.......In April, I was slumming it with my pals at one buka in Itire, Surulere.
It was those kind of bukas that sell beer on the side, so we were having a real go at it, beering and eating at the same time, having a big laugh an' all.
The gist got round to stuff about London and we were all going yak yak yak...
The London talk seemed to have caught the attention of some puff puff cheeked Lady seated across from my own bench, because she suddenly started starring at me.
I ignored the looku looku and continued the jives with my homies.
Then suddenly "eskiss me, were you in London before?"
I looked up from my plate of àbulá and it was Sisi Puff Puff...
I hesitated, pausing my shàkí onigba'we in mid-air, before I answered her.
"Erm..... erm... erm.. yesh ma" I whispered back to her, as if I was ashamed of my answer. I quickly put the waiting shàkí away into my mouth.
She seemed to catch on to my hesitation and 'embarrassment'
With one sweep of her aproko eyes, she took in my non-ironed polo-neck top, my torn dirty jeans and #100 Naira bathroom slippers of two different colours.
I was now licking the gbegiri soup off my hand hungrily, casting furtive glances at her own plate, filled with all the randabats and ponmó junctions in Lagos.
I could see the pity in her eyes, as she juggled in her mind whether to push her plate of meat towards me.
I smiled up at her, wiping some imaginary catarrh off my sniffling nose with the short sleeve of my dirty top.
It was too much to bear for Ms aproko.
She leaned over our wooden table, whispering conspiratorially:
"My brother, don't you worry, I understand your situation. I was deported myself, 5 years ago.
"In the beginning,It was rough for me. I suffered, jus like you are suffering now, but I persevered. Finally, I made it"
I wiped an imaginary tear away with my clean hand.
Me, I was eyeing her pepper soaked stock fish quietly, as she continued to jabò anyhow.
She seemed to follow my gaze, because she slowly smiled with understanding and pushed her plate towards me. I grabbed the pánlá! and started chewing, as I continued listening to Madam Theresa preaching.
All my yèyé friends who had been watching the unfolding drama with quiet amusement, burst into noisy laughter, falling over themselves.
"Abe Jand!! you don crase, walahi!" Wole, my cousin smacked me playfully across the head.
"Haaaa! Itzz not good to laugh at him o....no condition is permanent" my new benefactor chided them.
My friends were in tears with laughter! Yeye boys.
The laughter got riotous when I reached over for another cow foot from my new best friend's meat buffet dish.
"These yèyé boys wee knock my job o" I mused to myself.
"Jesus is your saviour, my darling" she comforted me again.
Darling ké? Chai! I don hammer!
"These ones you sit here with are not your friends o.
"Look at the way they are dressed and look at you" she pointed at Mohammed's, my gateman's slippers I had quickly taken off him, when Wole pulled up outside the house in his American Lincoln Jeep.
I was about to do a Fayose-crying-on TV performance when she patted me on the thigh and whispered again:
"Look, take my card and call me later. Ok? I haff to go now"
She leaned over again to pass me her business card and I had to quickly avert my eyes as her twin heaving mountains threatened to spillover onto my face.
I moved my face closer "thank you ma, I wee call you as soon as I get rid of these animals" nodding at my alakoba friends.
"Mama, how much is my food? I am paying for my man's food too"
Haaaaaa! Osheyyy! 😍😍😍
"Aaah! they deported all of us together ni o!!" my guys shouted in unison. 😂😂😂
"Ok, later niyen, my dear" as she rolled her G-wagon out of the buka, her driver having already pulled up on cue, in an AC chilled 4x4. Śege!
"Omo, you don chop be that o!" Wole slapped me on the back. "Na you dey untidy pass among us, an' na you come win las las. London boy wayo!"
.......After another three or four bottles of Orijin®, I no even know where I throway the business card sef.
Though I suspect.......erm,.......
Good morning and may you jam luck in your humble ways this weekend ☕️☕️🙏🏾
©Mazi Abe Media 2018.
“NG please now,” Mike whispered as he tried to pull his sister Ngozi to face him on the bed. “You know mummy went to bed early and may soon get up for her mid night prayers.” he continued. “Michael leave me alone.” Ngozi almost shouted. “I have told you that I am on but you don’t want to hear. If we do anything now and the bed spread gets stained how do you explain that to mummy? Have you forgotten so soon how you almost let the cat out of the bag the other time something like that happened? I don’t know why you don’t like being reasonable at times! I have told you that we need to be cautious now that daddy is not at home because mummy leaves her bedroom door open and can come out any moment.” But Mike would not take no for an answer and continued pleading and tugging on Ngozi’s see-through pink night wear.
