LEARN ON ME AUNTY MEG

Dear Aunty Meg,

I want you to assist me in solving this my problem. I took permission from my husband to

travel to our village few months ago. I went for an Uncle’s funeral. He warned me not to extend my stay beyond the date he gave me. One thing led to another and I overstayed. When I got back to Abuja, he ordered me to go back to my parents. I refused initially but when he threatened to kill me, I packed my load and left with my two children, a girl and a boy.He said I should leave the elderly boy behind but I refused.

Immediately we got to the village, the boy started falling sick. He later developed some complications and died. I did not inform him about the sickness. My problem now is how I would inform my husband about his son’s death. I still love him. ---------- Paulina.

Paulina, your problem started when you overstayed beyond your husband’s instruction. Probably, if you had informed him on phone about the extensions, his annoyance would have been reduced. Another fault of yours was your decision not to tell him about his son’s ailment. In all you have not allowed free flow of communication in the whole saga. My advice is to implore some elders from both families to placate him. Don’t leave out people from the church too. God will help you.

ADVENTURES OF MR. FAARI FUNMI ASUN!

There was this young girl I admired a lot, she was very pretty, tall, dark and intelligent. Her smile could illuminate a room. No matter the level of provocation meted to her she would never be angry. I learnt that she had just finished her OND and was assisting her uncle to serve in his beer joint.

I have been watching her at some distance before I eventually hit the nail on the head. She neither agreed nor disagreed. Any time I called her, she would give me audience. I prodded her further and collected her phone number which she gladly obliged. The following day, I was sent to Kaduna to cover a story. Unfortunately, I lost my phone during the trip. When I got back to Lagos, our relationship started on a full throttle.

Several months later, a girl sauntered into the beer joint smiling at me and Funmi. I looked at Funmi and saw the glaring similarities between the two girls. This was the girl I first met! I was confused.

I later on gathered that the one I first met was the young sister called Kunmi. In my confusion and hasty state of mind, I had mistaken her for Funmi. I learnt that Kunmi had to travel back to her school to collect her transcript. That explained her sudden absence from the scene.

It was not really a matter of confusion on their part as I later on gathered. It was unanimous decision between the two sisters that Kunmi whom I first met should step aside for her elder sister because there was family pressure on her to get married. Can it work? Faari to get married? We shall all see.

Behave responsibly; Aids is Real!

BOOK REVIEW: BLUE COLLAR LAWMAN BY HAROLD SMITH

SNEAK PREVIEW

Three British colonial officers protested at the British rigging of Nigeria’s Independence Elections. (Two gave in to pressure. It was decided that I was the ringleader and should be punished accordingly. In fact, Charles Bunker was my senior officer.)

The remarkable way in which I was treated – vilification; vindication; commendation; threats; hostility; offer of a knighthood (with permanent exile); denigration – puzzled me until I read every book on Macmillan, his diaries, biographies, etc. Only then did I realize I had been treated in accord with Macmillan’s personal philosophy. However, as Macmillan had by this time killed three million innocent Africans with Labour’s help, I could hardly feel badly done to. I was very lucky to be alive. Had I come near success as a whistle-blower, I would have been killed. This was no problem for M15/6 who have many killers to hand. Actually I was a failed whistle-blower because poisoned by Porton Down, which was the view of a Minister of Defence who had reason to know!

For twelve years I suffered the devastating effects of a poison, which destroyed my gut and simulated tropical sprue, which is rarely found in Africa. All this time Porton Down had the antidote. This was naturally denied me. The chance survival was remarkable and only after many years of medical research did I feel confident enough to re-commence my whistle-blowing. By this time the British had created a wasteland in Nigeria. This proud showcase of democracy had become a total basket case, thanks to Macmillan’s Machiavellian Machinations.

Macmillan evolved his Casablanca philosophy while resident Minister in North Africa. The rest of Africa, particularly Nigeria, suffered from Macmillan’s criminal tactics in the 50’s and 60’s, and the documentary evidence is beginning to emerge. Macmillan adored what he learned in North Africa. He was exhilarated!

‘The purely Balkan politics we have here are more to my liking,’ he wrote. ‘if you don’t like a chap, you don’t deprive him of the whip or turn him out of the party. You just say he is a monarchist or has plotted to kill Murphy’ – Macmillan’s American counterpart – ‘and you shoot him off to prison or a Saharan concentration camp. Then a week or two later, you let him out and make him Minister for something or other. It’s really very exhilarating.’

