The Opposite of Loneliness

This isn’t usually my style as most of you know, but one of my uncles sent me this today and it really applied to me. It was written by Marina Keegan, a 22 year-old final year student of Yale.
I don’t know her course sha..
Ignore that,  read on…

Marina Keegan

We don’t have a word for the opposite of loneliness, but if we did, I could say that’s what I want in life. What I’m grateful and thankful to have found at Yale, and what I’m scared of losing when we wake up tomorrow and leave this place.

It’s not quite love and it’s not quite community; it’s just this feeling that there are people, an abundance of people, who are in this together. Who are on your team. When the check is paid and you stay at the table. When it’s four a.m. and no one goes to bed. That night with the guitar. That night we can’t remember. That time we did, we went, we saw, we laughed, we felt. The hats.

Yale is full of tiny circles we pull around ourselves. A cappella groups, sports teams, houses, societies, clubs. These tiny groups that make us feel loved and safe and part of something even on our loneliest nights when we stumble home to our computers — partner-less, tired, awake. We won’t have those next year. We won’t live on the same block as all our friends. We won’t have a bunch of group-texts.

This scares me. More than finding the right job or city or spouse – I’m scared of losing this web we’re in. This elusive, indefinable, opposite of loneliness. This feeling I feel right now.

But let us get one thing straight: the best years of our lives are not behind us. They’re part of us and they are set for repetition as we grow up and move to New York and away from New York and wish we did or didn’t live in New York. I plan on having parties when I’m 30. I plan on having fun when I’m old. Any notion of THE BEST years comes from clichéd “should haves…” “if I’d…” “wish I’d…”

Of course, there are things we wished we did: our readings, that boy across the hall. We’re our own hardest critics and it’s easy to let ourselves down. Sleeping too late. Procrastinating. Cutting corners. More than once I’ve looked back on my High School self and thought: how did I do that? How did I work so hard? Our private insecurities follow us and will always follow us.

But the thing is, we’re all like that. Nobody wakes up when they want to. Nobody did all of their reading (except maybe the crazy people who win the prizes…) We have these impossibly high standards and we’ll probably never live up to our perfect fantasies of our future selves. But I feel like that’s okay.

We’re so young. We’re so young. We’re twenty-two years old. We have so much time. There’s this sentiment I sometimes sense, creeping in our collective conscious as we lay alone after a party, or pack up our books when we give in and go out – that it is somehow too late. That others are somehow ahead. More accomplished, more specialized. More on the path to somehow saving the world, somehow creating or inventing or improving. That it’s too late now to BEGIN a beginning and we must settle for continuance, for commencement.

When we came to Yale, there was this sense of possibility. This immense and indefinable potential energy – and it’s easy to feel like that’s slipped away. We never had to choose and suddenly we’ve had to. Some of us have focused ourselves. Some of us know exactly what we want and are on the path to get it; already going to med school, working at the perfect NGO, doing research. To you I say both congratulations and you suck.

For most of us, however, we’re somewhat lost in this sea of liberal arts. Not quite sure what road we’re on and whether we should have taken it. If only I had majored in biology…if only I’d gotten involved in journalism as a freshman…if only I’d thought to apply for this or for that…

What we have to remember is that we can still do anything. We can change our minds. We can start over. Get a post-bac or try writing for the first time. The notion that it’s too late to do anything is comical. It’s hilarious. We’re graduating college. We’re so young. We can’t, we MUST not lose this sense of possibility because in the end, it’s all we have.

In the heart of a winter Friday night my freshman year, I was dazed and confused when I got a call from my friends to meet them at EST EST EST. Dazedly and confusedly, I began trudging to SSS, probably the point on campus farthest away. Remarkably, it wasn’t until I arrived at the door that I questioned how and why exactly my friends were partying in Yale’s administrative building. Of course, they weren’t. But it was cold and my ID somehow worked so I went inside SSS to pull out my phone. It was quiet, the old wood creaking and the snow barely visible outside the stained glass. And I sat down. And I looked up. At this giant room I was in. At this place where thousands of people had sat before me. And alone, at night, in the middle of a New Haven storm, I felt so remarkably, unbelievably safe.

