The Janus Lieber

Do you know the worst thing about the new Star Trek movie? I just saw it today, I know, but, did you notice that part where the guy who plays Sherlock in Sherlock was running across the road, and those futuristic cars that float in the air had to screech to avoid hitting him? You did shey? Screech oh! Screech! Like they had to go, craaaaaas..shrreeee…screeeech to avoid him. Cars that float in the air. Screeching. Later they’ll put J. J. Abrams on par with Spielberg. Zeb Ejiro-wannabe nigga!


Anyway, today halfway through my weekly blog rounds (any period of Free Wifi when there’s nothing to do except wait for downloads to finish and laugh through awesome posts), I remembered I’ve not posted my Lieber and ehm..well, I’m supposed to, at least before I’m no longer eligible. So, I went back to the place where I was nominated and then I…


This is not how they do it.

Let’s start afresh. The Liebster blog award.

The Liebster Blog Award is given to up and coming bloggers who have less than 200 wordpress followers. The Meaning: Liebster is German and means sweetest, kindest, nicest, dearest, beloved, lovely, kind, pleasant, valued, cute, endearing and welcome.”

What? I qualify. I’m pleasant and cute and welcome. I’m a very welcome guy really.

Okay, when I got nominated for the Liebster, I was shocked, and pleased, and annoyed it hadn’t come earlier. What? I’m cocky on Fridays. Yes, I think it was a Friday. [Tell me, please tell me, you saw something there. No? Nothing? All that pum, nothing poked out? Okay, I’m overdoing this.] Anyway, it was really surprising when Haphenie nominated me for the Liebster, cool peoples she is, but I admit I did not know she thought that highly of me. It was an ego boost that day, the pleasure kept me going for weeks, that is until almost a month later when I realised I didn’t even comment on the post to say my thanks. I’ve been shy about it since. Forgive me Haphenie.

Thank you so much for nominating me. Thank you. Really meant a lot. I would send you a kiss smiley, but I don’t have your pin or your phone number. Email me maybe?

Thank you really.


Moving on. First thing, the RULES.

Like a secondary school friend used to say, Lures and legurations. I found it funny then. I still laugh now. Over eight years since I saw him, and it’s still funny. Come to think of it, he was Igbo. Explains a lot. LOL!

Sorry. I don’t really have much cause to laugh these days. (˘_˘)


Lures. Legurations. LOL!

Oh my..


The Rules

  • Thank the person who nominated you
  • List 11 random facts about yourself
  • Answer the questions they have asked you
  • Nominate 11 other people
  • Ask the nominees 11 questions

And yeah, let them know you nominated them.

Okay, I’ve thanked Haphenie. Now, the Janus Facts of Random.

  1. I started writing before I can remember. Till date I have family friends who haven’t seen me in maybe sixteen years come over to the house and go, “Hey, do you still write all those your stories?” Then they go into paroxysms of laughter. (¬_¬)
  2. My driver’s license gives me at 1.74m. I think it’s a lie. I’m taller.
  3. I started keeping an afro in a very serious effort to look like Drake. Now I look like a cross between Mexican Bruno Mars and The Weeknd.

    Mexican? Really? I'm already half Puerto Rican!
    Mexican? Really? I’m already half Puerto Rican!
  4. My favourite rock band is Mumford and Sons.
  5. I started blogging because of @RavingFred and my initial mentors then were @Sirkastiq, @Wana____ and somebody else from TheNakedConvos, I forget now.

