The orchestra

That was how the driver started singing that famous song:            

Lif him up haia

Lif him up hia

Da law is goo

I wee lif him up haia

Efrywear I go

I we lif him up haia.

My attention was like a ball in the grips of Chilavert. The driver's rendition was an excellent annihilation of a war ship song. A smile sliced across my face. I thought I was the one hard of hearing but the closer I listened proved me wrong. Every silenced morpheme, every distorted phoneme, every corrupt intonation grated my sensibilities.

Throughout the thirty-minute drive, I stewed in that frog of a voice. The conductor's shouts of different destinations was a perfect part to a wonderful two-man orchestra. The bus' engine chugged on despairingly as the tyres went in and out of the potholes that beautified the long road. I became a dancer, a reluctant dancer.                                                                                                                   

An expression kept floating "lif him up." My mind arranged it and it became "Lift Him up." And thus came a question: Isn't the meaning of the word "up" contained in "lift"? Why then do we have to "lift anything or anyone up when we can simply lift them?

Thus I rode on the hypnosis of the vibrating hall beyond my destination. I had become the music. The woman beside me was saying something like "The driver has fallen asleep." I did not give the kind of response she expected so she repeated what she said earlier but with a slight modification. She swapped "The driver" for  "The president." That was when I ripped myself from the music and shouted "O wa Owa!" That was the song I was singing, no, shouting when I heard my roommate say: "Kilowa? Gerrout of bed joor. Ooni lo class ni?

All Dead Lagos People Go To Heaven

When people die in Lagos, their souls go to heaven. Irrespective of their lifestyle, good or bad deeds, religious beliefs, and all, one thing remains clear: All Lagosians go to heaven.
Ever wondered why that is? Because for every dead Lagosian, there’s always someone to cry and say, ‘That boy na good boy. God don collect am’.

I was privileged to witness the mourning of one Agbero in my area. His name was Jamiu, and he had the meanest look ever. Jamiu had a scar on his neck A mean ugly scar which began on his lower left cheek, and ran down his neck. Giving him a ferocious look. The story on the street has it that Jamiu acquired that scar when he killed 4 policemen in a street raid, and became a hero. A hero of the Agberos.

I moved into the area a year ago, young, fresh, and bubbly on a Saturday. The next day, I had to visit a public for-profit match-viewing centre to catch up on the latest Arsenal game.
After the first half, I grew thirsty, and needing a drink ordered a bottle of cold La Casera.
“Can I have a chilled bottle of La Casera?” I called out in my confused Brimerican accent.
A new seat mate joined me at that moment. He was unsmiling, spotting a sneer that reminded me of all the childhood pictures of Lucifer. He was really dark in complexion, and all he needed to fit right in hell was a bit of red skin, a long tail, and a pitch-fork.
“Guy, give me one bottle of Star” He placed his too.
I was scared to steal a glance. But I knew my bill had increased. This was Lagos, I was with an evil Agbero, and nobody was challenging him.
Our drinks arrived, and while I kept staring at mine, Jamiu, drank 5 bottles of beer, all on me. The most painful part of the episode was when I discovered he wasn’t even an Arsenal fan.
That day I cursed Jamiu, and till date, avoided him like a plague. I never greeted Jamiu, or acknowledged his presence, but he was always hanging on the street, staring at me with angry eyes, like I owed him money.
I even had to take part in an online self-defence course, specifically for Jamiu. One day he would attack, and I would be ready for him.
But Jamiu never attacked. He never attacked because he died before he could.

On my way to work last week, my street was unusually crowded. People had formed a semi-circle around a spectacle. I approached, peeped through cautiously, and what I saw gave me a shocker.
Lying lifeless on the floor was Jamiu, or what was left of him. He had been shot twice in the chest, with 2 wounds laced with dried blood bearing testimony of how he met his end.
His eyes were still open, and I could still see the terror in there. Even in death, Jamiu looked mean.
From what I gathered, a rival terror group had marked him for death due to a wrong he committed, and they had repaid the gesture.
I walked away, shaking my head. All I could think about was how my self-defence have been wasted. Poor Jamiu. Someone got to him before I could.
People cried and wailed for Jamiu, and many called him a hero. Some even blessed his soul and his ‘kind heart’, and wished him peace in heaven. I didn’t argue. Bless his ‘gentle’ soul.
I guess Jamiu went to heaven, Every Lagosian is a candidate for the pearly gates. Only in Lagos do thugs go to heaven. Why can’t the entire religious population of earth move to Lagos, and be assured of heaven? They’ll be dumb not to.

