What Will Happen Tomorrow

Behold the vision shown unto me by the Flying Spaghetti monster, all praise be to his noodly name!

Tomorrow, NASA (National Aeronautics and Space Administration) will unveil a major discovery about the red planet (Mars) to the world. Expectations are high; rivers of speculations are flowing from scientist and non-scientist alike. For the science inclined, excitement has gotten to frenzy. What can it possibly be? Has life been found on Mars? Is it water? A new element? What is it?

Tomorrow, our questions will all be answered. Meanwhile, somewhere in Nigeria tomorrow, a Pastopreneur while preparing his mid-week sermon for the sheeple of Christ will come across whatever NASA announces and will decide to reflect it in his sermon. He will tell the sheep of god’s fold how stupid white people are for trying to inquire into the perfect work of god (…I am yet to figure out why the average Nigerian believes only whiteMEN, Americans precisely, embark on discovery…please is Neil Tyson white?). He will remind the sheeple of how god teleported him to hell, heaven and round the cosmos; how god has shown him what NASA just discovered 5 years ago.

Continue reading “What Will Happen Tomorrow”


How many more

How many more

Before I have my fill…

How many more tears will flow –

To fill my ever growing

Basket of despair

How many more

Rain, pain, shame.

How many more fight

Before our bitter strive is laid to rest

How many more

Hate, rage, dirge…


How many search

before I’ll find you

How many more

Craving, longing, dying…

from ‘Songs of Yesteryears’ by Yinka Amao

How I came by…

Like the millet chaff
Tossed here and there by the wind
I came by
Finally finding a fitting hollow to settle…
Like the flood after the rain
I find my course to the river
To begin a new flow again…
Like a young tree
After surviving a turbulent stormy night
Bowing to the wind
I raise my head at dawn to greet the sun…
Like the moon
After sleeping all day
I wake at twilight to work all night…
Like a guard
On a watchtower
I long all night
Waiting for the day to come…
Like a child patiently waiting
For the ice cream vendor
I salivate over the thought
Of the flavour over and over…
Like an eagle
Soaring above the wind
Ruling the skies
I spread my wings in dominance…
Like a superior specie
I outnumber others
Spreading like a virus across the fields…
Like footballers on the pitch
I take my post alongside others
To achieve same goal…
Like the Grim reaper
Knowing no rest
Taking young and old
I continue my endless quest…
Like when X is infinity
I get lost in endless thought
Rotating, revolving and evolving
Like the earth in endless space…
I keep trying to make sense of this vanity…
While praying for my eternity.
This is how I came by…
This is how I always come by.

God Loves D’banj (and his music)

It happened in church today. You are most likely familiar (especially if you attend a Yoruba dominated church where the talking drum is employed in worship) with that moment when singing halts and the talking-drummer is allowed to roll-out and display his drumming skills with everybody digging it down ‘kon kon be lo…’ Such was the dance moment today; the lead singer screamed ‘Kabiyesi O!’ the church chorused ‘Eshe O!’ and as expected, the talking-drum rolled out beautifully.

talking drum

Now we all know the talking-drums talks; many a times it rolls-out melodies, but often times than not, those melodies are interjected with occasional proverbs and adages. I heard something familiar. At first I thought I was hallucinating, and then I look across the auditorium and saw two deranged teenagers acting out what I thought the drum said. They were ‘dance-slapping’ themselves.

The lead singer called again, ‘Kabiyesi O!’ we replied, ‘Eshe O!’ the talking-drummer rolled the same tune again. This time, two uncles behind me (probably forced to church by their wives) chorused the tune of the drum. With grotesque voices that need a servicing, they said;

‘eni to ba ta fele-fele, eni to ba she rada-rada

                   eni to ba ta fele-fele, rada-rada, wanran-wanran

                    eyin boys! Egba oju e! eyin boys! Egba oju e!’

This roughly translates as;

‘anyone that misbehaves, anyone that mis-yans

                   anyone way show himself, anyone way do anyhow

                   Boys! Slap him! Boys! Slap him! (Interpretation mine) Continue reading “God Loves D’banj (and his music)”

An Open Letter to all Chauvinistic Mysogynists

This is an open letter to all members of the He-man Women Haters Club. How market? This is my reaction to your uncultured comments on the rumored emergence of Aishatu Alhassan as the Governor elect of Taraba State. I will tell you my mind, irrespective of what you think.
It’s unbelievable that your male ego was deeply bruised by what would have been a wise choice by the people of Taraba. You will rather have a vegetative man rule Taraba state than have a competent woman do the job. On hearing the news, your myopic mind triggered wails of ‘women of taraba have taken their men’s trousers!’ ‘So her husband will occupy office of the first man,’ you scorned. I am forced to ask, what is wrong with you?
It is a pathetic wonder that beasts of your species still exists. You even went on to say that the vegetative governor is better than the alleged woman elect. I find your existence a mystery; your life goals and will power is infused in your penile muscle and more surprising is the fact that you think with your middle-belt region. Is your mother a woman? You are a disgrace to manhood (if there is anything like that).
I try to understand your plight to no avail. You mean you will rather die than be saved by a woman? You believe women have no place in leadership because it’s your birthright. You own a penis and then you are a leader? That’s it? Pathetic! Leadership is not a function of gender, Sappho (570 BC) would explain that to you, Cleopatra (69-30BC) would have your penis barbecued before explaining it to you, Queen Amina, Eleanor of Aquitaine, Joan of Arc, Elizabeth I, Jane Austen, Golda Meir, Margaret Thatcher, Benazir Bhutto (Pakistani PM), Ellen Johnson Sirleaf…and we are still counting. Like men, these women have their short-comings but over all, they have proven they are as competent as the male folks.
In conclusion, I don’t know what else to tell you. I don’t know how else to explain, but I will sum it up this way, we are all humans. We all have brains. Some of us are men others are women, in fact, some are neither of the two. What else do I tell you? Ok…Aishatu may not have won this election but she has done something very important just like Remi Sonaiya did. She has proven to the women of Taraba and Nigeria that there is no limit to a woman’s dream. When you women haters asked her ‘why?’ she replied you with ‘Why not?’ ….peace

Introducing Me: the man of the spirits

Collectively we have reached the point where truth meets falsehood, where cold meets hot, where valour meets cowardice, where progress meets retrogression. We have indeed reached the meeting point – Orita meta.

Orita meta is the converging point. It is the place where two paths meets and head towards one direction. It is the muster point, a strong anchor, a save haven. It is the gathering of those tired of discord; it is the place for agreement.


I am the Medium of the path-ways, the avatar of the kindred spirits – the Human spirit. I am the voice of change garnished with truth, the arm of justice strengthened with mercy. I am build with logic because I am possessed of the spirits of the universe. I hear the voice of evolution and reckon with the forces behind it. I wait day and night at the place where the paths meet. I receive the travelers in search of truth.

At the confluence point of all thoughts, where I have made my abode. I setup my workshop to which I invite you all. There, we will beat down every sword into ploughshare, rebuild the wall of peace we’ve long destroyed. There we will connect with whom we truly are – our inner self…at the place where all good paths leads.