Meanwhile Mrs. Ajo-ife suddenly woke from sleep and sat upright on her bed for no known reason. As she sat there motionless on her bed she could hear faint voices from her children’s room, which was just adjacent to hers. She became curious to know what they were talking about by that time of the night. She got up quietly and moved to her bedroom door, which was open and put her head out through the curtain to listen more carefully to the sound coming from her children’s room.
The discussion between 16 year old Mike and his 14 year old sister Ngozi continued with Mike saying, “NG Pleeeeaaase now. Can’t you understand? I can’t stand it any longer! This is 5 days running, I mean 5 whole days and we have not had fun. Do you know how I feel? I don’t have any other girl friend out there and I doubt if you have any boy friend either. Don’t you have feelings?” Ngozi whispered back, “Mike I understand but you are the one who does not understand. Please let’s be cautious. I am even tired of taking those pills everyday to avoid getting pregnant. And mum has started complaining that I am putting on weight, likewise other people who knew me before now. I am sure one of these days mummy may drag me to the hospital for medical checkup and of course you will appear innocent.”
By now Mrs. Ajo-ife had tiptoed to his children’s door and could vividly hear the discussion going on between his children. She was transfixed to the spot on hearing what the children said to each other but was too stunned to shout or make any move. She thought she was dreaming. Just then, she heard..
“Ng baby, please just help me for this night. We will talk about better ways to be cautious later. I can’t imagine spending this night without enjoying that sweetness which I can only get from your body. Please my sister, my love. I am dying of passion. For the past two years we have not stayed this length of time without having fun, and you are getting sweeter by the day.” Mummy could hear her daughter as she sighed, “Oooh! I will allow you just for this night but after today we have to think of another way of satisfying ourselves. But you have to be very gentle and I need a lot of fore play. I told you that I am on. See you, you have removed your boxers already! Naughty boy! Don’t tear my night wear unless you will explain to mummy what happened to it in the morning.”
At this juncture Mrs. Ajo-ife could not hold it any longer. She opened the door of the room and met her son on top of his sister, right in the act. She stood there clutching the door handle, looking at the two youngsters who were startled by the opening of the door had. They sat up on the bed and grabbed different ends of the bed spread for covering.
After what seemed like eternity, Mrs. Ajo-ife stammered almost voicelessly, “What the hell is going on here?” This question initially got no answer but after a while, Mike braced up and said, “I-I-I-I am sorry mum. IT IS NOT MY FAULT!” Ngozi was too broken to utter a word. She could only sob and sob. Their mum asked, “Mike did I hear you say it is not your fault? What is not your fault? And whose fault is it?” The drama continued, but let me end the episode here.
I want to ask, what would you call the relationship between Mike and his sister Ngozi? I know you will say it is in incest because that is the English and religious name of that act. But I would like to call it sex abuse in the family. I want to share with us causes of sex abuse in the family.
But before then let me tell you that stories similar to the one you read above or even worse versions of it abound in families today. A few weeks ago I posted the story of a 9 year old boy who confessed that he had been sleeping with his 7 year old sister every other night for more than one year. There was also the story of a teenage boy who impregnated his twin sister, somewhere in the Mid-Western part of Nigeria. If you give me time and space I will tell you more real life stories like these but I don’t think that it is necessary. How did we find ourselves in this mess? Come with me let me show you some of the things we do in our families, which give rise to sex abuse at home.
• Parents do not teach their children sex education early enough.
At times we forget that emotions are controlled by hormones, and as such do not know who is a blood relation or a distant acquaintance. We underestimate the force of attraction that exists between siblings, especially in their teen years when they have the greatest emotional and sexual urge. That is why, like in the case above, a parent will allow two teenagers of the opposite sex to share the same bed in the same room all alone. Imagine the teen boy waking up early in the morning with full erection, which is not out of place at that age and the first sight that greets him is the nude, succulent body of his sister sleeping carelessly with her silky night gown raised up to her chest. And he sees this almost every day. If anything goes wrong, I must tell you that IT IS NOT HIS FAULT. We allow our children to be too close with each other without caution. There are cases where parents allow siblings to dress or undress before each other all in the name that they are brother and sister. What an error!
