Posted in controversial


Got the worst luck with success, she is a lazy goddess never coming to me because I have not worked hard enough. Okay.

It is that time again when the convulsions are high in religious institutions. Where passions are high as the preacher fluctuates the energy of his congregation with perfected oration – evoking the desired sobriety and falling back to influencing another major cataclysm when prayers are launched, spat on microphones, and caroming off different angles of the hall. It is the time of the year where resolutions are remade. Those in the shindig celebrate the beginning of another 365 days journey with grogs, beers, wild jokes and prostitutes garbed with cheap cosmetics. It’s a new year after all; they did not get smitten by the cold hands of death.

Thinking is hard. It is often impossible to keep a ten minutes devotion to the cause – the application of the thinking faculty to realizing the big steps to the big dreams. Most times, we get a little lost in thoughts and our ideas become blurry. We become indisciplined and maybe even punished by God or our own nemesis. It’s such a world with lot of faces and challenges; it may not be a matter of indiscipline but the excuse of an overwhelming need to adjust into realities. The big steps can hold on! The big dreams can work another year that becomes years or buried in never lands. Most times, there are no big steps and the hackneying outcome of flowing with the tide is an ill thought-of conjecture with pointy ends scarring the flesh of many. If the guess is good, then the year ended with God’s good graces assured – the adulation of a wise headless cock that ran away from 365 knives. The preacher gets a fat ram, another convulsion follows.

Another year, yet the problems never left. The problems in us needing urgent fixing followed us and even screaming with much excitement about a new era. Say an era of exacerbated bottlenecks for the little lost souls. The problem is in the identification of mere symptoms to the problems and living a life of untruths or ignorance – not forgetting but guaranteed that the problems have been resolved. You see, the problems are enormous and one of it isn’t the problem in identifying symptoms. Being stuck with identifying symptoms is a drag back in readiness to facing the real problems. Identifying the real problems is one thing, finding answers is even another. Bottles of beer from a tonk barely buys time with a hangover guarantee; the odds not in our favour. At large even, many ordinary minds with potentials put themselves out as experts in solving key societal problems when in fact they discovered the symptoms from a lot of research papers. Everyone is in a hurry.

There is a robust line between envy and motivation. Its distinction is often less appreciated and narrows it down to a frustrating conceptualization, “the thin line”. So when the preacher gets to that point of we putting our dog-eared papers by the altar, the motive behind the cry for Heavenly help is often the motivated envy springing from success stories of the young millionaires around. The desperation grows like tumour and it kills slowly. But then, the motivations could be good-spirited and the year still a seemingly big joke with lot of sad moments – unsurprisingly, the sad quotes in the phone’s gallery have saved the heavy laden. For even the right motivation is not enough! It is to be a dovetailing of persistence in hardwork and assistance from things unknown – fate, good fortune, right twists, perfect paddling, stroke of luck or what more synonym from a drawer of mystery much to the chagrin of motivational speakers. 

A little lost in a phase because the pressure is exhausting. The familiar temptation of putting selves out on the media to pass the message of wellness, brews. The decision to believe that the sad endings you are choking on was conceived from not a single error from you – the pain, probably, was an experiential knowledge of life happening. At least, that is what we might have told ourselves and maybe it is fine. You know…anything to fight the pressure because even the comfort is in the lies. The pain appears beautiful if we take hints from how much we publicize our wounds – “the modern day masochists” is the silent chants on the streets; the consolation is in the reassuring from injured like minds. Other times, the consolation is from the reaffirming lips of the successful few of our godlike skillset. In the end, the choice is ours. Time just keeps taking shots and moving to the next year. It has zero feelings and it performs its banal rituals…sometimes, it comes with the unexpected heavy downpour but it does not care who gets soaked or which house drowned. The thunders probably mock but there is no theorem on that. Time just passes.

