Oluwatosin Fatoyinbo: Who wants the cookie Anyway?

As the administrator of paarapo, I had the opportunity of reading through and editing Adaora’s piece called: “What’s with the cookie anyway?”, and my first reaction evident by our bbm chat was that there are many of us who really are not bothered about the ‘cookie’. She agreed and said perhaps a man should write from a male perspective and this is an attempt at that.

In the first place, our generation has become so fond of nicknames that we have lost touch of some deep realities. There is deep meaning in the original names of certain phenomenon, such that when we rename them, they tend to lose their weight. The particular word in context here is called ‘SEX’ not ‘cookie’. I understand that it can sometimes be awkward to use that word but I believe there’s a reason why it found its way into the English Dictionary. However, for the sake of this write-up, let’s stick with the whole ‘cookie’ thing.

All through my years of understanding, I have always wanted a woman who would not be overshadowed by my image but one who will stand shoulder to shoulder with me. A woman I can introduce around in any gathering and who would get envious looks from other men not just because of her outer fairness but because of her inner beauty and the fact that no man had ‘known’ her.

That perhaps is the most important thing to me and second only to that is this: she must be a firebrand daughter of Zion who is as crazy about Jesus as I am. What’s my joy in knowing that a woman has cheaply given her cookie just to keep a man?
If I could have kept my ‘cookie’ (if there’s anything like that), why can’t she keep hers? I am a virgin and I’ve never been more proud to say this. #Jesus is obviously the reason for my being so even though my morality also agrees (you may say my morality is affected by #Jesus influence too),isn’t it a great thing for a man to discover that his bride has kept her ‘cookie’? Yes, there’s nothing more delightful to a groom as much as that.

Now, I have seen so much ironic and perhaps evil things: I have seen girls who having cheaply offered their ‘cookie’ to many biscuit lovers, end up with a man who chose to be chaste.
I have seen women who resisted all temptations to give away their ‘cookie’ only to end up with a man who has eaten so many ‘cookies’ that he couldn’t even tell the difference. One should never think that men will first of all look to settle with the cheerful ‘cookie’ giver. Men, no matter how much they have helped in stealing another man’s ‘cookie’ will still do their very best to search out that woman who jealously kept hers. Ladies should just take note of the fact that what all men have in mind is this: HE THAT FINDETH A WIFE FINDETH A GOOD THING AND OBTAINETH FAVOUR OF THE LORD,(even when many men are not good things themselves).

I think what women should also look out for is that ‘GOOD’ thing and ‘FAVOUR’ of the Lord).
Without bias, do you think that the cheerful ‘cookie’ giver is a good thing? A favour from the Lord? If he pesters you for the ‘cookie’, he most likely thinks that you are not a good thing because everything good takes time. So if he is not ready to wait for the TIME and the SEASON, I tell you Dear Girlfriend, its TIME to move on to greater things.

Am I saying that there ain’t pressure on the Girls or Ladies as the case maybe? No! The pressure on you is so much that sometimes I wish you could all be male but then, if that happened, man would have no companion.

The woman is not actually always about the cookie, she is about companionship, friendship, being and helping the ‘Helpmeet’. (Am I preaching? Yes! But I don’t care: its the truth).
There’s so much pressure on you but don’t pull the plug on yourself. Stop putting yourself under pressure. Stop throwing yourself at him.

Perhaps, the woman’s biggest problem is her fairy tale ‘cinderrelic’ mindset. You want to be swept off your feet but like my friend Oluwatelemi rightly noted, only Jesus can truly ‘sweep’ you off your feet. Yes, there will be a man who will love you for who you are, adore you and maybe worship you even,but will it be like those dreamy tales you read about? I really don’t think so.

So stop ‘loving up’ a man who you know is not realistic, a man who is more concerned about the cookie than your general welbeing, more concerned about lifting ‘the veil’ than lifting your soul. If he asks to lift your veil, tell him to go get a court order (by putting a ring on your finger and making the necessary vows before God, your friends and family). If he’s not gonna do that, then he has absolutely no jurisdiction to lift the veil.
Tell him to shut up and get out of your life. And if he refuses, shove him away.

There’s no need to dilly-dally; no need to think twice. If he can’t be patient with you, he will soon lose his patience with your sister who comes visiting; whether your sister is hot or not wouldn’t matter as long as the cookie is available.

