'Use a condom' campaign II

I would like to appreciate everyone who dropped a comment on my previous post (Trying my hands on copywriting). I am trying to explore other possible ideas on this social awareness campaign but in the meantime, I would like to know what your impression is about this ad. It is a print ad as well, encouraging the use of condom.

STOP!!!



Don thrust,
Even if you trust!


Use a condom always...












Pix from UltraDisk™

Gosh...Just got Tagged!

I thought I had escape this tagging thing but unfortunately, I was wrong! I have just been tagged! I just wish this cup would pass over me. I can imagine my Mom saying, 'Stop sulking boy, get on your feet and let it out'. Well that is exactly what I am going to do. I am going to let it out!

Lets go over the rules again(Gosh...I hate rules!).

1. link the person(s) who tagged you… Tairebabs

2. Mention the rules on your blog

3. Tell about 6 unspectacular quirks of yours...

4. Tag 6 following bloggers by linking them…

5. Leave a comment on each of the tagged blogger’s blogs letting them know they’ve been tagged...

The Quirks..

If you are thinking of kidnapping me then I guess your best bet is to use a baby as a bait! I am a baby freak! Their soul searching stare, punctuated with radiant smiles at intervals and those soft hands that are always searching, trying to have a firm grip at anything would not cease to amaze me! I see life the way it should be lived and my imperfections are revealed underneath those probing but innocent eyes!Wow, can't wait to have mine! Babies are the most wonderful creatures of God!

As much as I love eating, I find it so embarassing each time I am asked what my favourite food is, because I DON HAVE ANY! I have tried without much success to make one particular food my favourite but each time I think it is Pounded yam with Egusi soup and I am served Rice and plantain, I get confused about which I prefer the most (Did I hear you say OLIVER TWIST? Lol). The thing is I like any good food, as long as it is well prepared!

I live with the fear that someday my Parents are going to tell me that they are not my real parents! I know this is a kind of weird but I have been leaving with this fear since childhood and I guess the reason is that my secondary(high) school is very close to an orphange home and the children from this Orphanage home constitute the bulk of the students in my school. I have listened to several of their stories about how they realised that the people they call their parents were not afteral their real parents and i just keep thinking it is going to happen to me too someday...But it better not cos I love my Parents so much!

I hate my first name!!! I don't know what my Parents were thinking about when they gave me that name! I wish I could talk as a baby, during my naming ceremony I would have halted the Pastor or Babalawo (lol) presiding over the ceremony at the mention of my first name! I guess that would have caused an uproar and I might have been termed a 'special child' lol. You know Africans have a way of mystifying things they don't have explanations for. Well, I use my middle name (Damilola, a.k.a Dammy) most of the time. But I can't discard my first name because it is on most of my documents! Poor kingsley...WHAT??? Sorry, I meant Dammy...lol!

If you want to keep me awake all night, then put the lights on. I hate the light. I love to sleep in the dark. I love it quiet, warm and dark. It helps settle my wandering thoughts and chart a course for my imagination...hmmm, I love the dark!

Finally, I am a wreck when it comes to cooking! if I don't get it burnt, it would be so watery! I have tried so hard to impress my friends but each time I get into the kitchen, something happens to the food. Hey, but I can boil water. Lol!

The end.....Watch out for part 2. COMING SOON! Grab your copy now! lol....Did I hear you say this is not some scripts from Nollywood? lol

Alright, I have done my part, now it is your turn! Hmmm... I tag Lilian, Beyond, kemikalreactions, Zara, Pri, and macadamiathenut.

Why Does Love Hurt?

I tried to hold back the cloth of tears that has formed already in my damp eyes but hardly had I turned away from her when fresh balls of tears began to cascade freely down my eyes like a waterfall. I have often heard my father say that it is unmanly to shed tears but I have since realised that it is therapeutic. Every man has a child in him who sometimes takes over his emotion. As it were, the child in me who could not be suppressed in moments as this suddenly took over my emotions and I had to let those prisoned pains out as torrents of rain. For beyond the teachings of religion and philosophy, I have suddenly realised that there is more to life than books can teach. Life presents a whole lot of experience which cannot be taught enough in volumes of books or walls of classrooms. It also leaves us with a lot of questions to ponder.

No sooner had I walked some distance away from her when I was arrested by the greatest police of modernisation,REALITY! I stood transfixed to a spot within the international airport departure lounge with balls of tears forming a ring on my brow. I turned to take one final look at my love but she was gone!

Gripped with this realisation, I felt like a child tearing away from the mother for the very first time. I looked around to be sure no one was watching but was disappointed to find several heads turned towards my direction. They feasted their burning eyes on me from different angles waiting for that moment of catharsis - the moment when pains are released as torrents of rains, cascading down the slope of a gloomy eye and the hollows of a heavy heart. Realising this, I quickly put my emotions to check and headed straight for the exit as fresh tears began to form a cloud around my soggy eyes.

