Feminism Has Been Mistaken


Recalling; times ago when everyone was created equal, but men were the greater beings; times when women struggled only to end up as, well, housewives, recalling. But then, in the 90’s, the late to be precise, there was a wake up call to every woman.

Protest were made, campaigns funded, historians reported, notable figures resounded. It was then, that there begat into the world, a sense of equality, a daughter named Feminism’. According to the oxford dictionary, feminism is the belief and aim that women should have the same rights and opportunities as men; the struggle to achieve this aim.

She sounded nice to me, I and Feminism sitting on a tree, Changing, Creating history. I was in support only because I saw it too. The fact that women were discriminated from literally everything: sports, education, rights, earnings and laughter and some others. The fact that they were entitled to: being full time housewives, hard and painful labour, single parenting, rape and maltreatment, slavery, and satisfying the filthy pleasure of their insatiable jobless husbands.

But again, Feminism, my beautiful supposed to be, has been mistaken. Recalling, back in school, when we all were punished. The teacher, who had always done this, gave the boys double the strokes he had given the girls; and if he didn’t want to look partial he gave the same numbers of stokes but with lessee effort. Now were equality, where are the girls who are treated unfairly, because you only sight feminism from the political or historical point if view.

Recalling, I watched a movie where 3 men with the qualifications, perfect results and goods look were denied a job. Then a desperate half-naked lady walks in and his hired without hesitation, she lies that she was assaulted and raped. Perhaps she felt the way to gain that feminist power was through her body part, or the man was a sexual pervert. But what about the three young men…So much for women not being treated equal.

After watching this movie, I picked up the same oxford dictionary and thought I’ll find words like, ‘ Masculinism’ , ‘Malinism’, ‘Meninism’ —there wasn’t– but there were more words that depicted men against the women.

I also recall when I told one of my friends, a girl, “Let’s carry it” and she says no. I asked why, then I regretted because of her foolish reply, “I am a girl”. I began thinking of Chimamanda’s Flawless Speech. Did this woman just say words to the world that she knew couldn’t reach the in depth of Nigeria, because I was 67% sure that the male child knows more about feminism than the female child. Did you think she wrote to only Ijeawele and not for the world to read. The female child embraced it, embraced that it was normal to be normal and abnormal to be abnormal. Failed to realise that the abnormal was the unique. Yet, they mention men not making them feel equal, the problem pertains around them, so they need not blame the male child.

Feminism has been mistaken as men are yet to be oppressed. Feminism has been mistaken has the future girl child is made ignorant of it. FEMINISM HAS BEEN MISTAKEN!


3.6-5=31st of december


It the last day of the year, and my heart is filled with joy and fear. Fear that i wont make it like to 2018 like the others who died yesterday or 11:59 today. Fear that the enemy are still perpetrating evil against me. Fear that the things i prayed for this year wouldn’t come next year like every year . fear that i might lose someone so dear this coming year. Fear that i may achieve less, or nothing more. Fear i may stumble and never gain grounds again. Fear that the trumpet may sound immediately after my sin. Fear of a lot.

But then its a new year, a new faith…and like they say its always darkest before the dawn….This is the dawn. But i carry joy, joy that God has done it, cleared it, destroyed it, opened it, rebranded it and refurbished all that needed to be.

Joy that i see another year..unexpected full of surprises, more literary text and new words to learn…….

I plan to write a resolution but people keep saying things like, “people are writing resolutions that wouldnt last 3 hours….Diets……Getting a man…”

But till then …..

The bastard


She sat there without saying a word. Her job was only to sit still on the green bucket and look pretty, as if the world was still in order, as if nothing was going on.

“Idiot!” He spat.

I was already turning back pretending never to have heard him, to be deaf. The words of my mother sung into my head, “never ever fight, no matter the what or who being insulted”.