So who wants the cookie anyway? You know that already! I speak the mind of those of us (and we are many) who have chosen to walk the path of asking for the cookie only when we have jurisdiction, having paid the price and obtained a court order. We are telling you to take note that until we do that, you should please remain ‘cookie-stingy’!


** Special appreciation to Adaora for the inspirational push to pen this.

Oluwatosin is a fiery young man who is learning on a daily basis to follow Jesus. Simple and friendly, he loves his pen and Arsenal FC. ff on twitter @tosinfat

Titiladunayo Daniel: A TALE OF TWO THIEVES


The epileptic case of the nation’s political arena reminds me of Charles Dickens’ lines in his book, the tale of two cities

“It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair, we had everything before us, we had nothing before us, we were all going direct to Heaven, we were all going direct the other way−−in short, the period was so far like the present period, that some of its noisiest authorities insisted on its being received, for good or for evil, in the superlative degree of comparison only”

A similar river flowed through a particular country in West Africa after they got the baptism of confusion. A year before the end of the Military era, a decade and five years ago, a group of friends who have displayed high proficiency level in corruption came together to birth an “umbrella” body, they rose to prominence and became an unavoidable evil, they turned people’s rights into privileges, they promoted injustice and championed lawlessness, they crumbled education and gave good communication network, they stole from the poor and gave to the rich not neglecting their ambition to create a wider margin between the duo, they tutored the youths just to have capable hands to receive the mantle from them when they transcend. During the era of their sovereignty, so many squad rose but none seemed to be a match.

In 2006, 3 gangs namely ACD, JP and AD mingled to form the “progressive” but could only terrorize six states. As the country gradually approaches her century-old forceful marriage, another attempt was launched to unseat the ruling thieves through the formation of a formidable gang which dawned a serious merger between three different sets of thieves, which included the initial “progressive”; their ideology remains “socialism and progressive”.

The two dreadful gangs of thieves are likened to the crisis-plagued Peoples Democratic Party and the newly-born All Progressive Congress.

Over the past few months, a lot of wind has blown beneath the heavens of governance and has heated polity in the seventh most populous country in the world. Less good has been achieved and much more vices have been promoted, political punches have being exchanged, oral blocks of chaos have been built, innate enmity between political warlords has being fostered, mixture of old wines and new wines into a new container, declaration of threat between the so-called party leaders and the Presidency as regards the quest of who occupies the power house, the “Aso Rock”, in 2015. Tussle for sovereignty becomes intense as the continual existence of this 15year old gang face serious threat from the hands of the new merger.

Several days after the registration of the new party, the pages of our National dailies were flooded with accolades to both the INEC and the new party leaders for the successful emergence of the new gang, Nigerians were congratulated for the birth of the “saint”, APC. I kept wondering if the party stands devoid of the “Fani-Kayodes” of Aviation, the “El-Rufais” of FCT, the “Nuhu Ribadus” of EFCC, who stole with the ruling thieves, deflected to the new gang and have metamorphosed into “accidental social activist”, the same “Buharis” of this world that stole our democracy then, the same “Fasholas” that hiked the tuition fee of LASU with his party preaching free education and can’t shut them up. The rhetorical question is that “do Nigerians got any reason to rejoice over the birth of the party that has got no formidable plan than to unseat the ruling People’s Democratic Party? They preach to the Nation what they haven’t offered their respective states. APC has indeed come to crown the effort of the People Deceiving People’s gang, apparently the same old thieves with a new brand, insignia and ultimately a new name.

The assertion that “people get the kind of leader they deserve” has found its stand on the soil of this country because the unperturbed followers have surrendered governance to selfish personages who keep launching different selfish political sects or parties just to prove their worth in the on-going contest of who can loot the Nigerian treasure better. Until that moment and day when we have leaders who live and pride in the true meaning of our National anthem “the labour of our heroes past shall never be in vain to serve with heart and might”, we might not be able to talk of a New Nigeria or celebrate true democracy.