• Some parents unconsciously promote sex abuse by their own actions. For instance, daddy sits wearing a very short boxers or walks bare-chested in the house with his young daughters around him. Mummy on the other hand ties wrapper above her chest and sits carelessly, sometimes letting the wrapper fall off without showing any sign of concern. As if that is not enough, she puts on her clothes half way and asks her son to help her hook her bra or zip up her blouse. While nothing may go wrong between you and the child, you arouse the child’s emotions and leave him or her burning with passion and erotic imaginations. That is abuse of the mind and emotion of the child. And when such feelings build up to an uncontrollable level it finds expression through any available channel.
• In the name of modern lifestyle we use indecent dressing to destroy our children. Predators are not only outside, many of them are inside the house with us. We don’t care what our children, especially our daughters wear at home. Some of them move around the house half naked in the presence of their “hot-blooded” brothers and probably other extended family members. Remember I said that emotions and arousals are controlled by hormones and often do not know who is a brother or sister.
• How about mouth kissing? I don’t know what to say to parents who kiss their children on the lips. You are destroying that child. You are teaching that child that whoever says he loves you can kiss you to express his love. And of course they have come to believe that nothing can go wrong just by kissing, after all nothing went wrong when you kissed them.
• We encourage sex abuse through the type of films we watch in our homes. We are meant to be good examples. Therefore we cannot say that the kids should not watch those X-rated films when we ourselves watch them. If they don’t watch it when we are there they will try to see what is in it when we are away.
• We give children unlimited and uncontrolled access to the internet. And after watching only God-knows-what into the middle of the night after you have gone to bed they retire into the privacy of their room to sleep alone with their siblings.
• We are careless with the kind of friends our children keep. Do you know that some of the boys who come “to look for your son” are actually there because of your daughter? The same thing applies to your daughter’s visitors. Some of them use your daughter as an excuse to have access to your son. Your children know this and plan out their way very well to protect each other’s interest – right under your nose.
• Time and space shall fail me to talk about the numerous ills we bring upon ourselves when we abdicate our duties as women to house helps and other domestic servants. I have seen cases where mothers allow house boys to bath their baby girls or nannies to bath their sons without supervision. Do you know how many children have been abused through that means? And once they start they may never stop. Dear mum, even your husband who is the father of your daughter should not bath your four year old daughter for you. You may say I am an extremist but I know what I am talking about. Some time ago a friend told me that a mother came to her crying because her four year old daughter told her that the “father” molested her while bathing her the other day the mum went to the market.
• We allow careless, stupid and erotic playing among our children. Some parents don’t see the need to rebuke their children if they catch them touching each other in unseemly ways. They assume that they are just kids and will stop it as they grow older.
• There is also the case of parents who do not know the difference between bedroom talks, deeds or actions and talks that are meant for the public. They engage in romantic displays at the full glare of their children. Some of them will tell you that they want the children to know that they love each other or that they are teaching their children how to love their spouse when they grow up and get married. Please spare your children, especially the teenagers the embarrassment caused by your open romantic episodes.
I still have a lot to say about this issue but I am compelled by consideration for the time of my readers to stop here. The message I want to pass across is that we need to open our eyes because there are terrible cases of sex abuse in the family these days. It is happening between parents and their children, among siblings, domestic servants are equally not left out. Just this evening I read the story of a mother who said that she was proud to tell the whole world that she was a lesbian and her 18 year old daughter was her lover. According to her they were just happy to have each other! That is the world we are in today.
Please try to find out what happens in the bathroom when your two daughters or sons enter the bathroom and spend more time than necessary there. Be more concerned when you have extended relatives or holiday makers in your home. If possible, please do not allow your sons and daughters to sleep alone in the same bedroom; separate them. But where that is not possible due to economic reasons or any other factor be extra vigilant and don’t stop talking to them about the dangers of unholy union.
#familymattersng.com
Shalom!
Ijeoma I. Igwesi
In 2008, the former PDP chairman Ahmodu Ali suggested a new Headquarters should be constructed for their party, PDP. The idea was welcomed by all party members.
A 12 story building was agreed upon. The former Vice President who at the time was the Governor of Kaduna State, Architect Namadi Sambo, designed the structure of the proposed new secretariat.
The contract was awarded to BNL construction firm for N10billion with a delivery date of two and half years. First quarter of that year, Ahmodu Ali was kicked out of office.
Then came a new PDP Nat. Chairman, Vincent Ogbulafor, who keyed into the idea of the new Secretariat by his predecessor. He quickly rallied round party members on how to raise funds.