Time passes and it is the greatest historian. It has seen all kinds of beings and it has watched them die. It has seen the poor who became rich. It has seen the poor who became rich and found his closing chapters in abject penury. It has seen the rich grow richer, the poor poorer. It has seen people die in their hours of breakthrough. It has seen the crowd live lives of wasted years. It has seen it all and it keeps passing. The few who understand the times and seasons may make in life… at least they will surely live a sober life albeit placing focus on the necessary matters of life knowing full well that death comes quickly and even money won’t spare our lives. The hopes run bleak for a lot of troubled minds but the lack of exposure to testimonies never outweighs life’s greatest reward, the gift of life – the biggest miracle. Say life gives us a reason to keep the dreams alive and it is enough reason to park when the tempestuous travails of life storms us out of our desired routes. Say we don’t park regardless because we could end our chapter as a melodrama leaving the ending with exceedingly exciting events.

The wild chants, “new year, new me” is a lie. It requires heightened deliberateness to live right. It is arguably precise to conclude that such deliberate rightness is a subjective interpretation — for one becomes or can only speak of the much he knows. But then, it is probably acceptable to the enlightened that a basis to rightness is moderation. If the right attitude is sieged by the right attractions, there may be a good chance to reaching an expected need. Sometimes the result does not come and there is a permitted misgiving and cursing but that frustrating path is the path to good success. It is not frustrating to everyone on that narrow path and it typifies how we singularly must bear our crosses.

So maybe we are a little lost because we have reached a good position up the ladder but not comfortable with how the top is lonely. Say we are little lost at sea swallowing large amounts of salted waters as the tides grow boisterous. Say we are ageing and tired of all the birthday wishes that have not come true. The answers out of frustrations are found in many good books but nothing beats experiential knowledge as even the propounders of theories are persons who document the successful part of their quizzing. The problems in the answers lie in the multitudinous nature of solution lines and at other times, the right way to apply the only way out. The journey to these answers take longer years for many, short times for some…the answer comes either ways. If death comes first, time records and the burial rite is brief with weeps lasting a short while. If death comes after, then it follows same ritual save the impact we left behind keeps us forever alive. In the end, it is about values despite sad songs – the only way to defeat the common enemy, death.

Posted in poetry


If I lose my discretion, I may just write you a sonnet. A perfect narration of all the feels I stomach; I am not surviving this one (picks ink).

I look back at all the brokenness my heart underwent

Holding back a teary eye is now my yesteryear

With your reign came healing, my bruises disappear

When you offered me your shoulders, I now know what you meant.

Not enough nights had I to sweeten your soul with words of depth

My fondness for you are pregnant, offspring of pure love should I bear

I may pretend the images are blurry but I cannot call smokescreens all your care

Though I may deny our situationship, I can’t prevaricate craving the feel of your breath.

Those little piercing words you spoke have left scars in my pith

I am unable to quit the feels and maybe I am beyond enamored of your frame

My deep embrace of art has you as my prettiest picture.

I love everything about you from your tress to your feet

Your shy self and cutest smiles have me a jailbird; with rawest feelings, I came

My heart is too involved, me without you is seizure.

(Drops ink)…

Posted in controversial, fiction


In my head, I am such a pretty picture. I keep no mirrors in my bedroom, destroyed all my side mirrors and take no single photograph of me. My breasts are full in my head, but my eyes see tiny dots surrounded by minute flesh. I am skinny and ugly but my name is beautiful, I am Diana. 

My family is small. We are the small circle of two dead parents, one imbecile as an older brother, Festus, and a younger sister, Olivia. Olivia grew up too fast. Sixteen years old and she was bigger than me in size. I hated staring at her hung big bras and pants but I could not bring myself to stop – God answered my prayers but the delivery man delivered the blessings to my sister. The mix up baffles me all the more as Olivia is the prettiest thing one could ever imagine; the Angel probably fell for her freckles, maybe I deserved less.

Every night I am unable to sleep in peace. The little voices in my head were fond of asking why I killed my parents. I remember screaming I did not. I remember screaming “I am sorry!” I said a lot, I cried a lot but the pain never left. The pain stayed and so did the little voices. All I did was inquire as to the circumstance of my birth. I think I told a blatant lie that went “Mummy said I am ugly because I was a product of incest.” I played on Daddy’s suspicion and as they quarrelled in the car, Daddy struggled with concentration. The car left the express and of the three of us, I was what was left. I left three blocks on Mummy’s head. The impact was brutal to her dead body – her blood made its entry with greenish concoction. I cried for my Dad. I cried about my scars, the accident wore me deep scars. I am 20 years old and I carry such heavy guilt since my ninth year on Earth.