Titiladunayo, Daniel ‘Damilola is the President of the Union of Campus Journalists (UCJ) of the University of Ibadan. Follow him on twitter @lorddaniel2121

Oluwatelemi Ola-James: It Won’t Hurt to feel it too

I curled myself up against the army green leather settee, thoughtlessly sipping the very chilled viji milk my host got me, lamenting that I was made to watch a mexican love series “Mari Mar” which was very contrary to my regularly “Criminal minds’, “Major Crimes” kinda series. I whined and sighed but my host paid me no mind as she sat eyes affixed to the screen. Amazed at how engrossed she was, I decided to give it a shot.

Soon enough, I was totally engrossed as well,a little more than my host ‘sef’. As I watched, I, in my mind swapped roles with the young Mexican girl that had fallen hopelessly in love. My heart missed a beat as her lover,Sergio, cupped her face in his tender palms and looked straight into her glassy eyes. He lean forward to plant a kiss on her quivering lips and as the tip of his lips slightly touched hers, her eyelids lowered themselves and it was like nothing else mattered. She was definitely in cloud nine and he hadn’t even kissed her yet!
Suddenly, I felt this wet sensation along my tights, I jolted back to reality as I realised that more than half of my chilled viju had poured on my fancy cream coloured pleated skirt.”Mschewwww, abeg let’s remove this movie,” I said to my host angrily. I was angry at the fact that I had just ruined my favourite skirt but more about the false impression that love like this exists.

I thought back at the various men that had passed my life, none of them had treated me like Sergio treated Marimar. Is it that they just did not feel the need to treat me like that or that I did not deserve it or that men like that exist only in movies?

But really, where did all the good men go? or is it that love is really overrated? Whatever happened to the men that will sweep you off your feet and would make you feel like you are the best thing that happened to them, the ones that will encourage you to keep your cookie in the cookie jar and not manipulate you to giving them a bite. The ones that need not say “I love you” but you know damn well that they do. I doubt if other girls have them because an increasing number of ladies are on the prowl for these “movie-like men”.

As I got up to clean up my soiled clothing, my host and I concluded that love is really overrated and that love like this exists only in movies but then, even if it means signing up for a movie audition, it certainly won’t hurt to feel this kinda love too.

Oluwatelemi, is a once-upon a time love addict, who learnt the hardest way that the only true lover is Jesus. Follow her on twitter @teju_james

Makinde Sinmiloluwa Victor: Living in a Crazy World

This article was writen in 2011 and it is shocking that it has not lost its relevance even now

History has revealed to us that this world was once good and beautiful. A place where a new born child will long to live and where the dead will love to return to.

All of a sudden, the beauty flew up into the realms of darkness. The word “sanity” now backs the prefix “in” making it “insanity”. No wonder Lucky Dube said, “we now live in a crazy world”.
Like MI would say, “life is an action film and we are all actors in this world”, but have you noticed that some do act according to the script while others act according to how they feel. Although I was late in arriving, I never knew that I would be living in a crazy world.

From childhood, I had known that this world is crazy. If you have biscuit, people would be your friend but if the biscuit is exhausted, they cease to be your friends. It is in this world that the people who are suppose to die “as in the bad”, live long while good people who are suppose to live long not only die young but in unfortunate circumstances.
It is in this part of the world that NYSC members would be killed and all a governor could say is that it is “fate”. Isn’t that crazy?

Is it not crazy when most people who work in hotels cannot afford a room in the hotel, even for one night. If you don’t have a girlfriend, people would say you are crazy and if you eventually have a girlfriend without checking what is “under the skirt”, people would also say that you are crazy. Ah!!

Is it not absurd or is it by force you date someone? My father once told me that when he started dating my mum, it was something of a secret that they did with fear. But in our modern world, dating is not done in the secret. Even, sex is discussed among people especially the youth as if it is nothing. Some even boast of how many people they have slept with and how the experience was like. What a crazy world indeed.

My country is among the top producers of crude oil in the world but we still borrow funds from international bodies “to import oil”. It is in this part of the world that I know that a person would struggle to go to school and when he comes out, no job or if lucky, will be given a taxi cab to drive becoming a graduate taxi driver plying his business from “Bere to Oje” in Ibadan. Crazy, isnt it? It is also in this part of the world that I know that politicians no longer fight themselves with guns but bombs. Crazy, abi?