We don’t have a word for the opposite of loneliness, but if we did, I’d say that’s how I feel at Yale. How I feel right now. Here. With all of you. In love, impressed, humbled, scared. And we don’t have to lose that.

We’re in this together, 2012. Let’s make something happen to this world.

 

Disclaimer

  • I am posting this with WordPress for Blackberry..mscheeeeew
  • Marina Keegan died in a car accident on Saturday
  • If this post applied to only graduates, I do not apologise
  • WordPress for Blackberry would not let someone be great sha..smh
  • Disclaimer haf finished

ff me on twitter @janus_aneni

Peace.
Sent from my BlackBerry® wireless handheld from Glo Mobile.

Death Chronicles: Episode II

This is the second installation in the Death series, and I think this is the post that would determine how far we go with this. Today, I wrote a bit different from what I normally will, maybe the fantasies got a  little too dark this time. Anyway, if you’re less than 18, or you are squemish, or you abhore sex in writing. do not proceed.

That said…

*inserts track: Outside – the Weeknd*

She walked out onto the moon-lit terrace. The night was quiet and the reflections of the moonlight upon the ripples of the swimming pool washed over her, giving her body a certain ethereal quality. The girl dropped her towel to the floor and looked around. She couldn’t see anyone, but the shadows around the pool were extensive and she had the feeling she was being watched.

Suddenly, a cool breeze blew, the ciold air tousling her long hair and carressing her skin. Her bare nipples hardened slightly as goose-pimples crept across her skin. Shivering a little, she stepped to the edge of the pool and raised her hands to stretch. The movement accentuated her perfect C-cup breasts and an hourglass figure made for the gods. She was naked. Pausing for a second, she execiuted a perfect dive and knifed into the water.

He watched her swim, secure in the shadows cast by the hedge. He smiled to himself/, she had sensed his presence, but she could not be sure. My God, she was beautiful! Her dark skin was flawless, from the perfect breasts amd raised nipples to her long smooth legs. Her face was oval with big brown eyes and full lips that would melt lusciously in a warm kiss. She was perfect. Too perfect. He got up from the deck chair he had been sitting in, and walked to the pool.

Her perfect form cut through the pool, her hands slicing up the water as she swam free-style. Behind her, she heard a splash as some one entered the pool. Aha! He had been up to one of his weird tricks again, thinking to surprise her. She smiled to herself, nothing could shock her again, especially not after the voices she had been hearing of late. Coming to a stop, she turned and faced her naked lover as he waded closer to her.

“My love…” he murmured.

“I missed u so,” she meant to say, but he had grabbed her hair and pulling her to him, kissed her almost savagely. Equally fiercely, she kissed him back, holding his head tight agaist her, her fingers digging into his scalp.

Pushing her against the side of the pool, he kissed her even deeper. Arching her neck backward, he kissed her neck and bit her shoulder as one hand came up to cup her breasts and squeeze her nipple. The girl moaned slightly and held him tight against, her hands pushing down his back to squeeze his firm buttocks. The water lapped about their glistening bodies, giving no evidence of their passion asides a splash now and then.

Running his hands along her body, he slid one hand below her belly and cupping her, he slipped two fingers into her wetness. The girl moaned again. He stroked her then, his fingers pushing against the core that was her pleasure; light and deep, soft and hard, until she was trembling in his arms. Lifting her leg, for there was no time now; his need was throibbing and aching, he buried his face in her breasts and thrust himself deep into her. she let out a cry that caould have been a sigh of pleasure, and hooking her other leg around him, she clawed his back and forced him deeper.

“Yes…” she moaned.

A cloud passed over the moon and the terrace was thrown into darkness. In a corner of the hedge were the man had been sitting, a pair of eyes flashed and a cold chill rippled through the water.

But the couple was oblivious of the cold. The man closed his eyes and threw his head back. Thrusting harder, he could feel his need welling up. Already she was beginning to spasm and buck, her body vibrating even more than usual. Back and forth he moved, pounding her, his pelvis grinding against hers in an impossible cycle.

Suddenly she convulsed violently, the walls of her vagina gripping him tight. Groaning with pleasure, he thrust as deep as he could into her, and exploded, spewing himself into her belly. And her hands and leg slipped from his back as she went limp in his arms. The clouds had darkened and lightening flashed across the sky. Breathing heavily, as his body jerked in spasms, he drew her c lose to him and kissed her still lips.