I waved down a taxi and sank at the back seat like a bag of rice, with endless thoughts swarming like bees in my head. Why does love hurt this much? How could I face the sombre music of loneliness when she has showned me the tranquility that true and unadulterated love commands? How do I start learning to do alone those things that we used to do together? How can I live with the naked reality that I am now alone and my lover is gone? Why does love hurt this much?

So many of us have found ourselves in a position where we have had to ask why. For some of us, it could be a temporary separation imposed by long distance relationship or other possible human or psychological factors and for others, it could be a permanent separation which can either be as a result of a broken relationship or death. Whichever way one looks at it, separation either temporary or permanent does not always go down well with the major players who are usually the most affected. Suffice to say that the enterprise of love justifies the age-long saying, “there is no gain without pain.” For some, love comes with gains in abundance and for others, the pains last longer than those elusive moments of pleasure.

However, there is hardly any love enterprise that does not have its dark clouds, notwithstanding the silver linning. Such dark clouds are reflected in the pains, hurts, self-denials and sacrifices we have made in the past which to a large extent are the emblems of our commitment to such a noble cause as love. The realisation that such sacrifices and self-denials have only been a waste of time and resources and could have been invested in a more worthy enterprise is the major source of the emotional trauma that characterises a typical break up. Feelings of insecurity in long distant relationships are product of constantly dwelling on the pains and difficulties of the past, which in most cases, blurs the individuals from seeing the gains and the possibility of of a better tomorrow. To live with the mind-set that love hurts but the gains are more than the pains is noble, hence to love someone truly is a noble act and to be loved sincerely is a rare privilege. This is why many go through life searching for true love but only a few truly finds it.

The business of love is transacted in a very sensitive quatre –the heart. The individuals are usually not strange to the clime as they must have trod this path before. However, rather than transact such sensitive business with an open heart and with the benefit of the intellect, they would rather disengage the intellect at such crucial moments and allow the heart undertake such a delicate task with all its vulnerability hence, the reason most relationship do not always work! Let the heart love but let the head lead. For it is wisdom to balance your emotions with logic.

At this point, my phone rang and I was jolted back to reality. The comforting voice of my mother could be heard from the other end of the line.
“Son are you alright? You don’t sound like you. Is there something you would want to share with me my dear?” She queried in her usual motherly manner.
I told her I was alright but deep down, I know that it would take bridging the distance between my lover and I, for me to be happy again. Something about mothers, they can always feel the pains of their children from afar. Call it motherly instinct or what you will but, mothers are emotional attached to their children and somehow they can feel their pains. Now I have an issue at hand! How am I going to put up a happy face so as not to trouble my mother’s emotion when my heart hurts with the pain of being separated from the woman I truly love? It appears I have finally gotten myself into an emotional fix – the love of a mother and that of a wife!

I had my eyes fixed on her picture when fatigue took its toll on me and I ascended gradually into the other phase of man’s existence – a temporary state of rest! Maybe, I might find an isle to nest. But wait a minuite! Will this pain ever cease to be when the morning comes? Will I find her here in the morning? Will I?

Tears of the Unborn!

I will die in thirty minutes! My fate has been determined by the powers that be. I have been sentenced to death in the most horrible manner! I am to be tortured and yanked limbs apart while still alive! My voiceless cries would not stop the executioner whose expertise in the art of murder of the most cruel nature has earned him respect and recognition among the female folks who constitute the bulk of his customers. I thought mothers are usually moved by the tears of their children but mine has lost every sense of motherhood, as she connived with my father to sign my death warrant! I could hardly believe my eyes as she led me amidst my voiceless protest and streams of tears to the altar to be sacrificed! Innocent me! Guiltless me! Helpless me! Why should I be sacrificed for the inordinate sexual urges of my parents? Why should I be the one to pay the price for their negligence? Why should my life be the ransom? Why…?

Amidst the tears, I fought for survival. The ones I trusted the most have turned their backs on me. I am left alone to suffer such horrific death in the hands of the merciless executioner whose glove clothed hands could not shroud the stains of blood and lives he had taken over the years. I grew weaker every passing moment as I watched my mother surrender her life on the execution altar. She lay facing the sky, with legs wide open and a face laced with fear. Tears trickled down my eyes, for I realized that her fear was more for her survival than for my innocent life, which would soon be snuffed!