You see, my parents never loved each other. My father was always disgusted seeing Festus. He always felt Festus was a product of incest because Mummy often travelled to the East to fend for Emeka, her imbecile brother. The rumours got to Daddy’s ears that such escapades between both of them were regular but the fables only grew on Daddy when Festus cried noisily after the last “push” “push”. He filled me in his fears once and I may have felt his pain. An imbecile! I hated how Festus carried his hand about like a tyrex dinosaur. I hate my brother. I hate my sister more. She hated me too.

If you are reading this, I hope you judge me objectively. You see, I am quite the unpopular type with no company but the voices in my head suggesting I kill my sister for living the life I should have had. Sometimes, the voices suggest I kill myself to free myself from all the temptations. You may not understand what it feels like having no boy child try to woo you. I don’t even wish for a kiss anymore as it will never come; I have never been touched all my life that I even pray I get gang raped. The dildos mock my womanhood – the vibrators throw me into crazy cravings for rough sex with one boy I will never have. Skepta was a ten. He was too good for me. I did not even deserve the penis of a billy goat.

Built boy Skepta! He was 6 3. His looks were charming; his smiles were diplomatic, broad shoulders and blue eyes. He was sex appeal and I was flashing my Toyota Yaris’ car key risking an appeal. I met him four months back. He approached me on a busy road asking for directions. He was new in Lagos. He called me “aunty” and I was not disgusted by it. I wanted him to ride in my car to ride me in my king bed. He did not see my “beautiful” because the stars were not on duty. The sun exposed my ugliness but he was the only stranger to talk to me in years and let’s leave it at that. 

Skepta hopped in. I was to take him to his destination. But voices in my head came again. I started clapping my thighs and the feels got me rolling back my eyes. His voice, the baritone! and I felt completely wasted. I grabbed him by his shirt and he shoved me for the sexual harassment. I rebuked him when he exclaimed with aunty chants. I mean, he was probably way older but for my ugly looks. I was a total mess and I understand he must have been disgusted watching me throw my hands under my skirt to take out the manifestations of my inner desire. I was banged by Skepta in my head and that satisfaction was heavenly. I cared less I was rude.

Home with my sister that day and I could not stop talking about Skepta. The point was simple. With a detailed description of Skepta, I was marking a territory. You see, Olivia is the real devil. I may have killed my parents but I was not evil to my siblings – at least, in deeds. Olivia had her way all the time. She got accomplished all of my heart desires and she knew how jealous that made me feel. It must have been heavenly to her watching me fade away gradually with no purpose in life. At some point I was overcoming the cravings to keep up the unhealthy rivalry but what I saw last night in my own bedroom broke me in pieces. I fell for that temptation.

Olivia clubbed last night. Such a spoilt child! I could tolerate that. It was pleasing she had that vice – home drunk, different men on Saturdays! I wonder how she managed to keep good grades though! God was not doing her a favour and I will just leave it at that. So yes! She clubbed last night. Olivia did not come home alone. She was back an hour to 12am and kept laughing noisily. The baritone with his jokes and I was set to peep through the key hole to watch another sexual performance better my sexual orientation. I never joked with my orgies. Olivia made making love in my bed a routine sometimes but does in hers at other times. I think her drunkenness was a factor behind the confusion.

As usual, I was up that night unable to grab a sleep. I stayed in the parlour yet again reliving my ugly life and editing my suicide notes. Olivia found her way to my room and I was trying to breathe for fear that Skepta was the guy. I mean the dude was really tall and his physique was similar. I disabused my mind from the entreaty to go and see for myself. But I could not keep my eyes off my sister’s self-destruction. I wanted to watch her sin before God and die of an infection. I knew she wished I choke on my obsession from my hands in my vagina with my eyes never rolling back and my death ugly enough as my face. Yes, it was a mutual wish.

The animal in him was hostile. Olivia screamed so loud still the thumps came even louder as his scrotum made same sounds like early morning flaps of a cock’s wings. The screams were unbearable and I doubted he had semen after he tore her civvies and actively paying lasting respects to any penetrable overtures of poor Olivia. I giggled when she cried. I hoped she choked on that one – the humour that she could die from a willing custard launcher consumed me.

