Office appointments

The floor is quiet, the only sounds that c an be heard from the lobby are the incessant clicking of the receptionist on  her computer keys and the whirr of the air-conditioning system. For the hundredth time I stare at the floor and try to count the cracks between the tiles. I get up to seventy-five before I give up again. The lobby of the Hudson and Sons Company Ltd. is on the 12th floor of the Skylax building in Benin city. The company occupies three floors for it’s Head Corporate offices. The lobby is modern styled with chrome and glass fittings, polished tile floors, CCTV surveillance cameras in every corner and a huge desk housing the receptionist. She is dark and quite pretty, the soft brown hairdo falls back from her face revealing an oval face and sensual full lips.

I have been sitting here for 45mins now, it is only normal that I should notice such things.

I had, have, an appointment with her boss, the General Manager of the Company, Mr Hudson jnr. himself. I admit, I have never seen the man before. Apparently, he and my aunt served together in Osogbo during the  Youth Service Corps program, before his father got rich, and when she heard I needed a job, she rang him up straightaway. Two more phone calls and the date was set. So here I am, sitting uncomfortably in my dark-blue suit and tie while the receptionist chews gum and ignores me.

“Is he ready for me yet?” I ask for the fiftieth time.

“When he is ready for you, I’ll let you know,” the receptionist replies without looking up. She keeps clacking on her keyboard, each click resounding as a gong in my brain.

A man walks in through the front door. He is dressed in a simple, yet obviously expensive, shirt with brown slacks. Instantly the typing stops and looking up with the most dazzling smile I ever saw, the receptionist says: “Hello, Good morning. My name is Maggie, welcome to Hudson and Sons, how may I help you?” Damn!  She’s pretty with that smile.

The man mutters something, and she glances at her PC and then smiles at him. Her smile is even prettier now. Maggie…hmm, it’s a pretty name, but she’s probably Bini so her real name might be Imuetiyan*shrug*. The receptionist hands him a Visitors’ pass,  points to a door on her left and in the next instant he is gone. We are alone in the lobby again. The clacking resumes, the airconditioner whirrs. I think I need to go to the bathroom.

“I think I need to use the bathroom.”

Maggie ignores me. I don’t blame her. It’s the fourth time I’m visiting the bathroom in the past forty minutes.  Inside the bathroom I open my jacket and stare at the mirror. I like what I see. Once again, I wonder what I must have appeared like to Maggie  when I came in. The appointment with Mr Hudson jnr. was scheduled for 8:30am, so at 8:29am, I stepped into the Offices of Hudson and Sons Co. Maggie had looked up and smiled as I came in, but her smile was not so wide. Maybe she was expecting a youngish, obviously wealthy chap in flowing kaftans and gold rolexes, and instead she got a twenty-two year old in a suit, clutching a briefcase and looking uncomfortable from behind blue-tinted rimless glasses.

“How may I help you?” was all she said. I told her about Mr Hudson jnr. and why I was here. She told me to wait, that he’ll soon be here. Then she went back to typing and chewing. That was over an hour ago. Splashing some water on my f ace, I make a mean face at the CCTV camera before flushing the WC loudly and walking back into the lobby. Maggie is still typing. I wonder what it is that receptionists type all the time.

A phone rings. It’s not mine. My phone has been ‘Silent’ since I stepped into the Offices of Hudson and Sons. Maggie picks it up.

How fa na?”

Apparently it is her boyfriend. She is smiling and pouting and promising to cook something the next time he comes around. They schedule a meet for later tonight, at the Hexagon club, by 9:00pm. Don’t judge me for listening in on their conversation, it’s not my fault. I don’t really have anything else to do. I have a pang of envy and I suddenly wish Maggie was my girlfriend. She couldn’t possibly be too old for me, at the most she’ll be twenty-five, so the odds are certainly in my favour. The front door swings open again. Maggie instantly ends the call and smiles.

“How may I help you sir?”