It is in my country that running to a police headquarters or army barracks is not safe because you dont know where and when the next bomb will explode. My country is the only place that our sheepherds give April fool to his flocks in January. It is in my country that NYSC members are afraid of being posted to some part of the country because they dont want to carry “short-sleeve” (amputated hands and legs) back home that is if they are lucky to be alive.

The policemen in my country are now specialist tax collectors even when you still have to pay your tax to the state. It is also in my country that a President will refer to some sections of the citizenry as “ordinary” crazy, crazy, crazy!

Imagine a human being waking up and killing his fellow. Or just imagine people hijacking a plane and flying it directly towards a tower. Okay, imagine someone calling himself a suicide bomber; killing himself with others. Is that not crazy? Imagine a senator and former governor getting married to a 13 year old girl when he has several wives. Can we say he is not satisfied or he is crazy?

The thing I hate most in life is pretending to be what you are not. Is it not crazy when people you look up to as mentors in your religion are not who they pretend to be? Imagine a situation where a thief who disguises as a police man is made to catch thieves. Imagine when somebody who is campaigning against corruption is himself corrupt?
Crazy isnt it? Some people are fond of aborting while some others fast and pray just to get pregnant even if it is for once. A crazy world indeed.

Nowhere is safe even the White House. A world where a man is jailed for what he knows nothing about. A world where a man rules even when his leadership is been rejected by the people he rules. Could the world beyond be better than this? If yes, is death the way out? If yes, who should be killed: the good or the bad? If the bad, are you good?

Sinmi blogs at http://thepenworkshop.wordpress.com. Follow him on twitter @sinmimakinde

Oma Nelson: The Lamentations of a ‘Mama-Put’ Addict

In this trying time in our country where everyone is trying to put out serious opinions (doesn’t mean that this one is unserious) in overly intellectual pieces, I am wondering about cooking and why some people enjoy it. So to hell with Jonathan and his ambitions for 2015, ASUU and trade unions. Today, I am going to put out something that people are not even thinking to talk about.

I am a twenty-something year old woma…err babe, and I do not like cooking. Yes yes, I said it. And before all you domesticated females and chauvinistic males start judging me, cut me some slack and applaud my bravery for speaking up. Believe me I am not the only one. When did it become a taboo ehn? Can a lady not dislike cooking?

Its just a double standard. If all guys are not required to love football or root for the same club, why should females have less choices?

If we attend the same lectures, write the same exams, work in similar capacities, wake up at wee hours, get stuck in the same traffic and return at the same time, cooking at that hour should be a privilege not a right (equal rights anyone?). Or do companies run by females get free or magic profit at the end of the year simply because the world understands the need for the female to multi-task?

I must however commend kitchen-loving ladies and super women. You get the opportunity to bring lots of things together and produce something that people are going to consume. The reward being the satisfaction on the faces of the consumers after consumption. It is an art that takes a lot of time, concentration, brain activity (yes, brain activity), risk calculation, physical strength and expertise only grows with practice.

For instance, to prepare vegetable soup (the igbo way), the cook must be able to guarantee the quality of the ingredients (now that meat sellers have been arrested for using embalming liquid for dead bodies to fatten their kpomo, the task has become onerous), boil every kind of meat used till tender whilst making sure that the spice used and water added is adequate, melt the ‘right’ quantity “achi” in bleached oil for just the right amount of time before introducing the meat stock to the mixture and waiting for a calculated amount of time before adding the different vegetables which must have been thoroughly washed and cut. The efforts of the cook is also wasted if she doesn’t know when to turn off the cooker.

So you see, it is like any full time job.

And since I already have a full time job, I’ll rather drive to “Ola mummy”.

Oh and by the way, I said “I do not LIKE cooking” not that I DON’T cook. Who am I kidding? I go see husband marry?

Oma Nelson likes cooking and writes for fun. Follow her on twitter @Oma_Nelson

Mide Benedict: THE SAINT!


Februarys, Ogres that transform every four turns
When prepared to be accepted as true sons
By the counts of times.
Rather than showing gratitude to those months
Who blessed them and accepted them as a second ladder,
They would torture them, make them weaker, Take their wings and cut their longer tracked plume.
February though the tiniest among the counts in time,
Yet mounts up wings of the deceiver’s fall
With all mind and might to grow tall.