By November 14, 2008, Ogbulafor organized a fundraising dinner for the N10billion needed to execute the project. On that night, N6billion was generated cash down. 🕺👋
Femi Otedola was the baba olowo in attendance. He was the highest donor. You know Femi Otedola na. Don't you? Ok! You remembered Farouk Lawal & subsidy money kwo? Ehen, na that Femi wey been dey swallow subsidy money that Farouk wanted to rope him before Femi come use akpako pass akpako on him. Femi single handedly donated N1billion to PDP on the night. No shaking! PDP! POWER!!!
This one no be dem say dem say, I watched that fund raising dinner live on AIT on that day. I saw the massive explosion of cheers when Femi announced his N1billion donation. 🌌🌌
Back to my story jare.
So, five years later after the fundraising dinner, the secretariat was nowhere near 20% completion even though N6billion was raised for the project that was initially meant to be completed in 2 & a half years.
However, in October 2013, another former National Chairman of PDP, this time, it was Bamanga Tukur, he initiated fresh moves to re-mobilise the contractors back to site. How? Through fundraising of course. Are you a learner? 😐
In December 2014 a combined fundraising dinner was organized to raise funds for Mr. Jonathan's 2015 presidential election and for the building project. A mouth watering & mind boggling sum of N21 billion was realized at the event. Yes! You heard me right: N21billion. Is it ur N21billion? 😡😡👎🏼
I know a lot of us are not very good at mathematics, but let's do this quick maths.
N6billion + N21billion = N27billion. Blood of Moses! Meanwhile, the secretariat originally was meant to cost "only" N10billion.
Lest I forget to tell you, only N2billion was given to BNL construction company as mobilisation from the N6billion that was raised from the initial fundraising. Balance from there was N4billion. Therefore; N4billion + N21billion?
The remaining N25billion was converted to yams & eaten up by goats of many breeds. Lol 😅😂😂
At the time I typed this post at 02:37am this morning, the new PDP headquarters in Abuja is still not 50% completed.
This brings me to a saying by a character in the gods are not to blame; Odewole said;" If the crocodiles can eat up their own eggs, what can they not do to the body of the frog"?
I'm begging all my PDP friends to take this message to Secondus, Fayose & Wike, PDP should finish building their secretariat in Abuja first before they come to build the entire country. Tankiu
(If you eat food, then you need to read this)
Sunkanmi watched and listened to Baba Otunba as he spoke in his shrine…His son’s healing was dependent on that.
‘That bottle contains a combination of goat’s blood, the eye of a black and white bird and the tongue of an agama lizard. The other one with a red cover has the grinded liquid from the body of a decayed vulture and the blood you got from that dead girl... While the calabash in between them is where you mix both contents when you want to use them. It is a sacred calabash’ Baba said coldly.
‘Yes sir’ Sunkanmi nodded.
‘Make sure you rub these contents in your hands before you buy any food or fruit sold in an open place… which is uncovered. That means your hand MUST touch the food or fruit directly without any hindrance. Things like roasted corn, pea, roasted yam, roasted plantain, agege bread, I am sure you know what I mean’ He probed.
‘Beeni (yes) sir, I understand perfectly’ Sunkanmi replied
‘The target is to touch up to 11 of such items and go your way’ Baba added.
Standing up and facing his gods, Baba Otunba made some more incantations and turned sharply to face Sunkanmi and said ‘If they eat whatever you touch, they get afflicted with a part of your son’s sickness, it will be a gradual affliction but will be so subtle and untraceable that it will be hard to grasp until death comes….. hahahahahaha. Trust me, his healing is so SURE!’ He concluded.
Sunkanmi could not contain his joy, ‘Amin! Baba’
Suddenly remembering something, Baba Otunba spoke out ‘There is a BUT in all that I have said, if anyone buys, then prays to ‘The Holy One’ before eating anything your hands have touched after rubbing the mixtures I gave you… There will be a negative bounce back. So go to the places where the type of edibles I said are sold during rush hour, when people are too tired to think of praying. The rest is a settled case’ He smiled with a wicked glee.
Two days later, Sunkanmi waited until 4pm before rubbing some mixtures in his hands as he set out on the busy Oshodi road in Lagos, today his son’s healing would begin. He looked at the environment carefully and walked to a place where a woman was selling roasted corns.