Just when my eyes had seen enough! I mean, I was retiring for the parlour to stop evading their privacy any further only to hear “O! Skepta! Damn Skepta!” My heart parked. I froze. The voices came this time and I panicked. I ran to get a kitchen knife. A lot of cutleries fell to the ground. I had butterfingers. I was afraid of what I was set to accomplish but the voices in my head were comforting; it called this task a feat. But Skepta was not enough reason why, that much I knew. I entered my sister’s room with the knife in my left hand. I needed to see myself one last time. But there I was, uglier than the last meeting with a mirror. I looked 52 on a 20 and the wrinkled face wore this ugly scar, a flat nose, big mouth and a terrible jaw line.  I was such a beauty in my head; I should never have seen my reality yet again. Nothing was uglier than what the picture revealed. I cried at myself barking at the Heavens.

I swung open my room door. Skepta was such a covetous brat! He had his pintle on hold and he was still engaging Olivia’s full breasts with all the filthy saliva from his tongue. They were stark naked, enjoying their moments. They were two fine people who had no understanding of life. I thought. They could be doing other meaningful things with their lives or getting favours from people because of their beauty. They saw me staring. Skepta panicked thinking I was a ghost or a witch. I was naked and my frame sure scared him or maybe more of the dagger. Olivia howled. I saw her mocking smirk and I was sure it would be her last opportunity. I knew I would reap her apart but my fingers were trembling. I slit Skepta’s throat and shouted in the process to form the necessary dutch courage. But I looked at Olivia, she was so scared. I wonder what ran through her mind: the fear of afterlife, maybe. She may have wondered what the pain would feel like. I broke in tears. I was overwhelmed with so much emotion. I could tell that there was a feeling in my heavy heart but I needed to know if it was love. But the voices kept screaming “kill her!” and there was no time to interpret what I felt. Olivia gave me a kick around my loins and I stabbed her at intervals. I kept stabbing her all over her face. I drew on her face with the pointy end of the knife. I started to slap her bloody face screaming in the process. I made to bite the skin around her neck before something held me back. It was my conscience.

Gently, I stood. I opened my window. I jumped off. The world was too beautiful for people like me. I did not enjoy life. I could not enjoy the beauties around me. I could not enjoy death. I never knew what pain I felt landing on the rough ground. I only needed to know I was beautiful on the inside; it was everything to know my demons lied. But it did not. I was not worthy of life and my demons loved me enough to reveal these truths.
(Festus wakes up normal…)


Posted in love, non fiction


I should have called a thousand times… I should have stepped up as your son. A black friday it is and I am shopping all my guilt and time will never heal me.

Nights like this are new to me. I am scribbling this forcing a tear back and I cannot say if I can hold it till the end. The news hit me in the wee hours of the morning and there was the sudden stench around me; I smelt awful and it took me hours to process the level of my guilt.  You died too soon. It should not have been you. I am such a terrible soul and it is demonic how I find myself learning life the hard way.

Godfather! I took some things for granted. Hurts deep down in my stomach that I never said I love you. This guilt will ruin me, it is true. I won’t fight the consequences, I am done with me. Those many nights I chose not to pray for you while you lay in bed on life support are the cruelties I stomach. The circumstance of death is fishy but it was not a cruel witch, it was my omission to reverse the arrows of the wicked that leaves well-meaning people in tears. They are mourning and this sudden death is painful. I was worried about your issues but worries were not enough – I could have been spiritual.

The big monies you sent me in school, it was all your way of showing love. I thought I knew life, I thought the goal was to be excellent to pay back the gratitude. Stupid me! A debt that can never be repaid is pure love. You were love to me; I was in school chomping hard on your money favours. My prayers for you were meagre and deep down I thought I still had time. Deep down I am a mess, I watch me self-destruct.