“Oh baby..” he groaned. There was no reply, her arms just flailed uselessly in the water.

Then he opened his eyes, and looked into her face. it was frozen. Her eyes had rolled back into her head exposing only the whites, and her lips stayed slightly apart as though she wanted to say something, buit the words would not come out. Starring in disbelief, he pushed her hair back and called her name. She just stayed there, limp in his arms; no breath, no pulse, and her body was beginning to get cold and clammy.

Suddenly, thunder rumbles and the skies let loose with a torrent of rain. The rain splashed into the pool, bathing the man and his dead lover. And over the howl of the wind and the sound of splashing water, a low laugh danced upon the air.

Then he remebered; he was still inside her.

Disclaimer

  • I do not engage nor appreciate necrophilia (and yes, that is a huge word…)
  • I have not had pool sex…yet (apply within)
  • These posts are not for you sick-minded freaks to start killing people oh!

Lol…ff me on twitter @janus_aneni

Peace.

Death Chronicles: Episode 1

Lovely Friday to y’all! How’s it hanging? I promised sex earlier, well 

Anyway, been thinking alot about Death these days, as usual, and how ineveitable it is. When one’s time comes, there is just about nothing you can do to about it (Watch Final Destination 1-4 or Karanja pt 1). So this series would be chronicling a lot about Death and well, people. So for the squeamish, I’m sorry, and for the rest of you dark-hearted souls, Mors expectat..Death awaits…

*inserts track: Dustbowl dance – Mumford and sons*

 It was still early when I heard the first whispers. It had been storming outside my window, wind and rain clashing relentlessly against the louvres. In the sky, lightening flashed followed by the incessant rumbles of thunder. I couldn’t sleep. Each time I managed to close my eyes, I was startled awake by the clash of wind and cloud. So I got up and decided to fix myself a snack.The storm had probably knocked out the powerlines, and the entire house was in darkness. As I walked down the narrow corridor to the kitchen, I felt a slight chill. I would have thought nothing of it if, at that moment, I hadn’t heard the whispers. Low and sibilant, the voices rose and fell, like the sound of invisible beings conversing in low tones. As suddenly as it had come, the sounds ended. I ignored it, it was probably the wind whistling through a crack in a window sill.

I opened the fridge and took out a pack of juice and some cookies. I might as well ride out the storm in style. I trudged back to my room, no whispers this time. Shutting the door, I grabbed a novel and settled by candle-light with the snack on a stool beside me. I was going to read till the storm stopped or till my snacks were through. So, lying comfortably on my bed, I opened the Puzo, and began to read.

Soon, I was asleep.

The candle burned on, flame upon wick melting the wax into vapour that coursed through my nostrils, sinking me deeper into sleep. And I rolled and turned and the candle burned on. Suddenly, a window blew open in the kitchen, the draft of wind whipping through the flat, filling every corner until, light as a whisper, it blew into my room and rustled the curtains. As I murmured in sleep and slept on, the edge of a curtain caught neatly upon the flame and slowly, the flames began to eat up through the light material, and the room went ablaze. And somewhere in the dark recesses, a pair of eyes glinted and voice cackled softly.

And I dreamt, in my dream, I strolled down a quiet boulevard on a misty morning. While I walked, the mist disappeared into a clear blue sky. Then the trees began to wither as the sun came out. And the sun shone ever so mightily, and the heat bore on me. So hot was the sun that I raised my arm to shield my face, but the sun beat on, hotter and hotter, till I exclaimed in pain:
“My arm..”

And I woke up, into hell…

My room was burning, every corner; everywhere was wreathed in dancing flames. The curtains were all gone, the rug was on fire, and my bookshelves were all ablaze. While I stared in disbelief, still lying on my bed, I felt the pain in my arm and glanced down. The sleeve of my shirt was burning! Tearing off my clothes, I shook the shirt into the inferno that was my room and stood upon my bed, all too conscious of the smell of burning meat that traced my every move.

There was no place to move to. The fire had engulfed everything. Already, the flames were beginning to lick the edge of my bed. Slowly, the mattress was beginning to burn. Already it was too hot to even stand on, and smoke was beginning to issue through the seams. Tears streamed down my face, as I saw my last moments. Muttering a prayer to the Creator, for my soul. I stared through the fire, calculating my distance to the closed door. Maybe, maybe I could reach it in time.