How To Spot A Lagos 'Runs' Babe

When did the word 'Runs' get on the map? Well nobody knows for sure, the only thing I know is that sleeping with married men got on my radar after I read about the 'Lewinsky Scandal.'
So I decided to write about a common phenomenon in my city Lagos, called 'Runs' Aka 'Parole' Aka 'Professional Mistress(es)'.
 I did an in depth research on this subject and came up blank and unsatisfied with my results. So I watched some Nollywood movies and went through Nigerian Instagram. There's always a fight between 'Runs girls' on instagram, they even openly insult themselves on social media. With comments like;

"Oh @SugarBabyCrankberryJuice everybody knows that it was Alhaji Hassan that bought that range rover for you. And the house in Lekki @HotBadGirlRiri told me you sleep with him when his wife is out of town"

I promise you, I see comments like that all the time. This is not a joke. Take this seriously. So in my mind I envision Monica Lewinsky who is from a very affluent family in Southern California. AKA she was born with a silver spoon, a university graduate of Psychology. Prior to her affair with Bill Clinton the President of the United States of America at the said time, she had an affair with another married man before she was linked with bill clinton. (So maybe she had a thing for married men. We can't say if she was doing it for money, which is highly unlikely seeing as she had/has a trust fund and dined in Beverly hills before she met the former President.
Anyways, so after all that research on Monica Lewinsky's background. I have come to a final conclusion. There are indeed different grades and types of these class of Ladies. With my little understanding and limited exposure I'll like to explain what I mean.
1. The Professional Mistresses
These type of women are not interested in the financial gain, they are the type of women that are of a very different type of breed if I must say. These women are fully aware that the men they have their eyes on are married men, but because they are in love or are seeking a gain, like a merger of her multi million naira company with his multi billion naira company.
Or a contract. They pay no mind to the relationship status of these men.
In most cases these women are from affluent homes and have proper education. So in my opinion they are more expensive. She won't ask you to buy her a range rover (she already has a range rover) you'll buy her boats, priceless artifacts, take her to New York for the fashion week. She's the type of woman that buys things off the runway.
2. Parole babe AKA 1800 Choke that hoe.
These are the sort of women you have your PA organize for you. Like take for instance a successful businessman that is always on the move from one city to the next or one country to the next. These men get lonely and bored in their hotel rooms, so they need a lady for the night with a backpack.
Backpack because, this said lady needs her supplies because she's going to stay the whole weekend.
Sometimes she might have to come with a friend or two depends on the man in question sexual preference. (That is not our business now)
She knows her place, she doesn't care if you're married to a woman or mermaid her job is to please you for the weekend. And if she is 'presentable' she can act as an escort to events you have lined up for the weekend. She can't be a non drinker or smoker.
For the length of time she is under your service, she has to entertain and amuse you to your satisfaction.
If you ask her any questions, it is; 'Yes I will', 'Yes I can'.
These Ladies earn a decent fee, depends on the man's financial buoyancy.
They are not retain able, and they are not allowed to collect phone numbers of the men or contact information. After the weekend it is over and done with.
3. The Runs Babe AKA #MissYouCantSeatWithUs
*drumroll* Most of us are very familiar with these class of women, because they are everywhere! They are by your side, in your churches, in your favorite beauty parlor, on your coffee table right now. (I'm kidding)
A runs babe, Is the type of woman that has sexual relations with a man, (married, single, hermaphrodite, trans gender) and collects money/perfumes/phones  from him at the end of the said act. But this is the twist, she doesn't just have one particular man that she does this with, she has various men in various geographical locations. A runs babe is in denial, because she hates being tagged as a runs babe, she wants to be called a professional mistress or a girlfriend. But she is not.
These Ladies, are comfortable with the most mundane things, like they are at their happiest when they buy expensive hairpieces, shop on instagram boutiques, take photos in intercontinental Hotel, have lunch at Radisson Blu, go to Palms to see a late night movie, trips to Dubai (they like Dubai), get many likes on Instagram, change DP's constantly on their blackberry phones, twitter followers and WEDGE sneakers.
Yes, they get call backs from their Aristos and the works.
They are not expensive at all. At all.
This is not a diss article. I am simply writing on trending issues. I do this for the art and your entertainment. It is believed that a high percentage of these type of women live in Lekki phase 1. I don't know how true this is, but with this extensive guidelines I've given I think I have opened a can of worms in every household.

