Friday, August 30, 2013


(Or The Gospel According to Stella Damasus)

Let us begin by establishing a premise. The world exists and is run for the enjoyment of men. Women are a means to that end. Good women learn how to keep their men happy. Bad women become feminists. Or lesbians. Or old, single and angry. And a woman without a man is doing something wrong. 

Now that we have established these important facts, let us now consider the very important needs of men, for the benefit of all the sensible women of the world. One of our source materials will be the wise recent blog of Nollywood star Stella Damasus appropriately titled ‘How to Keep Your Man’. I am sure she wouldn’t mind the fact that I have stolen her title. She is a good woman and as we will see from her blog, she knows a thing or two about keeping men happy; I am a man. 

Stella says: “They want to feel like they are in control of things which is not bad because they are the head.” I agree with her. Men need to be in control. Women need to let them be in control. All the problems of the world begin when women do not let men control them. If you ask me it is the cause of the saga in Rivers State. If only Dame would read Stella’s blog. 

Stella says: “They don’t want to come home to a fat mama who is the opposite of the sexy curvy woman he fell in love with, because she let herself go after they got married.” Super smart Stella. Men are the only people allowed to grow fat and get beer bellies and let themselves go. Women need to learn to be loving toward the fatness of men. Learn how to caress the huge bellies of their men when they come home from a night-out drinking. There is space for only one fat person in a marriage. And Stella and I agree, that space is not for the woman. 

Stella says: “They want a wife, girlfriend, sorry to say (personal call girl) which is not a bad thing because he is your husband who is free to express his sexual desires as long as they are not life threatening or demeaning.” Why aren’t more streets named after Stella? This is what a marriage is: an arrangement designed to provide non-stop sexual enjoyment for men. A good woman is a faithful tool in this regard, her primary purpose being to fulfill her lord and master’s sexual desires. God bless all the good women of the world who are keeping men happy. 

Stella says: “They don’t want to come and hug you after work with you smelling of onions and oil…They want to come home to a nice smelling neat and tidy home…They want to walk into the bedroom with the bed all made up and clothes arranged.” I could not have put this better. Only a man is allowed to smell of sweat from work. A woman is not allowed to smell of the work she may have been doing in the kitchen. So while he brings his sweaty smelly body to hug his woman, she must not have any non-perfumed smells on her body. She must take in his body odours and even let those odours arouse her. This is what a good woman does. She makes sure everything is perfect for the man. Bad women lose their men. Good women keep their men. 

Stella says: “if you do not try to do at least 60 percent of this regularly… a younger version of you will cross his path and …your matter will quietly end. This girl will rock his world…These girls can give him all these things and even more that the men find it so difficult to resist.” A word is enough for the wise. A word is enough for the good woman. I cannot add anything to this wisdom. 

Stella concludes with this clear warning: “if you are guilty of these crimes and are depriving your husband of what is rightfully his then don’t be shocked when a younger version of you gets the best of him.” I agree. Because this is what men are: animals, living by instinct, moving to where the grass is more lush. But important animals. Sacred animals that must be pleased, pampered, kept permanently turned on. A happy man means a happy home. And happy homes make a happy world. Do you want an unhappy world on your conscience?

It is clear thus that where there is unhappiness anywhere in the world, a woman has not done her job. And where there is joy, peace and laughter, a good woman is toiling away, cleaning, cooking, and loyally and unconditionally providing sexual and emotional services. God forbid that you end up being a bad woman. Listen to Stella. Be a good woman. Keep your man.

Saturday, August 24, 2013


*Because I Care #24

Life as a man of god is terribly hard. I understand this. Not because I have ever been a man of god but because as a man of the earth, I know how hard temptation is. It is not people like us the devil chases relentlessly. It is the men who have heaven in their hearts and god on their lips. That is why once I become Head of State I will reach out to fellow Head of State of the Vatican to allow his priests to marry. 