Suddenly, the louvres blew open and the burglary proofing loosened from the wall and fell. Screaming, I crouched and covered my head as shrapnel and glass showered everywhere. The heat from the room must have caused the glass to expand or something, hence the explosion. Never had I been more thankful that the burglary proofing was not secure and had dislodged so easily. Wind howled into the room, pushing the flames away from the window and towards the door. For a moment, there was almost no fire, then I noticed it was still raining.

With the roar of a wounded savage beast, the fire rolled back, and now being fed with fresh oxygen, the flame crackled and leapt hungrily towards me. I knew now that there was no hope, no other option than that which fate had just provided. Taking two steps back, I shut aside all emotion, then sprang forward and leapt clear of the lapping flames and straight through the window, into the stormy night. As I flew in the air, I could distinctly hear a voice laugh behind me.

Then I remembered, my flat was on the third floor.

I see you…

Disclaimer

  • None

 

ff on twitter @janus_aneni

Peace.

Jacob’s Cross pt 2

I know a lot of y’all have been waiting for the continuation of this story, leading to a lot of speculation on your part as to who Jacob is; why he is hiding; and if he is real.

He is real, that much I can tell you. I would not say who he is, or even if ‘he’ is female or male or a deviant! But the story is real, and the lessons are true. And today, we continue from where we left off. I would plead again that even if you know who Jacob is, that you preserve his anonymity.

That said..

Last week, I told of how I gained my admission into the University, of how things had moved smoothly for me, and how in my last year in school, after so long, everything took a downward spiral. My name is still Jacob, and this remains my story.

After my Supervisor threw me out of his office, my life fell into disarray. Activities went on all around me, my mates worked and read and played, yet I couldn’t join in, not totally. I would go about the motions, trying to come to grips with what had befallen me and to attain some semblance of balance. As someone who had grown up with goodluck, the other side of the coin was strange and unwelcome. And like with all endeavours, when one reaches a wall, you resort to higher authority. So I went in search of the Dean.

I entered the Dean’s office that day, after spending an hour in the bathroom, psyching myself. As I stepped into the office, the secretary told me to wait as the Dean had another visitor at the moment. Five minutes later, the door opened. It was the laughter I heard first, for walking out arm-in-arm with the Dean, laughing like they had both won a lottery, was the cause of my troubles, my nemesis, the evil Don of corrupt practices and my erstwhile supervisor.

As they shook hands and laughed, I searched for an opportunity to sneak out. The secretary, who probably misunderstood my nervousness, quickly said: “Sir, this Jacob has been waiting to see you”. Both the Dean and the supervisor turned to stare at me.

There I stood, wishing the ground could just swallow me up, or a riot should start or a bomb blow up, anything at all to save me from this moment. Thinking fast I blurted out that I wanted to request the Deans permission for two lecture free days for the Final Year students, to enable a good environment for the coming Final Year Week. The Dean ordered me to return with a formal letter, and as I dashed out of the office, I could feel my supervisor’s eyes on me. He had not uttered a word, he had not needed to. The threat was obvious, and the Dean was a close friend, and probably in on the scam. Who could I turn to for help?

I talked to a classmate and friend, and after laughing at me for being such a fool, he told me there was a simple answer. Then he directed me to one of the supervisor’s ‘boys’ and told me to narrate the issue to him. I met the ‘boy’ in a canteen. Nodding his head while I narrated my ordeal (minus the encounter with the Dean), he expertly threw ball after yellow ball of starch down his throat. When he had finished and was reclining in his chair, a satchet of water in his hand, bloated belly straining against the shirt buttons, he began to preach.

According to him, what the supervisor did was not wrong. If anything, students who refused to avail themselves of his ‘offer’ were the ones wrong. If the supervisor could go out of his way to influence student results for chicken change, why shouldn’t one jump at the opportunity? According to him, I was among the priviledged ones; to be chosen to be a student under this supervisor. If I wanted, he could show me lists of the students who had served under this man. They were all successful students with wonderful results. What I should do was simple. Take N40,000 (about $250) and give to him, maybe then he would look through his files and ‘find’ your name.
Gasping in shock, I asked where I could get such money. The ‘boy’ just smiled and kept picking his yellow teeth.

