Yankee life (abuja living)

Mara ba de zua! abuja (that’s if I got it right Tho).
Anyways, that’s supposed to mean welcome to abuja. The city of bright lights, riches, plenty sugar mamas and no traffic at all.
Atleast that’s what late night NTA news , TELL magazine and series of unconfirmed capital city stories made us perceive while growing up in far eastern states and other parts of naija.
Well That’s by the way, this post isn’t just about the town in particular nor is it about how excited I was (still am) when I first moved to this place and how I felt disappointed after realising all those tales of money growing in trees, steady power supply (like it isn’t Nigeria again) and the whole sugar mama approaching you and changing your life with wealth and landed properties and all those fake stories that might make a man get lazy, nope.

This post is about the so called modern people of FCT, the increasingly everyday people that are in this quest of being seen as an intellectual and steadily restricting their ideas, humour and opinions to the fellow elite and a particular class of individuals.
You get to a social gathering and people can’t have simple convos anymore, nowadays we always feel the need to sound so professional, well read and well traveled to start up a conversation. It’s always the usual “What do you do for a living. Where do you live?” and one is always expected to respond with the Maitamas asokoros and wuse2’s . It’s almost like you shouldn’t exist if you reside in the outskirts of the town, God help you, you mention gwagwalada ,masaka or Abaji.

So It was after a long week of stress and hardwork and I really needed to unwind a bit with slow paced flavour song and a dead bottle of Heineken, I got to this sit out at some garden (luckily for me it’s Wuse2) with nicely dressed young people, to meet a friend. I introduced myself politely (as always) and I had barely sat down to start munching on the gizzard and kidney with much massa yahuza suya I met on the table , before this chic beside me started firing me with questions, “sup? Where do you work? Where do you live ? Where did you school? What did you study?” Omo!!! babe let me eat this suya first na and drop toothpick. She didn’t stop their she kept prying. “I like your knitted tie, i like your glasses, is it recommended (no, it’s shakomemded), do you read with it? Do you even read?”
“Do you this, do you that” Haba!!! Yarinya.

So I had to cut her short, and outplay her in her own game. I relaxed back, crossed my leg and fine tuned my thick igbo accent to sound a bit photosynthesis. I brought up national issues that relates to the economy and a possible review of trade policies that will put the importation of other countries’ waste products like her human hair in check, thereby affecting her imported beauty and borrowed looks personally. I asked her if she’s thought about that before. This chic didn’t utter any other word that evening.

So this is just a plea to the so called intellectual-Ankara shokoto on organic Tshirt wearing males, the so called hello-I got my-masters-from-Aberdeen-in-America single feminists and also the I’m-straight o’ but-I think-gays should-have-their-rights ranting she-males, that please when next you come to a gathering of adults (grown and obviously experienced), please try hard not to start off your conversations with individual achievements and status. Let’s exercise the shallow talks sometimes, let’s have simpler arguments like why people think custard is just an akamu that studied abroad, let’s deliberate on real matters like if ibadan chics really don’t know that some creams bleach before they purchase them, let’s talk about how power supply has improved since NEPA started supporting their power yards with generator, maybe when we are done aquatinting ourselves with these simpler matters that matter, then you can ask me what do you do for a living. Then I Just might answer you.

Nwanguma ‘Sic’ Ogo

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On the day before we died

On the day before we died
Ghetto felt like heaven as we grew with pride
We were kids, beautiful souls, children of the most High
Fear of evil, future heros, afraid to tell lies

Talk about harmony, I remember how we lived
Mud castles and warrior stories we strongly believed
We felt loved and walked tall no matter where we roam
I would sleep off at the waziri’s and wake up at home

Firmly, We were family, like we shared the same hut
play husband and wife, police and thief till we get caught
Then retire home to eat from our mothers’ pot

Then things changed, we hung peace on our own iroko
Strangled our love with our own hands
Placed our hope on coma
And Left with tiny chance to heal our land

Now mum says i can’t play wit them and dad nods its true
Avoid kunle, sadiq, chima and Fatima too
That They have marks on their faces unlike you
With Different religion, language, tradition and school

But On the day before we died
We had the chance to live and avoid death
Forgive ourselves and put hate aside
And finally Wash ourselves of prejudice before the sunset

This is that day.

Sic.

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Lust but found

Warm morning thoughts as the sunrises
’twas the 5th time in a week, he’d wake wit his legs spread apart and his eggs in her mouth
He was about to reach for her hair and maybe slow her pace, but realised his hands are cuffed to the bed.
“Stay calm king kong,it’s still my show”
Planting her wet kisses all around his pipe walls, letting his stick brush against her ripe balls. She ruled her Queendom.

On and on she went, his body and soul inert in helpless pleasure, leaving his spontaneous tool gullible, yet so erect, in a tapeless measure.
He was close , and he begged her to take all his cream.
“Not yet” she whispers.
She Gets up, he spreads wider. She reverses, turnt up, he slid inside her.
Backing him now, she made him watch her behind bounce, liking every ounce of her twerking, jerking was all he did, cos his white blood was already lurking.

he’s about to let her mercury meet his Pluto, as he grind across her lips,
the ones between her hips.
He respected her naughty guts,
she accomplished in all her plots.
She’s Succeeded in resurrecting their deepest thoughts,
And finally,

He nuts.