I was not surprised when a certain young woman wrote a blog about how a certain Pastor Biodun of the Commonwealth of Zion Assembly told her to come sit on his laps in his hotel in London. Like the devil did to Jesus, he allegedly took her to a high place- the roof- to complete his temptation. According to her account, she sat down, obedient to the man of god as he started showing her visions of a sexual nature. She stated how she kept going back for more, until, seven days later, her conscience reminded her of the sinfulness of her course. I don’t like people who kiss and tell but I am bitterly angry with this COZA pastor. The far reaching implications of this pastor’s choice of words has given me sleepless nights. Especially now that many people are considering this woman a victim of abuse. 

“Come sit on my laps” is a term that has over hundreds of years been used by well meaning men to indicate interest in furthering the scope of physical activity with a woman. That phrase used to be decent. The invitee would either decline or walk over and sit on the inviter’s laps. It used to be simple. Now, by virtue of this pastor’s alleged impropriety and the attendant victim status that this woman has gained, this time-tested phrase has descended into the realm of the vulgar and the abusive. No woman who has read this story will hear the words “come sit on my laps” with the same ears. This once affectionate phrase will now be treated like hate speech. Oh, the damage this pastor has caused.

As president I will propose a disclaimer form for use by people who want to have affairs and not be accused of abuse or victimization. If there exists a valid, duly signed affair-disclaimer form- one copy for every occasion of coitus- abuse cannot be alleged. It would read fairly like this:
“I ________ a human of full age without any legal impediments to granting consent, in a state of full sobriety and grace, knowing full well the marital status of the undersigned and the possible consequences of our actions in this affair on either party or third parties, do hereby affirm that I have begun this affair of my own volition, without manipulation, pressure or fear of threats, intimidation or abuse from the undersigned and agree to have carnal knowledge of the undersigned within the limits of what is fair and possible for the human body.”

This is not to promote adultery but to limit cases of blackmail and unfair accusations of abuse. As president, one must not allow one’s personal morality affect his ability to make laws for sinners and non-sinners alike. Because there should be honor even among adulterers and fornicators. 
So I heard that my rivals in the APC met in Abuja to release their manifesto. That is fine. I like competition. It is important to see how different my manifesto will be, seeing as the APC one is a mere edited version of the PDP one. I will just remind my supporters and other undecided voters about my manifesto which I released about 6 months ago. Here is a recap:

I will ban commissioning ceremonies. This is mostly because I find it a waste of resources. Think of all those blue, red and yellow ribbons we buy only to have them cut by the politician commissioning the project. Why waste ribbons in that manner? I will save the millions spent on those ceremonies.
I will not change the names on government projects. I explained that the reason for this is purely self-preservation. I want my name to remain on the projects that I start and my face on the things I initiate, like my soon-to-be predecessor is doing now. I believe there is space for more posters and billboards in our cities.
I will not marry. I do not need to reiterate, especially in the light of the Rivers saga, how important this is. At least I will end Wole Soyinka’s hobby of insulting the wives of presidents. I will not put my lover in the position to be called a mere appendage of power. No one will use my wife to try to get to me. This will free a lot of time for matters of State.
I will keep growing my moustache. I said before and I will say again, that we have not had a decent Head of State who didn’t keep a moustache. General Buhari who is generally believed, even by his enemies to be the least corrupt Head of State, kept and still keeps a moustache. When General Obasanjo was still decent, he had a moustache. This must mean something, I am not sure the connection, but it is clear there is some connection. If the current president had any love for Nigeria, he would grow a moustache.
I will not wear a cap or hat. This is also crucial to the survival of our nation. There is a reason our country has been going from bad to worse. I cannot say this will work but we have to try a man who will, for once, leave his hair open in public.
I will sell off most of the planes in our presidential fleet and ride a bicycle through Abuja city. The connection between always riding in tinted cars, weight gain, and bad governance should be clear to any Nigerian who cares to see. Because I will always use the roads, the roads will improve, my weight will be controlled and so will my health and mood. Will that not make me a better president?