I wonder how long I would be waiting here. The man who just came in has been given a Visitors’ pass and admitted into the office. He looks back at me as he steps in through the doors, pass hanging from his neck. I glare back threateningly. The time is 9:42am. I have other appointments today you know. I and George are supposed to go check out that new place, Bobby’s Bistro. And that is very important to me!! Who knows, maybe Mr Hudson jnr. would not come again. Maybe he has travelled and forgotten. Maybe he is dead in his office, or being kidnapped while we sit outside with no inkling as to what is going on in there. This is begining to really bore, if I had known I would have brought along a novel. The worst part is, there is no chick here to even keep me company, I can’t do this! I am hungry for Pete’s sake, I can’t take this anymore!

“Is he ready for me yet?”


  • This is the product of boredom.

How to lose your girlfriend in Six ways…

First off, I want to say, I’m not a chauvinist. In simple English, I am not biased towards only guys. I will definitely write a post on how to break up with your boyfriend, but I am a guy and I decided to write this first. For girls who are reading, you may take a tip or two from this and if your boyfriend starts exhibiting any of these attributes, Honey, he’s tired, let him go. That said, let us get back to the post.

PS: Do you know I typed this post about three times? Each time the Ishan gods from @Obee_007’s village would prevent me from publishing, and the post would mysteriously disappear. Well, finally, I appeased the gods and here we are.


When most people get tired of their relationships a number of questions start flying around in their skulls: If to break up, how to break up, when, why, etc.And both with guys and girls, the issue paramount in each mind is how to break up nicely, so our ex-partner, who we most times still care for, would not be hurt too bad. NOTE 1: there is no nice way. Don’t go breaking up over the phone or facebook or BBM just ‘cuz it may seem easier. Easier for you maybe, but infinitely harder and more painful for her. So before we start on HOw to break up a relationship, a few tips on how NOT to.

  • not over electronic media!
  • not on a monday, and then sending her a ‘sweetheart’ text on wednesday. You’ve got to be firm, let your ‘word be your bond..’ or something like that.
  • not on Mondays! that would just be cruel. Pluis, I hate mondays.
  • don’t go broadcasting on all the social media immediately after: [Twitter] – “I finally left the bitch!” that’s a NO.
  • and yeah, most importantly, do not break up anywhere private, like your apartment (for obvious reasons). Break up personally and preferrably in a public place with lots of people and no sharp objects lying around. Park your car as far away as possible, and for Okoro’s sake keep your phone and iPad inside your pocket to avoid broken windshields and stories that touch the soul.

That said, on to how to break up with your girlfriend.

1. Just tell her you’re through

This is just about the simplest way to break up that relationship. Call her, and in firm words, say: “IT haf do“. YOu don’t have to be harsh or brutal, but saying the words to her directly shows your seriousness, and most times the words get through. Most times…

2. Tell her you have given your life to Christ.

This is a very effective deal breaker, especially in sexual relationships. You walk into her room one day, look her straight in the eye and say: “I ain’t giving you no more of that sweet luvin’, no more nights at the club, or kushing under the moonlight. It is over. I have given my life to  Christ and I can’t be unevenly yoked with you anymore.” There may  be a few tears, but believe me, this always works.

NB: this may also be used vice versa. If you’re tired of your ‘Christian’ relationship, you could start playing some ‘illuminati’ music, kush up and ask her  for sex. NOTE: stronger, infinitely more sexual relationships have been known to develop from this point. Just saying…

3. Pretend to be gay.

NOthing, and I repeat, nothing, splits a relationship faster than a tall, black muscular dude. Either way…Start watching E! and Fashion TV more often, take interest in the ‘fabulous’ life of the Kardashians or maybe Ice and Coco,  and start dressing like a cross between Denrele and Charley Boy, and that’s the ticket. You’ll be out of that relationship  faster than you can say ‘Fag’.

