Random Musings

27 April 2016

Life - Dance Or Game?

Photo Source: www.fubiz.net

My favourite person has always told me that life is a dance, not a game. I've never really taken time to think about this statement; now, I have. All it took was to differentiate a dance from a game.

Obsession

Photo Source: quotesgram.com

Some people are so interested in becoming so-and-so person, that they even lose their identity.

It was the way she wrapped the scarf on her hair. It was the way the Jean trousers hugged her skin tight. Perhaps, it was the way she smiled. On a body whose owner he felt drawn to, he wasn't sure exactly what it was that attracted him.

The Dead That Spoke

Guest Post From Amaka Obioji

Photo Source: splattermap.wordpress.com

I. Spirits of the fathers, spirits of the magnitude who claimed saints but yet forever searched heavens, spirits who spoke through fires and stones, where is thy existence beyond which I heard from afar?

Tales From Ada

Guest Post From Amaka Felly Obioji

Photo Source: chikaforafrica.com

Have I told you a sorrow tale of a life not well spent, or witches who lurk at night for your soul; or the ghost who couldn't make heaven and stayed back on earth to cause havoc?

Ifs, Ifs and Ifs

Photo Source: alidavies.com

While I was distributing questionnaires to some youths regarding my thesis, we got to talk. We addressed the laziness of contemporary youths; their habit of waiting to be spoon-fed and always laying blames on the government.

During the course of argumentation, one of them said that it's not our fault. According to him, we're more brilliant than the likes of Einstein and Newton. The only problem is that they just didn't leave anything for us to invent.

Ekaette, My Loss (Finale)

Guest Post From Ak Kingsley

Photo Source: afrclothing.blogspot.com

Read Ekaette , My Loss (Part 4)

It was very rare to hear the tusk blown, except during war, death of the king or an important personality and in the event of calamity or emergency. Many thoughts quickly ran through my mind as fear set in.

Turning to the direction of the main entrance of the compound, I saw an army of warriors with a few palace guards, eyes red, with matches and spears in their hands, fiercely marching in towards me. I knew something big had come to visit me, but what and why?

This Is Nigeria

Photo Source: freecoloringpages.co.uk

This is Nigeria. In Nigeria, a man steals a girl and some people try to convince us that it is okay.

This is Nigeria. In Nigeria, some people hide under the veil of religion to commit barbaric crimes.

This is Nigeria. In Nigeria, some people tolerate all sorts of evil practices by looking away.

The Rain

Photo Source: smilingpritz.blogspot.com

29 February, 2016.

08:15pm GMT.

A girl is laying on her bed watching a movie. Suddenly, she hears sounds on the roof. Tap. Tap. Tap.

She is bewildered. She pauses the movie to listen deeply. The sounds continue. Tap. Tap. Tap.

Who Lied?

Photo Source: sapphire75123.deviantart.com

I got into a fight today. It was for my right. My mother got mad at me, but it was her fault. Maybe.

My mother told me about her giant strides in school. How she was always the first in class.

My mother told me about her excellent awards. How she got a Nobel prize for best student.

My mother told me about her friends. How she was the best among them and they were jealous.

Photo Source: www.flickr.com

Read Ekaette , My Loss (Part 3)

Guest Post From Ak Kingsley

My small hut was my sanctuary; it was built right in middle our compound with three other smaller huts surrounding it. My father originally occupied it until his demise.

This morning, I failed to wake up early and it was unusual of me. A while ago, Mma (my mother) had knocked, but I was too weak to get up from my raffia bed, which glued my body to it as though we covenanted never to part.

Ekaette, My Loss (Part 3)

Guest Post From Ak Kingsley

Read Ekaette, My Loss (Part 2)

Photo Source: tangblog.com

Getting close, the figure became clearer; it was a female. The beam of moon light shone through the branches and pointed directly on parts of her face, shoulder and breasts.

She smiled, moving her left palm up and down the Ukim, rubbing it as if romancing a man. A strange cold breeze enveloped me, and my temperature rose as my heart pounced faster.

Ekaette was about the most beautiful young girl in our village. We grew up in the same neighbourhood, though she was far younger than me. My grandmother referred to her as anwaan anyin (daughter in-law) right from birth, with future intention. Her grandmother too was a party to the 'future conspiracy' and would always send Ekaette on errands to our house. It was a plan to get us acquainted, and ready for the future.

Countless times, I'd helped rebuild her grandmother's hut, fetched firewood for her mother and helped them in the farm. I did all of these to impress Ekaette. We both lost our fathers to communal war between our village and Ubium, over the burial of an Obongawan (Queen) in our community who was married from Ubium. They insisted that the Obongawan be interred in ther land while our Edidem forbade such.