As I add to my manifesto, I will inform the voting public. Little by little it will be clear, that apart from my superior looks, my manifesto is practical, different and worthy of your votes.
Ps. So ASUU is still on strike?

Friday, August 23, 2013


Like most things you do, you are not sure why exactly you did it. You are adept at working your way backward, making sense of an impulsive move. You know this reconstruction business: how to add rhyme and reason to what an honest person might call mere foolishness. 

It was not reading all week about Bobby Sands who killed himself while fighting the British that made you suddenly animated when Emeka, the policeman on duty at the junction not far from your house asked why you were moving around at an ungodly hour and called you a suspect. It was - your five minutes of honest self-searching now confirms to you - mere foolishness. 

Reading the story of the motorcyclist who was shot dead by a Nigerian policeman, you realize how close you were to having hot lead from Emeka’s rifle lodged in your chest, and ruining your favorite bright blue t-shirt. And it was the time of night when any story would have seemed plausible. Drug Dealer Trying To Escape Smart Men Of The Nigerian Police or Armed Robber Killed In A Shootout With Brave Men Of The Nigerian Police. Emeka might have even gotten a commendation for his quick thinking as eager Abuja journalists would be feeding t their cameras on your corpse. Thinking back, you are not sure your friends would have had the courage to fight for you- you would not even judge them if they doubted your innocence in the matter. 

Retelling the story to the first person who asked, your reconstruction skills added reason to your actions: You refused to be insulted by a policeman on duty. It was important to stand your ground in the face of insulting suggestions by Emeka that you might have been a criminal because according to him, “only criminals move around at this time of the night.” That was why you told him not to speak to you in that manner, and why he further threatened your liberty and life. 

You are on your way home, late at night again a few days after that police incident. Your cab driver is stopped by another set of policemen in the same area on the outskirts of the city. One of them is visibly drunk. He asks both of you to get down from the vehicle. He rummages through trash in the back seat. He asks for vehicle particulars. He squints as he traces the writing on the papers with his index finger. The way he tries to mouth the words confirms to you he either has sight challenges or is barely literate. It takes him almost 20 minutes to look through the papers. Everything in your body tells you to say something, ask him why he is deliberately delaying you, playing games. But this man is not as sober as Emeka was. For once, you do not say what you think, what you feel. Eventually another policeman who has just finished peeing in a gutter nearby lights a cigarette and drags the driver away to advice him.

“You see this our Oga. Na very wicked man. If e carry you go station this night, na suffer you go suffer. How much you get?”

You cannot remember using so much energy to restrain yourself. You watch as the policeman finally makes a demand for N500. The cab driver is obstinate. Even though he has no valid driver’s licence because according to him, his new one was being processed, he said flatly to the policeman that he could not give him N500.

“You dey try prove stubbornness abi?”
“How I go try to prove stubbornness? I no fit give you 500.”

You stop grinding your teeth and you lose your frown. You are proud of this cab driver who would rather go to the station than give these policemen a bribe of N500. In the end the Policemen see another car coming and they throw his papers at him and let him go. You are both quiet as you continue your journey home. Two men foolish enough to defy the police at an hour when any shooting can be made to look legal. You want to tell this cab driver that you are proud of him. Instead you smile. He can feel it, how proud you are. It is not something you can explain. You just know he can feel it. 

You can say now that meeting an armed policeman at night in Nigeria should be treated like meeting an armed robber. Comply first, complain later. Anything else is foolishness.

Saturday, August 17, 2013


Because I Care #23

I am running for president but I will say this. Nigerians like cheap things. Cheap electricity, cheap petrol, cheap kerosene, cheap bride price. That is why all the decent girls from my part of the country get taken by men from places where they pay an arm, a leg and a year’s wages to get married. Because my people marry very cheaply. 

Our country is run down. So we do not complain when we take expensive vacations to Dubai, London or Malta. We pay up when the roads are good, the internet is fast, and the power is constant. And where we can buy nice, high quality products produced in China. 