A February I know and examined with great view;
His ways and acts I have decided to review
So that months and days will no longer bear his curse.
Gently he comes to them like a pauper, begging for roles of abacus,
Just to have few days as breeds:
To make the difference left undone for four years.
Two years before January breaks its last egg
Before the thirty-first day releases its peg
He spoke of goodness and stability
But he quaked month’s mentality.

February shines with colours of deceit
That blurs November to January’s eyes to share of winters tears;
And when February’s wish does come to pass,
He gets some days which he breastfeed with blades of sour
And some also follow him due to peanuts’ tour.
He did made the difference, that difference of a blood pour:
Massacres the first two that peeped and with no eyes of mercy to zoom,
Into the tiger’s cage, February sends them to their hour of doom.

March and April, how lovely your faces bloomed
How beautiful your spring boomed
Must May be throat-opened to make the other
Seven altar months in fear surrender
To your timeless heartless act of bloody massacre?
Not enough for your shameless space?
The months you struck, their home too small a place?
Or it the overflow of deadly power your case?

He pounces on May like a wild cat,
Tearing him into pieces and upon his closed eyes he spat
Now that May is gone, how will June to December reign?
A great harvest of sorrow and pain
Surely February has gone insane

He leaves the corpse and walks away
To take May’s place, for that his way
Other months gather to mourn for May,
April and March are buried in the place beneath;
Where they once gasped for breath
Before they were stringed together with May; all three died a gushing death.
May an hero of the red eyes days, the most handsome
And the freshest of all months of gallant plum
The saviour of the struggling bloods
And the master of the voicing swords,
Has been slain by the most trusted one.
A monument is made at their graves; a remembrance of lives that lives on

February again, the saint crowing his deed,
Walks towards the buried May to water is unsatisfied seed
Master of disaster! Your slaughter not enough a smile
Your evil feats are not okay to tile?
Or the black blood of April to the last
And those innocents you made the futures a pitied past
Are not enough for a vacuum pain?
Not enough a wine for you to wine
Enough food for you to dine.
The power from the darkest of earthly places not enough to reign?

February again digs the grave of the musketeers
And renders there monument a scene of tears
Their bodies he takes and lays in the toothed evil forest,
Where no soul finds peace or rest
‘Stop wicked soul from hell!’ the sun, the crop, and the oil yells
Their clays not meant for the poorest of place.
That field whose belly is filled with the evil kindred of February
That place so full of evil and so scary

February again prepares for a hunt,
Picks up is spear that kills with no count.
And even when it kills innocent days, justice is lost in the court
Just like yank, in a story’s line thought
In such places what you find is innocent’s fault
His heart and soul is controlled by some unseen god-fathers
That are Februaries too, both of similar feathers.
To rule them all
Without a call,
He makes them fall.

He goes into January’s palace
To make him pay for the good he does and to take his place.
January sees him approach but never moves nor fight back
He sees when February gives him a crack
Though he has the strength to give him a deadly knock
Still he waits to receive humility’s superiority
And so he bears February act of cruelty.
February takes January’s clothes and gradually puts it on his structure
After he gets to the throne and gives a signature
That ends a cure.
Something happens.
A thing which no mind thought
And no brain caught.
February swallows January but can’t take all in
He leaves the part Jan which lies in
January behind, since the God doesn’t watch
The innocent in pain without drawing a sketch.
Unto His wings He would make them clutch
For never will I see the righteous beg for bread
For In the Mosaic so He said.

January escapes though is body thorn
But his scrape sounds in heaven like a blast of horn.
When power drives; danger precedes
With January’s clout February proceeds.
Deeds are deeds, tick tocks not charms of it whether North or West
Whether South or East,
Deeds will surely gush out of its asylum.
Not long his eyes became so full of evil’s storm.
He began his sinful manner:
February too stuck with January’s power,
Commanded moments to bend and years to bow
This made days and weeks to kowtow
Before him, the man of terrors
Whose ways where so filled with errors

Then a day comes that deeds chuckle
His life is clucked by death’s sickle
Though he is still fresh, for is face bares no wrinkle
He clacks in pain gasps for breath and that is all
No one is left to bury him not even in the forest of evil
Nor keep is sinful body in the soil
For the lands reject him
And the maggots harbor him
All those friends of his who push him to death
And make him gather a bloody wealth
To his purse
All spit on his corpse
And give him a cause
As a parting gift
That was how life closes February’s growing rift:
So his end comes as quick as his start.
Evil is shown his rightful part.

