Femi Uncensored

Writer || Cypher_HD "He never understands", she thought as she listened to 25 Adele's latest album with the rain thundering in the background. It had been raining since she left work and she got home drenched. The power had gone out as it usually does when it rained and she had exhausted her laptop charge watching her new favourite series " Two and a half men " and now she was stuck with thoughts she didn't want to have and desires the silly cold was amplifying by the second. It had been two days and six hours since she last had him (yes, her vagina keeps track of time) and about an hour later he stormed out of her house simply because she joked about him being a pussy for not going up to an hour straight. Not that the sex wasn't great,  it was fantastic in fact, but some silly twitter joke about lasting time just popped up and Mr serious pants doesn't never gets twitter jokes. So tonight she was going to have to satisfy this ache in...

I peered out the window as the taxi cruised its way through the town’s main street. I tried to reconcile the pictures in my head with the changes I saw in my head. The main street had been expanded and is about twice its previous width. The local government complex was wearing new paints. “New coats, same folks.” The driver snickered. I had the feeling that it wasn’t the first time he had cracked the joke.  The small maternity home where my mom worked now featured a large adjoined one storey hospital. Even St. Peters comprehensive college, my alma mater had a large billboard that proudly announced its name. Damn, I miss home! I thought. Little changes they might seem but the effect was huge on me. I have spent the last 9 months, far away, in the dusty villages of conflict ridden Sudan. I was one of the Nigerian soldiers selected to partake in the UN peacekeeping mission in Sudan. I miss my family, not that there was many left to call “family” except my mum. Dad had...

I stumbled upon a heart piercing true life story about humanity and kindness. It was posted by Reddit user, Rhoner as a comment to another story. Here's the story: Just about every time I see someone I stop. I kind of got out of the habit in the last couple of years, moved to a big city and all that, my girlfriend wasn't too stoked on the practice. Then some stuff happened to me that changed me and I am back to offering rides habitually. If you would indulge me, it is long story and has almost nothing to do with hitch hiking other than happening on a road.  This past year I have had 3 instances of car trouble. A blow out on a freeway, a bunch of blown fuses and an out of gas situation. All of them were while driving other people's cars which, for some reason, makes it worse on an emotional level. It makes it worse on a practical level as well, what with the fact that I carry things like a jack and extra fuses in my car, and know enough not to park, facing downhil...

I'm sick. . . I'm sick, sick of hearing or reading arguments on how our leaders have failed us. How those whom we 'chose' have turned their backs on us and our collective interests. How the custodians of our treasure trove have gorged themselves silly with the national cake. Mad messiahs that manifest every now and then, seeking to give us bread crumbs in exchange for our dreams. I’m sick, sick of how we have taken a passive stance to the affairs of our nation. How we have turned dumb, spineless sheep to the shenanigans of our leadership. We have allowed religious and ethnocentric sentiments distract and derail national progress. I’m sick, sick of propagators of gender equality . They claim their movement is aimed at “defining, establishing, and defending equal political, economic, cultural, and social rights for both men and women”, yet they seek preferential treatment. Napoleons in human skins that want to be more equal than others. I’m sick, sick of pe...

*** Did you miss Episode 2  <<< Click to read Tuesday. 7:20AM. I was standing in front of the wardrobe mirror when she walked in. I just got back from the bathroom. She stood by the doorway which was adjacent to the wardrobe.  We had not seen each other since I came back from the weekend get-away. I greeted her.

***Did you miss Episode 1 ? << Click to read. Regards to Your Mommsy Friday night.  Some minutes to Nine. I opened my eyes and scanned the view before me. My gaze lifted from the up and down movement of her head between the open fly of my grey shorts to the shimmering blueness of the pool. The live band was performing from a corner, at the southern side of the rectangular pool, they sampled songs that ranged from highlife, Fuji, Afro-pop to blues. Hotel guests were scattered on either sides of the pool, most sat, others danced or walked around to meet and greet.

Aside: This very short poem was originally composed and published (on Facebook) in July of 2012; a period when I had just began taking little nervous sips from the epiphanic wineglass of creative writing. It is the second poem I ever wrote. I was trying to capture the mental turmoil and constipation that befalls a writer before we see the beauty of his/her work. Writer In Distress Momentarily, motion became motionless, Warring ideas encamp bare brain, Blue black, Lilac, Perception becomes deception, Thought-tainted blood, Flowed through nail-bitten fingers, Wood and Lead came to life,  To issue that which had strived.

When I got the job offer, I almost went crazy.  It was on a Thursday morning. I had just finished about two hours of workout; jogging, dumb bells, push ups and the rest of the package. I swiped open my phone to read new chats, when I saw the notification from my Gmail. I couldn’t believe it. I have been unemployed for two years and the hope of getting a job was waning. I was starting to get used to the job hunting process which was like an endless roller coaster ride.

