Sunday, October 23, 2016


You are having a really rough week. The universe is conspiring against you, testing your resolve to maintain sanity and not commit multiple felonies by breaking something on someone’s head. At moments like this you turn to your love — you have been dating for about 9 months now. You have settled into this relationship like a tea bag at the bottom of a cup of tea that is getting cold. It is your safe zone. Her toothbrush is in your bathroom, two of her t-shirts in the pile of dirty clothes you just gave the laundry guy and her photo on the home screen of your phone. Both her phone numbers  are saved on your phone as Baby MTN and Baby Etisalat

It is just ten minutes past midnight and you really need to speak with her. It rings but she is not picking up. Your stomach churns. You turn to WhatsApp. 

Baby, you type. 

Message delivered. WhatsApp is there smiling at you, whispering into your ears:

Baby was last seen at 11:58pm

Maybe she slept off at 11:59, five minutes before you called. You are restless but you know and trust her. She sometimes falls asleep like that, especially when she is watching one of her series on DVD. Sleep begins to snatch you too. 

You wake up at 2.53am. You can’t go back to sleep. She must be snoring away in her Apo self-contained apartment. You check WhatsApp anyway. She isn't there but WhatsApp is there, always there, like a dutiful night watch man high on caffeine. 

Baby was last seen at 2.45am

She hasn't responded. 

And then it hits you. She spoke to someone at 11:45. Probable at 12.30 when you had dozed off. And again until 2:45. She is not speaking to her mother or any of her older brothers at that ungodly hour. She is certainly not chatting with any of her friends whom she loves and loathes in equal measure. It must be another man. 

Who is he? WhatsApp doesn't lie. Is he funny, funnier that you? She claims to be sapiosexual, it is even on her Twitter and Facebook profiles. Is he smart, smarter than you? 

When she finally replies at 9 in the morning, you are fuming but groggy from not having slept since 2:53am.

You have no proof. You cannot accuse her of anything in particular. But you know there is something she isn't telling you. 

This is how the end begins.

Tania and Jummai had spoken about forming a WhatsApp group to plan Sonia’s wedding. From the time the group was formed 8 months ago it has grown from three persons to twenty five. Each of the original persons invited people they thought would be great to have in the group and even though the wedding has come and gone the group is still as lively as one that was just formed. People have had meltdowns, fights have happened and reconciliations. Some do not speak to each other on the group. But no one has had the guts to leave. Because it is better to have a meltdown or insult someone’s dead mother than to suggest that you want to destroy the lives of everyone in the group by leaving. Nimata tried it and ended up having a physical delegation in her house asking why she wanted to ruin you all. She was added back to the group and there has been relative peace since then. 

But you want to leave. You desperately want to walk away. You tried muting the group several times, but each time you would get phone calls to ask why you weren't responding to a question directed at you on the group. Someone even suggested then that you were feeling too big to respond to them because you recently bought a Hyundai Elantra. Another person suggested that perhaps your new iPhone 7 was getting to your head. You never muted the group again. You will not let the devil use you to cause disharmony. 

The group is affecting your sanity. There are those who send long Happy New Week and Happy New Month messages. Those who post inspirational quotes every morning. Those who advertise the new shoes they have for sale. And Chioma’s husband who sees it as his God-given responsibility to advice members of the group on subjects ranging from how to keep fit to maintain a healthy relationship with God. Chioma’s husband who has told you several times to come give him a blow job while his wife was away. 

You endure this. Because you are not one to rock the boat and ruin people’s lives. It is your sanity versus the sanity of many others. And you choose their sanity.

It is 11.30pm and you have the strongest craving for suya. There is only one  still open in your area and even he closes around this time. You put on a t-shirt and rush out hoping to catch him. From a distance you see smoke rising. You are relieved. As you get closer you see that he is packing up to leave. You run toward him. 

He still has suya, but the yaji, the suya spice without which suya is mere roasted meat has finished. And so has his onions. You do not have onions at home but even if you did, the onions cut by the suya man always seems different from the onions you cut yourself. 