In 1960 Macmillan rigged Nigeria’s Independence Elections and put Northern stooges in power. He then jailed Opposition leaders. Chief Anthony Enaharo got fifteen years on trumped – up treason charges! This was sheer effrontery of Macmillan when he was the one who was destroying democracy. Chief Enaharo is still alive, outraged and seeking justice. Following a coup and a British counter-coup, he then released Chief Enaharo and his colleague, Chief Awolowo, made them Ministers in the military administration and with massive supplies of British arms encouraged them to wage war on their fellow nationalists of the Ibo nation in the East. This was passed off as a civil war in which three million innocents died. It was a classic example of British perfidy and followed exactly the tactic proclaimed by Macmillan a few years earlier in North Africa. No doubt it was very, very exhilarating! And the African victims of his treason to British parliamentary democracy? They were not human beings. They were, in his words, ‘only barbarians’.

My own treatment as a whistle-blower was not much better. His son-in-law, Julian Amery, through the Governor General, Sir James Robertson, threatened my life should I succeed in alerting the British public. At the very least, they promised, if I did not accept permanent exile to the Far East, I would never work again. They kept that promise with the help of successive British Governments. Mr. Blair has done nothing to help me, or to deceive the British people about Iraq and, following in Macmillan’s footsteps, waged an illegal war.

Mac, SuperMac, devious? Devious is not the word. Insane is a better one. Drunk with power? Hitler was insane? Is Blair, who lied to Parliament, not insane?

A Dagger in the Heart

“Without oil, and without the profits from oil, neither the UK nor Western Europe can survive.”

TO BE CONTINUED.

UNCLE KAY SEPARATED ME AND MY SISTER FOR LIFE!

By Femi Abulude

Ever since I could remember, people had been commenting on both physical and behavioral similarities between Sister Eliza and I. This was not surprising though Sister Eliza was the first daughter of our parents. Ours was a family of seven, made of three girls and two boys. I was the forth in the family.

While I was growing up, I saw Sister Eliza as my role model, hoping to become a nurse like her in future. Our other siblings were always envious of the mutual understanding between us. I was her protégé, always running errands for her and following her about on social visits to her friends.

Sisters Eliza was already a nurse working in one of the government owned hospitals in the present Osun State that was in the 80s. Before the other family members knew about her fiancé, obviously I had already known brother Kayode. He was a pharmacist working in the same hospital as my sister. Therefore, when both of them got married, it did not require much persuasion before my parents agreed that I should follow the young couple to Osogbo.

Sister Eliza wanted me to be a nurse like her, this had always been my life ambition and I was studying very hard to achieve this, Uncle Kayode was loving and caring too. When sister took to bed and was delivered of a baby boy, our joy knew no bounds Uncle Kayode and Sister Eliza were planning a thank you visit to our parents and his after the naming ceremony. They were to go on Saturday evening; the journey had to be adjusted slightly when Uncle Kayode came back from the office on Friday evening to announce that he would not be able to go. He implored his wife to go because the two parents would be expecting them. That was how sister and the baby went without him.

On this particular day, he came back from the office earlier than usual; I did not suspect any foul play. I prepared dinner in the evening and shortly later retired to my room for my normal evening studies. At about 10:30pm, I had a knock on my door, it was Uncle Kayode. I opened the door for him and he entered the room. He sat on the bed and cleared his throat and asked: “ Roda my dear, how are you preparing for your examination?” I told him I was trying my best, he collected the exercise book from me and was going through the mathematical sums I had practiced.

He made some corrections and explained the answers, after this, Uncle Kayode rested his both hands on my shoulders and said in a very deep tone. “ Roda, you know, you really resemble your sister. In fact, you can go for her double take, the type of love I have for her is the one I have for you too...” He kept on like that, as he was talking, he was removing his boxer pant, I was stupefied. He dashed to the door and locked it from behind, I was afraid. He came back to where I was rooted to the floor unable to move. I wore nothing underneath the wrapper I tied around my chest, he carried me like a baby and dumped me on the bed, he made a gesture to me not to shout. When I screamed he covered my mouth and face with pillow then spread my legs wide apart. I felt his manhood around my naked cunt. He kept on ramming into me. After some jerkins and pumping, he forcefully entered me. Uncle Kayode had deflowered me!