Lust but found.

Sic

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One day my soul just opened

Mild breeze of nature, Peaceful songs of birds
Sounds of mother creature, a place meant for nerds
I came here to write

This year, I learnt that the people you love will punish you for it. But, love them anyway…. I realised that life is a dead end, the truth is King, but lies somehow rule the world

Being good is almost a waste of time,
that freezes the warmth out of you and then eats you into silent caves of Aloneness

An imperfect mind, A heart of regret and guilt
An open eyes of blind, a new start for hands of filth
I came to end a fight

I learnt about men and how unsure most of us are. It is just age. A great amount of us Never grow up
I learnt about Women, and their utter blindness and then realised that Adam’s rib is the Original bone of Contention.

I ask, Do you not see how easy we bleed? How daily, it flows, gathers, and then congeals?.
I intend to not have resolutions. I will better myself because I must.
Written instructions Pressure us and we exist for lighter burdens….
It is not always calculated attempts that count

Truth is i am alive, thankful and most importantly I am free.
It could be this second, minute or even this year. Not sure

But, One day my soul just opened

Sic /Austin grey

Hope

I am a heart that beats for hope
A hand of time waiting to count my mark
A tough skin designed to feel but cope
A fistful of patience waiting on things I lack

On the shores of deep worries and my unSeen ado
I lay, weak but hold to the dream I seek
I weep, though my pain has seen its
Plateau
My only escape is in the same words I speak

But before I give in to my next fear
Even Though my strength is almost bleak
Maybe before I see my next tear
I’ll wait on unseen help or some heavenly trick

I am a heart that beats for hope
A hand of time ticking to count my mark
I’ll move, I’ll strife and I will cope
Someday my shine will come even at dark

Sic

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Goodnight pain (a tribute to ALUU4)

Goodnight Pain.

“thieves, thieves” he screamed, it was almost funny. Not until more voices joined the chorus as they screamed and shouted on us. We could have ran at least to save our lives, but our intentions were genuine and little did we know how the day would end.

From a handful of young men shouting and throwing questions at us, it escalated to a crowd of angry mob. There was no way we could escape this one, so we calmed down.

They pushed us around and then stripped us all. These men pulled us pants down, we were more than embarrassed, the whole community watched, I recognized few faces from the crowd. Obviously they were so afraid to say “stop”.

then the beating started, I wished it to be just a nightmare. But it was real, these men were determined. They dropped heavy rocks on our heads, they pounded our faces with large planks, blood covered our eyes, they matched and kicked us right on our bleeding nostrils, we couldn’t breathe.

“Bring tire” one of the men repeated, until they brought the tires. “Oh God!” We watched the crowd watch us, we raised hands of plea, we couldn’t speak, Some hid, some shot videos and took pictures. there was no one to stop this. This was the point we knew it was over.
We felt pain, helpless and hopeless. I thought of my siblings, I wondered how my mum would take this. She would fall apart. I begged God to hold her for me, comfort and make her strong for me, I prayed same for my friends. Then we started crying, we cried together. the tears gave us headaches. We looked up high, the sky was still. Rings of tires landed on our necks, they kept hitting us, but we were numb already.
They set us ablaze. We rolled around, tried to reach for each other, I wondered who would give up first, the fire burned our bodies. it hurt, it hurt and then it hurt.

But suddenly the pain stopped, Then I couldn’t hear any other thing, but silence. I thanked God.
the pain was over.

Goodnight pain.

RIP ALUU 4

Nwanguma Ogo Sic

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Magna Carter holy Fail (a hip hop slap)

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“Whats art without constructive criticism, perhaps fart”

So last week while I maintained my almost every Wednesday ritual and sat in the bar on the ground floor of silverbird cinema and pouring into my Heineken glass wondering how best to unwind the day’s stress. See a movie? Polish a poem? Sketch a biz strategy? Or maybe just sit and tweet a lot about the music I was listening to. yea!! I should tweet about Jay’s new album “Magna Carter Holy Grail”.

So I had just posted my first two tweets, read the retweets before I decided to do a little blog review on it, dang!! That’s it, its needed.