So I went to a close friend and confidante, a man who I considered above all reproach. He was a counsellor and I went to meet him that afternoon for some quality counselling. After hearing my story from beginning to end without a word, he smiled and said:
“Did he ask you for sex?”
Shivering in disgust, I replied, No. In that case, he then said, you should give him the money. My counsellor’s reason was that this crook had made it a law unto himself to demand outrageous sums from struggling students and so, as the Bible and all other religious books all agree that it is proper to “Obey authority without question”, then that is what I must do.
Picking up my bag, I left in disgust.

You will note that, in all this time, weeks had passed and for all intents and purposes, I was still without a supervisor. But I persevered and working against Fate and logic, I presented my seminar and finished my project in good time and a minimum of hassle. Ignoring the ‘counsel of the ungodly’ I trusted in my God and myself; I had done all I could. After the festivities were over and we had celebrated, Yes Janus Aneni, even me, I danced windeck and alanta, we all waited for the results.

As is characteristic with schools in this country, the result came late. But when it came, the scores for the Seminar and Project were released first. I had a B’ and C’ respectively. So happy was I that I already started to brag about my expected Second Class Upper Division. And then, as has become characteristic with me life since I entered this school, tragedy struck. And it struck in a cruel way.

I was at home, watching TV when I received an e-mail from an International School in Bombay, India. I had written them a while ago and in the reply, they asked for the details of my result. I was still cursing the educational system for wasting my time when my phone rang. It was a junior colleague from school. According to him, the results were about to be put up on the noticeboard. Throwing on a shirt and a pair of jeans, I rushed to school which was just a few minutes away by foot. In my mind, as I walked, I was already rejoicing that I could send the details back to the school in Bombay before the day was over. It was 12:30pm, I would not come back home till 9:20pm that evening.

Janus Aneni is signalling that I stop, he wants to postpone the story. No Janus, we finish it now.

When I checked the list of successful students and their results, my name was not there. At the bottom of the list, in small print was a note saying: this was the first batch, the next batch would be up the next day. If I had left at that moment, maybe things might have been different, but I stayed a little longer.
Tucked into a small portion of the board was another list of names. Glancing at the list, since I had nothing else to do, I noted it was the list of students with ‘carry-over’ courses. A sad smile on my face, I decided to look through the names of my less fortunate brethren. Right there, comfortable in number six position was my name. And I who had never failed a course was to spend an extra year rewriting three! While I was still staring in horror, the phone in my hand haven fallen to the floor, the supervisor walked over, glanced at the board, then at me, and said:

“It seems you are coming back”

That was last year.

My parents have cried, I have cried, my friends and neighbours and uncles and aunts have all wept. But you know what they say about Adversity and how it strengthens people. I am strong now. Very strong. I wrote the exams (which coincidentally, or not, happen to be the courses lectured by my supervisor and two of his close friends and cronies) and I am certain of my results. I know how the game is played now and if you decide to play hard ball, the same would be served for you.
The pain, the stigma and the shame was to strengthen me. It is my Cross, and I would not have borne it in vain.

Disclaimer

  • This is still based on a true story, so any resemblances to people, places etc. is already copyrighted!  🙂
  • The people in the pix are in no way related to Jacob! Or may be they are, I don’t know, and if I knew I won’t tell.

There could be some body going through what Jacob has gone through and maybe some of you feel that Jacob made the wrong choices or the right ones, that is what the comment boxes are for. Post a comment, help some one…(Okay, now I sound like a Counselor from Intervention)…nevertheless, do not forget the lessons, and to each, when your time comes, bear your crosses with grace.

ff on twitter @janus_aneni

Peace.

P.S: my next post is going to have alot of  sex, time to spice things up a bit. 😉

Oh Death!

Oh Death!

Where is thy sting? Where is thy scourge? Our hearts lie bleeding and painful, our happiness sucked out of our souls. Where now is your victory? You have wrenched what was ours right oout of us, who now will celebrate you?

At times like this, I prefer music, let the clashing sounds of pain and anger, the sound of discord and tears, let them speak for me. What are the words that one says? What lines??? What entreaties does one subscribe to? What does one say to Death? What does one say to an aching soul?

