys hang out, he either comes over or you meet at a club, bar, eatery or supermarket. In your mind, he’s a nice guy always ready to come over whenever you want him, OYO! While you’re kidding yourself that your relationship is mainly online and you don’t need to know his house, your sense is dancing etighi inside the SC zone. Truth is, the risk of having to explain a strange hairnet under his pillow is too great, and it is good to avoid stories that caress the soul.

 As an aside, the number 1 rule for keeping a side chick, especially a Bini one is; ‘Never let her know where you live’ never! Never ever, ever! If you had to choose between lettiing her know your house and dying, die! Die! Do not let her know your grave either. Ehen..*blows groundnut*

Secondly, the Celebrations

If he invited everybody he knows for his grandfather’s 80th birthday and he didn’t invite you, without doubt, the SC zone is staring you in the face. Side chicks never get invited for celebrations. He does not want you to meet with the main chick and start raising questions, uhn uhn..If you even see him on his birthday or on Valentines day, give beta offering! Quite alright, he’ll spend the day before or the day after with you, and on Vals day you’ll get a gift, but that Birthday or Valentine loving, he’ll be getting that from the source! (˘̯˘ )

And then, there’s Family

When his family has never heard of you, chances are, you’re a side chick. So, maybe you’ve met a couple of his friends and his mother’s cousin’s nephew, they probably know you’re the side chick, and chances are, each one is waiting for when you would get dumped so they can help in ‘consoling’.

I have helped in consoling before. (¬_¬)

In the event you have never met a single friend…0_O

Somebody would say, why is it that guys, with everything going for them, still risk their relationships with side chicks? The answer is simple; for the risk! When in a relationship, any guy would get bored after a while, and he needs to prove to himself that he can still get any chick he wants, if he feels like. And well, more commonly, there’s the issue of sex; maybe his main chick is not doing it right or…she doesnt give head.(P.S: have I mentioned that, a man would do anything for a good head?)

But I think the most important reason is because, no guy wants to feel like he’s missing out! Which brings me to a very important issue: How to upgrade from SC to MC. What? You think it’s weird? nah.. (Did you see what I did there? You didn’t get it?? It wasn’t that good? Oh..Okay *sigh*)


I am probably going to get ‘dis-boyfriended’ over this.

It is simple. As a side chick, or SC, you already have an upper hand. You are those things his girlfriend is not, and probably would never be. The plan is this: Tweak up your loving rate just a notch, then evoke some kind of beef, just enough for him to rrealise just how indispensable you are, and baam! His relationship is over, and you are crowned the new MC. It’s a Weird scheme (I couldn’t resist na!) but it works.

You can hate me now.


I only speak Ghost! 😛

After all, rather than be the MC, it’s better to be tha MSC (Main Side Chick) Neat-o huh? You saw that shey? shey? No..?

(˘̯˘ )/`

I’m done.


  • I have nothing against Weird MC or any other MC with or without an MSc or whatever
  • I really do speak Ghost
  • I do not have a side-chick
  • I will probably never be a rapper

P.S: Just wanna say, I’ll miss my bro @naijamd who is travelling to a little known, extremely cold, slightly deserted part of Europe for I don’t know how long. Godspeed and may your balls (he plays tennis) not freeze off. #Nohomo. Also, a big shoutout to my sweetheart @Obee_007 who is celebrating her birthday today. GOD’s blessings and all the jazz! Add these people on twitter, show them some love. They need it, especially @naijamd.*sic*

Nuff PSs..and yeah, leave comments.

follow me on twitter @janus_aneni


Tangles: Premiere!

When I first thought to write this, I was halfway between my bunk at Camp and the nearest uhm..toilet. It took me a while, but I finally put pen to paper, and here we are. It is a bit out of my style to write something like this, but I hope we would love it, as usual. If not, okpe na-khin, that’s all that matters!

So, uhm..welcome to the first episode of ‘Tangles – a tale of twisted emotions’



Camp Twa, Bonny.

The sound of the bugle tore through the eearly morning air like the howling of a hungry banshee, and in the next three seconds the entire hostel erupted in a new brand of a chaos.

Tony got up lazily from his bunk. He had been catching a short nap and the sound of the bugle piercing through his subconscious just as he was about to kiss Kelly Rowland was nothing short of untimely. Basically, he wasn’t too pleased.

Swinging his legs over the bunk, he slipped stockinged feet into white tennis shoes and began to lace. He was already dressed in whites; white t-shirt and shorts and around his waist was a black fanny pack. Through with the lacing, he reached up and tapped his bunkmate in the bed above him.