People began to gather around calling me, “Loser”,”Chicken”, “coward”, but I ignored. The girl we fought for, the she, just remained on the green bucket silent, but I could see the pleasurable smirk beneath her smoothly ground cocoa skin. Her eyes like the ‘nutella’ cream father promised to bring back the day he died.

“Bastard! I wonder how many men your mother slept with after your father’s death”, he fist bumped his colleague behind him like he always did when he gave a treacherous insult to people.

Perhaps, it was the ‘Ooo’s’ and ‘Ouch’s’ of the crowd that made me spark or because of the insult that he referred to my mother.

I charged at him. Turning around, i ran towards him and slapped him on the left cheek —the best and most comfortable place to slap. It sounded like the clashing of two brass cymbals, like the one in the parish. He threw his fist headed for my face but I caught the full arm before it landed. Quickly, I took his hands to his back and he began to pant, struggling. Every time he escaped from my grip, I began angrier. As I held the arm to his back firmly, he did a flip. The one where he landed on me and let go of my grip. The audience ate it, nourished it, digested and enjoyed the performance. He sat on my stomach as I laid on ground grasping for air, groaning and yet still angry. He began to punch me, each for every single word he uttered. “Never-In-Your-Life-Try-To-Touch-Me-Or-Her, Unless-I-Will-Pop-Your-Head-Off-For-Your-Useless-Mother-To-Witness. Do-You-Hear-Me-Bastard?” He stammered when he said a word before “Me”, doubling the punches. “Yes” I tried to hold back my tears like the man I always pretended to be, I tried. “Bastard of a thousand fathers!” He spat again and the tears gushed out like one of those early twenties ‘Cascade’ advertisements. They all left, the crowd without help or let alone a carefree sorry. But rather i could hear their hisses as they all walled away disappointed, yet again while watching another fight. I looked up to search for her face, the she, perhaps she would stay with me through it all; but she was nowhere around and so was the green bucket she sat on. I cried louder, for who in the community did not know i truly was a bastard of a thousand fathers if not more?

My Trip To LAG


So how do i begin.

Today, i set out for something I’d like to call a journey of memirism and realization of the city of Lagos. I’ve never tried heading out to the University Of Lagos publicly but today I did. My adventure today was perfect (I feel its too much). So i decided to let you know about my journey today.

I was already dressed up when my mum sent me on an errand before my sister ( IG: dark.liquor) and I left our abode. We got on a bike from our house to Agric. The bikeman was one of God’s sent angel, so nice, humble, and gentle on the road. He apologized to everyone who he splashed mud on cheerfully calling them ‘Oga’ and ‘Madam’. Although he still remained a Nigerian in terms of hustling, why? Because he carried the two of us even though the law had said that that wasn’t allowed with a fine 0f #5000. So, he passed another way leaving us to cross the road to Agric.

For some reasons not certain to me, my sister said we were going to board the BRT at Ikorodu Garage not Agric. We hopped on a bike once again,the ride was quite different and this time a lot more scarier. We were moving on a bike on the BRT lane with a BRT behind. I crossed my fingers and throughout the ride i kept repeating ‘God seat on this bike with us’. At the end we got to Ikorodu garage.


Honestly, I am born with a silver spoon so it limits me from phasing through the rigid public lifestyle in Lagos. It was either I was in a car to go out, or i didnt go at all.

*The BRT*

Government knows what this BRT means, because I’m to lazy to even try to find out what it actually means. We purchased a ticket for three, since my sister’s friend, Tomisin was going to meet us up.

Damn! The cue was extremely long with various people trying to bring feed home for their families and other heading out for the muslim celebrations. Luckily for us, we were the first three to get on the bus so we sat at the top seats.

Dear Nigerians, whats the point of buying a standing ticket if eventually you are going to seat on a platform for someones feet.

There was this man who made me spread my legs so that he could sit in between untill we arrived at Fadeyi Bus-stop. There were various things I thought of doing to the man, Pretending to kick his head unpurposely, Farting onto his head or telling him I wanted to close my legs.