Oh Death!

Where now is thy sting? Where is thy victory? For those who felt the bite of your scythe lie in the dust now oblivious to all pain, and all too knowledgeable of your shame. While those left behind, are sad for a while, but grow and smile and  rejoice in the time which shall heal. So where now is your victory?

What words do we plead with? How do we make amends? There are no solutions in this; only grief, and pain, and anger, and questions. Why? Why now? Why us? Why at all? Why death? Why must we die? Those we love are torn from our grasp and in one swing of your blade, you render happy families into groups of mourning relatives. Why Death? What sickly duty is this? Where is the justice in this?

What perverted justice rules over this world that may allow Death? In what frame may we justify the ending of a life? Only questions. No answers are available. Like a callous judge you sit on your high chair and ignore the entreaties of the ones in sorrow. So we have, only questions and an empty chair where our loved one once sat. Only questions, and an emptiness, a hollow no one else may fill, a gap left by one so dear and stolen.

Oh Death!

Is this your victory? Is this your sting? That you may leave us in pain and in sorrow, all alone with no thoughts as to why, and a dread as to ‘morrow.

Dedicated to Mrs Ogunbawo; loving wife, mother, teacher.

P.S: we are strong, and we believe! That is all matters…in the end, we shall grow from the ashes, rise as the phoenix and what once was dead, would be red again as the rose!

Peace.

Jacob’s Cross

This is based on a true life story

I understand that there may be some of you reading this that know this person I am writing of, however I would plead with you to help maintain this person’s anonymity. The purpose of the story is to enlighten, not to report. This is a story about the ills of our society, the decadence and corruption in our Educational system, the rot! in…(okay, nuff English!). Basically though, let us take this opportunity and pass the message on, learning from the mistakes and preparing for our own battles.

My name is Jacob, and this is my story. I apologise if perhaps I am disturbing your busy schedule with this tale of mine, but I tell this with teary eyes and a broken voice, and I beg you to listen.
Six years ago, I gained admission to study in a Nigerian University. My parents were overjoyed. We gave thanksgivings in church, my Father sent lots of gifts from the States where he works to provide for the family, my uncles and aunts all sent messages and celebrated with me. It is not as though my admission was long overdue, far from that, rather it was the nature in which I gained this admission that occasioned so much celebration, as it was nothing short of miraculous.

I had been in my final class in Secondary school, still debating whether I would write the UME exams for entrance into University. You see, I am quite young by normal standards, but a teacher of mine, Mrs Harris, who had always praised my potential, encouraged me. So I bought my form on the last day, and enrolled for the exam.
Come the exam date, on the way to the venue, my bus was involved in a terrible accident on that Ikorodu-Oworonshoki expressway. To GOD be the Glory, no one died, but everybody in the bus sustained injuries and had to be rushed to the nearest hospital. That is, everybody except me. I had no injuries of any kind, not even a scratch despite it being my side of the bus that the eighteen-wheeler trailer had slammed into. So I proceeded to the exam hall that day, visibly shaken, and wrote the paper.
While no one really held much hope for my success in the exam, due to the near-fatal experience I had just minutes before entering the hall, I nevertheless delved deep into my books as I prepared for the WASSCE O’ levels later that year. So it was more than a surprise, it was an absolute shock, when I not only scaled through the UME, but also went on to write the newly introduced Post-UME and got admission into one of the most prestigious Universities in Southern Nigeria. By the time the results of the WASSCE O’ levels were released, I discovered I had several distinctions there too, and my parents joy was complete.
So it was that with much expectation and joy that I started classes at the University. The favour and grace that had got me thus far was going to see me through every step of the way. I was wrong.

Janus Aneni is looking at me as I tell this tale, he looks like he wants to cry. He understands this.