    In case you wondered, that there, in the centre? That's the point..
    In case you wondered, that there, in the centre? That’s the point..
  6. Haphenie isn’t the first person to nominate me for a Liebster. The first person who did, made the mistake of notifying me via the comment box on my blog. I saw the comment, assumed it was spam, and deleted it. I was new to WordPress then, forgive me. If you’re out there, I don’t hate you. I love you in fact. Thank you in ehm..incognito?
  7. I love sleeping on the floor. Not because my rug is that soft. My bed is a bit lumpy, and it’s a good way to get girls to say: “Haba na, that hard floor? Oya come and join me on the bed, or I’ll come to the floor with you.” 😀
  8. I want to be a writer when I grow up. A real writer. With millions of publications, and a jet, like John Grisham. I also want to teach. I love to talk to people. Robert Ludlum (his soul rest in peace), is one of my favourite authors. And a mentor.
  9. I realise I must have listed more than one fact in (8) above.
  10.  One of my favourite quotes is, “Moderation in all things, including Moderation. – Petronius”. It’s a maxim really. Another fave is, “Christophorus Christum, sed Christus substulit orbem: constiterit pedibus dic ubi Christophorus?” That’s the Eternal Conundrum.
  11.  I’m a Christian. I love GOD. I fear GOD. I worship GOD. You should get to know HIM.

Okay, we’re done with that.

Now, the hard part, the questions Haphenie asked me.

1. What do you treasure most?

Family. Friends. Maybe my reputation. My external Hardrive with over 500GB of important stuff. [>_>]

2. Who is your icon?

Most of my icons are fictional characters. Characters created by me inclusive. None of these humans are good enough.

3. One word that best describes you?

Histrionic. It means theatrical. Dramatic. I tend to grossly overplay scenarios. I’m a drama queen, according to my girlfriend. What does she know? *adjusts tutu*

4. If you had the power to make a permanent change in the world, what will it be?

Love. Brotherly love. By a wave of hand, if I could, I’ll place brotherly love in all our hearts. No, Macklemore. No. Not you.

5. What won’t you be caught dead wearing?

Well, I wore a satin nightgown in the middle of a drunken fit last night, but nah..won’t be caught dead wearing them.

6. What is your favorite fashion accessory?

My bracelets. My younger sister makes them. At a very steep price I tell you! Like 1000N for one! I mean, we’re family! And you’ll wonder why I never buy her recharge cards.

7. Is there any part of your body you aren’t comfortable with?

Ehm…when I was younger I had this very long head. Well, I sport a wicked afro now. Hahahahahahaha! Die haters!

8. In the next five years, where do you see yourself ?

In school. Studying for my PhD. ( ,_,)

Sugar-less garri life, i tell you…

9. Favorite cartoon character?

LOOOOL! I have no idea. Do you watch animation these days? These things are too hilarious. How do you choose?

10. Best movie / novel?

I love the ‘A song of Ice and Fire’ series by GRRM. Right now, I’m still thrilled by ‘The Great Gatsby’ I saw yesterday.

11. Your favorite sport?

I can swim. It’s got to be my best eh?

Okay, we are done with that. Now, the nominees.

In no particular order, and maybe selected based on some kind under-table sorting:

Malick, Cikko, Owex_, Zeenike, Haphenie, Vundie, Jyte Dunni Dammyoguns ehm…a lot more people I would love to include in this list, but alas, either they’ve gone past the limit of 200 wordpress followers or they are on that wretched *spits*

Anyway, my questions for them:

  1. Do you love cheeseballs?
  2. Given a choice between three 1000N notes and ten 200N notes, which would you pick?
  3. Without reserve, to what degree do you think I’m awesome?
  4. Who’s your favourite novel/movie/cartoon/animation character?
  5. Why do you write?
  6. Do you love cheeseballs? Do you plan to make a career out of writing? Explain. (Yes, my ‘The Teacher’ moniker is not joke)
  7. Rats or roaches?
  8. If I were a contestant in the Presidential elections, would you vote me?
  9.  What is your opinion of the Eternal conundrum?
  10. If GOD is Sovereign and knows all, what is the point of prayer?
  11. Do you read ‘motivational’ books? [This determines whether I kick you off any future Leiber lists I may draw]

Well, that’s it folks. the Leibster post is at an end.

That string of Latin, for those of us too lazy to google, reads simply: “Christopher bore Christ; Christ bore the whole world; Say where did Christopher then put his foot?”

Don’t forget to follow those amazing writers I nominated. Visit their blogs, loads of awesome stuff.

Like our page on Facebook, click on the Follow button at the top of your screen, and follow me on Twitter @janus_aneni

Peace to mankind.