"Lagos Weed Comes From The Devil"

Many of you might not like this, but I seem to think weed is good. Marijuana was put on this earth for strong brothers in the hustle, who need a little high from time to time. It is not a drug, neither should it be banned and its smokers stigmatized.
All weed, except the ones in Lagos. Lagos weed is from the devil, and I’ll tell you why.

Growing up in different cities, I was brought up as a good kid. I was told never to swear, curse my neighbour, use the Lord’s name for shit, nor covet my brother’s toy. I was obedient.
I scored the almost the highest marks for the best behaved kid. I didn’t score the highest because I developed early, the ability to transact sexual business with girls. I always arrived school armed with a jar of sweets. I offered them to girls on the school playground so they could raise their skirts for me to see their pants. I was born with the genes of a pimp.

Growing up, the commands from my dad changed. I was told not to have sex (which I disobeyed each chance I got), nor smoke, nor drink alcohol. The sex part was hard to keep up with. But the alcohol and cigarettes, I stayed away.
Now with no one threatening knock me over the head if I disobey, I still haven’t had my first smoke. But I always admire people who smoke, not cigarettes, but weed. Cigarettes irritate me, but weed, I like.

Weed smokers in others cities make me laugh. They smoke with a certain passion and utmost belief in their plant. They just sit still, meditate, take a drag, inhale, spit it out, and think for a second. I love to think that during intense sessions of weed, these smokers find the true meaning of life, which they forget the moment their weed is exhausted.

But Lagos weed smokers make me believe that hell is real. There has to be a special place for the souls of Agberos with their unwashed bodies, brown teeth and loud laughter.
When Agberos smoke weed in Lagos, they don’t discover the true meaning of life. They discover new ways to disturb the peace of the state. They wake up early, even before the first cock takes a piss, and they smoke big brown joints. Then they spit, and run around town.

I once spent 5 minutes with an Agbero who just smoked weed, and watched his favourite football team, Chelsea FC, lose a game. He never recovered.
‘Selsi Oh!’ he cried, and took a long drag.
‘Why Selsi lose this match na?’, he asked the skies. Only his burning weed replied him.
He was black, he was dirty. He smelled of rotten fish, and above all, he smoked Lagos weed.

That weed surely comes from the devil.

“Lagos Girls Don't Want To Chop Your Money”

Lagos girls can be called a lot of things. Dumb, smart, funny, cheap, expensive, ugly, fine, literate, tush, kpako...whatever. But you know what? None of that is true. Lagos girls are the most beautiful creatures on earth. I feel this way for now, maybe until I go to Brazil, and soak myself in all those hot booties and high-rounded buttocks. But for now, let's stick with our lovely Lagos girls. Na food wey dey your front wey you go chop!

People call Lagos girls all sorts of names, but to be fair, you only get the kind of girls you do because of the way you are. If you're tush, tush girls come to you, if you're the guy who drinks Alomo on the daily, and smoke weed without any iota of Ajebutterism in you, then brother, don't go on your knees hoping God will send you Genevieve Nnaji. If you get a whore, then give thanks to Jah Almighty.
First, let's talk about the issue of money. Attack me if you want, but most Lagos girls do not want your money. Maybe the student girls need the cash, but good luck to you if you're an honest working class guy, and find yourself attracted to the funny accents and formings of the young women from UniLag, with pointy breasts, and tempting arses, then my brother, you are surely on the highway to your village. Broke, penniless, and dry. They will suck your money and give it to their handsome, bubbly student boys with more swag, and energy.

