Shave my legs and call me grandma! ...otherwise known as wow!

The Nigerian music scene has got me dusting up my old dance moves, making me hop, step n twist like never before. Never mind that all these are happening in my head, ‘cos if truth be told, I can’t dance to save my life.

Thank God for Yahoozie! At least people like me can now lay hold on to a dance step – no matter how ridiculous.

Anyhoo, back to my initial line of thought. Omo boys dey hot like fire! I recently laid my hands on some tracks from the yet-to-be-released album (don’t ask me how) of some new dude called M.I, and man...um, man...well, he’s good. He’s got the rhymes, the attitude and the smarts to be 9ja’s next big rap star.

He’s not the only one.

There’s also this other chick called Nyore (fellas, I hear she’s hot!) who’s got me um...dancing (you know warramean). These group of new school artistes seem set to put Nigerian music on the world map, and like never before, I’m proud to be Nigerian!

But the guy that’s got me on a roll right now is that Benin bobo, Oriri! His album, Sisi Eko (which is also the title of his hit track) is off da hooooooooooook! I’m annoying my colleagues right now by playing his album over and over again! LOL!

Oh, and by the way, I started jogging. Yeah! Two days down the line, and I suddenly feel sympathetic towards the poor sods in the military that have to do this every morning. My joints ache like mad, and my thighs and calves feel like Samuel Peters took out his revenge on them. All because the lady doesn’t like the belly that much. What on earth happened to “I love you the way you are”?

Well, here’s a toast to the 9ja music scene, and wishing me speedy recovery (or woreva), cos as God is my witness, come tomorrow morning, I’m going jogging again!

Well, tie me up and call me a puppet.

AND NO! NO POEM TODAY. C’MON GUYS, EVERYDAY’S NOT A HOLIDAY (Asa...).

we who are about to die salute you...

Morituri te salutamus. You probably know this famous greeting ill-fated gladiators made to the Emperor, when he was gracious enough to bestow upon a fight, his presence. Not the most exciting thing to look forward to, I must say. But, hey, they had a job to do right?

In many ways, I feel like a gladiator.

Okay, make that one way. And believe me, it's not an easy way. You see, I'm a copywriter, and my job demands that I come up with creative ideas and strategies that sell whatever message, service or product my client wants to pass across to his Target Audience. It may seem fun at first, but when you get down to the nitty gritty, you get to understand that a lot of brain power goes into producing one single communication material (or ad). Well, then again, a lot of brain power is supposed to go into it.

Here lies my pain.

Today, a lot of the ads on the pages of the papers and on TV make me want to shoot myself. No, really! It seems everyone's doing a wam, bam, slap-it-on kinda job, thinking the rest of us humans out there suddenly developed the intelligence of mules. I mean, who on God's green earth approves the stuff called ads these days?! Who's the sucker that pays for them?

What does my ranting have to do with Russell Crowe and the other half clad men in leather? Nothing. Except for the fact that credible copywriters are fast becoming extinct, and are slowly being replaced by half-baked, 419ing, pretentious usurpers to the ad throne.

E dey pain me oh!

Where are the writers?! Stand up before someone runs us out of the scene, and we become, just like the gladiators, a people of past glory and fame.

We who are about to die salute you.

 

With tears that knew not whence they came,

And laughter that knew not why,

We fought to live, our rage to tame;

In truth we lived a lie;

Only to turn back and reclaim

With heaves and many a sigh;

In death we'll live past this wretched game

For while we live we die.

7/7/2005.

Sleepless in Lagos.

Another week, another set of challenges, and plenty new oportunies to...well, just do it (only this time better).  

My life's been on a roller-coaster ride:  so many briefs to handle at the office with so little time to do so; me and my girl having a major misunderstanding; my co-workers trying to give me a heart attack; and finding a companion in that annoying, miserable, irreverent doctore, House.  So far, life's been interesting.

Again, I have to say a big thank you to incoherent, who seems to always have the words to encourage me to put up a post.  Thanks, babe!

Today, I'm sharing a poem I just wrote (after so many years!).  It portrays the battle going on on the inside of me, as well as the questions I think we all ask every now and then.  It may not be a great way to start a Monday morning, but hey...what other way to start the week than by musing about who (or what) we are?  What is our sum total?  

For those who enjoy poetry...here's one for you:

I do not know what I’ve become;

It’s clear now that I’m no more me,

Maybe I was, but now I am,

Or not

Maybe now I was.

 

The darkness in my soul shines forth

The light, subdued, is put to flight

Now reigns the terror of the night

Or not

‘Tis the despot that is light.

 

So lift your heads o gates of hell

Let loose your fury from your well

For I have answered the reaper’s knell

Or not

I am free from my cell.

 

Plunge deep your sword and let me rest

Draw out the pain in my breast

Now I am free; I’ve passed the test

Or not

Maybe I’ve just begun my quest.

 

                                                                                1/9/2008.

I'm in one of those moods...

Ever felt like you were suspended in space? You're neither here nor there; neither happy nor sad, but knowing that there's something tugging at your heart. Well folks, I'm in one of those moods today. I know I should perhaps sit and brood, but I'm too restless to do so.

Whatever.

Anyways, here's a poem I wrote some time ago (I seem to have suddenly experienced a block in the past few years). As is usual with me, I'm sharing it with you (yes, you).

Oh, one more thing: big ups to the Queen. You're one heck of a writer!



Untitled.

The song I sing is a song of love

Bequeathed to me by an immigrant dove

With a broken wing and a song to sing

Many tales to tell, many bells to ring.

The dove did a solitary candle light

Within myself, did start a fight

Blinded by each ray of hope

Yet wishing still in the dark to grope

To hold on to a broken heart

Afraid to be born anew, to start

A journey long since left behind

A weakened spirit, a fragile mind.

15/12/2004.