No yaji. Just like something out of that foolish Jamie Oliver’s kitchen when he burnt meat, inserted skewers, added green pepper and tomatoes and had the effrontery to call it Nigerian suya. No onions!

You want to ask him why he even exists. And worse, why he dares to call this meat lacking in any character, suya. 

Wednesday, October 19, 2016


Abuja, Nigeria — 

Nigeria and Ghana have said Friday that the US election due to hold on November 8, 2016 may be subject to “deliberate political sabotage from racist revolutionaries,” a strongly worded warning issued just as the recently measles-ravaged nation began a three week countdown to the most bitterly contested elections in recent times. 

The elections mark a pivotal moment for this aging democracy of over 300 million struggling with gun violence and open police brutality that has seen countless deaths from the minority tribe of African Americans. 

The statement from Foreign Ministers Geoffrey Onyeama (Nigeria) and Hanna Tetteh (Ghana) said that there were worrying indications that Trump supporters were planning an attacking on front runner Hillary Clinton, the first woman to ever reach such heights in what is supposed to be a first world country. 

The North American country’s president has been busy campaigning for his party’s candidate, Hillary Clinton whose husband also served as president in a regime largely hailed as decent. 

Many African observers worry that an election perceived as fraudulent could trigger racial violence and bitter divisions especially between racist misogynists and the rest of the country. 

American politics is largely divided along religious and geographic lines. While a large number of the 94 million Evangelical Christians support Mr Trump who once boasted of grabbing women by the pussy, Muslims and other minorities worry that a Trump presidency could lead to attacks and massive deportations from the country which already has a lot of gun violence in its streets. 

African Presidents are now meeting in Abidjan to consider intervention options in the event of violence from Trump supporters escalating. 

Earlier on Wednesday, president Jacob Zuma of South Africa and Muhammadu Buhari of Nigeria in a joint statement following talks on how to strengthen the African Union, warned that Trump allowing an attack on Mrs Clinton could trigger civil war and destabilize the whole North American region. 

“We understand the real and present danger of the destabilization of such a region,” Buhari said. 

“We are currently not in a situation to bear the burden of millions of refugees who might spill over into our borders fleeing violence and so we urge the warring parties to embrace peace,” Zuma added. 

Zimbabwean president Robert Mugabe suggested that a Clinton-Trump power sharing deal may bring peace back to the troubled North American country.

"If the parties don't come to agreement now, today, the possibilities for the United States will become very difficult, if not dangerous," Mr. Mugabe told the gathering of African heads of states via Skype. "I really need to emphasize to you that if they do not have an agreement, if they do not move to a unity government, the African Union States may not be able to support the United States. It has worked for us and it can work for them.”

Kenyan President Uhuru Kenyatta on his part offered to broker a peace deal in Nairobi between warring parties Clinton and Trump before the elections on November 8. Agreeing with Mr Kenyatta, observer to the African Union Archbishop Desmond Tutu also suggested a truth and reconciliation commission to deal with all the lies, hate and threats that have threatened to mar the US elections. 

“Without truth, there cannot be reconciliation,” 85 year old Tutu said before breaking into a dance. 

America expert and fellow of the institute of North American studies in Bujumbura, Dr. J J C Okocha, has said that unless something is done quickly, the African Union may find itself having to send in troops to quell post electoral violence.  “I see boots on the ground if something is not done,” Okocha said.

Police officers in the US have killed almost 200 black people in 2016 alone, according to a project by The Guardian that tracks police killings in America. It is unclear what incumbent president Barrack Obama is doing to prevent these killings. 

Sunday, October 16, 2016


White struggled with the pain in his side and with defecating as he travelled to other farms to canvass for support for his farm, especially for help with fighting the wild dogs in the north east and getting back yams that were stashed in far away farms. Each time White would come back home he would meet his wife Shabu at the gates howling and complaining about losing all the friends they had before he became farm manager. 

