Category: Soppy Me

My very Fergie May 8th

Our Man Fergie
Our Man Fergie

I’m terrible with dates. Can’t seem to remember people’s birthdays and I don’t even bother with anniversaries ( my exes will testify). I simply enjoy moving on with life, recounting or reflecting on memorable events in my life based on the feelings that take over me. That’s what remains with me, feelings. How I felt at such a memorable time, the motions I was going through and how my immediate environment reacted to my state of being at that point in time. This process has been one of my core strengths because unlike dates, emotions have a stronger imprint on my memory. I remember things much easier when there is an emotion attached to it, a feeling that either jolts or pleases me (I guess a lot of people are like me as well).

But yesterday was different. It all started with the perpetually depressing feeling of recalling it was my late Mother’s birthday but by the time I was settled in at the office, the thoughts of going through the day trying to comfort myself despite her untimely passing were being threatened by the news of Sir Alex Ferguson’s announcement that he would be resigning at the end of the season.

The deep lying pain that comes from missing a loved one coupled with the news that the legendary coach of my beloved Manchester United was finally stepping down, that feeling of uncertainty mixed with fear and sadness. I got nostalgic with the memories Fergie had given me; the ’99 finals in Barcelona, the epic wins against bitter rivals Manchester City, Arsenal, Liverpool and Chelsea, even the losses. The first time I ever told a girl I loved her was after one of those epic wins at Highbury, when the odds were against the away team and they had to dig deep to vanquish a most formidable foe. I can’t remember how many beers I had already consumed but the combined intoxication from winning such a game and the alcohol probably made blurt out those 3 precious words.

Its not about drunkenly saying ‘I love you’ right now, its about the Legend who leaves the reigns of management after 26 long years of unrivaled success and stability. I am proud to associate with such a man. Its remarkable that he chose to step down when a new team was being built, especially when the multitude of fans felt the UEFA Champions league could once again be in our grasp. We, in our own little ways felt next season would see a new push with Sir Alex gunning for glory in Europe, unperturbed by the shenanigans of the Turkish ref in the knock out stage game against Real Madrid.

Manchester United as a result of Ferguson’s leadership have developed that in built desire not to dwell on defeat, to pick themselves up and move ahead, looking to the future and this is one thing the fans (real fans) have grown accustomed to and have in several degrees adopted to their personal lives. United and the fans have come to accept Ferguson’s departure and with it the inevitable changing of the guard. We welcome David Moyes and wish him all the best as he inherits a daunting legacy. We all know Ferguson’s work is almost unmatchable in the modern game and we would be insensitive and unfair to expect the same from our new manager, yet the expectations are there and we will be there from the beginning of the season till the end to cheer the team no matter what.

Most importantly, our gratitude goes to the man who has made us all proud, a passionate and dedicated leader and visionary coach. We will miss him but we know it had to happen one day.

Now the date; May 08 will further never be the same to me again.



Not to be left behind

Ok, for a change I’m doing this because everyone else is. I personally don’t drop a post if I’m not feeling it or if something congent hasn’t formed in my subconscious but right now its just taking too long for whatever it is to come together in my thick skull.

First off I’ll like to wish you all a Happy New year and pray you all have a wonderful and fun filled year ahead. Hope the holidays were restful and jolly like mine was? I can’t lie I had a good time going back to Abuja after spending 4 months in Lagos. It was a struggle not to lose my mind towards those final days at work in December, I’d go home after work to look at my flight booking and asure myself that the day those plane wheels went up would be the beginning of a well deserved break from the madness that is Lagos.

Feel like this excited kid typing this
Feel like this excited kid typing this

Christmas was all I imagined it would be; spent around Family. I never imagined the holidays would be anything else because that was all I missed about Abuja to be honest. The Christmas lunch and the New year cookout were amazing and during those two intimate events I took moments to take it all in, to imprint upon my mind the scene before me, that I had all that I needed before me and for that I’m grateful.

Now I’m back to Lagos (its been almost 2 weeks since I got back in fact) and I’m hoping for the best this year. Grateful for the response I got to my 6 part series in December, to all those who I disturbed with my ideas late into the night and those I forced to read through each part I’m very grateful. I know in a whole the story could have done with some good editing so I assure you all I’ll get an editor for the next piece I put out.