Seeing him, the corn seller said ‘ Na fresh corn oga, N100 only’
‘Ah, ah these small corns?’ Sunkanmi asked as he would pick up one corn rub it well and take up another. He did this to 4 corns there, afterwards he pointed at one and gave the woman N1000 hoping she would not have change.
Seeing the amount involved the woman protested ‘Oga abeg change no dey!’ hissing she turned to another customer
.
Sunkanmi left her stand gladly and walked to another area where roasted plantain was sold. He touched 4 pieces of plantain there as well. The seller did not even notice him because she was haggling prices with two other customers. So he left without even pricing.
He kept walking for a while before stopping at another place where a woman sold boiled corns and wanted to start his ‘ministrations’ on the corns there, but the woman noticed after he touched the first corn and scolded him.
‘Oga abeg I no dey allow people to dey touch market wey others go still put for mouth.. If you wan buy, buy. If you no want, abeg dey go’ She said angrily.
‘See me see trouble o, I even wan manage buy this your hard corn, abeg I no dey buy again jare! He hissed and walked away. In his heart he was relieved the woman did not notice anything unusual about him.
‘This annoying woman did not even allow me to touch up to 2 corns in her stand…’ He thought to himself as he crossed the road to a woman selling Agege bread.
‘Bread elo ni (how much?)’ Sunkanmi asked as he picked up the first and second bread loaves frowning.
‘N150 sir’ the young girl answered enthusiastically.
‘This your bread is too hard o. And they are white, I prefer brown bread’ Saying this, he walked away from the bread seller.
He went home that day content and happy, hoping against hope and begging the gods of his forefathers that none would take time to pray before eating any of the things he touched.
----------------------------------------------------
Interestingly enough, no one bothered to pray.
Uju bought two roasted corns as she was going to get a bus home, in her hunger she ate both in the bus hurriedly without praying.
Bidemi had eaten one roasted plantain and was about to begin with the second when his brother Akande came in and dragged the plantain from him… both ate without praying.
Mama Sola bought Agege bread for her neighbor’s children; Mummy Bayo.
Mummy Bayo thanked her for it and after she got into the house, hastily gave her children to share because she didn't want to miss any part of the movie series showing on the screen. Her 3 children ate without praying…
Like play like play, everyone who bought those items Sunkanmi touched ‘forgot’ to pray.
And like water put in a pot to boil, their ailments came little by little, in such a subtle way as Baba Otunba had said. All because they took the foods they ate for granted.
**************
Some things we call trivial are Deadly Trivialities… As Christians, let’s stop taking what we put into our mouth for granted!
Stop to pray before eating and teach your children to do the same.
Remember, the fastest way to poison a man is through what he puts in his mouth.
******************
Inspired by the Holy Spirit.
Written By Chinazo Ike.
(Feel free to share)
When Emeka broke the news to his parents that he planned to marry a Yoruba lady, they told him that he was a joker. That would never happen, they said flatly. Was there a scarcity of nubile damsels in Nnewi and its environs or in Anambra State and the entire Igboland that their son would travel across many rivers and many states to marry a Yoruba girl from Ijebu-Ode? Or, had the girl bewitched Emeka with “otumokpo” from Ijebu-Ode? She would not succeed, they concluded. Never!
Weeks after that, nothing was heard about the issue again. They assumed that the case had been closed. Emeka had come to his senses, they concluded. But had he?
Two months later, like a bad dream, Emeka brought up the issue of this Ijebu girl again! This time, his tone was firm. Despite the threats of the parents, he was not cowed. He was resolute to the point of obstinacy. Even the tears of his mother did not move him. His parents concluded their son was indeed under a spell.
When it became obvious, after many months of dialogue, pressure, threats, pleas, tears and quarrels that Emeka was hell-bent on marrying Lola, his parents grudgingly gave their consent, but the father warned that nobody should run to him if the marriage went awry. The father also refused to accompany him to Ijebu-Ode for the marriage rites, saying that as an elder, it was a taboo for him to travel far away from home. It did not matter that a few months before the marriage rites, he had travelled through Ijebu-Ode on his way to Lagos.
Not only his parents were against the marriage: Out of Emeka’s three brothers and two sisters, only his younger sister was on his side. But Emeka overlooked all that and went ahead with the marriage.
When Lola came into the family, it was obvious that she was not welcomed. She was just being tolerated. Matters were not helped by the fact that Emeka had recently relocated his architecture business from Lagos to Nnewi, to take advantage of the burgeoning building industry in the town. And even though he had built his own house, it was within the same compound where his parents lived. It was a large compound: All the four sons had their portions of land within the compound, even though two of them were not based at home.