4. Claim to be an Alien.

Contrary to what we see on TV these days with the love for Extraterrestrials, Vampires and Little green men, no girl worth her salt is going to enjoy ‘shacking up’ with some monster. If you can convince your girlfriend well enough, that you’re an alien from the planet Zanpapulous, you’ve just bought yourself a one-way ticket straight out of that relationship.

If that doesn’t work, there’s always the ‘Genotype scam’. Get a well signed report from a Doctor proclaiming you have an AS genotype and show this proudly to your AS girlfriend, while crying and cursing Providence for tearing apart such beautiful love.

5. Get her to break up with you.

THis is about the hardest way to break up a relationship especially with a determined woman. But the steps are easy enough.

  • stop washing and bathing. Throw out your  entire wardrobe and start dressing like Musa the gateman. (This is not to say that all Hausas or Muslims are into the ‘security’ business. I know someone who has a gateman and his name is Osas.)
  • put on weight and start introducing her to young, handsome, virile men who share her passions (saving the world, eliminating world hunger, etc.) while you pick up fights everyday.

By the time she is just about fed up with you, start begging and wailing that you want to come back; that would get you kicked out on your ass. Definitely guaranteed to work! Also it wouldn’t hurt to be caiught in bed with another woman, though this has been known to have dire consequences.

If this doesn’t work, then announce you just found out you’re adopted, forge a birth certificate and show her that you are related.

6. Share this post with her.

Share with all your friends on facebook, twitter, 2go *shiver* including her. Tell her, and your friends that it is the most enlightening thing you ever read and she should pay extra attention to no 6. That should definitely put the message across.


  • This post was written by me, with insight from a couple of peeps who would NOT be named here. Yes, I am selfish! and NO, i do ot hate relationships.
  • Also, very important, this post also applies to lesbians, except no 3 of course, though my ‘tall, black muscular dude’ theory still stands.

follow on twitter @janus_aneni


Thoughts of you..

I wish I convey my heart,
But all I do keeps us apart,
No feeling, no words to say,
Just thoughts of you on replay..

I wish I could say how I feel,
All calm, letting my words un-reel,
But the words escape me, nothing to say,
Just thoughts of you on replay..

I wish I could say how I love,
My words to you, my pretty dove,
I wish I could heal all our wounds, but no words,
Just thoughts of you on replay..

I wish it could all be simple,
My heart, your love, your smiling dimple,
But all I do is push you away,
Just thoughts of you on replay..

Welcome to the Blog : And this, and that..

When most people open up a blog, the first post is usually one of their best. they put out something to spur the reader on, give him a taste of what is to come; give the  reader a feel of how the writer, writes and so on. Then after that, as subsequent posts begin to roll out, the really good writer, dredges up new  material, researches further and produces works of art even greater than the first, thus entrenching the reader in his camp, and effectively chooking him inside  pocket.

That is what is going to happen to you.

My name is Janus, like the profile says, and I love to write. I do not like to talk about myself much; generally I am a good listener and reader, but when I do speak or write, it is with harsh humour, dry wit  and a bit of brash critique. But you love it, and you love me, and that is what matters. It is a pity that every Tom, Dick, Harry, Henry, Mustapha and Bola who can hold a pen and scribble a few letters call themselves writers these days. Like I said earlier, I would not claim to be overly perfect, or good, but I love to write, and you would love to read me.

Like any artist worth their salt, I  enjoy the human nature, and though that may make me seem too freethinking or agnostic sometimes, at heart I believe in Jesus and GOD and I am Christian. Nevertheless though, I believe utterly in the power of Man and his ability to greatly influence events with the forces of Providence and Fate sometimes  marshalling against him. But enough on religion…

I would like you to know what you may expect from my writing: ‘a little bit of this, and some of that’, religion, love, stories,   articles, arguments, sex, politics, etc. and yes, events from my life too. It is my blog after all. Anyway, welcome to the blog, and lets have fun on this ride.

A Critical Review..