Shout out specially to the folks at phantom pages for giving me my only guest blogging spot of 2012, funny it happened on the very last day of the year. Mr. Pella, I see you. Owe you big time.

To all those who have made me feel less lonely in Lagos; Zotam, Elow, Skills, Jibalzz, Jiboye, Zurri, Deji, Sir Iwobi, Cuddles, Doc, Smiley, Logan and so many other people I can’t think of right now, I thank God for you guys everyday.

Yeah, I know this post looks like a shout out but it really isn’t, its actually what’s been on my mind for a while now. Glad I’m putting it all out now ’cause its on to bigger things from here on out.

There’s a lot to be done guys and I’m thankful I have you guys to share it all with.

See you guys soon, I hope becauase work is killing me.




picture courtesy-

Nothing Really.

Honestly, Nothing, Really. Look.

You ever get that feeling when you know its important you write something but nothing seems forthcoming? Its not actual writer’s block, it more of an inability to figure out what topic or what genre of fiction it is you would like to tackle or write about at that particular time.

Funny thing is I probably came up with a handful of ideas over the previous week without actually penning any single one of them down.

arghh… no excuses right? I almost forgot, reason why I go around with 3 different note books (one for my business ideas, one for work and the last one for my personal thoughts). A few weeks ago I finally summoned the courage to go over the words I had written in my personal journal, apart from a disturbing overlying propensity to be self critical and prone to procrastination  there was really nothing surprising about it. Means I’m fine right? *shrug*……

I’m self  absorbed to a disturbing degree I know, I’m trying so hard to stop; see, here I am focusing mainly on myself in this particular post. pfffftt…..

Well, to be honest, I really haven’t come up with something so profound to blog about. I usually achieve that when my mind wonders, momentarily touching on a topic then taking flight almost immediately. The process is almost like pollination, as if my mind is a wide open field full of flowers sprouting and dying almost at the same time , but lately its been more involved in focused thoughts, which I’m still trying to get used to.

You see (if you’re interested), my job requires me to virtually come up with ideas almost endlessly. Its only natural I find myself thinking of only a limited number of things as a by-product.

Guess that’s all for today.

But before  I go, I have to confess; being a bachelor is not beans, especially when you can’t actually cook.

Need help with cooking classes ASAP.

How have you guys been?

Picture, courtesy of

A not so bad Sell by Date

As I drove towards a junction in Oregun the other day, an unusual thing happened. I watched an old man, well advanced in age, hobble across the junction. In the mad rush that is Lagos, another driver might have made a meal of the occurrence, harassing the seeming octogenarian with blaring horns and a rev of his engine.
Unusually, the scene brought an immediate state of reflection upon me.
As I watched the man make attempts to hurry across the momentarily quiet junction, it seemed a futile attempt, laboured. His back was painfully bent and the trembling in his weakened legs were too evident. His only support on this journey was a short umbrella which he had converted to a walking stick, it really didn’t help him much, the length of the entire umbrella forced him to bend even lower.
I tried to imagine how he would have navigated such a task decades ago: with some graceful gait, a straightened back, most likely no form of support.
I was staring at the inevitable. A moment that if granted by God’s mercies, we were all sure to pass through.
This surely was a right of passage, this moment where man hobbles and limbers, trying to move along with the constantly rushing world around him.

We start off in a rush as kids, hurrying and screaming, trying to leave a mark in the world. Wondering why everything is so slow, asking if time probably had a cheat mode. We harass and scream at the world, wondering why established fundamentals exist. It most evidently is futile, but I will never discourage anyone from asking questions.

To some folks its an inconvenient truth, getting old. At my age its much too apparent, sitting around or sweating it out at your day job wondering if you’re where you planned on being a decade ago. Most of the people in my generation are asking themselves that question right now.
I’d rather not dwell, it really is futile. The old man sure asked himself the same question when he was my age, it didn’t stop him from hobbling across the road on this fateful day.
What we must is ‘Do’. Plan to and act upon doing. There really isn’t any other option.
I want to be the guy who a young twenty something year old looks at 50 years from now and thinks, “that guy rocked..”.
Maybe I’m asking for too much, maybe I’ll be left all by myself, self acknowledging my own awesomeness. But it still won’t stop me from seeking awesomeness NOW.