Another handicap Lola had was language: Igbo was the language of the family, but Lola spoke only English and Yoruba. So, Lola began forcing herself to speak Igbo. Any time she uttered an Igbo word or sentence, people would laugh. But her determination and sense of humour impressed everyone. She also did something that nobody around her did: she curtsied or knelt down when greeting elders, especially her husband’s parents, no matter how hard they protested against such acts. That act and her accent marked her out as a Yoruba, which made people treat her like an egg and call her “Iyawo.”
Most mornings, Lola would go early to the quarters of her husband’s parents, greet them, tidy up their rooms and collect their clothes for washing. She would ensure that Papa and Mama had their meals. She asked her mother in-law to teach her how to cook all local meals. Mama was eager to teach her, and she learnt fast. Any time Papa or Mama complained of backache, rheumatism or fever, Lola ensured that they got medical treatment. Most evenings, she would spend some time with them, either alone or in the company of her husband, before retiring to bed. Her brother in-law’s wife sneered that she was shamelessly trying to buy love with her boot-licking tactics. But Lola was not bothered about that.
Less than a year after Lola came into the family, the music changed. Emeka’s parents, especially the father, never completed a sentence without mentioning “Iyawo.” He would tell anyone who cared to listen, including the wives of his other three sons, that if it was not for Iyawo, he would have long died.
Today, Lola speaks Igbo, or rather Nnewi, like a daughter of the soil. As far as Emeka’s parents are concerned, “Iyawo” can do no wrong. Even when Emeka complains about her before his parents, they will not let him finish before warning him never to do anything that will hurt that “peace-loving girl.”
Unknown to everyone, before Lola left her parents’ home, she fortified herself for any eventuality, having known that her husband’s family were not happy about the marriage. Her parents had also done all they could to dissuade her from marrying an Igbo man, but their words fell on her like water on the back of a duck. So she knew she had a major battle to face in her new home. Failure was not an option, for if the marriage failed or proved unhappy, her parents would give her the I-told-you treatment. Consequently, before leaving for Nnewi, she boiled herself in a pot of charm. Then, she etched the charm on her face, tongue and heart. The power in the charm was meant to automatically make anyone around her to like her. Anyone she smiled at or talked to was meant to be charmed by her.
What is the name of that charm and how much does it cost? The name of the charm is simple: Genuine love for others. It costs nothing to buy. No medicine-man is needed to prepare or administer it. It has no overdose. Everyone can prepare it. Everyone can administer it: At home, in the office, on the street, in the market. Its result on people is magical. Nobody can resist its effect, including “wicked mothers in-law” and “impossible bosses.” Fortunately, it is available in all parts of the world: In Ijebu-Ode or Nnewi, Zaria or Ikot-Ekpene, New York or Kabul.
Everybody wants to be loved, appreciated and respected. When love is shown (over a period of time) to even untamed animals like the bear, leopard, chimpanzee, hyena, etc, they respond with friendliness. Human beings have the capacity to even respond better than animals when shown love.
The rule in all human relations is that you get what you give. If you smile a lot at people, you receive smiles. If you are cold to people, you receive coldness and more. If you love to help others, you receive help and love. Therefore, those who go about demanding and expecting love, care, and respect from others may get disappointed, but those who first give love, care, and respect to others usually receive them manyfold. Showing genuine love to others is a potent charm that works like magic.
By Anayo M. Nwosu
I will be a chairman at a wedding reception this Saturday I feel tempted to give the message in this write up as my opening speech but would rather refer the couple to read this article on my Facebook page.
I got the earliest hint of the power of making a woman cry through marvelous performance in bed when I was in the University.
It was when beyond all fathomable reasons that were not academic, good looks nor financial, Matilda, a beautiful daughter of an Onitsha-based billionaire was stuck with a guy known as Surugede.
Surugede was not the only guy in the whole of University of Nigeria Nsukka that was heavily endowed with a huge staff of office but he was able to hone his skills and put his priced natural resource to good use.
He was a sportsman and could run round the Francis Akanu Ibiam stadium in the university up to 10 times nonstop.
The guy never played with his stamina building or sustaining exercises.
He could do 70 "press-ups" in quick succession to the admiration of both males and females who gathered every Saturday to exercise in the stadium.