I'm not saying you should never date a student. God forbid! Students deserve all the love they can get. All I'm saying is that you should respect yourself and your career, and allow the students date the students. Let the broke students date broke students. Let them sneak out of their hostels, drink garri, eat chicken and chips, hug themselves, and disvirgin themselves. Don't get into that equation, unless you have a good career ahead of you as an Aristo Daddy. Then God bless your hustle.
Lagos girls do not want your money. No. All they want from a good guy is love and affection. If your wallet gets thrown open in the course of being a loverboy, then they'll love you more. Your ATM is not their prayer point. They look out for potential, and a good career guy who is sure to have all the skills and talent to one day be the millionaire. Those things last. Your present money might not.
So that's said. Let's go straight to the fun part. No Lagos guy is supposed to be single. Women plenty for Lagos. But the reason why many still stay single is because they have what the Non-Ajebutters call 'Big Eye' or 'Open Eye'. They want more than they deserve.
“That girl no get yansh, that girl no get yansh"....that was how my Uncle Aje died alone and sad at 60.

It's only in Lagos that an Agbero will go to church and pray for the woman of his dreams. And guess who she is? You will expect an Agbero to pray for a fellow Agbero woman, with thick yam legs, and an annoying 'H' speech factor. But no! He'll pray for a supermodel girlfriend, with plenty of money and a big shiny car.

I believe wealth is a relative term, subject to individual meaning and interpretation. Success is best described in a number of ways that do not in any way become the same for different people. So let's clarify this.
By the Nigerian societal standards, I won't be called a rich man. Even though I live in my independent personal space, have over 5 close personal relationships, a fairly decent job, and a family who love me to nuts, but in Nigerian terms, I will never be called a 'rich' man.
But I still get girls, perhaps way more than my fair share of women, and I am not rich. Neither do they 'chop' my money. Maybe because I have a specific way of dealing with women, or they just love me to pieces, and never ask for money, but when I look closely, it's just my way of dealing with women that makes me a candidate for love, and not a tool for practical parasitology.
So for all the good old angry, frustrated men of Lagos state and beyond that think that not spending money on women makes me the Antichrist, I am going to share some of my secrets on how I achieve so many women, but never have to spend all my salary on them.

• Never Date A Broke Lagos Girl

This is the first mistake many Lagos dudes make. Just because she's pretty, wears nice clothes, smells like a Parisian Garden, and laughs hard at all your dry jokes does not mean you should collect her number.
The economy is hard. Many girls are broke these days, and since firms are not looking to employ half-baked graduates, and parents are not ready to feed their adult babies, the girls need to survive. They need to come up with a hustle, that feeds and clothes them all.
You Are That Hustle!
If you fall into a relationship with a broke girl, you automatically become her job. Your small salary becomes 'our' salary, and your life become linked to her. She will be eager to please, give you the best sex ever, but your life begins to go downhill. Avoid these types.

• Never Bring Out Your Wallet The First Time You Meet

This sends the wrong message, even to a decent lady. Sell yourself first as a sincere individual, not as Santa Claus or the Senator's last born. She'll appreciate that. Never pay her fare, or offer to buy her stuff. You might argue that doing so will make her know that you are a 'giver', you're not stingy, and you can share. But those aren't the first things she should be thinking about you. How about thoughts like, 'He's such a funny guy', or he's so chaming and sexy, or he's cute when he laughs.'.
I'll take those ones any day, over 'He's so awesome when he opens his wallet'.

• Don't talk about your job...

...except if it's a flashy job, like mine that is interesting, and makes you meet lots of interesting people who will be of interest to the girl. If you have to talk about it, make it funny and interesting, not rich and important. If you are important, she'll notice anyway. Don't make it who you are. Sell yourself, not your source of livelihood.