“Hey Alaska! They don blow beagul oh!” he said.

“Make dem go fuck,” the man known as Alaska murmured, going back to sleep.

Tony just smiled. Walking out of his room, which he shared with five other men, the young man slipped a tag over his head and checked the luminous dial of his G-shock. The time was 5:00am.

All through the hostel, men were rushing about in various forms of undress. Some were already on their way out, haven woken and dressed earlier, like Tony. Making his way through two men arguing over a bucket, while another man held his penis and watched, Tony walked out the hostel and started making his way to the parade ground.

It was going to be a wonderful day.

Akoka, Lagos.

The glass shattered violently, spilling all the contents on the floor.

“Oh damn,” cried Rebecca through teary eyes.

Bending over as she tried to find her contacts in the goop and glass mess on the floor, she cut her finger on a piece of broken glass. Cursing in disgust, Rebecca sat down against the bathroom wall and wept. Sometimes, someone needs a good cry right? And then everything would be alright, right? The walls remained silent, echoing only the muffled sounds of her sobs.

She had woken up feeling nauseous, again. After retching half her guts into the toilet bowl, she still felt weird, so she had decided against going back to sleep. The spasms had started again as she tried to retrieve her contact lenses from the cleansing solution in the bathroom, and that was when she knocked it over.

“I’m just so clumsy…and stupid” she sobbed.

Drying her eyes, she got up and placed her finger under the cold tap, watching her reflection as the blood and water coursed into the sink. She wasn’t bad to look at, even now. Her hair was plastered to her face and stringy, but one could see that it was long and full, and though her face was puffed and her eyes swollen, the oval face, sensual lips and big wide eyes that always seemed to drew people to her were obvious.

Drying her hands, Rebecca picked up the shards of glass and retrieved her contacts. Throwing the glass in a bin, she placed the contacts in a wad of soft tissue. Suddenly, a wave of nausea tore over her and she ran into the bathroom again.

As she bent over the toilet bowl retching and crying, she wondered when she could tell him.

Oh God, today is gonna be so terrible.

Opebi, Lagos.

And they say bankers live boring lives, thought Paul as he swerved past one danfo bus, almost nicking the side mirror of a small Golf and hitting a wristwatch hawker. He sped down the road ignoring the insults. Paul loved his car, a 2006 Toyota Corolla, and he loved to drive her, and drive fast. Slowing down at a traffic light, he bent over to change the song on the stereo. Somehow, the morning didn’t seem right to be listening to “Azonto – Wizkid”.

Twenty-seven and a half, as he liked to say, almost six feet and built like a weight-lifter, which he was, Paul looked like a bear, but a friendly one. With his ever present smile and the clean-shaven head, he would have passed for gay but for his bushy moustache and beard, which gave him a I’m-fun-but-don’t-mess-with-me look.

Finally selecting a Trey Songz playlist, which he only played when alone in the car so as not to damage his macho rep, Paul leaned back and shoved into first gear as the line started moving.

Then his phone rang, and the world took on a new colour.

Festac, Lagos.

“The number you’re calling is unreachable at the mo…”came the voice of the operator.

“Bloody…” A trailer suddenly horned loudly “…network! Everywhere you go ko!” she hissed.

Her name was Sharon, and she was a bit of a celebrity designer and photographer, and she was twenty-one years old, and she was in love.

Love was not something you would normally put in the same sentence with Sharon, or Shae like she preferred, except you wanted to say ‘Shae doesn’t believe in Love’. In fact, some of her closest friends had sworn, more than once, and to her hearing, that she would never know the emotion. And she hadn’t cared, till now.

Sighing, she dropped the phone and got up from her bed where she had been sitting crosslegged in just her panties. Walking out of the bedroom into the kitchen of the two bedroom flat she had rented when she dropped out of school last year, she took off her hairnet and let the 11-inch Brazilian weavon stream down to her shoulders. She was slim with a swimmer’s physique; C-cup boobs, a narrow waist, semi-wide hips and long smooth legs. And according to her manager, “You’re a really beautiful babe”

After grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge, she sipped at it while she padded back to the warm bedroom. He was still on her mind. Still on her mind since he left days ago. Just a few days ago and both of them had been here sipping Andre, while she made promises and he tickled her. She smiled at the memory and decided to try that number again.

Akoka, Lagos

Pregnancy is not a word that one uses often, especially when one is less than twenty and still in school.