Helplessly, I watched as the executioner plunged his instrument into mother’s uterus; intended to hold the walls of the uterus apart, so he could watch with pleasure as I am tortured to death. Mother groaned as he defiled the sanctity of her vagina. Satisfied with his feat, the executioner launched his death instrument, which he flaunted for a while, sending cold shivers running through my fragile spine. This time, I saw a glow in his masked eyes. It seemed my pains ignite his pleasure!

I battled hopelessly as the torture instrument approached. The bulging walls of the uterus quivers upon detecting the presence of an alien object. I struggled in vain to move away from the approaching doom but death’s mournful knell trailed all my actions. At this instance, just like every child in the face of a helpless situation, I listened to my instinct to turn to my mother for support but she turned deaf ears to my plaintive cries. My heavy heart sags under the pressure of rejection as it became apparent that no one wants me alive. Brimming with this realization, I gave in to the executioner’s lustful lures as I could not hide from his treacherous instrument which seems prepared to tear my frail limbs apart.

I have no past and the future seemed oblivious. I might have relished in the memories of a past that once was mine but emptiness stared at me in the face, except for loneliness and rejection, which had been the hallmark of my few weeks’ existence. As the executioner’s instrument tore into my flesh, I slipped into a state of coma as I recalled my father’s voice venting his anger on my mother, at the news of my existence. My traumatized mother fell on her knees pleading for my father’s understanding. He hesitated a while and curdled her in his arms as she asked,

“What are we going to do? My parents will skin me alive if they ever get to find out that I am pregnant! Please, help me!”

She sobbed uncontrollably as my father patted her on the back saying,

“We would have to get rid of it! That is the only way out and we have to do it as soon as possible”

Father’s face wore no sign of remorse. He exudes such confidence, as would one who is used to the ritual. I waited in futile for mother’s defence against such an inhuman act but she made no comment. Rather, she fastened her grip around father’s neck in approval. Thus, the decision to terminate my life was reached by my parents and I had to die for their sins!

I felt a sharp pain piercing through my heart and with one last voice I cried, “please, let me live!” My pleas fell on deaf ears as the murderous instrument found its way into my heart. In that instant, it cleaved my heart in twain! The little flame of life that remained in my wretched soul was snuffed out permanently amidst the watchful eyes of my mother who sighed in contentment. No doubt, my death was her pride!

As my innocent soul ascended into heaven, with tear-filled eyes and a broken heart, I took one last look on earth and I was shocked to see that behind the unmasked executioner was my father!



********************************************************************************
Here is a poem I wrote for the UNBORN CHILD! It could have been you! Stop the death sentence on the unborn child!