Meanwhile Jay is getting ready to start his already sold out tickets for MCHG album tour by November ending which will run through January ending next year. I think to myself how much more successful can a hip hop business mogul get; this is a CD that sold platinum even before its official release date.

the point I’ll be making in this piece is that the magna carter Holy Grail album though a tremendous success already is NOT what I expected it to be, at least lyrically and hip hop content wise. It’s a slap

Before I continue, note that I am a huge fan of Shawn carter (my friends know this). Sometimes I even think am a bit biased in his favor when I talk about him and his success. But lets not leave hip-hop and its culture in this case.
From The way Jay-Z released Magna Carta… Holy Grail – by teaming with Samsung, selling a million copies before the album was even released, and releasing it via a specialized app- is troubling, not because it was heavily commercialized, it’s because the marketing process turned out to be more thoroughly thought out than the majority of the album’s lyrics. Hip hop wasn’t birthed this way, hip hop from day one based her culture on lyrical content, knowledge kick, storytelling and smart word play (even Jayz knew this)

He obviously used his power in the game to push this CD, from involving some of the best’ in hip hop as usual to work on the production of the album to influencing of the mad sales of the copies. No one should have a problem with these, but it bothers me that yet, after all these classic influence on the business he still laced the well-structured beats with lazy lines and tired deliveries .

we all know his style, we can’t take the boasting away from him, its who he is, but come on he used to make the bragging more interesting and not leaving the true aim of the genre, I mean whatever happened to his reasonable doubt , blueprint days of “…eyes behind shades cos her necklace is the reason all of ma days were blind dates”, what happened to such smart metaphors that would leave hip hop heads (like me) with assignment and deep to decipher.

Whatever happened to his lyrics that based on marcy projects and his broklyn dreams? whatever happened to his skillful wordplay and internal rhymes and paradox’? what even happened to his constant reminder to us of his affiliation with the free masons and the way he skillfully presented it with class and intelligence. I found that missing in this album. Personally its okay to say that Jay Z practically recorded an album just because he knew it would sell, no matter what. His prowess speaks for him.

It’s unfair and immature to begrudge Jay-Z for being wealthy and powerful, and yes we know he parties with the warren buffets’ of this world, his baby is about the luckiest child on earth , he’s the only one having sex with beyonce. But then, consistently reminding your listeners of their inadequacy is not only old, but stylistically boring. It leaves his fans and dedicated hip hop aspiring cats in general , with no sincere inspiration or something to look up to.

I wouldn’t want to start mentioning the songs track by track, but I looked forward to listening to “somehere in america” so badly cos’ of its title and knowing how Jay would kill such title, but then the song begins and that fantastic, soulful piano line kicks in, one would expect Jay-Z to rap about something relevant to the country dreams or her ills. Instead we get tone deaf celebrations of ostentatiousness and Jay’s creepy giggling at the thought of Miley Cyrus twerking. Honestly That’s crap. “twerk miley miley, twerk” total crap.

However I love Jay, he has made classics that would be here forever, his hustle story stands as yardstick to most of us, he’s a role model, he has proven his relevance in the game. We have even overlooked a lot of disrespectful things he has said In the past like “..am Jay….Hova (meaning Jehova)”. Like I said, we love him. But then he needs to chill, he has seen all the decades in hip hop, he has sold, he has even retired himself before, un-retired himself again, he needs to chill. Moreover age 50 is around the corner for him. Parenthood should be more important to him now.

In conclusion, Magna Carter Holy Grail is a successful album by a relevant music business entrepreneur and hip hop mogul, But there’s not much on Magna Carta . . . Holy Grail that he hasn’t said before, in more interesting ways.

So With all due respect I say “thumbs down”

This is my critic
(Skips to kanye’s yeezus album)

Sic.

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“She” (spoken word)

Brown eyes, Milk skin, hot behind, beautiful thing. No lies, God’s design.

She.

Has a history, no one knows about it. No one bothered, they all wanted to taste the love she sold.

She

Would smoke grass, choke up, leave class i couldn’t keep up, she moved fast.

She.

She knew hate, understood love, though never met it. How unfair life was, she didn’t get it.

She

The same lips’ that kissed her, the hands that felt her. were the same tongues and fingers so quick to judge her.

She

Would stay awake and reminisce on her bed, her tears that night, how she bled, her helpless fight, its weird, her pride was supposed to be her right.

She

She’d rise and fall like a star, lived to change her frosted scar,would often ask her Maker to take her, “do it now”, not later.

She

Her life? This is the much I know.
Most of us are in search of love, fancy treasures and all. But she, all she wants is to erase a night that’s changed her life forever, or maybe find a quiet room to die young.

She.

Nwanguma Ogo (sic)

“i am selling soul”(prequel to rebirth)

I am selling soul
That fear, its front and rear as a whole
The hold back thought that’s left a hole
Distracting my mind from eternal goal

The ache from the pain I taste
the imp that tell my brain am chaste
The time that count my years of waste
the emotional boycots my eyes have faced

I won’t let my yesterday define me
Because tomorrow is still a taut virgin
So, I came to this dark room to find me
new to life, though my inner child is aging

So I ask, free your mind from judging
Am only trading fear, the rear & its whole
Cos I will let courage & strength to surge in
But till then. I am selling soul.

Nwanguma Ogo (Sic)

“in the end”

And in the end, I want you to realize that am not as confident as you thought I was.

And in the end, I want you see my laughter but also notice my tears.

And in the end, I need you to feel my courage but also recognize my fears.

And in the end, I want you to stand somewhere close I can see you and have hope.

And in the end, I may be numb but I need u to hold me tight and tell me its okay.

And in the end, I want you to look at my face and see me for the first time.

Because This is the end. And I think am done hiding. here is Goodmorning.

Nwanguma Ogo (Sic)