“You don submit that Deposit assignment?” asked a voice, breaking into her thoughts./

“Which course?” she asked absentmindedly.

“Agricultural science!…” Rebecca looked blank “…Financial accounting na! which course before?” replied her friend Sandra with more than just a hint of sarcasm. “What is wrong with you today?”

If only she knew, thought Rebecca. Begging Sandra to help with the assignment as her tummy was aching badly, Rebecca picked up her books and left the faculty.

She should smile, she knew. When she had called him, the reaction he had given had been different from what she had expected, and for a second there, she had been relieved and almost happy. But she was still alone and he could not be here for some time yet so her foreboding had come back and with it, a sense of guilt.

Camp Twa, Bonny.

“They would soon blow the bugle for parade oh!”

Tony didn’t even look up at the sound of the self-righteous tone. Quickly taping the spliced wires together with some black tape, he plugged in the speaker to the mixer and gave the thumbs-up to the another engineer to test it. Satisfied that the speakers were in perfect working order ahead of the swearing-in ceremony, he swung his ‘waist-bag’ onto his shoulder and declared he was going to the mammy market.

Tony made quite the figure as he strode through the paths to the mammy market. At 5ft 10in, he was slender but broad shouldered. His light-skin, deep thoughtful eyes and the sarcastic twist to his lips served to give him a look that belied his friendly nature, but attracted the female folk. Or so he hoped.

He took his accustomed seat at the back of the buka and smiled at the serving girl. She blushed. He had been eating here since he came to camp, choosing to avoid the food offered on camp as much as he could. After placing his order: rice, stew, moin-moin, dodo, fish, beef and pomo, he took out his phone and continued tweeting:

“So that was how an NYSC official chyked me, who says my P can’t be set…by a 50-yr old chic”

Then he saw the messages.

Festac, Lagos.
At about the same time…

Paul drove down 5th avenue, like a man possessed.

“Mad man!” “Ori o gbe!

He wouldn’t have paid them any attention, but as it was, he couldn’t even hear them as his windows were all wound up and Eminem was screaming “No love” on the car stereo.

If he had glanced at the rearview mirror, perhaps the sight of how his face looked would have amused him enough to slow down and abandon his quest. The usual grinning face had been replaced with a set jaw and a hard line. The man was in a foul mood and his thoughts were definitely up to no good.

How could everything just go wrong in how many hours?

The song on the stereo suddenly skipped and Paul looked down.

Some people say it was Fate, other’s say it was God’s design, but the details of the next few seconds are etched in stone of all who saw it…or lived it.

A huge pothole suddenly loomed in front of the car as Paul looked back up. Going at 140km/h he swerved too hard around the pothole and almost ran into the street on his right hand side where a trailer carrying about 500bags of cement was pulling out. If Paul had kept turning into the street as his instinct warned, he would have been safe, but the events of the day were telling on him and his instincts were dulled, and so, his mind rebelled. So, instead, he tried to swerve back to his left, but the car was going too fast and the turn was a fraction of a second too late. Tires screaming, the front bumper of the Corolla hit the trailer and there was a case of speeding object meets immovable force. The Corolla spun around in a dizzying circle as her driver fought to regain control. Slamming with the passenger side into a fence, the car came to a stop with the engine still revving.

The acrid smell of blood and burning tires filled his nostrils, isn’t your life supposed to flash before you at a time like this?

The Shire.

The writer labors furiously under a dim light, scribbling his thoughts in leather-bound orange diary. The day has been long and uneventful, and it shows. His hair is mussed up and untidy, and the green shirt he wears over a pair of dirty white shorts has all the buttons askew. Beside him is a glass of Hollandia and Chopin’s Nocturne in C minor plays from a laptop in the background, but he doesn’t hear it. He doesn’t really love classical music, but the soothing sounds and oft clashing notes help with his process, and he is writing a tale, a story he hopes will make him famous.

He keeps writing.

To be continued next week…


  • I have no idea where I am going with this story
  • Written by my hand, but with initial inspiration from she-who-must-not-be-named
  • The Shire exists for those who know it
  • I have nothing against gay people
  • This is a work of fiction, any similarities to persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental or highly dependant on this writers outerworldly skill

Nuff said, leave your comment in the box below

ff me on twitter @janus_aneni


Back from Tai

I am back. After three weeks, I am returned. (not a gbag!) 

This is usually the part where I explain the post, say something slightly funny, plug in my earphones and start the post, but Pat is talking nonstop beside me and you know how impossible it is to be creative when a Bini geh is yammering in your ear.


a Bini geh..