“I do not like what this job is doing to you, Shabu said to White. “When you were not farm manager, you had good friends who used to sit in your quiet part of the forest, telling jokes and cracking bones and being sincere. Now there are all these hawks and vultures and hyenas I have never seen before running and ruining the farm.”

And always White would tell her to be patient and that things would soon change. 

“Be patient my darling Shabu,” White would say. “Nothing is ever achieved in a haste. I know what I am doing. Don’t worry about that toad Timbu. I need him now. But trust me once I get my own men throughout the farm, I will cut him loose.” 

And Shabu would reluctantly stop howling. However lately, Shabu could barely see White. He was either too busy or in a far away farm or too tired to do anything when she actually saw him. 

“You don't have time for me anymore. You don't touch me anymore.”

“No darling Shabu it is not what you think. I have this pain in my side and down there when I defecate and it would quite stressful to love you the way you want, the way I should.” 

And when Shabu no longer had the ear of White, she waited until White went on one of his trips and went to the market square and gathered all the animals who would listen and told them that hawks and hyenas and vultures had showed up after White became farm manager and surrounded him:

…I have never seen those hyenas and vultures before. Not one of them. Meanwhile all of the hardworking ants and pigeons and monkeys and baboons who struggled to make sure Goodhead did not destroy this farm have all been tossed aside. 

And White heard that Shabu had said this, and he ordered that she be tied to a tree in the middle of the farm with only her hind legs standing, pending his return. When he got back he called a huge meeting and said to all who were gathered:

“You see this woman? She belongs in my bush. She belongs to me. And I will not let anyone who belongs to me embarrass me.”

And supporters of White did not know whether to defend Shabu or plead for her. Some animals said she was only joking. Other animals claimed she had spoken the truth and White needed to be saved from his new friends. 

“Look at White,” one giraffe said. “White is holy and can do no wrong. You can trace every problem on this farm to the bad friends who surround him and stop him from loving his wife properly. White is holy and can do no wrong. Every wrong you think White does is wrong that comes from his enemies.” 

And Shabu looked on in fear as White glowered at her, deciding what to do with her. A tear rolled down Shabu’s eyes. 

“All I ever wanted was to spend some quality time with you. To be called your wolf in public. To be called the first wolf. To be able to come cuddle with you at midnight even with the pain in your side. You know I will be gentle White. You have let these people threaten our love.”

White’s hand trembled as she spoke and he grit his teeth. 

“I love you too Shabu,” White broke down. “But I need you to be on my side because while I belong to nobody, you belong to me. Say it into my ear baby.”

Shabu asked that the rope be loosened so she could reach his ear. White motioned with his head for one of his farm hands to take her down. In front of all the animals she came close and whispered: “You belong to nobody but I belong to you daddy.”

“Say it again,” White moaned, shutting his eyes.

“I belong to you daddy!”

“Say it again!”

“I belong to you daddy.”

“I belong to you daaaaddddyyy…”

And all the animals watching became embarrassed and walked away from them. 

To distract the animals, the Whitist Priests began chanting loudly:

In the name of the White father
And of the farm hands
And of the holy Whitists…

Bless us White for we have sinned
Bless our thoughts
Bless our desires
Bless our intentions

Blessed be thy name
Thy will be done in every quarter among every animal species
Teach us to love your will
Teach us to be teachable
Teach us to trust your will even when your will may not be clear
Teach us to defend your will before it becomes your will
For thine are the decisions, the thoughts and the glory
For as long as you choose to be farm leader

And as they chanted the bats kept on being attacked and killed.

And winged animals kept appealing to White to make bats illegal on the farm. 

And hunger and thirst continued all across the farm. 