I was alarmed, after some time, he released his power and fell on top of me like a deflated balloon. He attempted to kiss me, I dodged my mouth, I just lay there helplessly. The pains in my groin could be better imagined; he stood up and warned me never to tell my sister or anyone what had happened, he threatened that if I did, he would kill me.

Sister Eliza came back from her journey and I pretended as if nothing happened, I kept what happened between me and her husband to myself, he was extra ordinary nice to me, but I hated him like plague. But the beast has tasted me, and would no stop. He made it a regular affair. He impregnated me once and quickly arranged for abortion.

Nemesis caught up with us one evening. Sister Eliza had just given birth to another baby. Uncle Kayode said he had some private studies to do another baby’s cry. He kayoed said he had some private study to do, he also complained about the baby’s cry. He told his wife that he would prefer my room. I knew I was in for another round sex.

Few hours later, Uncle Kayode came and resumed his sexual orgy. I struggled with him, but as usual, he had his way, we were in the middle of the action when the door suddenly burst opened. In his lustful haste, Uncle Kayode forgot to shut the door! Sister Eliza caught us pants down. She screamed. “Kayode! Roda!!”. She turned back covered her face with her both hands and ran back to her room.

Uncle Kayode quickly dressed up and went to meet his wife. Quarrel ensued between them. Before the day broke, I decided on what to do. I packed all my belongings and left that house. I stayed with some of my mates who were residing in a rented house very close to our schools. That was where I was throughout my examination period. When I was through, I went to my parents. Sister Eliza kept the secret between us till the time I am writing this story.

I eventually became a nurse like her but I did not have a settled home. I am a single mother of two children: a boy and a girl.

OPINION: OUR MONEY IN THEIR HANDS

By Femi Abulude

This is the era of abandoned money. What we were used to in this part of the world were abandoned projects and abandoned children. The various uncompleted projects were caused by unscrupulous politicians, who after collecting the lion share of the contract money from the contractors, rendered them incapacitated. The projects would be abandoned mid way and the story would end there, because all the people concerned and those that were supposed to supervise or approve the projects had been compromised.

The issue of abandoned children is about unprepared mother, who suddenly found out that she was pregnant, could not abort it, and went through the pregnancy and delivery, then abandon the baby.

Somebody said the last civilian regime was like the days of Jackals, it was the buccaneer era. The common wealth of Nigeria has been squandered and shared among the people in authority. When the party was over, the hapless nation was left in limbo. Economy recession took over; the poor masses that had been famished already are told to tighten their belts on waist less hips. The money is now hot in their hands. Somebody said somewhere that if Nigerians had not voted them out at the last general elections, Nigeria would have stopped existing by now. Morbid as this sounds, it seems to be the home truth.

In the real sense of it unfortunately between the last regime and the present one in power, the dramatis personae have not changed much. Apart from the president, Mohammadu Buhari and his vice, Yemi Osinbajo, the political players are still the same. Visit the senate, you will see majority of the former governors, ministers etc. The same thing goes for the characters in the House of Representatives. This is the reason why Buhari war on corruption has been a herculean task. Corruption is fighting back seriously and Buhari’s slim and frail structure cannot withstand the onslaught, hence, his frequent visits to the hospitals.

One thing is going for the nation though. The stolen money is hot in the hands of the looters. They could not keep it in the bank, could not transfer it abroad, could not keep it at home and could not donate or give it out as gifts. If you want to open an account in the bank now, they would ask you if you are a politician or related to politicians. The noose has been tightened on them, hence the decision to abandon these huge sum of money anyhow and anywhere. There is no where they could not hide the ill gotten money. The most absurd is the cemetery. When I first heard this, I thought it was an exaggeration. Pictures don’t lie; the operatives of the EFCC were shown exhuming loads and loads of money from a cemetery.

The money is too hot in their hands and they are bringing it out. I hope the money would not end up in private hands again.

We thank God that the lost money is coming out; my prayer is that accountability will prevail. The money belongs to the masses, let them benefit from all these. The lost money abandoned and the ones traced abroad should be spent judiciously, they are our common wealth.