PS: I really love cheeseballs. And I’m going to get some flak over this post.

Oh yeah...
Oh yeah…


It’s been a while I wrote anything, perhaps after this you might understand.

And yes, I usually don’t write poems, I prefer limericks, hence, I would not follow all the ‘rules’..

That said, read on..


now playing: Hopeless wanderer | Mumford and Sons



These dark shards pierce my heart,

splintered ends of unholy swords.

their jagged ends tear me apart,

their bearers, sons of the Satan’s hordes.


Fear, anxiety, apathy and shame,

these demons trouble me in day and night,

tearing at my soul, and shrieking my name,

they add to my onerous plight.


Thing is:


I write my verses, as the tunes of a minstrel,

soothing, then ululating, then sombre.

And one may read them as the cry of the wastrel,

shrill, then captivating, then it’s over.




So these pains cant against my faith,

rendering my soul into the deepest of despair.

And as with such things, it affects my art,

and my relationships fall to disrepair.


Morn and night, my days, a bleak skyline

no cloud, no sun, no azure blue sky.

I wander about, lost in a hopeless daze,

no sound, no fun, no thoughts to fly


It’s getting easier, I think:


It’s always been easy for me,

to write of my deepest pains.

That which worries and I can’t do,

is tell of my greatest sins.


But now, a ray in the darkness:


For even while I sleep, my dreams rage away,

visions of darkness, and red, and fire, and death.

But at the end of it all, there still is hope,

hope for joy, hope for happiness, hope for mirth


And now as I sit to write of this,

my spirit lifts and my fears negate.

My demons all fled, my head is clear,

my heart is free, the storms abate.





Believe me, I tried to make this into a humorous rant.

Do leave your comments.

You may also follow the blog, and like our page on Facebook. 🙂


A Lone Star

Ormeh sent this to me this evening, freestyle. I liked it. I think you will too.


Lone Star

Seven pm
The month was moving towards its end
The evening was bright and
The crickets were chirping happily around the bend
…there sat a girl
Just staring around looking like she was out for the atmosphere
To the unobservant eye she was just enjoying the evening
But she was imagining a life with more meaning

Just a normal girl
Not particularly pretty
Not particularly witty
Not particularly smart
Not particularly flat
Not particularly loved
Not particularly wanted
She was.. The poster girl for average

She had a few friends
Had a few laughs
Met a few guys
Had a few flings
What people didn’t know about Grey
(As was her name)
Was that she wanted more

She wanted more than a few mutual friends
She wanted the bffs; friends to the end,
Like was portrayed in movies.
She wanted more than a few flings
She wanted that fiery passionate love
She wanted that calm undying love
A companion to share experiences with
Even the little ones
Really just any kind of love would do
So long as it wasn’t the one between kins.

She stared at the sky
No stars tonight she thought with a sigh
There was nothing visible other than clouds
And this was how she saw her life
Beautiful at first but empty upon closer scrutiny
Oh look…
She found a star
Twas but a lone star
A lone star with no companions close or afar

She wanted her life to be like a beautiful night
The moon surrounded by a lot of stars

Beyond that not particularly beautiful smile
Beneath the girl plain to sight
Was a typical girl that wished to be loved
For deep down she was a lonely girl

A lone star.


“Not particularly flat..” Yup! That was D right thing to say. 😉

Apologies & Thank yous


Citizens of Nigeria, it is with deep sadness and a considerable amount of ire (my new favourite word, whatever that is), that I come before you at this hour.
The show, which you have..excuse me. *sips water*. The show which you have come to know as A Twist in the Tale, or simply, The Twist, has come to an end. Wait! Wait! Don’t start hissing yet. Let me explain.

You see, the current situation in Nigeria, including the face-off between a recalcitrant governor and an over-bearing President, and the surrounding nations has put the polity in such a situation that stories such as are promulgated by this cybernetic space from which I blog, would only serve to further incite emotions and create conflagrations that threaten the precarious balance upon which this nation lies and in effect topple the country into a soup of insousciance, malfeasance and terrifying debacles.
*deep breath*


All above is nonsense.