*** This article was first published on The Naked Convos. Note: This piece was not written with a certain category of people in mind. The category of people that are NOT ready for serious relationship – you still want to hoe around for a while before getting committed? Why not? Let’s get down to business. First, have in mind that a relationship is a 50/50 affair. You have 50% stake and your partner has 50% stake. So before you start setting parameters – work on your 50%. What I mean is; before you start defining what type of relationship (or partner) you want, work on yourself.

Every molue passenger is a potential mad or woman! If I had had the premonition of what I was to go through on the morning of a particular Tuesday in 2014, I would have stayed or slept at home all day. But then, how was I supposed to know that I was just another mad Nigerian waiting to be unveiled.

A few weeks ago, I was trying to give the government a piece of my mind in writing as regard the deplorable state of the nation. After I had written over 700 words of fine rhetoric, it occurred to me that I was unwittingly treading the well trodden path which most political thinkers, writers, bus stop parliamentarians, and most Nigerians tread every day. 

"Flash fiction?! What the hell is that?!" That was my reaction, earlier this year, when I stumbled upon this strange and 'deceptively complex' genre. I read a few which I really liked. Also known as Micro-fiction, it's a straight to the point, point-blank story. It's the short story of a short story. Last week, I had this picture in my head which wouldn't fit a "typical short story". So I was like, why not give flash fiction a shot? So here's my first flash fiction story. I hope you enjoy it! 😀 My timepiece; stainless steel Diesel. Italian. The Skeletal design, which exposes the eyes to the mechanical movements of the clockwork is complemented by the robotic hands. A classy space-age jewellery for a time conscious mind. “Excuse me”, said a plump woman standing beside me at the bus stop. “Please, what is it by your time?” I promptly dipped my left hand in my pocket and fetched out my smartphone. I dabbed in my password. The ho...

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For sometime now my Twitter timeline has been awash with the “Cooking debate”. Whether you like it or not, cooking in marriage is a big deal. Big enough to wreck the marriage. Questions like – whose responsibility is it to cook in a home? Or should a woman neglect duties such as cooking or caretaking for the husband (or maid)? – are inspired by feminism backed by a little foolishness.

6:37 pm. Eko Hotel & Suites, Lagos. The new bride stood at the threshold of her suites’ balcony, gazing dreamily into the vista of the Kuramo beach against the backdrop of a setting sun. The fingers of her right hand are curled around the bowl of a wine glass. Baileys. It is the only other liquid she drinks after orange juice and water. Mostly in that order. The finger of her left hand, splayed and lost, in the softness of a flame patterned chestnut drape. She enjoyed the way the hem of her bathrobe flutter in the evening breeze.

I was a stray waif before I met you. Alone. Lost. Broken. But hopeful. Mistrust is a heavy cloak. But the world is cold. ‘Come closer, let me love you.’ You said.

The African cathedral at the end of the street ended its Sunday service over an hour ago. It was a wonderful service; a welcome service for the beloved Bishop Dairo, who had been absent for two weeks. The bishop had embarked on a spiritual mission to a mountain (or Ori-oke, as the Yorubas call it) in Ondo state, for a 14 days (and 14 nights) prayer and fasting. The amiable bishop beamed with joy throughout the thanksgiving service. Indeed, he looked fresher than he was two weeks ago but it is only the devil-inspired ones that would deem it suspicious. After all, Moses was on Mount Sinai with God for 40 days and nights and he came back looking radiant. Songs of praises and heavenly hymns made the service glorious despite the noticeable absence of the choirmaster.

Something odd happened to me recently. I had a discussion with a man, whom I courteously refer to as egbon (Yoruba word for elder brother). You see, egbon is a smart and jovial man in his mid-thirties. But regrettably, he has no formal education. Hence, he is unable to speak, read and write the English language. However, he is very keen on being an English literate, so he enrolled himself in an Adult Education programme. During the course of our discussion (which was in Yoruba) about his challenges with English, he asked me an unexpected question.

I can't breathe. That was the second thought Femi's brain registered. He felt his heart pecking rapidly against his chest. There was no rhythm. Like the big diesel generating set in his parent’s church. He felt adrenaline, that hot fluidal energy, run its course through his veins. He was in danger. That instinctive fight or flight danger... And his first thought had been – flight!

Here's a funny & one of my favorite Short stories from one of Russia's greatest dramtist & writer Anton Chekhov (1860 - 1904).       ________________________________________ I AM a serious person and my mind is of a philosophic bent. My vocation is the study of finance. I am a student of financial law and I have chosen as the subject of my dissertation -- the Past and Future of the Dog Licence. I need hardly point out that young ladies, songs, moonlight, and all that sort of silliness are entirely out of my line.