When we arrived Fadeyi, I didn’t know. I was still mesmerized by the beauty of Maryland Mall which one day I’ll go to. We needed to get to Yaba and the only way was to get on those repaired neglected vehicles, “Danfo”. In my mind, I was cringing badly for an Uber Cab but it was A Public Day Out.

The first we saw was like a mini-van that could only take four people, Tomisin called it a ‘One Chance’ bus. Then my sister saw one of her friend named ‘Eddie’ and we got on the Danfo. My sister said that Eddie was just like me but he got used to this irking thing. Everything in the Danfo irritated me as it began to vibrate uselessly, hitting metals against metals with the conductor chasing after the bus. His voice was loud and he was tattered and rough.

We didnt want to take the university shuttle from Yaba, so we got on a ‘Keke Marua’ (If my spelling is correct). The Keke was the best ride because of the man in the Keke with us. Maybe he’s one of those boys used in adverts that love music and oneday will make it in life with MTN ‘Everywhere You Go’. He had a pair of ear piece plugged in and was covering an American rap like he gad his throat scorched. He didn’t even care if we were chuckling to his rap, he just continued until we reached school gate and Eddie went somewhere.

Now what we went to do in LAG was our business not yours, but let me keep up with the fun part.

I told my sister that I wanted to see more of the school and she didn’t mind. Tomisin was thirsty and needed to get a bottle of water, so our first stop was Mr. Biggs. The restaurant had become a complete failure. It had 3 tables and 2 seats each, and when we walked in there were only two people inside which were the only people that worked there, the manager, and the waiter/chef/cashier. It was literally mock restaurant, the foods and snacks were much but they had no customer except the mini LG flat tuned in to HipTV.

Then we moved on sort of park that had green grass and pelicans trooping around with beautiful flowers. There seemed to be a party opposite so we just danced to the music rather than going there to do Owambę. And if you must know, it was a child’s birthday party.

We went into a bookshop, me with the hope that i would buy Jowhor Ile “And after many days” but the only thing that was fascinating in the bookshop was the staircase that lead to nowhere and the UNILAG souvenirs.

Then the best place was the third mainland bridge view. To begin with, i was irritated when I saw about ten love birds on benches as though that’s whay brought them to school.

We took pictures on trees and searched for a broken wall to make contact withthe water. Then we found a fallen tree that had it roots out. And as Nigerians we took pictures at such glorious landmarks. The crab were so tiny and little but they look devilish to me already. We went past the zoological garden but did not enter.

We went to the Faculty of science, then under the architectural faculty or so, got pass GTB bank and went in search of a cab to take us to school gate.

Remember the bikeman earlier, well the cabman who was going to take us to school gate was rude and God will reward him . But apart from that, the rest of my journey was sweet and breezy as I dozed off.

The Woman’s worth


I was a victim of infant betrothal. My parents Damina and Tanko sold me off to a man in his late sixties from chad. I cannot and wouldn’t blame them for it was ignorance which over powered them. I am also not surprised about this issue until now, it had been a traditional covenant between my extremely grand parent who sold their daughter and their generational daughters into the hands of this family from chad.

*Might contain Hausa language errors*


“Damina, is she cleaned up?” Tanko asked his wife impatiently staring through the hole in the mud wall to see if their visitors had arrived.

“Ita Ce “Damina replied meaning ‘she is’. My father was so happy immediately he heard the knock, he had been dreaming of this for the past nine months. Even though my mother was born with a silver spoon, my father had made her look poor and wretched. She chose love over wealth, she chose suffering over comfort but little did she know that her child will be sold. Nine month had gone past after her marriage and she just couldn’t bear it any longer, she thought of leaving but later realised that she was pregnant. She was so lucky to marry Tanko, since the age difference was just five years. What about me?