Sunday, October 9, 2016


The farm blossomed with fresh fruits and water fountains and huge tubers and healthy grain and fat smiling animals (all the wild dogs were defeated and dead) and fresh grass in a new book that White wrote about himself. Animals from other farms came onto the farm falling over themselves to just have a little spot where to stand and enjoy all of the goodness of White’s amazing farm book. They punched each other, fought each other, begged to be associated with White and his farm. In this book of photos, White did not have a pain in his side and had no trouble answering the call of nature. In this colorful book, White has no wrinkles, just immaculate white fur, sharp, gleaming eyes and nice manicured claws. 

And the farm hands of White spread word about this book and how beautiful it was. They prescribed it as the solution to all the farms problems. Staring at the immaculate photos of White and his dream farm would make all the animals feel better about themselves and their farm. Farm hands said that all those animals that wailed were just ungrateful and spoilt and disloyal. They wanted to spoil the reputation of their lord and personal savior, White. And so they sold this book to animals who wanted it. And they got animals to give testimonies about the book’s healing powers. Whitist animals came forward and said it healed them from blindness and boils and sexually transmitted diseases.

“I had pile, but just looking at White’s photo book healed me,” a turkey said.

“I had glaucoma but just staring at the glossy images in White’s book made me see clearly again,” a horse said.

“I was pregnant and although my husband’s family is full of ugly brown calves, my little calf was born white and pretty like the white and pretty cows in White’s book,” a cow said. 

“I was dying and I touched White’s book and now I may never die again,” cried an antelope. 

And because of this success in healing all of the horrible things that the recession on the farm had caused, White decided to make another book about himself with the hope that perhaps, if enough animals were loyal and buy the book, the farm would come out of the recession. 

White got an old friend of his, a loyal animal, a fox from another farm in whose eyes he could never do wrong. And this fox quickly told a story of White’s life from when he was a wild wolf taking what did not belong to him until he took over the farm recently. He made White look good. And White looked at the book and saw that it was good. And he said: “Now it the time to bring succor to my animals, to bring healing to them through this book about all the ways that I am fabulous. Because my fabulousness is contagious.” 

White infected the farm with this new book and gathered people who came and gave testimony about its healing power. 

Meanwhile an argument broke out about who suggested the appointment of White’s docile deputy Sinbad, whom everyone loved. Some claimed it was White who handpicked him. Some claimed it was a snake called Timbuktu who controlled all of the animals in the West of the farm. And there was a huge ruckus and White got agitated and called everyone to order. 

“Instead of fighting you should get my book and heal your minds. My book can solve quarrels. Just looking at the pictures will make your heart glad and encourage forgiveness even if someone has wronged you. I will suggest that for serious ailments you take this dosage: My first picture book for one hour followed by two hours of the book about me written by my friend the fox.”

And all the animals loyal to White agreed with him and proceeded to buy copies of the books. They followed the prescriptions and it worked like magic. They stopped quarreling and resuming praising and worshipping White. 

And the leader of the crocodiles kept plotting to become farm manager. 
And a hyena called Teku began preparing also to become farm manager.

And animals wanting to invest in White’s farm began falling over each other and breaking their bones. 

And some animals started closing their barns and storehouses because they didn't have any grains with which to trade.

And darkness and thirst continued to cover the face of the farm. 

And a dog in the Committee of animals called Nodee who was addicted to roller skates bought himself an expensive pair of roller skates with which he planned to roll past starving animals. 

And animals in the north east of the farm continued to face starvation mostly because they had no access to White’s picture book. 

And farm hands continued to attack ungrateful disloyal animals who would not worship White. 

And all the Whitist priests and worshippers prayed:
In the name of the White father
And of the farm hands
And of the holy Whitists…

Bless us White for we have sinned
Bless our thoughts
Bless our desires
Bless our intentions

Blessed be thy name
Thy will be done in every quarter among every animal species
Teach us to love your will
Teach us to be teachable
Teach us to trust your will even when your will may not be clear
Teach us to defend your will before it becomes your will
For thine are the decisions, the thoughts and the glory
For as long as you choose to be farm leader

Sunday, October 2, 2016


You didn’t know it would be like this when you were applying. You just knew you wanted a job. Your relatives came together and contributed the money you put in an envelope to grease the wheels that would roll you through the various recruitment levels. Money that was probably going to be bigger than your first salary. But no amount of money is too big for the privilege of wearing that uniform. You were excited about the new uniform. About the rank. The serial number. Your name on your breast. But no one told you. No one whispered it into your ear that you would be serving an ungrateful, hateful bunch of citizens who think you are the worst thing since discovering palm oil on your white shirt as you walk into school on a Monday morning.