He forgot the ruling key:
To rule well is to rule with a heart full of guarantee
To rule and die in blood is to rule with a heart that can’t see
And a hand that can’t work to give the people their rewards and their fee.
A real ruler possesses a heart that doesn’t kill.
And a purse that can’t steal.
Rulers who are February’ caste
And whose minds feel goodness and humanism as a pathetic last
Will surely kill their breath without a trumpet blast
Ending up like February’s future and pathetic past.

A poem about the nature of the Nigerian politics of blood….

Mide is a student at Obafemi Awolowo University Ile-Ife who writes whenever he is inspired by the Muse. Follow him on twitter @midebenedict

Adaora Nwajiaku: What’s with the cookies Anyway?

Man: Baby girl, give me this cookie now biko?


I once read a popular book Steve Harvey wrote, called ‘What Women Want’. It was from this book that the word ‘cookie’ got stuck in my head albeit in a very different way from the original definition of the word. (According to the 5th edition of Longman Active Study Dictionary, the ‘original’ definition is a small flat sweet cake/biscuit).

Now, from my interactions with various people, I’ve come to realise that most men want ‘the cookie’, and badly too. (I would say all men, but I was taught in school a long time ago that the phrase would qualify as a ‘hasty generalisation’. So I can’t definitely say that. But I digress.)

I was saying that I’ve realised most men are extremely interested in the ‘cookie’ and this interest regulates most of their interactions with ladies. For instance, most men won’t date a woman except they are assured that the cookie would be available in the relationship. Many even leave their cookies and go after others. A cookie is a cookie right? This cookie craze is astonishing and grows every day,it seems.

I have a friend whom some might term ‘a good girl’. She’s kept her cookie packed and locked down since she was born. For very personal reasons coupled with religious ones,she simply has refused to share out this cookie. Her friends have coaxed, boys have cried for this, and men have begged, all to no avail. Money and other desirable material things have been tossed, flung and shoved this lady’s way, yet she has not been generous with it.

She’s been in and out of relationships because of what our friend calls “cookie-stinginess’. Some men would act like they were indifferent about the cookie, and swear that their love for her was the paramount thing. After a few months and having realised that this cookie was really on lockdown, they would start behaving in weird ways and look for flimsy excuses to leave the relationship.

She had heard it all:

“I love you but I’m now born-again, and so cannot go out with you anymore except the Holy Spirit convinces me that you’re my wife. Surely, you understand”.

“This isn’t an issue but you’re older than I am, and I don’t want you to wait for me to get established before we settle together. It wouldn’t be fair to you”.

“I have very bad phone habits, I’m usually so busy, I don’t even have time to call or reply messages. But of course you’re always in my thoughts.”

“Ah ah, that girl I was with is just my good friend, that’s why we spend so much time together. There’s nothing between us oh.”

“Hian. How can we get married if we don’t share the cookie? How would I know whether I’d like it? Mba nu, we have to test/taste it first”. Etc.

She usually would have issues with them till they went seperate ways, or she would get so hurt, humiliated and tired of chasing them that she’d have to let go.

As a great friend, my shoulder was always available for her to cry on.

Recently, she met and fell in love with this charming young man. He made it clear from the start that he liked cookies. She however also warned him that she had never shared hers, and would not till she got married. She hoped he’d appreciate that. He sulked a little, but then they got on with good friendship. He was nice, had the sweetest words, and made her love him increasingly.

She gradually began to realise though, that she had become the sole rower of their ‘ship’. She made most of the communication efforts: the calling, texting, etc. He apologised a lot, acted sorry and did show enthusiasm the few times they spent together, but he never improved or made her feel very appreciated.

She came to my shoulder again one day, and sobbed real hard. She said she hurt especially this time because even though she knew she shouldn’t have, she really cared for this guy and she knew in her heart that though he cared for her, he wouldn’t be very interested because he could not have the precious cookie.

“Should I just share this my cookie”,she asked me, tears streaking down her face, using my favourite scarf to blow her nose.

“I’m tired of being treated this way, I know they care somewhat, but they lose interest the minute they realise they won’t get the cookie”.