“Ina kwana” Tanko greeted the man, as he and his entourage walked in. The man looked somewhat in his late sixties. His white beards and jet black hair white lots of strand of white hair made him look like he was about to die in few hours. He was tall, about my father’s height back then. He looked tired, like he travelled 10 000 kilometres without stopping.

“A gaishai ka” my mother greeted him. He sat down and ordered for water, my mother ran to get him water from the clay pot like her life depended on it. The man smirked, and then looked back through the window and saw his cows and goats aimlessly mooing and bleating; such nuisance.

“I am here to pay the price to marry your beautiful daughter” the man said.

“We know, but you never even introduced yourself to us” my father stated trying to stall for my mother who went to carry me. I looked so beautiful, at least then.

“What is her name?” the old asked seeming too much in a hurry to marry me or at least buy me.

“Her name?” my father said staring at my mother looking confused.

“Her name. Duna, her name is Duna” my mother said “Duna you say, Yelwa hand over everything to them” he shouted to a lady who was part of his entourage. “16 years and I will come to take my wife and also educate her” he added. “Thank you” my mother said. He left. I looked so beautiful, even I cannot stop admiring myself and my long gone past.


I was dressed in the traditional wedding regalia. My mother had my cloths all packed up, I wish I knew earlier I would have sprinted my way out of this village. My laali was rushed on last night; my mother didn’t want it long so she reduced the amount of henna.

“Mother, I don’t want to marry this old soul” I cried.

“My daughter, it is your written destiny and is what is meant to be” Damina said patting my back.

“Mama, it’s a lie you sold me” I fell into her laps. Tanko walked into the room and dragged Damina away to go attend to the visitors. He looked angry like he was beaten up in a fight; I thought he came in to console me but that man was a disgrace to every male who stepped their leg into this world.

“Useless girl, you better get up and marry that man, since that’s the only use of you and you and your mother” Tanko said.

“But, papa-” I cried aloud before he interrupted my sentence “Don’t you dare papa me” Tanko shouted.

My mother ran into the room like she was been pursued by a local castrated bull. One could easily read from her face that she ran hear because of papa’s voice. I wiped my tears immediately I heard one of the entourage scoff.

“Why not a boy? Why this?” Tanko cried in a low voice.

“Stand up and get out there unless-” Papa cried aloud.

“Unless what, unless what Papa” I replied building enough courage in myself. By the time I had realised what I said and figured out how Papa was older and stronger than me. “Sorry Papa” I knelt down and left for the living room. As I walked down the corridor it felt equivalent as walking down the aisle then a series of sentences sped through my brain.

The wishes of the broken girl,

she wishes never was she created.

She never did create herself why find fault in her.

Did she ask for not a brother or sister?

Did she push herself into the womb of her mother?

Why threaten her?

Oh mother of all mother,

why not bother?

Why not stand in our midst and fight from our centre?

Why don’t they see that women do matter?

“Good morning” I greeted the entourage before staring at the old man.

“Good morning Uncle” I greeted kneeling before him, I was shivering with fear in me.

“Call him your husband” my father yelled leaning on the mud wall.

“Mijina” I called out in our local language.

“You look so nervous” he raised my face up,

“the way they always act” he added laughing aloud, my father and the other men joined in the laughing meanwhile my mother and I did the staring. He raised me up then pulled my face down towards his face and stared me eye to eye. I was sold. The kolanuts, salt, and other items had been placed on the table. I was sold.