I am sorry for the cruelty. You check my files in Heaven and the records will depress you. I am plagued with one flaw too many and my selfish ambitions did not paint me the bigger picture. How can I say I love you with all my heart when I have not learnt to love myself – I struggle with my flaws, I am stingy with my bad habits. Deep down my heart is sadness, I am such a blurry picture of where love reigns. But truly I love you, and truly I never guaranteed it in my pitiful omissions. Truly, I don’t deserve your love and support. But this your son has literally struggled and hoped being a lawyer this year will take you out of your sickbed. Little thinking! All you needed was a prayer with fervency enriched; all I did was the opposite. The better man died and I am learning life rough upon your exit – what happened to learning from you all those times? The lies in that my résumé that I am such a good listener will kill me. This pain is exhausting; I will regret this misplaced priority.

What is love? Love is my Godfather. Rest on, Dad. You are forever in my heart. No cheers to me writing my wrongs from now; what use is it anyways? I am tearing me apart till I find a part of me worth being your son. Maybe if I take deep bites on my filthy flesh, I may find my bones worthy of your sonship – I will search within for a heart of love to love the living even as I must dutifully love myself.


Posted in law


In this paper, the writer attempts to capture some of our fears – chiefly, the reflections will be on the consequences of the erection of tall transmission masts at residential areas. It is already a known fact that we are in the fourth industrial revolution where technology is set to make life worth living. In all the goodies that come with record-breaking technological advancement or enhancement is the dire need to recognise the consumers of the innovations – the beneficiaries that still remain you and I.  Before we all consider the realities our fears may have been two-faced to admit, let us use a second or two to answer the question: “Can you live in a house 10m away from a tall transmission mast 25m+ long? If no, then why?”


The Nigerian Communications Commission (hereafter known as NCC), in a 2011 paper presented before Honourable Members of the House of Representatives, called the fears many people patronize as mythical in every standard. NCC relied heavily on WHOs 2006 publication which stressed that the levels of Radiofrequency exposure from Base Stations and wireless networks are so low that the temperature increases are insignificant and do not affect human health. It is tempting to say the fears of radioactive emissions from any such electromagnetic field are indeed mythical, given the submission from the World Health Organization. But whether it will inspire unbelief in the theory of this scientific fable may become our own interpretation to the take home of the WHO when it encouraged extensive research in this area through its research agencies.

NCC will eagerly maintain the following grounds:

1. A transmission mast falls under non-ionizing radiations and as such its effect on a human life is little or nothing; it bears a lesser radiofrequency than a kitchen microwave and it is a copper bottomed promise of “I will never bring cancer to humanity; I will let my people breathe.”

2. At a 5m distance, no hazard can be done to man in his residential abode. The height of the tower above 20m could see emissions en route the sky.

3. There is hardly enough evidence to substantiate the claims of claimants who cry they suffer health challenges from supposed radiations from the tall masts.

4. The failure to keep to the NESREA ACT and Regulations which stipulates that the distance between the mast and a residence must be 10m at the very least is not a matter under tort but attracts a criminal sanction.

5. The clamour for tort of nuisance will never hold sway due to the failure to prove the substantial impact of the alleged emissions on lives and properties – be it public nuisance (criminal in nature) or private nuisance (actionable under tort law).

6. The guidelines of NCC are always followed. There is no erection of a mast above 20m that does not go through scrutiny to attaining an imprimatur or what not.

The arguments are solid. They are almost unimpeachable and the records have proven so. We can even cite judicial authorities like HELIOS TOWER LTD V. BELLO (2015) LPELR-25206(CA) where the claimants could not persuade the Court of Appeal that they suffered health hazards from the emissions. Justice Boloukuromo Moses Ugo JCA was disturbed that the claimants could come arguing private nuisance without bringing expert evidence. The concern of the Court has not waivered as we saw same worries in a 2017 decision, REGT TRUSTEES TLBCC V. OLUBOBOKUN. It seems the myth is a reality and the Court will recognize it as so – after all, jurisprudence is science.

This writer sees what seems right in the sight of the Commission but also recognizes that a false credo is a path to destruction. The fear has not been tested objectively and even if it has, the Court will tag the emotional claimant as a seeker of sentiment. So let’s test a slender position and see if it tips the already superior position.


1. It is true that in the case of HELIOS TOWER LTD V. BELLO (supra), the Justices of the Court of Appeal sided with the NESREA regulations that 10m was the good law. It is however a concern that NESREA and NCC will cling to different positions and fine-tune its yardstick to be that it is keeping to international best practices. Did the Court treat NESREAs finding as correct because it seemed obviously safer? How can we really assess the reasonableness of both of them when there is no impossibility that both positions could have been false? If NCC was wrong in the math, can it not be wrong again?