Anyway, my first two years went by in a blur of social and academic activities. I made friends easily, I did well in school. My grades were not always perfect, but I was a comfortable B’ student, and coupled with my social activities in both church and club, I was turning out to be quite the all-rounder. Then I got to the tail end of my penultimate year, and that was when the so-called lucky streak came to an end.
If you’ve ever attended a Nigerian University, either Federal or State owned, or even any of the private universities, including those ‘Church schools’, you would definitely know the meaning of the word ‘Blocking’. In my school, the phenomenom of blocking is more like an art form. Certain people have perfected this art and are now masters. If the entire University was in the Renaissance era, then my department was where Leonardo da Vinci and Michaelangelo lived and breathed. There was a joke we had then; that if Adam and Eve had been able to ‘block’ my lecturers, they would definitely have been allowed to stay in the Garden.
Basically ‘blocking’, in English, involves the bribing of a lecturer in form of money, favours (including sexual), or some other form of barter in order for him to favour you in his course, or any order course that mau come under his direct or indirect jurisdiction. After blocking, people have been known to move from the E’ category (40-45%) into the B’ category (65-70%), a 20%+ jump which is facilitated by the greasing of hungry palms.

So here I was, a greatly favoured, high potential kid, with dreams of the future on a head-on collision with a master ‘blocking’ artist.
Sometimes I blame my naivete. Perhaps if I had been less naïve, I would have understood how the game was played and make my moves on time. But instead, I stayed ignorant while the warnings were given and soon, as we entered into our final year, I came face-to-face with the devil.
During the lecturers draw for potential seminar and project students, my name happened to fall (whether by cursed fate or design, I cannot tell), in the hands of this man. Now, despite my obvious naivete, I had heard of him before and I knew all about his ‘blocking’ prowess. If the blocking art was a mafia project, that man would be the Don. Yes Janus, he was that good. In the world of nefarious dealings, that man like the slimy octopus reigned supreme. His tentacles were spread everywhere (among both lecturers and students alike) and upon his enemies and those who dared to challenge him, he spewed black ink and disgrace, plotting his every scheme with the patience of a true artist. A born devil. But I don’t mean to praise him, I was the fool.
When we had our first meeting as Supervisor and student, he was offacious, beaming at me with a wide smile, chipped brown teeth glaring at me in a grin that would scare a barracuda. So helpful and considerate was he, offering to help with any problem I had with his course or any other. So courteous was he that I began to reconsider my past objectives of him, and thus I began to defend him before all who chose to soil such good name. There was no way this smiling, helpful man was a wicked old fool who cared not one bit about the profession or the students and was only concerned about lining his own pockets. But like Aizen Sousuke said; ‘There is a wide difference between trust and knowledge’.

I had never been ‘wronger’ in my life.

By the next semester, the leopard had switched his spots. Calling me up to his office, he queried me on my absence, swearing by Okoro and all the Urhobo gods that he had never seen me before. While I struggled and stuttered in my confused state to recouncile this new monster to the old genial fellow I knew before, he told me to shut up and asked in simple words:
“Have you even seen me before?”
Foolishly, I blurted out that he had been the one who gave me my project topic, helped with my seminar presentation etc. Failing to take into cognizance the double entendre of his words. The master of metaphor took one long disappointed look at me, and threw me out of his office.

To be continued…

Disclaimer

  • His name is not Jacob
  • i will not tell you his name
  • i’m not sure Aizen Sousuke actually said those words

that said, have a fun weekend!

Peace.

How to break up with your boyfriend

After writing about How to lose your girlfriend in six ways some of y’all asked for the ‘Boyfriend’ version. So after, days of research, one break up, two gunshot wounds and a broken i-Pad later, here it is.

Just before I posted this, I got a visit from two guys in dark suits, they flashed badges saying they were from the IGCA (International Guys Code Agency) and according to them I was contravening Code 13, Section 2, sub-section IV of the Guys Code of Honour, which states “Thou shall not write or say anything about guys secrets that may be viewed or read by a girl”. I threw them out of my house screaming that the truth must be told. So I write this at the risk of life and honour, so you had better love it!

Just like with breaking up with your girrlfriend, there are certain things you don’t do when you want to break up with a guy. Some people advise you to break up with the man publicly, saying the  man would get the drift and walk away. True, but you’ve just about created a terrible enemy. So before we dwell on how to, a little bit of how not  to.

  • don’t say there’s another guy. That is just kerosine on fire. Guys love competition and if anything, he’ll just redouble efforts and something tells me you’re gonna be heartbroken after.
  • don’t say you want to be friends. That’s just wrong. You can’t eat your cake and have ice-cream, love.
  • don’t pretend to be gay! That is just freeeeaaaky! and believe  me, guys love freaky.

