Now that I’ve been scammed into adulthood where there is no more Santa and his gifts unless I take my wallet and debit card to the market, by myself, to get me my wishes.
I write this with the most carefully selected words when I say, that was the longest, most-boring church service I’ve ever attended in my life.
One of the soldiers told me to sit down ‘cause they were not going to let me cross the border. He informed me I would be returning to Nigeria with them after their shift in the morning. Hehehe… it wasn’t funny
That Christmas taught me never to look down or get too used to Christmas jollof rice, ever again.
Christmas preparations as a teenager had me plucking feathers off dead chickens soaked in big bowls of hot water. Gosh! How I hated that smell.
Christmas was also the only time I ever got new clothes. See, as I was the youngest child in the family, most of my clothes were hand-me-downs.
She traced his broad chest down to his waist, struggling to get her hand on his penis but his zipper wouldn’t budge.
See ehn, my village people followed me to Lagos that day
Hey God…I wanted to die. “You brought me here to compete with prostitutes?”
“I will like to get down with you right now, if you’d permit me.” He added. Olorun iye! In the middle of Lagos road!
I think about the children who just like me, never really thrive in the cramming, repetition and recitation method of learning.