She theatrically looked up at the ceilings, spread her hands upwards, and screamed: “Is there no one else? Is there no one who doesn’t care so much about this cookieeeeeeee?”

Sighing and rolling her eyes, she sat on my bed. “What’s with this cookie anyway?”

I smiled at her, noting that she observed the primary stress in the pronunciation of the word ‘realise’, and mentally educated myself.

“Nne, I may be wrong, as I usually am, but if they do love you, they would wait, cookie or chin-chin. Don’t share your cookie just because you want to please people, how many do you wanna please anyway?”

I cited instances of our friends who had shared theirs most generously and hadn’t still kept their men, stressing the fact that the cookie isn’t always the key to keeping a man.

I held her hands, and continued my speech. “You remember why you even got into this cookie-denial business? You know how important that promise is to you. That should be your motivation. People share their cookies for different reasons. You promised you wouldn’t, for your own reasons and strange as they may be, I respect them, and those who love you should too. You’re a great, amazing woman. Okay,I kid, you’re not all that.” She laughed and smacked my arm.

“Hold on to your cookie”, I said. “Someone ought to love you without getting some. Infact, the minute you see that your cookie has become the price for keeping a man, that’s when you should upgrade to a bigger padlock sef”. We both chuckled.

I reached for the bag of goodies some guy had had delivered to me, tossing a box of chocolates her way and snagging a pack of Oreos cookies for myself. As I munched on a crunchy piece, I thoughtfully said “What’s with the cookie anyway?”.

Adaora Nwajiaku, a hopeless romantic writes only when she’s not lazy. Follow on twitter @adaoralaura

Makinde Sinmiloluwa Victor: THE BUTCHER’S LOVE LETTER II (Sikira replies)


Alaba Eleran,

I saw the ‘leta’ you sent luku ‘olokada’ to give me. It take a while to get through it, I have tell you many many times to stop using oyinbo for me. It was Rhoda who manage read am for me. Even now, it is she that is righting the leta. First, i was catch by fear because i thought you wanted to tell mama Agba that i did not pay your meat money. But when i saw what it was about, my mind rest in ‘piss’. Dont mind my ‘oyinbo’ o. I do not want Maria Jacobu (that small girl) to right it for me. It is like she loves you.

Those ‘alakowe’s’ are husband snatchers sha! The first time i come to buy meat from you, i begged the gods to make you to love me. And i even wanted to tell you my mind but you dont want to come meet me. But thank the gods you have now come! I already love you. I like how you sell the meat, do the knives ‘sara sara’ before you cut the meat. You are the finest boy in the village with those ‘gberes’ that you have and I like it. I even want to ask if you too sells ‘shiken’?

Whenever those ‘alakowes’ come in their big cars to buy yam, i always hear them say ‘shiken’ and rice so i also will want to eat my rice with the shiken. Those Chelsea fans ehn, i hate them so much. When they did not win, they will be barking around. All they know is okada. Ehn ehn, tell Luku to take his time o. He is just so stupid and foolish. I dont even know why a Chelsea fan will be your best friend. That is pure “oriburuku”. From now, change to Arsenal because baba Agba: if baba Agba sees a tout, he is sure that person is a Chelsea fan. Those girls that like looking at you, dont look at them again ooo. You know that what you see in them,You know that I am beautiful and I’m a paraga apprentice. So if you try to look at other girls talkless of talking to them, I will kill you. That is the extent of my love for you. I have always slept on mats but sleeping on the bed that is like “fuke fuke” will be good. It will be good well well because my back, he will not pain me again from sleeping on the mat everytime everytime.

I also love you very much. But the problem is that that Iya Risika, the popilar paraga seller also likes you (shey you know she’s my oga). And if she knows we are lovers peren, she may kill me. I wont want us to be ‘see’ in public now. Let us meet under the mango tree near baba Agba’s house. When you are around just throw a stone to the roof. I will know that you are the one that half come. I love you very “mush”.

