My Dirty Boxers

  I will never forget that night in Bayelsa, no matter how I water down the story, it was a date with the devil. (Photo credit: Google) I knew I was flirting with death if I dared stood, the noise was deafening and the bedlam that followed would leave bodies behind; nothing told me it would be my last day on earth but within my walls, I swore never to talk to any woman again, we’ll discuss how that went later in future. I was still, cans and other items hit me but I must not attempt to stand. The mayhem moved closer to the gate and I saw an opportunity to crawl out of my hiding place; I was left with bruises but I didn’t stop, I kept going but one thing struck me that I will never forget. In the midst of all the uproar, normal service was going on at another part of the guest house. Folks were still going about normal practice and as I limped on a wall, trying to catch my breath, one of the attendants was asking me what I wanted to drink, “aunty I want to live, not die” If you ...

  It was a night to forget but I live to tell the story... (Photo credit: Google of course) I was posted to Bayelsa for NYSC, a lot was going on with me health-wise then so it was indeed a tale of the good, the bad and the ugly. While I enjoyed every bit of the escapades, there were some consequences I will not be talking about. I knew I wasn’t going to stay in the city, I needed to redeploy to Ibadan to continue the good life but the week that preceded my exit brought lots of shenanigans; there’s something about Bayelsa people and alcohol, once the “something hoooge” I’m expecting drops, I’m going to that area to erect a facility that will see to kidney and liver issues. It will pay soon, trust me on that. It was a Sunday night, I’d met the daughter of the ruler of Gbarain kingdom earlier in the day… Based on one or two conversations, she was probably feeling the nigga and was going to take me out to see a few places; my pidgin wasn’t the best but I was prepared for the experi...

  I tried to be nice with this article to be very honest but does Sharon actually need help or she's just a confused woman? (Photo credit: Google) When I saw Sharon’s call on Sunday, I knew something serious was happening. She’s the type that will not call except the roof is burning; Sharon will tell you to only text except someone is dying; I always wonder how she copes as a relationship manager at Stanbic… She permitted me to write about her, and she also wouldn’t mind your two cents. Sharon is 30, well-to-do and bubbly. She’s got a balanced life; she’s the life of the party when outside, and can also be that annoying introvert, she works hard, and she’s well compensated for it. She met Ibrahim during NYSC in 2014, and camp affairs gave birth to a relationship of six years because they only started officially in 2016. Everything was going fine regardless of some tiny differences – She’s Igbo, and Ibrahim is Fulani, although he lives and works in Lagos and speaks Yoruba better tha...