I really do not understand why non-Redeemed Nigerians are up in arms about the Daddy General Overseer of the Redeemed Christian Church of God asking 10 people to donate 1 billion each and others to bring 100, 50, 20 or 10 million for his new 3km auditorium. Did the Bible not say, in my father’s (daddy’s) house there are many mansions? Do mansions come cheap? I have not been there but I hear heaven is even better than London or Dubai. There will be no need to constantly queue up for a miracle or blessings. Life in heaven is itself a miracle. (Like I said before I haven’t been there, so don’t quote me.) But if a man is offering spaces in heaven where the roads are paved and there is neither sickness nor death, is it unreasonable to ask individuals to donate as much as 1 billion naira each? If you had 1 billion to spare, would you not invest in eternal life? 

Nigerians should quit complaining and start donating. To righteous auditoriums. Or to my presidential campaign if they are not sure of making heaven. I am offering a little less- only schools, and roads and hospitals and electricity and taps flowing with condensed milk (terms and conditions apply) but as a human you can agree that this is a worthy cause. God bless you as you donate.

So Miss Oprah Winfrey got some unpleasant treatment last week when a shop attendant wouldn’t give her a bag that cost 38,000 dollars. Maybe my legal training is messing with my sympathy but certain questions precede empathy in my mind: What was Oprah wearing? Did she take an expensive bag to the shop or a cheap one? Did she go to the shop straight from her morning jog, looking all sweaty? Was she wearing a cheap scarf? I ask because hey, if I drive a smoking beat-up beetle or Golf 3 to a Coscharis showroom asking if they have a Bugati, chances are they will not take me seriously. They may even ask me nicely if I have heard of Cotonou where I can find amazing offers on used but new-looking cars. Again, Oprah should tell us the truth. Is she upset because the shop attendant didn’t watch her show and consequently couldn’t recognize her and suddenly scream at the sight of one of the richest women in showbiz? The truth is, I hardly watch her show myself and may not recognize her if she walks into my campaign office. I only know the other one, the funny white one married to a beautiful woman. What’s her name again? 

Thursday was one of the lowest points of my campaign trail. I was taught a bitter lesson in humility. Traffic in Abuja came to a standstill when Nigerian women filled Eagle Square and the streets around wearing ashoebi with Goodluck Jonathan’s face on it. They sang and danced for my opponent. They showed him love. As I was stuck in traffic, tears came to my eyes because I suddenly realized that this was a message. I honestly thought women loved me; I thought I had Nigerian women covered. If my opponent can conscript so many women to sing his praises in a city I live in, then I still have a lot of work to do. I don’t know what Goodluck told you dear women, but it is just the words of a cat expressing interest in the longevity of a rat. Nothing good can come out of it. And never trust a man that always wears a hat. He is bound to be hiding something. I do not wear a hat or even glasses. And as my future campaign posters will show I am far better looking. If you need to look, check my Facebook page. What more do you want from me, dear Nigerian women? What do I need to do for you to dance for me, come 2015?

Ps. In the early hours of Friday morning, I was stopped and frisked by men of the Nigerian Police Force. In my mind this was routine, considering how late it was. However, upon finding no reason to further delay me, one of the men proceeded to say he suspected me because the hour was ungodly. I took offence at the suggestion that he could pass any moral judgment on what time I choose to carry out legitimate business and a verbal fight ensued with sprinklings of threats to my person and suggestions of my being a criminal. After an hour of screaming, unsavoury words and threats, I finally went my way. The Nigerian Police has a long way to go in its relationship with citizens. In a time when the security situation of the country gets worse by the day and crucial intelligence is required also from citizens, the Police should not alienate itself from the people by harassing civilians going about their lawful and private business. 

Ps. 2. Oprah should calm down jo. What would she do if what happened to me in an Austrian restaurant happened to her- while I was making selections of food at a buffet, a waitress looked at my big black mass and thought to tell me that I should take only what I could eat?