#np (……………………) *Pat puts off the music*


Before I went to camp, I asked @exchicano assuming that since he was currently serving he would be in the best position to tell me all about camp life, the service year and all it entails. He did answer my questions. According to him, life in camp was drills, parades and mammy. So on that day, 3rd of July, after navigating the entire Rivers state in search of Nonwa-gbam Tai (that’s where the camp was located), I arrived camp entirely sure of myself, after all my instructions were simple; don’t join any committee, never march well so you won’t parade and for God’s sake always pretend to be sick so you don’t drill. Also, stick to mammy food.

Simple enough shey? Okay..

Truth be told, it might have proved impossible to find the camp that day if I had not spied two uniformed corpers strolling around Eleme junction like a pair of dejected souls. Offering them a ride, they then provided me with adequate directions to the location of the camp. According to one of them, Bidemi or something was his name; “The camp might not turn out to be what you expect oh!” I smiled and remembered @exchicano’s pix from camp, seeing the paved roads, neat well-cut fields and clean hostels. Buttie children, they don’t know beta thin sef, I thought to myself. “Don’t worry,” I told the man. “It might turn out to be better than I even expect.” Bidemi just grinned and said nothing.

I should have known.


I have a picture of exactly how my face looked when I saw the camp for the first time.

not me..but close

What I saw that day was a collection of half-rundown buildings interspersed within grass high enough to hide an elephant ménage a trios! Suffice to say, Mama Aneni bore no dull children, so sharply, my Ijanikin instincts kicked in, after all I’ve been through worse shey?

I fell sick by the third day. I was in the clinic on the fourth. Not malaria oh, mind you, but something the doctors termed colitis, in common English we call it diarrhea. But I skip ahead of myself, let’s tell this tale in sequence.

I got my accommodation space in a hostel, an ‘executive’ room about the size of a room in Hall 3, Uniben with seven other men. You know what they say about profiling, I agree with them. The man wearing the ‘Christian brother flannels’ was a recent graduate of Engineering and the guy in skinny jeans was married with a kid. Then the one who I suspected of being gay, well…wasn’t gay, if I am to believe her, and the most innocent looking of them, smoked weed every night. It felt like home.

Until a snake was killed less than 5ft from my bed.


Yes, a snake.

A snake.

I hate snakes.

Before being posted, I prayed a lot about where the call-up letter would send me. Mostly, my prayers were “Please not Igboland, amen!” so when I saw ‘Rivers’ in the letter, I was happy and joyful and glad and ecstatic. There is something to be said about Kalabari girls, whether the world would admit it or no, and I was heading in their direction. I have been wrong before.

Do you know it is an established fact that, the more Ibo you speak the better your chances of uhm…becoming uhm..friends with an Ibo girl? I speak a smattering of Ibo, so maybe my chances were great considering the amount of Ibo girls in the camp shey? Wrong! On my second day on camp, a fellow was telling me something about the registration and suddenly he switched to Ibo!! Like TF!! What do I look like? Chibuzor Mba??!!! All my attempts to tell him, “Uhm..bro, I don’t speak the lingo” were abortive! Hell, the dude probably thought I was speaking Ibo back to him, and simply raised his voice to continue. So I just kept quiet and listened.

Of the people in the camp, 90% were Ibo, 98% understood the language, and nobody cared about the minority. I suddenly felt like Jonathan, without shoes.

When I look back though…

looking back…

I learnt the azonto, etighi and writing to you now is an accomplished uhm…salsa dancer! Dr Jenny and Nolz, silence please, thank you. Yes, I just couldn’t be in the social committee without learning something, right? Right? *sigh*

I do miss the camp sha, and the people there. My platoon commander, Cap’n Cabin, who kept marveling how a ‘Doctor’ could have time for social activities and why I was never in the clinic, the chap who was chyking me, all the peeps at the N.G.T. crew!, my Camp gossip partner and shield from the evil clutches of Ikwerre gehs, the R.S.M whose voice I still hear in my dreams, (that man deserves a theme song sha) etc, etc.

So, I got posted to a secondary school. Gotta teach them SS2 biology. *evil cackle*

oh yeah…



  • I am not a pedophile.
  • Ijanikin is, was, my alma mater; Federal Govt. Coll. Ijanikin Lagos.
  • That was really a picture of a bini geh
  • I do not know anybody called Chibuzor Mba
  • Blame whatever weirdness of the post on Pat.

Nuff said..

ff me on twitter @janus_aneni


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