War ensued and ended with our community having to pay heavily to Ubium, before taking the corpse for burial. We were told our fathers were overpowered and beheaded, after the duo killed the then Ubium's only prince and Obong Ekpo (leader or chief of Ekpo cult).

Here at the foot of the great Ukim stood the previously young naive daughter of the late warrior and slayer of Ubium's prince. Now, she was a full-grown woman with smooth skin, slightly fair with cat eyes that spoke of humility, innocence and pure beauty. Her eyes could melt the heart and hand of a warrior and get him to beg for a touch.

Photo Source: en.wikipedia.org

Her lips naturally red and inviting, especially while smiling, plus she had dimples to cap her facial beauty. A little below her neck (upper chest) was a tattooed insignia of nsibidi Ekpe (the secret/coded writing of Ekpe cult), which reminded her and her family that she was born on the night her father was initiated; hers was an insignia of love.

Her breasts stood pointy as she was young and fertile, having a slightly reddish nipples which was rare among young girls. She had beads on her waist and a piece of animal skin wrapped to cover her big rounded buttocks and private part, exposing her large hips down to her legs.

If Atakpo (our deity) was watching us at the foot of this Ukim, he'd better close his eyes and give us privacy, I foolishly thought to myself. Ekaette's soft grip felt like a sharp stroke running through my spine to my feet. Her breasts pressed on my bare chest as she placed her head on my shoulder, rubbing one hand on my hairy chest. Even the gods could feel the gravity of 'highness' I was on that sacred ground.

...and not even the mosquitoes biting me there could have stopped me at that moment. I was determined...

For product placement/advertisement or if you would like to feature on this blog, contact me - yakadams7@gmail.com

Read Ekaette , My Loss (Part 1)

Like My Facebook Page Now.

About The Author

Ak Kingsley

Ak Kingsley is a young Nigerian broadcaster and writer, passionate about social and political literature. He also has special interest in black history. With a mic and a pen, he is inexhaustible.

Connect with Ak on Facebook .

Other Stories You May Like

Ekaette, My Loss (Part 2)
Talk To Me
Suddenly
A Girl I Knew
She Didn't Cut Off Ben
Disoncerted
Ekaette , My Loss (Part 1)

Recent Random Musings
Ekaette , My Loss (Part 1)
Letter Of A Dying Soul
In 2016, Don't Quit
Who Will Quench Our Hunger?
Still On Christmas
I Believe
The Reason
If I Were Santa
She Didn't Cut Off Ben
The Reason For The Season
Recent Focus Of The Church - Profit Making?
How To Adjust With Your Roommate To Have A Great Time
Donate To Help Eradicate Illiteracy In Ghana
Launching And Gostrels Celebration @ 3
Damn Thing Called Love
Help Her
Did I Ever Ask You To Be My Dad?
Itam Market Day
You Are Perfect
Do You Think God Cares?
I Believe
Comfort In The Rain
AIDS And Aids

Hot Random Musings
Letter of a dying soul
Talk To Me
Pornography In Nollywood
Women: Your Post-Marriage Lifestyle The 21st Century Society
My Society
When I Die
I Want To Write
The Art Of Pick-Up Lines
BETTER SEX OR JUST BUNK?

4 February 2016

Ekaette, My Loss (Part 2)

Guest Post From Ak Kingsley

Read Ekaette , My Loss (Part 1)

Photo Source: Can Stock Photo

Afe Idung (village square) was quite a large space, which could contain the entire inhabitants of the village. Public meetings, wrestling contests, local treaties and festivals took place there. At a far corner, was a large Ukim (Mahogany tree) whose foot served as a point of sacrifices to Ikaan (spirits of the ancestors).

My eyes took a quick scan of the square. Kids were running around, teens were playing and there was general excitement under the moon light. We joined the company of Mkpongonyong, Akube and Isemin who were engrossed in an argument whether or not Prince Mkpang, first son of our Edidem (King), had the right to freely handpick a girl as his wife without consent from the girl.

"That is not our tradition. Edidem only copied it from Arochukwu and wants to impose on us," Isemin argued.

"Akparawa, let Mkpang pick his wife anyhow. He is the prince and deserves even more. It doesn't matter where Edidem (king) brought the idea from," Mkpongonyong disputed, as he poured the palm wine we brought into a small Ukpok (local palm wine cup).

Although Isemin and Mkpongonyong were somehow right, I nodded in support of the former, but uttered no word. It was a sacrilege to challenge Edidem's decision and deemed a crime against Atakpo (our local deity). Therefore, the culprit would be beheaded by Ekpe (a cult) and buried in the evil forest.