Your sweet

Follow this writer on twitter @sinmimakinde

Oluwatosin Fatoyinbo: Tribute to Kofi Awoonor

The Song of Sorrow

Dzoghese Lisa has treated me thus
It has led me among the sharps of the forest
Returning is not possible
And going forward is a great difficulty
The affairs of this world are like the chameleon faeces
Into which I have stepped
When I clean it cannot go.
I am on the world’s extreme corner,
I am not sitting in the row with the eminent
But those who are lucky
Sit in the middle and forget
I am on the world’s extreme corner
I can only go beyond and forget.
My people, I have been somewhere
If I turn here, the rain beats me
If I turn there the sun burns me
The firewood of this world
Is for only those who can take heart
That is why not all can gather it.
The world is not good for anybody
But you are so happy with your fate;
Alas! The travelers are back
All covered with debt.

Something has happened to me
The things so great that I cannot weep;
I have no sons to fire the gun when I die
And no daughters to wail when I close my mouth
I have wandered on the wilderness
The great wilderness men call life
The rain has beaten me,
And the sharp stumps cut as keen as knives
I shall go beyond and rest.
I have no kin and no brother,
Death has made war upon our house;
And Kpeti’s great household is no more,
Only the broken fence stands;
And those who dared not look in his face
Have come out as men.
How well their pride is with them.
Let those gone before take not
They have treated their offspring badly.

What is the wailing for?
Somebody is dead. Agosu himself
Alas! A snake has bitten me
My right arm is broken,
And the tree on which I lean is fallen
Agosu if you go tell them,
Tell Nyidevu, Kpeti and Kove
That they have done us evil;
Tell them their house is falling
And the trees in the fence
Have been eaten by termites:
That the martels curse them.
Ask them why they idle there
While we suffer, and eat sand,
And the crow and the vulture
Hover always above our broken fences
And strangers walk over our portion.


The above is Prof Kofi Awoonor’s popular poem ‘The Song of Sorrow’. I have loved this poem since my secondary school days and it is a shame that Prof Kofi lost his life in Kenya while promoting the Art. In a year in which Africa and the World was left bereaved by the departure of Prof. Chinua Achebe, another African literary icon is gone. Adieu Prof Awoonor.

Follow this writer on twitter @tosinfat

Fikayo Ilori: The World is what we make of it!


I was talking to my friend today about how the World is changing and how we are we setting so much standards for ourselves especially in this present generation . Standards that have to do with less love, less peace, less unity. Standards that are so high we cannot even reach, standards that take us nowhere.

I got to understand this statement ”the World is what we make of it”. All these standards on how to live, how to look, how to dress, how to make money; these were the ideas of some people that the World is buying, they made the World how they wanted it and that is the point: this World is not for some people to rule and the rest to follow, NO!!!

There is a spot for everyone in the World,but you have to be yourself, set your own standards, do what you think is right but while doing that be considerate, reasonable and simple don’t be so ridiculous and unrealistic. You have to pay close attention to the people around you. If we focus on making ourselves better and helping others get better, we will not have to look up to some high and mighty people who are setting wrong standards and wrongly influencing many (especially young brilliant minds like you and I). The World will be a better place, there will be unity. We’ll all help each other up, nobody gets left behind!

Why do we have to look a certain way or talk in a certain manner to be accepted?. Why can’t we just be ourselves and accept it. The World is what we make of it, if you decide to sit around and copy some people who live in your box then maybe that is what you want to make of your life . I am not going to be like that, I am not going to listen to the voice of anybody except the voice of the most high God and He is telling me “be yourself, be who you are”. He made you for a reason, find out what it is and live it and if you think it is to walk around naked and act indecent, if you think that is what your talent is for, then I promise you, you are heading for disaster (I am not forcing myself on you; I am just saying). The talent you have is to make things better and inspire people. Let us STAND OUT AND STAND TOGETHER,YES!!, know your strength and use it to complement the other person because we are made to complement one another. The saying ‘No man is an Island on his own’ is nothing but the truth; the whole truth!

I am a Christian and am proud of it, I am nineteen and am proud of it, I think sex before marriage is wrong and I am not afraid to say it. I am who I am and I have strength in myself, it is time for us to stand for what is right. I don’t have to be a size two to be beautiful and to feel accepted. I tell you friends, there is so much unexplored beauty in decency and simplicity. I don’t have to wear shorts or show my breast for a man to love me. I am going to be admired for who I am and what I give not for what you can take from me.
The World is indeed what you make of it, and what will that be?

Fikayo is a Law student at the University of Ibadan. Follow her on twitter @phikee