2. The curiosity of many concerned Nigerian Citizens has now been attributed to verboten myth and legends. The mere fact that WHO opens its porter to extensive research in this area should mean that there is a fraction of uncertainness and one should not throw caution to the wind even literally – we won’t forget the wind and storms that have brought masts to the ground like the WPMI-TV Tower, Robertsdale, Alabama, US on the 12th of September, 2004 and all the recent catastrophes you will find on WIKIPEDIA. There is thus a tiny appreciation for English to treat an uncertain disposition to mean a consequential myth – they are strange bed fellows no matter how similar; this is beyond semantics but not above logical appreciation. While scientists hold that the emissions from the mast are under non-ionizing radiations, it is also within science that a continuous wave of a non-ionizing radiation could carry same resolve as an ionizing radiation which could be hazardous to human health like changing the genes in human system and bringing fatality to a doorstep. With the possibility, it is unfair to discard the carcinogenic suggestions of scientists especially the International Agency for Research on Cancer (IARC) which firmly believes that electromagnetic Magnetic Fields emit radiations that are carcinogenic to humans.

3. While we can appreciate the role of the judiciary in keeping tabs with evidence led by the parties, it is curious how the realities of today is shelved in the homes of the Judges to fulfil the impracticable reliability on “facts pleaded” and “evidence led.” Maybe it is indeed practicable, but we read of judgments where the Court tries too hard to draw the line rather than serve what is just without making us seek the books to find new perspectives of what justice really is. Point is, the uncertainty in the findings of scientists should mean that precautionary measures should be in place rather than dismiss every action on nuisance till “a lab rat” tests positive to the emissions indeed. While the court should not deal with speculations, it should not forget that NCC and WHO merely placed a higher speculation on the non-effect of the radioactive frequency but not necessary ruling out the lighter speculations that it could be hazardous to human health. This is not unfounded if we ask ourselves questions like “what was the point of a 10m distance from NESREA all about? Why is WHO still undergoing extensive research?” The Court should not dismiss suits on grounds of speculations and find in favour of upholders of a speculation that ranks higher on a scale.

4. There is the fear that a mast could fall. Many masts have fallen. In Nigeria, we have had stories of a couple; we may even have been victims of such catastrophe. Is it not nuisance if we consider the tall mast falling down and destroying lives and/or properties? I bet it constitutes that. But the expected reaction will be that: “is it private nuisance if there is barely a likelihood of the mast falling?” Indeed, there is a trick in the question. If indeed we understand the role of the concierge of the Law, it would be agreed that if it be possible, the Court should strive to see that all lives and properties are preserved and precautionary or preventive mechanisms are necessary antes. To answer the question, it is incorrect to call that a private nuisance per se, but it is more precise to argue under anticipatory nuisance. There is such a thing as anticipatory nuisance and it is found in the Black’s Law Dictionary – the Spiritual Book lawyers read from. Whether it is known to our jurisprudence is not a proper question to ask; our concern is to quiz on why no one has argued this line. In the old case of ABIOLA V. IJOMA [1970] 2 ALL NLR 268 Dosunmu J cited the observation of Lord Loreburn that “the law of nuisance undoubtedly is elastic, as was stated by Lord Halsbury, who said: ‘what may be called the uncertainty of the test may also be described as its elasticity.” To this end, the test of the term “nuisance” transcends the scope of gaseous hazards (emissions in this case), water pollution, and the usual tested areas. The court should treat each case as it comes ex aequo et bono and consider the issue of anticipatory nuisance with respect to the consideration that the maintenance culture of Nigerian Establishments are weak to a core. The consideration remembers the everyday instances of governmental failures in bridge maintenance, bad roads, power outage due to damaged transformers, to mention a few catastrophes. In fact, this consideration falls within the presumption of the existence of certain facts by the Court of Law vide s.167 EA 2011. There is a need for the Court to disentangle itself from suffering the standard of proof in civil cases to read the onus on a prosecution. This blurry imaginary scale will never reflect the Court as the last hope of the common man.