As this flashed in my mind, I stylishly withdrew myself and left the ensemble without their notice to avoid being counted among them, just in case the argument got to Edidem's ears. Foolish of me though, I was already waist deep into the taboo, having spent a while and even drank palm wine with the threesome.

I quickly waved the fear aside and fed my mind on what brought me to Afe Idung. As I wandered about curiously, strolling around the area of the square where the girls were playing, my eyes carefully checked everyone present.

Adiaha, Ikpong-Mma, Affiong, Nko, Arit, Mmafiong, Mkpoikanna, Utipime, Enomfon, Uyai, Eno, Ekanem-Anwan... I practically took a 'voiceless role call' and someone was missing. Mixed feelings struck me and I became restless.

Where could she be? Did she deceive me? Was she in danger? Many questions stormed my mind. A strange fear gripped me. I couldn't get angry, but scared and worried about her whereabouts.

In no time, I noticed that apart from the children who were playing, the older peers were in pairs. Even the spot where Isemin and co. sat was transformed to a meeting of two. The girls paired up with male folks at different spots, getting engrossed in intimacy.

As I was about to head home in disappointment, I heard a faint voice calling me from the direction of the Ukim. I looked closely and saw no one, then I began to retreat.

Rumours claimed that Ikaan would strike dead anyone who defiled the sanctity of the great Ukim. Another had it that evil spirits roamed about at night; sometimes in the form of a young man or girl, then harmed people especially at the square.

These stories came alive in my mind as I went numb. The voice was hers, but I wasn't sure if she was the one. Why would she choose this sacred Ukim of all the spots in the square?

Could it be an evil spirit? But, Ikaan should protect an innocent person like me. I summoned courage and decided to oblige the call; after all, I had sworn not to let anything stop my fun.

For product placement/advertisement or if you would like to feature on this blog, contact me - yakadams7@gmail.com

Read Ekaette , My Loss (Part 1)

Like My Facebook Page Now.

About The Author

AK Kingsley

Ak Kingsley is a young Nigerian broadcaster and writer, passionate about social and political literature. He also has special interest in black history. With a mic and a pen, he is inexhaustible.

Connect with Ak on Facebook .

Other Stories You May Like
Talk To Me
Suddenly
A Girl I Knew
She Didn't Cut Off Ben
Disoncerted
Ekaette , My Loss (Part 1)

2 February 2016

Ekaette, My Loss (Part 1)

Guest Post From Ak Kingsley

Photo Source: pinterest.com

Moonlight play was always a beautiful experience in the village square. It brought youths and children of the community together to engage in different kinds of folk plays. The kids (mostly below ten) often walked about naked and enjoyed their mkpok eto (traditional game) coupled with ekong nke (folk stories).

Older girls would only have pieces of clothes wrapped around their waists to cover the buttocks and private parts, leaving the upper parts of their bodies bare. They exposed their navels and breasts, except for girls of royal lineage, who were able to afford nice clothes and beads to cover their bodies.

Udo Ntafiong, my friend, took it as his point of duty to come by my hut late in the evening, when the moon began to surface, just to make sure we stroll to Anwa Idung (Village Square) together. Tonight was very special to me, and I promised myself that nothing would hinder my fun.

I was still eating the roasted yam with fresh palm oil, garnished with dry ibat (bonga fish), served by my mother for dinner, when I heard foot steps approaching me from the dark.

"Sai, Akparawa, dah! I've caught you today. Ma'basi!", the voice exclaimed. I chuckled as I took a bite from the already palm oil soaked yam in my hand.

I managed to hurriedly swallow the bitten yam, as I teased, "Ikpa Udo, afo ifod ami! You should have allowed me finish my meal before coming with your strong desire for food. Anyway, there's a piece left here. Amedi."

Before I could utter another word, Udo sat on the raffia stool beside me, descending on the last piece of roasted yam. "Se fien iso, you wanted to finish this delicious meal alone, amenie esid," he commented. I wasn't interested in arguing with him, as my mind was at the village square.

"Mma o" I called my mother, "I'm done eating. I'm going to Anwa Idung". I said it without caring if she heard or not. "Ikpa let's go mbok," I told Udo, then we both set out for the village square.

The village square was strategically located at a place where four bush tracks and a broader track formed a junction. Each of these tracks lead to neighbouring villages; one of them led to the ekpe forest, an abode of ekpe cult, where the famous itiat ekpe was kept.

Women and non-initiates were forbidden to ply the afang ekpe (ekpe route). Udo and I passed through the usung afe route to the village square. He hung the keg of palm wine on his shoulder, which he had taken along, so we'd drink away our worries.

Usung afe was little bit dark. Udara (star apple), mango and gmelina trees grew at both sides of the track, with their branches joining atop to form a canopy. This provided a shade along the track, and beams of light illuminated from the rays of the moonlight. Screeches from crickets and owls greeted us as we walked through the usung afe.