You do not understand the hate. You cannot make sense of the lies they tell about you. But you will do your duty and serve your fatherland (or is it motherland you can never tell) inspite of all the naysayers and bad belle people. You will be a police officer. 

The Check Point
God forbid that they put you on check point duty. But someone has to do it. Someone has to flag down cars and shine a weak torch into people’s faces. Someone has to salute the people in nice cars and remind them that their “boys are loyal”. And especially on the weekend, someone has to wish the law abiding citizens happy weekend. Who else will give road users the privilege of showing their appreciation for the selfless work you do with a bit of cash? You are not doing anything wrong. Think if there were no beggars in Nigeria. If they all went on strike. All those people who go to marabouts and juju priests will have nowhere to give up the offerings that form part of the rituals. You perform a serious duty. Take it seriously. Raise your voice when you ask: “Anything for the boys?” or “Oga how e go be na?” Be proud of who you are. Be confident. Look people in the eye. Don’t squeeze the notes you recieve. Fold them nicely, put it in your front pocket and slap it gently to make it sit comfortably. God sees your heart. 

The Station
People may scrunch up their noses when they walk into a police station without asking, why does this place smell like an abandoned public secondary school male toilet on a Friday afternoon. They will not ask why the walls have to look like the kitchen walls of a motor park bukka. They will judge you over a small thing like filth and stench. Your intention is not to make anyone comfortable in there. You want the suspects to reflect. To think of the crimes they may or may not have done. To be so moved by all of the sights and smells to repentance. To come to a point where they hate crime. The people who judge you do not understand that as a police officer you are a literary person. The walls and floors are a metaphor for the hearts of the criminals - dirty. You want to hold up a mirror to them. You do it for their own good. You do not want a nice comfortable police station where people will commit crimes just to spend the night as if it were a motel. God forbid that your station becomes a motel.   (It does not matter if they are innocent. The fact that they got arrested means that at least, they followed bad gangs. And did someone important not say: show me your friends and I will tell you the kind of person you are?)
And you know, if you ask me, I would introduce a standard fee for paper when people need to write a statement. You do not fetch paper from the street. People should stop being stingy and support your station with the right kind of stationery. 

The Pot Belly
You may start out thin and flat bellied. Do not see that as a thing of pride. You will look awkward with your police uniform tucked into a thin waist with your stomach looking like a chalk board. People won’t respect you if you look hungry. Whether you are male or female, this applies to you. You need to slowly work your way to making your uniform look good and make the journey around your large belly. That way you look like authority and when you tuck in your uniform, you look menacing enough to stop crime. God forbid a flat, hungry belly. It will not be your portion. 

The Patrol Vehicle
Like I said, you are a literary person. You are deep. Your patrol vehicle is another example of a symbol and a metaphor all in one. Don’t mind the people who watch Hollywood movies and want to bring fiction into reality wanting police patrol vehicles to look nice and neat, complete with bumpers and fenders, rear lights, uncracked windshields and a radio that works. Your patrol vehicle is a metaphor for the struggle of society. The dents are a metaphor for the deep impressions you want to make on people. The broken indicator a metaphor for all the broken things which indicate how problematic crime can be, broken things which you intend to fix. Your job is to fight crime, not have a nice car. Leave nice cars for politicians. Nobody has time for that. Do not bother with replacing lights. Hold together broken or cracked bumpers with nice thick copper wire. You are like that copper wire, holding the fabric of society together. And for this God will bless you.