Ah! you will say, the clock has spun round and the time has come again, another opportunity for this foolish writer to complain and lambast on paper. But not today. For today i have seen the light, today i am here to say d truth. The irrefutable, it-pains-me-to-utter-this kind of truth. I would say the truth of my writing and i would not mince words. I challenge you to counter me, and I am secure that you will not. For if you do, you praise me. Though if you do not, you do also. But that is my bonus.

As an independent observer reading one of my pieces one day, I realised the inadequacies hidden behind every line I write. I play up my words with tunes of high pitches, gross embellishments and exaggerations, searching for deeper meaning where sometimes there is none. It is annoying to the seasoned reader when he takes up a piece of my work. What he views is a truckload of horsedung whose creator has merely clothed with finery. And as one idiotic fool said, that is the true definition of a writer. Ha! What does he know?

Never before have i been so disgusted as when i took up one of my works to read during one of my boring hours and all i saw was a pseudo-litany with sexual underlining. I shook my head and laughed at myself. What i was exhibiting was a shameless salesman technique where you give the people what it is that they want at the expense of literary morality. And that is just the tip of the iceberg.

Going further, on extremely boring days, i notice a trend which has begun to dog my work. The trend of addressing myself to the reader as though on a personal basis. What does that mean? Since when did that become artistic writing? As far as I am concerned that is a mere trick to grab the readers attention and keep him with you all through the article and that is just bullshit isn’t it? Honestly, as far as i am concerned it takes a high level of intelligence to read anything I write, I may kid myself that it is because some of the offhanded phrases and lines I throw in along the way require past your basic intelligence, but I know better. And you do too. The reason why those who discard my articles claiming its unreadability do so is simply due to the length! I write for too long, using big words. And a piece is essentially supposed to be short and to the point. To justify myself I claim it is because, I get ideas more than the average man and hence have more material to work with, but you know better don’t you? Or I could claim that the topics upon which I write are just too intelligent or even bourgeois for the common man to interprete. What insolence!

On most occasions I can be downright insulting and that I know. I end up coating my words in vernacular and slang to take the brunt of the insult but only after the damage is done. Some people call that brilliant journalism or a sort of diplomacy. I simply call it pretence. Why do I couch my words in hidden terms and double entrendres? Is that not more of an act of cowardice than a supreme style of writing? The writer should say what he wants to say, for he is the Fourth Estate, not a snivelling man hiding behind a curtain! Right?

When the subject matter shifts to girls, in a totally and quite typical male chauvinistic pig attitude I am highly critical and quite dirty. Even Oscar Wilde I fear will have a thing or two to say about me. I console myself saying, it will merely be jealousy which shall trouble his heart. But who knows such things?

The other day i took it upon myself to write a poem. Who send me? Who asked me to? I had not even recieved a wide acclaim for my articles. At the very most, about 500 people in the whole wide world knew I could spell out the words of an article. And I wanted to try on the highly exalted chair of the poet? Why? Because of a couple of romantic pieces I had written once or twice which earned me some two-bit fame? Hmmph! I amuse even myself.

There exist a lot of people in this world and of this number, a very few of them are storytellers. Into this small circle is where I sought to throw myself. The annoying, and by that I mean, really annoying part is, I am no good at it! If i was, then i wouldn’t have needed to try convincing my editor of the worthiness of my novel, (he should have simply caught on right away). I would have more subscribers following my blog (maybe like 50, 000 ) and even in the days when we were young and we sat on the bunks and told stories, I would have a listening group of 90 people, rather than a loose collection of friends who obviously were waiting for me to round up (out of courtesy) so they could go do something more interesting like solve further mathematics.

This is the truth and I say it plainly, I cannot claim to be a master of magic and spin webs of words around your heads and keep you so enthralled you’ll gladly lie at my feet just to feel the words pour out for a thousand years. No! I simply write and apparently, somewhere deep within your crazy souls (you have to be crazy to read from me), there is a need to hear something no one else can give you. I will always provide for that need. I cannot but do so.

I have criticized myself. You have been duly warned. You read on at your peril.

Nevertheless, do!