Approaching the village square, I could hear voices, songs, claps and laughter of children and youths. My heart began to beat faster in excitement. However, I managed to hide the feeling from Udo, who was talking endlessly, even when I barely responded.

Like My Facebook Page Now.

About The Author

Ak Kingsley

Akanimo Kingsley is a young Nigerian broadcaster and writer, passionate about social and political literature. He also has special interest in black history. With a mic and a pen, he is inexhaustible.
Connect with Ak on Facebook .

Other Stories You May Like
Talk To Me
Suddenly
A Girl I Knew
She Didn't Cut Off Ben
Disoncerted

Recent Random Musings
Letter Of A Dying Soul
In 2016, Don't Quit
Who Will Quench Our Hunger?
Still On Christmas
I Believe
The Reason
If I Were Santa
She Didn't Cut Off Ben
The Reason For The Season
Recent Focus Of The Church - Profit Making?
How To Adjust With Your Roommate To Have A Great Time
Donate To Help Eradicate Illiteracy In Ghana
Launching And Gostrels Celebration @ 3
Damn Thing Called Love
Help Her
Did I Ever Ask You To Be My Dad?
Itam Market Day
You Are Perfect
Do You Think God Cares?
I Believe
Comfort In The Rain
AIDS And Aids

Hot Random Musings
Talk To Me
Pornography In Nollywood
Women: Your Post-Marriage Lifestyle The 21st Century Society
My Society
When I Die
I Want To Write
The Art Of Pick-Up Lines
BETTER SEX OR JUST BUNK?

17 January 2016

Letter Of A Dying Soul

Guest Post From 'Kemy Austine'

Dear Dad, sincere apologies for the shame I brought to your hitherto “well-meaning family.”

Sorry for the times I was a source of shame, and the black sheep of your family.

Sorry for the beatings I gave to you when you accosted me. Sorry for the abuses I rendered on you, when you corrected me!

Sorry for squandering your money in your quest to educate me. Sorry for selling off your properties in pursuit of wealth. Sorry for being your 'Child’!

Dear Mum, sorry for making God look weak by not changing my attitude, even with your constant prayers.

Sorry for the times I made you a laughing stock in the market places. Sorry for not allowing you to save a penny for yourself, even your safest bank (the helm of your wrapper), was wrecked.

Sorry for constantly invading your kitchen with those hooligans after a drinking spree. Sorry for making your eyes an ever flowing stream of tears!

My dear siblings, sorry for being the prodigal child. Sorry for making our home a constant war front.

Sorry for the many times I starved you. Sorry for the many times I bullied you. Sorry for making you friendless. Sorry for turning our room to a drinking parlour and a smoking ground.

Sorry for making our parents unable to educate you. Sorry for putting such great grieve in your soul!

My dear friends, (especially Quintex), sorry for making you kill (abort). Sorry for the times I had betrayed your trust.

Sorry for the times I visited your homes and made your parents accuse you of theft.

Sorry for the times I exiled you from your homes by policemen due to the crimes I committed. Sorry for distracting your academic cum moral upbringing.

Sorry for luring you to use your church offerings for ice cream and biscuits. Sorry for the life of gambling. Sorry for ruining your future!

Dear co – workers, sorry for the quarrels you have received on my behalf.

Sorry for the haphazard ways I carried out my duties. Sorry for the negligence.

Sorry for the calumny I did spread about you. Sorry for the times I made you unfaithful to your spouses.

Sorry for the times I made you lie by “covering me up.” Sorry for making you offend God. Sorry for being a destructor rather than a co – builder!

And finally dear God, sorry for making your ministers seem useless. Sorry for the times I harassed some. Really sorry for the times I robbed some.

Sorry for the difficulties I have made your creatures pass through; I had made many orphans, some widows, others widowers.

I had made many hungry, some naked and many others wanderers! Sorry for being a disappointing creature. I beg for mercy and pardon!!!

Sincerely,
Dying Soul

George Bernard Shaw was asked on his death bed, “What would you do if you could live your life over again?"

He reflected, then replied with a deep sigh: “I’d like to be the person I could have been but never was!”

You have a chance of living, the reason you are reading this piece! It is not your right, it is a privilege!

If any sentence of the above letter reflects you, thank God you are living – you have a chance to change.

The tragedy of life, said Norman Cousin, is not death, but what we let die inside of us while we lived.

I dare to add “the worst thing you could ever let die inside you is your conscience – thanks to God, it can never die. But don’t let it get numb, disoriented or emotionless".

For product placement/advertisement or if you would like to feature on this blog, contact me - yakadams7@gmail.com

Like My Facebook Page Now.