Old man

As the nimble old man went on his way, as I continued my own journey to my destination and in life, hoping to arrive where he currently was(probably in a better condition), I kept on wondering, contemplating how much I hated Lagos drivers……

Picture Courtesy

French Toast Trauma

Crisp and soft at the same time

There are several things that easily get on my nerves…yes several. I won’t pretend to be considerate and possessing a mild temper. I can actually be explosive at times, that being said, I seldom am dramatic…I swear I’m not. I just raise my voice a few notches higher when I speak and my eyes tend to be a disturbing color of flaming red.

Well I don’t care, I just simply wanted to point out to you that several things piss me off; like a room mate repeatedly grunting in the morning when he wakes up, someone knocking on my door repeatedly even while the door is open and most of all….soggy, tasteless french toast. Its the worst.

The cook just happens to have me on a regular diet of the latter. Where he got the impression that its healthy and appealing I do not know, but after trying to seem cordial while passing him subliminals, I feel I have had enough at this juncture.
If he’s intent on clogging my arteries with cholesterol at least he could do it with some dignity. A fillet on the side wouldn’t be asking too much, preventing the slices ending up all soggy and saturated in not only oil but water would be most appreciated.

Yummy Breakfast

Now my idea of French toast is forever changed. If a professional can’t do it right then who can? I’m traumatized honestly.

What happened to the good old fashioned slightly crisp edges with the filling of the egg on the surface, thickening all the way to the middle of a slice where there was bound to be an undulating depression.

People might not know this but to me, French toast making is like an art, some sort of calligraphy, the hand movements, the moments of stress and strain as you whisk the egg, take out the bread slices and place them into the egg liquid.
The right amount of seconds you wait while the bread fibers soak it all in (making sure its the right amount). This art, has forever been tainted by this cook (i wonder if there is a Cooking council i can make a complaint to).

By now you will realize that this is in fact a rant, a justified one if I might add and I hope you agree if you are one of those who enjoys a delicious meal of french toast with a healthy spread of honey or jam on the surface, just to get that explosive taste in your mouth for the morning, then you flush it down with the right amount of coffee.
Pure ecstatic bliss.

Banana Bread Toast

I’m taking up French toast making duties from now on though, I’m not going to allow some guy who’s being paid to feed me, also kill me without style.
I advise you all to learn this beautiful art…the reward is in the consumption. Some will say a normal toast with a simple spread of jam or butter will suffice but that’s so…..English, like dry humor, you almost have to wear a dressing on your tongue to avoid being injured by a normal toast, besides, there is no art in its creation; you simply pop the damn thing in the toaster and it flies back at you like hell’s over crowded.

Viva French Toast!

Pictures courtesy: , &


I’m tired of explaining why I haven’t written or completed my stories in a while. Dammit! I’ve even developed a new segment called ‘Briefs’ in order to build some sort of consistency but still it hasn’t worked.

I’m sill struggling to string words together, guess this is another attempt at redemption.
For those of you who still believe in me, please hold strong. I’m not done yet.

Blank Faces

A lot of us African kids get surprised in the craziest ways. I got one of those recently and digesting it has been one of the many reasons I’ve been keeping my thoughts guarded. I always regard my mind as my most powerful weapon and also my greatest enemy, burning at the fore front has been this quirky surprise that I got a while back but as the days have passed I’ve gotten used to it though I fear i wasn’t as prepared as I thought I would be.

About a couple of months ago I had to make an impromptu trip to Lagos to assist my Dad handle some business. It wasn’t something too tasking or complex so I assumed it was a short vacation and a good opportunity to see my friends in my old neighborhood after a long time.