Basically, conditions beyond my total control have led me to end this series a lot earlier than I planned. And for that, I apologise greatly.
*insert pic saying “I am sorry” even if i dont mean it*

Ignore that…

I really am sorry..
I really am sorry..

I want to appreciate especially, all of you who read A Twist in the Tale, and also the wonderful, wonderful writers who put together those lovely stories. Thank you. Thank you very much.

But first, before we go, one last Tale..

Once upon a time, there were two little boys. They were both named for Bible characters, and they loved to sit on trees. Apparently, one was named Peter and one was named Paul. And yes they were black. And no they weren’t boys, they were birds. And yup! There was no twist to this. But hey, it’s the end of the sh.. 


Oh damn!

Okay, we're back..
Okay, we’re back..

Follow on Twitter @janus_aneni


Mbaise One!

Selling Gala is not a punishment. Selling Gala is not slavery. Selling Gala is an occupation. See, I love what I do. I enjoy selling Gala.
Most of you types, you walk up to us in markets and we hear you on television and radio; “Stop hawking in the streets. Stop selling Gala” and yet, you’re the same people who patronise us. What sort of hypocrites are you?
What do you know about selling Gala? What do you know about these roads?

My name is Emeka. I’m a humble person. My friends call me Mbaise One. And no, it’s not because I come from Mbaise nor because I’m some sort of top-notch gala seller. One day, I sold about ten Galas at the same time to a fat man driving an Audi 80 and Wasiu that sells Fan-Yogo, laughed and said “Hmm..Mbaise One!” And the name stuck. Till this day, I don’t know why they call me that name.

I am, a top-notch Gala seller all the same.

Anyway, my friends call me Mbaise One. And I sell Gala around Mile One in Port-Harcourt city. I don’t think there is any relationship.
I wake up early every day, I go to the distributors, I collect three cartons of Gala, sometimes four, and then I return to Mile One. Most times, by the time it is 12pm, I have sold through about one carton and I’m half-way through the second one. Before 2pm, I’m through with that carton and the third one. I sell my gala very fast you know. Then, I take the money back to the distributors and collect my cut. Sometimes, because I’m so good, they give me some Gala also. I only sell Gala by the way, not Freshbite or Meaty or any of those other brands. I’ve been selling Gala for a long time, and I stick to what is good.

I’m thirty-three years, but I don’t look a day over twenty-two. It’s necessary to look young in this business. People always buy from the young, but not too young, Gala seller.
I remember when I was younger and living in the village. This was about seven years ago. There was no one, absolutely no one, faster than me in the whole of Awka. I was the last to leave for the farm at morning, but the first to reach it. Last to leave, but the first to reach home. I could walk the distance to the farm in less than ten minutes. It was a five-kilometer distance. On some occasions, I ran the distance. But it usually made me six minutes earlier, so I hardly ever.
My body has always been lithe and strong. I can endure an almost constant strain to my body without breaking down. When I used to run to the farm, I do it most times with my hoe and cutlass in my hand, and the bag of corn we want to plant on my back. Yet, it never tires me. I think that’s what Mr Adolphus saw in me.
Mr Ignatius Adolphus is my Oga. He is from Cross River state, but he has Igbo names. He usually comes to our village then to meet with one of his brothers. Sometimes, he carries some of us, the young men, with him to the city. If you decide to stay and work with him, you stay. But if you want to go back to the village, you can go.

We all stay with Mr Adolphus. He’s a nice man.

Mr Adolphus saw me running that day so many years ago. He saw me running very fast, carrying a load on my back and smiling at everybody on the way at the same time. I think he was impressed and astounded and happy. I think I must have looked like a good opportunity to him.
Mr Adolphus gave my father and mother money and many good things, including a carton of Gala. I think, that was when I started to see visions of my future occupation.

That day Mr Adolphus asked me. “Nwoke, do you like this Gala?”
I was chewing and smiling happily, so I didn’t answer immediately. But he had his answer. And after that day I’ve never looked back.

Never look back!
That was one of the first things he taught me.