The icing Surugede added to his sweet cake of excellent stamina was his good knowledge of female geography and rule of action sequencing in bed.
I heard that he was also very patient and could "use his tongue well" unlike many conservative Igbo boys who think that it's all about rude entrance, brutish thrusting and premature ejaculation.
Matilda treated Surugede as a god and suffocated him with love and care all throughout our stay in the university.
A man with big phallus, good stamina, good knowledge of actions sequencing in bed, patience and menacingly good use of tongue is a divine gift to a prayerful woman.
We men, know it for a fact, that not all owners of big phallus could put it to a menacingly good use as a purveyor of a woman to that highest point of bliss; that sweet feeling that's more valuable than silver and gold.
What is the worth of a man with all the money in the world who cannot make his wife feel like a thoroughly shaken woman?
It was a good omen that a day after my traditional wedding, one of my uncles known for "charity work"(i.e. helping sexually weak husbands or relatives satisfy their starved wives) sent for me.
"Anayo, I sincerely hope that you know what you are up against when you chose to marry a beautiful woman," he started to my great embarrassment. "Was that why you called me?" I wondered.
"Ghuchaa nti gi!" meaning "listen carefully!" he warned, "I observed as you were smiling from ear to ear during the traditional wedding ceremony. You danced so well too but that was not enough. It's not all it takes to be the man to your woman.
"I know that were your dad alive today, he would be telling you what you are about to hear from me.
"My son, let it never be lost on you that the submission of a woman to her husband begins in the bedroom; if you cannot satisfy her in bed, you shall never control her outside bedroom.
"The anger of a sexually satisfied wife is always moderated by her reminiscence of her husband's heroics in bed.
"If both of you quarrel or fight and she runs to her father's house, the thought of what she misses would make her return to your house with or without apologies from you.
"Many people don't know my usefulness in this community until I'm no more. I'm even getting old and have reduced the number of women I help do what their useless husbands could not do.
"Anayo, my son, don't play with alligator pepper, cocoyam fufu and ora soup, kolanuts, mmimi and bitter cola. They are good activators especially when the soul is willing but the body is weak.
"You should also exercise regularly since you modern people unlike us, no longer exercise your bodies by making ridges or yam mounds in the farms. You could constantly do what would stretch your stamina to enable you last long in bed.
"Now, bring out that your manhood let me see", my funny uncle asked but I deemed that border-crossing.
I told him that he didn't need to see my phallus to pass on his message.
My uncle laughed and said that he just wanted to know whether I had what it takes to make a woman cry for more. To that, I allowed him a wide speculation.
"I could tell from the way you walk, that you are loaded. Are you not the son of Obiukwu? You cannot resemble him in looks alone.
"In our own time, we the young men could easily rate ourselves by mere observation as we didn't have the luxury of imprisoning our manhoods as you children of nowadays do with pants", my uncle said with a grin on his face.
As I was about to leave, my uncle said: " I wish you well my son, but always remember that the key to the real happiness of your wife is in between your legs and to some extent in your tongue".
With about two decades gone and still counting, I have come to hold as invaluable and supreme, the lessons from Surugede and my uncle David.
Let any man who wants to marry, build up and maintain his stamina in bed. It is a sine qua non. It is the salt, sugar and honey combined in a marriage.
A man ripe for marriage should also find many ways of sustaining his capabilities in bed by reading wider or asking elderly and more experienced men on how to satisfy a woman in bed.
Unfortunately, the act of "doing it well" is not learnt in the church or in the mosque. Discussing sex is deemed unholy or lascivious or being overly canal by religious people.
Funnily, the most religious of women crave for this happiness but are so shy to speak up or demand for it.
A woman could resurrect a shy phallus by licking it as she would a candy or chocolate hoisted on a stick.
With a tender female mouth, the bone could rise again to do great exploits!
All men should know that comfort alone does not make a woman happy. This also is outside the realm of fasting and prayer.
It is illusory for a man to wonder why his wife has gone to seek for sexual happiness elsewhere or is in the bosom of charity givers like my uncle.
On the last day, so many wealthy men who are very poor in happiness producing bed performances would be shocked to learn how their drivers, gardeners, supposedly best friends,male relations, and wives' colleagues in the office have helped to service their wives.
Unfortunately, many people, including my readers here would rather not discuss this kind of topic openly.
They would read and not post a comment too.
A problem once known is half solved.
Find, enhance and maintain your happiness today.