5. The sections of the NESREA ACT, NESREA Regulations, NCC Guidelines and NCC ACT that talk about the 10 metres distance but allows for a mast to go as high as 35m (even more) is bad law. It is bad with respect to the possibility of the fall of a mast. If it must be erected in a residential area, apart from the issues of the alleged mythology of emissions, the distance between the mast and a house should be far enough that where the mast falls, it will hardly claim life or fall on a building. The argument that its fall will not bring the building down to the point that it claims a life as it is not mast is not same as a heavy boulders is moot. In fact, nuisance is complete where the hazard affects the premises and not necessarily the dweller. The argument that this activism is faulty on grounds that it may be a matter of too much sensitivity as it will be insane to pull down tall buildings say it was not a matter of tall masts, is unfounded. It will be inaccurate to appreciate this particular paragraph without absorbing former points. They are not disjointed and the focus is on a tall mast. We cannot talk about the entire global hazards in a single paper but we can take issues in bits. It is a call for precautionary measures rather than reactionary measures – NESREA and NCC made a mistake, the Court should not. Humans are not lab rats; there are still enough white rats in the market.


We cannot exhaust our concerns in this area. With all the alleged myths, it still does not stop the ruins in lessors’ face in letting out premises that is a tall transmission mast concentrated area — always bad for business. Whether we like to tell it or deny it, the fact remains that lessors in this area have business losses and it leads to loss in the properties’ value. This paper is a call for judicial activism as beyond the uncertain carcinogenic effects of the electromagnetic fields are the certainty in poor maintenance culture of infrastructures in this country – the latter still being an argument under private nuisance. It is almost offensive to regard the sleeplessness of humans in such situation (living 10m opposite a 35m tall mast) as mere giving to phobia. We have had to learn the hard way that promises of good maintenance culture by the government are indeed the myths that emit catastrophes. The court is presumed to know these realities as even proved or certain facts are law or facts recognized in the Evidence Act.

Posted in controversial, fiction


Chances are that the world loves us in mysterious ways…

It was a blue car..or a white car. I don’t remember… The road was busy as usual. People crossed it with their hearts in their mouth; it was almost impossible to flag a speeding vehicle to halt. The ritual was to be vigilant — I had even undergone several neck massages from everyday east-west neck movement at Area 3 junction, Abuja, prior to this day. Today was unusual, the creeps in my skin were literal — I remember seeing the hairs on my arms running helter skelter. The pim pim pim! left a pee in my panties. My skeleton tried wrestling out of my skin. My phobia was the damn road! I was offered a hand by a gentle man and with a short sprint we were on the other side. But my phone fell off my purse. I betrayed my cortex and rushed to get it before another pim pim pim! takes a tyre walk on it. I arrived late certainly, a blue or white vehicle picked us up. My left cheek kissed the windshield and left a crack, I guess. The chants of “kai!” and “Jesus!” everywhere. I was right there on the ground. I felt lifeless down my legs. I held my phone to my chest as I watched the blue or white car speed off. My phobia mocked me, I could see it making laughing faces up in the cloud.

The crowd watched and cried, I think they mourned me into afterlife. Such a company! I had never felt such love.

Obeezy inks…

Posted in poetry


We aren’t perfect beings. Sometimes, our meanness are inspired by the kindness of a human’s heart. We become cruel for trifling excuses. We lose our humanity in pursuit of vanities. Sometimes, we possess a world of unrighteousness that the real world wishes not to have enough of us breathing.

Took him three meters above the ground to get the point

He fell off a high mountain, it was no bad dream

No screams! He cared the less about his joints

It was not a desire to die, he thought you would stop him

He died with mouths heavy with lamentations even as his head burst open

Such a brave child to fall from that height, such a coward to escape life

The glob! His blood, fresh; he was useful to the vultures

You looked away at all the mess, that was not the life you had chosen

Even his death did not to teach you how to live life

With enough of you, more people would cry for vultures

There was darkness in your soul! You were the devil

A coward he was? Or you’re with weak guts to relieve you

There was darkness in your soul! Your cruelty had murdered him

But you did the usual, you wrote another elegy for the thirteenth him.