When I started, I used to sell Gala on East-West road. The road is very busy. Cars are always speeding to and fro on the express. When running after a car, especially if you have given them Gala and you have not collected money, if you hear a horn behind you, and you look back, that second may make the difference between you catching up with the car, or losing your money. It would also make the difference between your mistakenly getting crushed under a vehicle or surviving unscathed.
Since I started the work, I have only seen two casualties. One was my friend from my village, Cletus, another Igbo boy. He looked back. I still feel sorry for him. The other was Wasiu. No, not Wasiu that sells Fan Yogo, another one. He tried to steal Mr Adolphus’ money and run.

They found his body under the bridge at Oil mill junction.

You see, Gala selling involves a technique. Not just anybody can do it. You need to smile at the customers all the time. You need to have change handy for any note, even N1000. And most importantly, when you see children in vehicles, you need to know how to catch their eye. Children are our best customers.

Stay with the vehicle, even if the mummy says no. Insofar as the child says yes.

I say a prayer for all those children who keep on pointing at the Gala even after their parents say no. GOD bless them. GOD bless them very much.

When I collect my cut from the distributors, I carry it to Mr Adolphus. It is from Mr Adolphus I collect my own share. I have to pay to use his road to sell my gala. But Mr Adolphus is very nice. Sometimes he gives me extra money and food if I sell very well that week.
On the road today, a young man walked up to me to talk to me about selling Gala. He said selling Gala on the road is bad. He said I am being trafficked by Mr Adolphus. Then he bought Gala from me and la Casera from Tumi. What does he know?

I sold five cartons today. The Gala distributors gave me N2000 and two Galas. Mr Adolphus gave me N400 from that. See, I’m making gain.

Selling Gala is not a punishment. Selling Gala is not slavery. Selling Gala is an occupation. See, I love what I do. I enjoy selling Gala.

* I do not intend to err..slander any err..Igbo people. Adequate tribes were listed in this And err..selling gala on the streets is err..illegal. Refuse to buy from any hawker you see. Err..thanks.

PS: I’m sure we’ve all heard about #SaveVincent.
Nwokedi Vincent is a 600L student of Pharmacy in UNIBEN. He was diagnosed with leukaemia (Blood Cancer)/ haematological malignancy. He needs our help both spiritually,financially and otherwise. He requires the sum of N6m to help take him abroad for treatment. Please help save a life as a minimum of N50 donation, money for one Gala, would go a long way to help raise the needed money. The account for donations is VINCENT CHUKWUKA NWOKEDI. Acct no: 2100053461 Zenith Bank. God bless u.
Help spread this message.
Joyce Lulu.

Do help and spread this message. Try and contribute where you can. Do your little bit and save a life. The picture of the young man is below this space. Thanks.



Cupid rants..

I’ve never really had a true love story, but I have been close. Like there was this time I was in a cab in Uniben, squeezed in the back seat with Obagol, Edeko and one hot chick. I said hi to her and she said hi too, then she dropped off at Faculty.

I still think of her. We would have had a lovely story shey? Like,”OMG..We met in a cab one hot Thursday afternoon, he said hi to me,I replied, and look at us now, five years later, married…”


Well, romantic though I am, I have always drawn the short end of the stick or straw or broom or whatever. Like see Jeannie, who I crushed on all through 300 level, Jeannie who made me spend countless nights ‘reading’ at H3 in faculty. Jeannie who I only ever said two words to (What? I was shy then… still am even). I now set P with a random handle on Twitter one day and voila! and Moses’ beard! It was Jeannie! Perfect story shey? Wrong. Didn’t work out. The P died.

Have you ever noticed a P dies about two chats after it leaves the DM to the BBM? No? Now you know the true reason why iPhone relationships prosper.

But I digress..

So what was I saying? Yes, Love. I have never really had the opportunity for those stories. Ada that I met in a bus in the middle of New Benin at about 9pm and escorted back to Ekosodin at the risk of life and limb,only to find out that she had just transferred to my class. Coincidence? No such thing. Did the P work? No.
(._. )

I could count on many fingers the amount of P set and lost. Maybe it’s me. Shey?