The Barracks
As a humble person, you do not care about looking flashy. Especially where you live in the barracks. This is where people can best see your humility. In the open sewers. In the litter. In the bushes and shrubs. In the half naked children everywhere. The barracks has to show how down to earth you are. So down to earth you do not care about kempt surroundings. If you see someone obsessively cutting grass, cleaning the gutters, bearing children responsibly or sweeping the streets, they don’t have work to do. And we all know that the idle mind is the devil’s workshop. May God never let you become a workshop for the devil. 

The TortureDiscipline 
People don’t understand you. You know how - to get well shaped metal tools - the blacksmith has to beat it into shape. The blacksmith doesn’t beat the red hot iron because he hates it. Far from it. The blacksmith beats it out of love for the craft of making metal tools and items. Same with gold. It has to go through fire for purity. When you slap a suspect or chain them or beat them until you get a confession or slam batons onto the soles of their feet or strip them naked or whip them or let other cell mates beat them, or electrocute them through their penis (if PHCN allows), you do it out of love. Same way a mother will let a nurse insert a needle into the buttocks of her child. An injection hurts. But a mother knows it will help the child in the long run. You, more than most people know this. And it is not like you even go that far. You will never insert anything into another person’s buttocks. You love the people you torture discipline. You want them to change. You want them to confess and write that statement that will make the case end quickly.  God who sees your heart, knows this and will reward you greatly. 

The Accidental Discharge
Sometimes as a police officer, you will shoot people acidentally. Like when you have had too much alomo bitters during the night patrol. You need the alomo. The night is cold and full of errors. And guns are unpredictable. Don’t let this affect the love you have for your job. Don’t let a small thing like an accidental discharge or killing someone at a checkpoint stop you from giving your life to changing society. 

See ba, people are ungrateful. If someone helps them carry load in the motor park or in the market, do they just walk away? Don’t they give them something? In fact these days the motor park touts negotiate their fee very aggressively before they even touch your load. No one sees anything wrong with that. In the old days people helped people. If they can pay a tout why should they not pay a law enforcement officer? Are they saying that a tout deserves more than a person who risks their life to protect society? Yes bail is free but you are only asking people to be reasonable. Just some appreciation, the way they would appreciate any other hard working person they meet. May God send sensible lawyers who have home training and know how to show appreciation when you finally release their clients. I mean they could have been accidentally shot. Or died in a shoot out with you. You know how those criminals like shootouts, sometimes even with handcuffs or ropes binding their hands they will dare to engage you in one. God forbid that you are forced into a shootout. 

I have heard rumours like police officers working with armed robbers and sharing the proceeds, renting out guns, asking for money to help recover stolen property, raping sex workers without condoms after arresting them, helping politicians harrass people who disrespect them and other well crafted types of fiction. Rumours are the work of the devil and his children. (People should stop allowing the devil to use them). I do not take them very seriously. You shouldn’t either because no one can prove that any of it is true. 

God bless your hustle as you serve and protect everyone, including ungrateful, rumour-peddling Nigerians. 

Saturday, October 1, 2016


Nigeria is 56. It is a weird, nondescript  age to be throwing a big party. But especially since we have crossed the life expectancy of the average Nigerian, we need to be thankful. 

I have waited for president Buhari to be show appropriate gratitude and have heard nothing of substance. So I have decided to come in, like I often do on independence day. 

I want to thank all of the countries and entities that keep up afloat, without which we would be a shell of a country. The entities on which we are dependent. 

Thank you America. For always knowing. For always recieving our president when he runs to beg for your support. Thank you for sometimes stepping in and telling our president what to do even though you have your own madman threatening to take over and fuck Muslims and Mexicans up. Also, thank you for that accent that our radio presenters across the country try so desperately to copy. Really urban radio stations would be dead without you. We love you. You will see your flag flying in most big hotels in the cities. Yes the flag may be dirty, but at least we tried. 
Ps. Thank you also for not complaining too much about our president massacring hundreds of Shiites. Think what a human rights disaster that would have been. I am not saying you are secretly excited that Iran's foothold in Nigeria is destroyed but, you know just when to look away boo. Can't love you enough. Hugs.