• Make her see you the way you are. Don't form. Forming can only make her expect more from you...and your small salary.
• Be sure to come across as ambitious and forward-thinking. Lagos girls like a guy who can sound like he will be the CEO of a Multinational firm one day. Tell her your plans for the future. Even if you are a ne'er-do-well. Fake it until God blesses you.
• Take her money, when she offers it. But don't ask her for it. Form small too. Girls are very caring beings, and they will like to show how much they care about you, even if it means spending their money on your needs. When you hit a rough patch, and she's still with you, just complain to her. She'll offer you money. Reject it, form, tell her thank you. She will press, and only when she offers the third time should you accept it. Never accept it on the first try, or ask for it, or else you will be called a 'gold digger'.
• Be faithful to her...at least in her presence. When a Lagos girls know that you are faithful to her, and the big asses of other Yoruba women do not appeal to you, then she will grow a conscience, and not eat your money. She will know that you are 'together', and won't do anything to run you down.

Finally, if you do everything above, and your girlfriend still wants to only chop your money, then take her for deliverance, or leave. If that behaviour repeats with another woman, then accept your faith. The lord is grooming you to be an Aristo Baba.

“Shoki Almost Ruined My Life"

I walk the streets of Lagos and a certain dance rules the air. The clubs, parties and celebrations have all been infected by what seems like a dance move.
A dance move that almost disgraced, and ultimately broke my poor waist.
“Shoki mi shoki”. Ah Eazy!
 
Since the first day I received the mail that had the dance video, and saw it on Youtube, my life has never remained the same. I quickly shut down my laptop in sweat and fear, because I know the world will catch onto this. It was too stupid not to be loved by the Nigerian public.
Now Shoki is all over the country, and people are dancing in various forms. I still don’t know the basic step of the dance, and that’s because I have tried to learn from many people, and each of them has a different opinion. For many, the white handkerchief is a necessity. Others say you start the dance move like an imbecile, with an irrational look that would attract T.B Joshua’s deliverance, then you begin to move like a demon-possessed individual.

Others say you can never truly get the Shoki dance unless you throw a somersault, and then wipe your face with a dirty handkerchief. Guess they learnt theirs from a mad man, right before he committed suicide by snapping his neck on a failed somersault attempt. God forbid!
Somehow, after my study with various groups, I finally settled for a dance routine by a group that made it look easy. An easy Shoki was the only way out for my fat self. I said my prayers, gathered my guts together, and dutifully learnt the moves in front of the mirror…but little did I know that the mirror, isn’t the most perfect place for shoki moves.

2 months later I found myself in a competition at the prestigious Education hall, located at the faculty of education, Universit of Lagos. The competition was good, the women were pretty, and the mood was right for turning up. I also had a fine lady by my side(names withheld), and was quick to impress.
All over, people were displaying amazing dance steps, and my lady began to show her admiration ‘on code’, for the dancers. Disturbed and keen to impress, I stood, and stretched.
“Honey, what are you about to do?” She was interested now. Aha! I have her undivided attention. God bless me.
“It’s Shoki time baby, and I’m about to knock this fat off me. I know a million shoki moves and it’s time to display”. My chest was pumped ready for the dance.
I straightened myself, made my imbecile face, and began to nod to the rhythm. Got the flow, and the bounce, and started with the basic moves.
“Oya make we shoki, shoki shoki”. The DJ’s music was on point.
After about 5 minutes of the basic move, my girl was beginning to tire of me, so I spiced things up, and made the resolution to bring out the dangerous move.

“Baby watch this bad move. My Shoki is bad”.
That was when she decided that i should display my "amazing" shoki moves in front of the audience. I foolishly agreed. I took a deep breath, and prayed for God’s mercy. Then I turned, and twisted and bent low. Just then I heard a slight snapping sound around my pelvis, and I knew I had done myself in.
I had failed to impress and i was so humiliated. My Shoki had killed me.
“Guy na Shoki do you this thing abi” asked a friend by the name Echepops.
“My brother, yes”. I was in pains, not from the broken pelvis but from the humiliation.