But not to bore us this evening.

Today,I want to talk about how I, who had no prior Val as at 3pm yesterday was confronted with two today and is sitting alone on the floor in his room writing about failed Ps. The luck of the draw shey? Maybe.

When I was younger, I used to dream of how in time soon to come I would be on an adventure and meet the girl of my dreams. We would race through the Amazon jungle and around poisonous reptiles and beasts, being chased by gold-digging, nuclear-armed thieves and assassins with a plan to take over the world, while deciphering ancient secrets and magic portals along the way.
Then we would have kids who will be tall and handsome and strong and smart and then we would have other adventures together and have books and movies named after us, starring us e.t.c. And yeah, we’ll dine with the Queen and they’ll make me a Lord and I’ll have a Ferrari and a Bentley and I’ll meet James Bond face to face.

Hi, my name is Janus, I dream.

The truth here is, when I started this post, I had a point, a message I had to get across. Like, I was on Twitter, following the #RosesareredVioletsareblue trend and trying my best to reason out the most sardonic rhymes (and failing), when I suddenly had a strong urge to write. A biting need it was, blinking on and off in my subconscious, propelling me to put pen to paper. Or maybe it was the blinking yellow light off my low battery indicator. Either way, I got off the bed, sat on the floor and began to write and now, that need is gone.
(._. )

( ._.)


This is the point where I say something funny to round off the post, write a disclaimer and urge you to follow me on Twitter @janus_aneni and then wish you Shalom or something.

But, nah…




Truth is, she took off her top and inspiration’s taken a new turn.. So err..


I was talking about a car.

I did say ‘Shey’ too many times in this post…shey?

NB: thanks to @Ebubay and @Obee_007 for this.

Follow 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


Forth Eorlingas!

The title comes from one of my all-time favorite movies; The Lord of the Rings. And it bears no significance whatsoever to this post.

U ssssure…?

This post should not count as a rant. If anything, let it sound more like a dirge. (Dirge = a song of mourning or lament).

A dirge

Anyways, I’ll be heading to camp tomorrow. Yes oh! NYSC camp, GOD has done it! When the Enemy said I would not go for Camp, Chineke said it! I must go! Biko, help me koro Jesus aka!

No, I will still not date an Ibo girl.

I remember the day I wrote the PUME for Uniben. I had been having terrible ‘visions’ all through that week. You know, the dark kind, all full of smog, and blood and death. So, naturally, as a very observant guy, I realised that the good LORD was trying to inform me that I would die on my way to the exam hall or venue or place or whatever. So I stopped reading, there was no point na, I was gonna die anyways, so why bother. On the day of the exam, my Tati, our ever vigilant prayer warrior and my fave Aunt, kabashed over the exam, examiners, the paper, my pencil etc. remaining small, I would have carried an oil-soaked pen to the hall that day. As it was, only my forehead was uhm…  -____-

Anyway, while my Tati prayed, I kept thinking of how I was gonna die: you know, if it would be fast or slow; if my life would flash before my eyes in slow-mo or fast play etc. You know, you have to think of these things.

It rained that morning, so it was obvious there was going to be a big time traffic jam at the main gate, so my mum offered to drive me through the by-pass so we could avoid the jam. (jam= go slow).

There we were, speeding down the smooth, slick roads, doing 120km/h, when the car skid.


Well, GOD keeps his children, and my mum is Jason Statham in a hairnet. Sharply, she righted the car and kept speeding!

Mum: “These my tyres are completely worn”

Me: o_O !!

At that moment, I realised my dream was about to come to pass. So, in an utter show of love and total abandon of self-preservation (self-preservation = not fighting with Bini girls), I decided to ensure I die alone. So it was that I grabbed the door handle, and prepared to launch myself out the door if the car should skid again. Better I jump out and die, and let Death be satisfied, than to take my precious Mama with me.

This was five years ago, and the car never skid again…

…until I drove it.

But that’s a tale for another post.