PS: Anyone with some video of some girl-on-girl action should send a link. I uhm..want it for someone.

Okay, back to the post. *inserts track*”Somebody I used to know – Gotye

How to break up with your boyfriend.

Just say you don’t want anymore.

This is just about the simplest and most straightforward way out of any relationship. Just lok him in the eye and say it in English. “I don’t want head anymore, no more trips for me and my friends, no more Valentine Blackberrys and Indian, Peruvian or Moroccan hair. We’re through.” Most guys get the message, but knowing fully well the way you girls style  he might think you’re just  forming. So you might have to employ some of the following techniques, to get him  to break up with you

1. Close Marking

One sure way to get a guy to reconsider a lifetime with you, is to show him exactly  what that would feel like.You become extra-dependant on him, follow him everywhere; to drink with his boys, to clubs, to watch match, to cut his hair, to NYSC camp, and soon the dude would start feeling  married! and that’s your ticket. If that doesn’t go as planned, start pestering your undergraduate boyfriend to pay your schoolfees and you’re on your way out.

2. Nag

There is nothing any male (even the two year old varieties) hates more than a nagging shrew, except maybe an ugly nagging shrew. If you are serious about breaking up that relationship, nagging is one definite way out, even if you’re not ugly. Pester him on every single issue from, his choice of socks to the way he drives. No matter how patient your man is, he’ll get to the limit some day. but if that doesn’t work, there’s always the ‘Penile comment’. One day, just take a good look at his ‘Little cousin’ down there, shake your head and say; “But why is it so small?”

NB: some men get quite violent at this point.

3. Be gross and embarrasing

He takes you to a Chinese restaurant and you order Ogbolo soup and fufu, you think Obama is a BBA housemate and Daniel Anderson is a Hollywood producer. Or you wear the same panties for three days in a row, and prefer to re-use your sanitary pads in the name of recycling. I give it one week and he’ll be gone, except *shiver* he’s just attracted to gross and embarrassing girls. In that case, tell him you’re bini. (No offence to the People of the ancient Bini kingdom. I respect y’all)

4. Cheat

This is so simple, it should even be your first option. No man, your’s truly included, is interested in sharing his woman with anyone else. So, one sure way to break up (with a non-violent man) is to cheat. Cheat, cheat, and keep cheating until he notices. Even after he notices, keep cheating until he is fed up. Sometimes, the guy may niot notice, so you do something that would definitely catch his attention: ‘Miss’ your period and tell him you’re pregnant.

5. Say Cult boys are after you

Hire a tall, black, grab  guy and make sure your boyfriend sees you with him. After, you tell your boyfriend in simple words that, the guy was the *insert bloody confraternity* no 2 man, and that he is trying to set your P. But your boyfriend should not worry, ‘cuz you’ve told the *insert confraternity* killer, that you love your boyfriend and you will be with him till death do you part.

Definitely guaranteed to work.

NB: This could also be used to get your boyfriend out of the country.

However, some guys have been listening to “Find your love – Drake”  for far too long, so you may need to send him a threatening message from an unknown source with  the picture of his family house. This may result in a form of psychological trauma though, but he’ll definitely leave, never to bother you again.

6. Refuse to fit in with his friends.

This is a very important factor in any relationship. If your boyfriend’s friends do not like you, you might as well give up on the notion of ‘Happily ever after’. No guy, no matter the love, can stand a girl who his friends don’t like, especially if she doesn’t give BJ. (NB: Men would do almost anything for a good BJ, even forsake long friendships). So, this would definitely work, or if you are that desperate, really  fit in, and sleep with his bestfriend.

Marriages have been ruined for less.

Oh yeah, and as usual, you could recommend this post to him (and all your other friends), on facebook, twitter, BBm etc.

Disclaimer

  • as usual, I would like to remind you that I do not hate relationships and this is not justification to break yours.
  • this bears no reference to anyone, living, dead, zombie, vampire, bini, etc. all examples were provided by willing persons, and no 5 is not applicable to girls with cultist boyfriends. No go start war by mistake
  • you will please note all the ‘violent’ flashpoints. Men are a violent lot, and I would not be responsible for any slap received.
  • Apologies again to the Binis.*snickers*

stay happy

follow on twitter @janus_aneni

Peace.