Thank you UK. For keeping some of our key projects afloat. For DFID without which most of our hospitals would crash. For the projects which provide decent employment for our consultants and PhD’s and other development hustlers. For the schools which make sure the children of our elite take over from where their parents stopped ruining us. Thank you for staying even if your own relationship back at home has broken down and you are about to move out of your ex’s home. Breakups are hard. I hope that nothing cracks as you move your things out of the EU. Hugs. 

Thank you Holland. For easing the nerves of Nigerians with our most popular brand of beer. Many Nigerians may not realize Star Lager is a Dutch product, but I do. Thank you for helping us effectively wash away our sorrows. And for not always bragging that our national product is actually yours. 

Thank you South Africa. For all the companies that make our lives bearable. For DSTV, without which we would be stuck with government propaganda and adverts. For Shoprite. For MTN which teaches us values like patience and knowing how to have a backup plan. Thanks big brother. And, PS. We know that sometimes you treat us like shit, but sometimes a big brother disciplines the children of his younger brother. It keeps the relationship in check. The truth is, we need you. 

Thank you Switzerland. For safely storing all the money stolen from our country which has all come in handy in this recession. Your honesty is commendable. You even returned some of it. You just need to give the rest back. But we know you will at your own time. Some think your people are boring. They just don’t understand you like I do. Hugs. Oh, also sorry about Sepp Blatter.

Thank you Dubai. For keeping the wives and mistresses of our corrupt civil servants and leaders busy with interesting, expensive hobbies. For providing a safe haven when our corrupt politicians are too scared to go into America or Britain. You preserve our love.

Thank you Germany. For Julius Berger. Without whom in the event of an emergency, we would be in serious trouble. Thank you for all our major roads and bridges.

Thank you Ghana, Cyprus, Ukraine, Malaysia… for providing our pretend middle class an opportunity to give their children a decent education. Abroad is abroad. 

Thank you Benin Republic. For all the cooks who keep the expatriates in Nigeria nourished while they provide us technical expertise and foreign aid.

Thank you United Nations. For feeding our starving citizens especially the children and not wondering why in a country with such rich fat bastards, millions of people, especially children are starving. Be patient with us. We need you boo.

Thank you China. For the shinier, cheaper versions of all the things most of our people cannot afford. For the second hand trains. I know we are paying for it somehow, but still, thank you. I know America sometimes whispers into our ear not to get in bed with you too often, but at least you are an honest lover. You don’t lie to us like AMerica and UK does about wanting to marry us or be our boo; you don’t tell us you love us when you want to sleep with us. We know it is just for the sex. We don’t expect love or anything. And for this we are grateful. 
Ps. It would be nice if your people mixed with our people sometimes. We will learn your language if you want.

Thank you English football and the UEFA Champions League. For providing a distraction for young Nigerians who would otherwise have had the time to worry about a fast failing country. For the trends on Twitter on the weekends. You don’t know it yet, but English football and the Champions League have contributed to our stability as a nation, so that instead of quarrel about development, we can spend time fighting over Arsenal and Manchester United or whether Ronaldo is better than Messi. And for this we say, God bless you. 

Thank you foreign journalists. For asking the questions our journalists are too underpaid to ask. For being there when our president needs to speak abroad. For telling us the things we would never have found out. May God bless your hustle and lead you to more of our leaders and secrets.

Thank you Germany, England and India. For preserving the quality of life of our politicians and making sure they are healthy and able to rule us well. England especially, for treating our daddy's ears so that he can hear us better. For also treating their families and providing a decent place for our wealthy to die. God will bless your hustle.

May the good lord continue keeping these lovely people for us so that we can grow to even greater heights. Can I get an amen?