To serve our father land

Whenever the thought of serving my country crosses my mind, I often feel a fresh wave of fear creeping slowly into my soul. One would wonder why the thought of service to ones country would be accompanied by fear. For me, I have never nursed the idea of ever living outside my comfort and the frightening stories we hear from our predecessors of their experiences in camp, mostly outside their usual geographical comfort, is enough to make any sane person shudder in fright.
However, it is a task that must be undertaken by every Nigerian graduate after the conclusion of their first degree programme in any recognized tertiary institution of their choice. The overall aim of the NYSC scheme is to encourage cultural and ethnic integration among the different ethnic groups in the country as well as foster unity in spite our diversities. This is achieved by exposing corp members to the aesthetics in the cultural practices of the people in their respective states of deployment. The scheme is also aimed at correcting misconceptions about the traditional practices of the people by giving the corp members the opportunity of not just being an observer but an active participant.
A day prior to the reception of my posting letter, a friend of mine, realising my apprehensions, made some silly remarks about my posting. He told me that he had seen my posting letter and that I have been posted to Zamfara state! I found myself refuting the statement, calling on all the host of heaven to intercede on my behalf. But little did I know that either by error or some sort of clairvoyance or divination, my friend was right! Zamfara, it was!
I can still remember the series of lectures I received from friends and loved ones on the eve of my departure. A lot of those lectures bother on maintaining self dignity and self restrain as Zamfara state is noted for its strict adherence to the Sharia law which emphasizes capital punishment on defaulters. One of such issues that are not treated lightly is the sin of adultery, in which case the man’s limb is amputated while the woman is stoned to death. I left home with promises to be of best behaviour and embarked on a fifteen hour journey to the NYSC temporary orientation camp, Tsafe local Government in Zamfara state. Thus, I began my journey into an entirely different world! A world of antithesis, where the frost bite so deep at night and the sun burns like fire at dawn!
The journey to Zamfara state is the farthest I have ever gone from home and in the most uncomfortable sitting position. I was sandwiched between a cluster of men; some old, some young, all dressed in the usual Hausa/Fulani kaftan (a long and flowing gown, touching the ankles), steaming with dust and a nauseating smell of native perfume, filled the air. Since I was in a hurry to meet up with the deadline for reporting on camp, I had no choice but to stack myself alongside these rare breed of humans in a J5 bus, which appears to be the last bus plying that route for the day. The sitting arrangement was done in such a way that we had to sit facing one another, like in a face me, I face you living condition. The chairs were naked! No foam or leather covered their nudity and they protested in their own little way by biting so hard on our butt!
There was no space to stretch our legs either, as the little room that should have served that purpose now occupies our bags and baggage, which in turn has been converted into chairs for about four children whose mother couldn’t afford to pay their fare. I would have objected to this sitting arrangement if only I knew how far we would have to go before we get to our destination and what would happen thereafter. But like a true African who had been groomed in the art of hospitality to the point of addiction, and as a youngster, burning with the zeal to explore and discover a new world, I looked beyond my present chains, hoping for a light at the end of the tunnel.
The journey continued in spite of the jostling and shoving around we experienced, a product of the recklessness of the driver who complained bitterly dashing out curses with heavy breath at the dilapidated state of such a major road. Some five hours into the journey, I was shoved back to reality as I had dozed off by a strange sound coming from the row directly opposite me and everyone seemed to be trying to get their belongings out of the way. In that instant, I felt something warm on my leg, only then did I realize that the man sitting directly opposite me had decided to baptize me and some other occupant of the bus with a sweltering marshy substance from his bowels. He must have experienced some sort of uneasiness caused by the heat in the vehicle or the fumes of fuel. The nasty smell that pervaded the whole place made me want to throw-up. Most pathetic is the fact that, he practically threw up on one of the children who slept innocently in spite the shouting and curses showered on the man by the child’s mother. It was really an appalling sight!
I quickly cleaned up the mess with a tissue paper I got from the mother of the unfortunate child and wondered how long we would have to be in that frustrating state. But hardly had the mother finished cleaning her child when another passenger, on the same row, taking cue from the other man, started the same ritual! But this time, he was not caught unawares as he took the messy bowel content in a black cellophane bag he already had with him which was probably to serve some other purpose. We were left with no choice but to accept our fate and listen in voiceless protest to the seemingly endless groaning of his bowels as he unleashed its content! In protest, my salivary gland began a mass production of saliva! I kept salivating as I could not put away the mental picture of the ugly sights I had witnessed!
I was still salivating till I let myself loosed in the warm embrace of the frosty night, drifting in drowsiness; I longed for the soothing melody of the night but emptiness and thick darkness forms an invisible wall in my heart which was constantly being threatened by the alien armies of the frost infested night. Only the noise from the engine of the rickety bus could be heard in the distance as it breaks through the darkness. Defying our common enemy – the cold!


Watch out for the remaining story in Orientation Camp: The Drama and Intrigues!

DIARY OF A CORPER IN ZAMFARA STATE

I thought it wise to put into writing my experiences so far in Zamfara state as this would help keep the memories alive as well as serve as a veritable exposition for other Corp members who would be deployed in future to serve the country in Zamfara state.
I have decided to present this narrative under the following subheadings:
(1) To serve our Father land
(2) Orientation Camp: The Drama and Intrigues!

I would appreciate comments from my readers!

A tribute to Bola Akinwunmi

It is with a heavy heart that I received the news of the death of one of my University classmate, Bola Akinwunmi who died in a car accident on the 26th of December , 2007.
Most painful is the fact that Bola has just tied the nuptial chord with her childhood sweeheart on the 11th of November 2007. It is still like a dream to think that Bola is gone just like that! I can still picture her petite but well rounded frame as she walks along the Departmental balcony with her usual characteristical smile, playing lightly on her lips. She carries herself with such grace, like one who has learnt the ways of the angels, touching lives with her warm smiles and generous attitude.
But she is gone and never would the faintest smile adorn her spotless face! Never would she be opportuned to walk this path of life again, for here is where the journey ends. The thought of life ending and the realisation that the deceased had plans and dreams bottled up inside of her, waiting for that great moment of realisation but all of which have evaporated into the thin air makes life nothing but an executioner waiting for that moment of conviction to unleash that deadly blow! All of those beautiful dreams, buried inside of her, waiting for tomorrow, have been cut short and never would see the light of the day!
I sit here wondering why mother earth would nourish us with the fertile flesh of our dear loved ones until we are ripe and fattened and then pluck us away from life's stem to feed the dry parched earth! Why should mortals be declared a feast for famished worms to feast on? Why?
But rest Bola! Let your soul savour the bliss of a heavenly abode, away from the hostility and prejudice of the human world! Away from a world of pains and labour; let your wandering soul find solace. Savour the bliss of eternity among your kinds - the angels with whom you have found a place of rest and relay our many plights to the Creator to whom your soul has returned. For maybe, he might for your sake ease our pains and wipe this scourging tears!
Adieu Bola!