Well, today, I have reached another stepping stone, so to speak, and as it was not to long ago, I am torn by waves of trepidation. (Trepidation = CB’s thoughts as the Drake bottle flew closer). Like some poltergeist on steroids, the specter of something bad just seems to hang in the offing. But someburry say, GOD dey!



Mscheew..*closes laptop and walks away*

*comes back to publish post, and walks away again* (˘̯˘ )


  • I can end a post any way I like
  • No offence to Bini and Ibo gehs..

ff on twitter @janus_aneni


Just another rant

Do you know that Chuck Norris once threw a grenade, and fifty people died. Then the grenade exploded.

A Chuck Norris venture

In an attempt to be more like Chuck Norris I relaxed my hair.(another failed attempt)

#np Kukere – Iyanya

*plugs earphones to laptop..too loud..unplugs earphones..too loud..stops music*

This is probably going to be my first real rant on this blog. I said probably because I’m just scribbling as usual and I don’t know how this would turn out. Ok, so this week has been so last week (today is Monday shey?) was weird and lonely. I was phoneless (yeah, my precious Adaora, after six months of good times decided to leave me for the warmth of another) and that sort of shuts you off from the rest of the world. No music, no constant internet connection, no nothing. Just me and Jack, my trusty Nokia torchlight phone. I was sad I tell you, sad, very sad. I was so sad, I watched a Nollywood movie.

So sad, I watched Legend of the Seeker again.

“No, you did not..”
“Yes he did”

Anyway, like a bawse, I kick-started my grind and got my humour back, and it was like everything was moving smooth again. Then Drizzy hit an Omota.

How did the fight start?

“We found love – Rihanna” was playing on the big screen TV (trust me, this is from an inside source) and Drake said: “That nigga don’t even look like Chris”


Chris: “He does!!”
Drake: “DOES NOT!!”

So CB said: “Pass the bottle juh! (he had been watching Muina of recent), and Drake passed it.

*now playing “Mu bottle ye wa – 4th Republic*

Youths these days..smh

Anyway, the events saddened me sha, like, Ri-ri will be chilling and two of my faves are throwing bottles at each other. And now, (according to my source) she has her eyes set on Chris Martin (lead vocalist, Coldplay for the uninformed), what does she want with him sef? Abeg he is married oh! to Gwyneth paltrow (from Iron man and The Avengers ) for that matter, chick don’t take no shii.. But what does she want with Chrises sef? Are Chrises that hot? What is it about a Chris that just attracts hot, rich celebrities? I think we should get to the bottom of this matter! It’s no longer funny!! *Drivers license with name: ‘Chris Aneni’ falls out of pocket*


So I paid a visit to Sirkastiq’s blog and read the zoning uhm…zones on there. Combined with the iinsight being passed down by renowned Professor Xavier (no, not the X-men version), I figured out that once again, I have been zoned into a completely novel zone. The story zone. Yes! You know yourselves! I would not mention names, but you Dinma and you Ify that have zoned me to story zone, God is watching you! All of you that remember me only for stories, the day I will get serious writer’s block ehn, it will over you!*breathing heavily* what rubbish! Getting me all agitated*sips Hollandia*

Been there…
The lies we let ourselves believe..been here too

So you know those myths of how when you’re sneezing it means someone is talking about you? It is true oh! Every single time I have sneezed in the past week, someone has been talking about me. Which is quite worrying right now, considering that I am sneezing as I write this, and the time is 12:34am. Every coven and winsh that dares to call my name, Holy Ghooossss…!!! Anyway, it works. And I’m sure you’ve also heard (at least my Aunt has) that if your right palm is itching, it means a lot of money is coming your way.*shrug* I don’t care for such.(˘̯˘ )/`(*secretly dips hand…and leg inside bowl of ‘devil beans’)

So I have run out of stuff to rant about, leave your comments in the box..boxes.

Darris all…


  • I will not disclose my BreezyDrizzy source
  • ‘Devil beans’ (I do not know the scientific name) causes itching allergies
  • Adaora is…was my phone
  • Been muttering Rihanna’s name for the past hour and uhm..if tomorrow, she uhm..comes down with a bad flu it is not me!

ff on twitter @janus_aneni


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