I spent 2 nights in Lagos (one night has to go down the worst in allergy infested nights ever by the way)and I was mostly on the road during the day so I only got to see my friends and members of my extended family during the evenings.
On my first night, my Uncles came around and we were having a friendly conversation until one of them asked me about a brother I knew about but had never seen or heard from ever since he was born.
I knew I had a brother for a while but my father barely discussed it except for mentioning his name in passing or while saying a prayer for all his children. It was ‘pretend its a normal subject matter’ territory when it came to that so it felt awkward that my uncles were bringing up the subject.
Then the same uncle pulled out his pocket-sized tablet and proceeded to show me a picture, it was of a young boy, probably in his late teens and he looked quite familiar. Almost immediately I saw the obvious features of my Dad about him. I grew more curious within me but outwardly I acted tired and uninterested. I excused myself and went to bed but not until I had given the issue some more thought.
I wondered what it would be like getting in touch with him, explored the new awareness I felt that I actually had more than one brother.
I consider me and my siblings(an older brother and a younger sister) to be a close-knit bunch. We’ve been through a whole lot together and despite the new additions it didn’t really require too much of an effort for us to develop the same equal affections towards my two kid sisters. We’ve watched them grow up and they barely see us as anything but brothers and sister.
But this was a different proposition entirely.

4 days after getting back from Lagos I woke up to a startling message. It was from my Dad and it wasn’t short, it was made up of one sentence and the rest were a couple of phone numbers, a PIN and two email addresses. The only statement read; “here is your brother’s number and email address, call him”
I confess I went through the message over a dozen times trying to figure out if this was proper, if this was the right way to do things.
I put myself in my Dad’s shoes for that moment alone, tried to imagine myself making that call, telling each of my grown up kids that the brother they always knew they had could now be reached and I felt it would be proper if they made an effort to develop a relationship with him. Well maybe that was what I would have done, not my dad.
Left to him he wasn’t answerable to any one and I doubt if he felt he owed us any explanation.

I eventually made contact though and slowly I’m beginning to develop a picture of what my brother’s life has been for the past 18 years. He just started College and I make an effort to check up on him regularly.

With regards to my Dad, let’s just say I’m used to it by now and I’m pretty sure this would be the last of these kind of surprises.

Some of you might think I’m talking a whole lot of personal stuff here but for the greater good I don’t really mind. Besides its more of a beautiful thing to know that I’ve got family out there that I can connect with.

‘One Night’ Continues shortly. Hopefully together we can solve the mystery of the briefcase and then move on to the Olympus series…thank you for the faith you have in me guys.


Times Like these

Any time i want to put up a post i begin by playing a song in my head or by some freak of nature, a song that inspires just comes on.
Well right now its Foo Fighter’s ‘Times like these’ ….gosh i miss that band.
Today isn’t the best day for me, trying to seal a deal or something but I’m not.

I remember my old laptop…its gone now, borrowed an old flame and she disappeared along with it. It’s now i appreciate the term ‘always back up your files’ . I had so much written material in that thing that could have gotten me a couple of published books or so. But ‘i get am before no be property’ abi so it’s on to the next one.

I thought i would go back to my writing roots. The very reason i believe made me always want to write; poetry.
I can’t claim to have a great knowledge of poetry, i can’t claim to be good at it. All i know is words fill me and in short bursts i want to let them out.
I hurt someone recently and it has sort of engulfed me. The guilt is ever so present and each time i close my eyes i see her face looking at me, in disbelief. I had no choice. It’s hard to believe that previous statement but in my honest opinion its the truth.
I decided to get it all out. To free up all the guilt a little bit. Some of you might judge me, some might relate. It’s all good, as long as you appreciate.


sprawled across the bed,
my heart lies next to me,
not her,

i say ‘it’, i say,
‘it no longer beats like before,
it lies there frozen and cold,

i see it but no one does,
it’s an artful liar,
camouflaged in warmth,

now its latest victim leaves,
she’s shrouded in grief,
the signs were there yet hidden,

i lie there in relief,
maybe all is not lost,
true guilt it beats,

it is not pity that cures,
it might be guilt,
thawing the ice,

shall i force it,
or shall i be patient,
time bites at my side,

this curse of ice,
prison of winter be gone,
lord light a fire,