Chapter 0ne

For some sort of reasons today, I just didn’t decide to create havoc. Actually, I had a reason, but on a regular day it wouldn’t have stopped me from being a mayhem. The whoosh of the wind blew by jet-black hair over my face. It was quite cold and I wasn’t putting on a jacket, so I wrapped my arms around me rubbing my palms against my skin to produce heat through friction. I loved my life, being a student by day and villain by night. Well incase if you are confused, yes my city has heroes and villains and I’m one. A Supervillain, to be precise. Welcome to Capetown, doesn’t mean I’m in South Africa. Where in the night I go by the name Chaos and by day Jacob Forte. Right now I was just a lonely boy walking down the lane to his apartment by 10:45, a bit dizzy. I stared at the door knob turning it to open the door but it was locked. I pressed the bell forcefully and well the spring exceeded its elastic limit and the rest was history. My mother opened the door from within and just when I wanted to lean in for a hug, she gave me a slap. “Why?” I whined. “How would you?” She shouted jamming the door and pushing me on the couch. “How would I what?” I squealed massaging my already blazing red cheek. “How would you leave me all alone at home?” She yelled walking towards the dining table to pick up her glass of champagne. “Mum, when did you become my responsibility? I thought it was the other way round” I said standing up from the couch. “Ever since your father died we both became each others responsibilities” she swallowed the champagne down her throat in one gulp. She picked the bottled and poured the remaining into the glass. “Mum, you look messed up from head to toe. Is anything bothering you?” I collected the bottle from her and cleaned the dining table. “How could there possibly be, nothing is wrong. Now give me that” she stretched for the bottle but I raised it quite high for her to reach. “Mum” I sat her down, “Tell me what’s wrong?” I asked feeling for her. My mother had always been a strong woman ever since father died five years ago when I was twelve. She only cried once at his grave and never again. I thought she didn’t care that maybe she had forgotten about him, but there was still a hole in her heart and I could see it. Every single time we had a simple conversation, she had stare into my eyes and say words like ‘You look like your father’ or ‘You talk like your father’ or something similar. I felt maybe she would find love along the line again but she never stressed herself to try. Her morning began with the first sight of the picture of her late husband and her last sight of the day was still a picture of Dad. Although Dad and I weren’t really close, he was a police detective and when he was at the verge of discovering ‘PreyMan ‘s layer’ and getting a promotion, PreyMan and his apprentices killed Dad. PreyMan was and is still the biggest and most famous villain in Capetown. I wanted to have revenge by killing each and everyone of his men by being a villain. Sounds stupid, right? I decided to be a villain just to revenge to Capetown because my dad risked his life for them but really my target is PreyMan. Defeating PreyMan sounds like an impossible task because he his creating his army. And by then, it may be too late. As for me, I am the second most wanted villain and not even Hyperion Gold has stopped me, all though he his from a neighbouring town. I have always been as smart as my father, manageably cunny like joker, and manageably a good inverse of flash. “Mum talk to me, tell me what is really wrong?” I moved in closer removing the glass from her hands. “Just like your father, you won’t understand, he too didn’t” she said as a drop of tear rolled down her left cheek , brushed her lips and dropped into my hand which caught it. “Mother, I may talk, look, think like Dad but I’m not him and I’ll never be him” I cleaned my face forgetting the tear drop in my palm. “I just don’t feel you are ready” she cried. “Then when do you feel I’ll be, just tell me, when?” I let out a deep breath. “Jacobson,I…I…I’ve…k…k…can…..cer..cancer” she let out a deep cry biting her pinky finger. I just kept quiet, staring at her. Did she just say cancer! I was speechless and immobilized. A short film of both our lives ran past my mind like it was all over. “But when, how, but your hair?” I pulled my hands through her hair twice. “Five years ago and not all cancers eat up your hair” she said. “But whose going to be there when you are gone, cause I’m going to need you more than ever” I cried sheepishly like an abandoned child. “Who told you I was going to go, I mean I lived four years longer than the doctor said I would, so don’t be afraid” she said patting my back also crying. I stared into her eyes thinking, was I going to lose my mother too, I just lost my father and now I’ll become an orphan. I spread my fingers rubbing it across to clean her face, this was the first time I was seeing her cry after father’s death. As I cleaned tears away from her face, she did the same for me. “Mum, I love you just so you know and I’ll never forget you” I inhaled the catarrh in my nostrils “I love you to Jacob, no matter what happens, I’ll always be by your side” she kissed my cheek. “I think you can go to bed, you have to leave for school early” she said collecting the glass of champagne and rushing it down her throat. “Goodnight” we both greeted ourselves but she remained downstairs while I went to my room which was the basement. My house is a duplex but I decided to pick the basement because it was the best place to be my layer. All around where papers of Chaos and the mayhems he had caused for the last two years and his achievements. Across the room was a sticky note board dedicated to ultimate planning and destruction of PreyMan and his army. I just needed a little more time to attack and conquer him. I was gathering all the help and technologies required in bringing that man down and I was going to that even if it was to my last breath. I pulled of my shirt and stripped myself naked. I turned on the shower and stepped into it. The slightest touch of the water against my skin made my body repel because it was way too cold. I turned it off, and put on my underwear, I turned on the heater. Finally when it was hot, I stripped off and went back in. I stood under the shower, my eyes closed, I was just there silent thinking about my life. What was I going to do with my life after mum’s death, I had no idea. For what seemed like the first time in five years, I prayed. I prayed that every thing will be okay and end well but my doubt had won the war in my mind over prayer. I gasped for air when I recovered from my deep thoughts after five minutes under the shower, I revived myself. When I was done with bathing, I toweled myself and stared in the mirror, I had a nice physique. To me, I was the first villain whose abs through his leather suit was real and not made of foam. I counted, 1,2,3…8. I turned away to stop admiring myself , but I couldn’t resist, I turned back to flex my muscles and then wore my underwear. I went up to check take some orange juice, mom was asleep on the couch. I walked up to her and kissed her forehead.

To read more check it out on the link below.


Tayo’s Chronicles :Episode 3


Tayo’s Chronicles :Episode 3

Another Beginning

Uncle bimbo picked me up and we drove off in his blue Toyota Highlander. I was exhausted and I didn’t wait to unpack, I just slept off.

No, No it was too early to wake up, not that it was another day, it was still today. Yet, I still didn’t want to wake up but the boy was pouncing on me. Wake up I said to myself.

“How are you? ” I asked.

“I’m fine. Who are you? ” He asked. Though I was learned and done with my junior secondary school I didn’t speak British. I spoke the normal Nigerian Localized English before our English teachers began to claim that we are speaking British English but yet lacking the accent.

“I did not hear you ” I said.

“I said who are you? ” he asked again.

“Ask your Baba” I said.

“Oh you mean a barber? He’s opposite the street” He said.

“I said Baba not barber or did I tell you I wanted to barber my hair” I said proud of my English.

“Are you speaking English? ” He asked his cute little face tightened to form a confused face.

“You can go” I said fumbling with his cheeks.

He didn’t go, rather he laid by me on the bed. I stared at the ceiling ignoring his presence.

“What’s your name? ” I asked staring at him.

“Ronald” he said.

What sort of name was that? I mean where was our Yoruba indigenous names who names their child ‘Ronald’ or may be it was a nickname after that good footballer “Ronalido”.

I stared at him and he stared back chuckling, his innocence was so extraordinary. I breathed on his on stomach with my mouth making a sound and he laughed out.

“Stop it” he cried and laughed.

“Why? ” I said.

“Your tickling me ” he laughed louder. I didn’t stop, his laughter only signalled that he wanted to continue playing.

“Dinner is served” aunty Folasayo shouted.

“Stop it mum has served dinner ” he said. I let go of him.

“What did she prepare?” I asked.

“Pounded Yam, my favorite ” he said . I was happy atleast even if the culture was fading he knew something still.

Aunty Folasayo had a big tummy, she was pregnant. She wasn’t as thin as Maami but she was agile and had skin covering her collar bone and vertebra column unlike Maami.

Lagos was looking good has cars rarely passed in front of the house but people were jugging, especially the extreme orobos. It was nice to have a fresh start and another beginning.