Catfish, Blakes, and a wonderful evening of entertainment

Wow!! So it’s been a month already since I got back? Thank you God for life, love, and all that good stuff, I’m definitely grateful!

Ok, let’s pretend I’m not back yet, or better still, that it’s the last week before I get back.

On Wednesday I spent a lovely evening with @attaswitch, @glamblackbarbie, and @tilishoz at Yogurrberry, one of the many spots in a place called Food City. I had beautifully grilled cod from Fish Place; well marinated and softly grilled so it was literally dripping with juices. The black sauce (native to Ghana) was a nice touch, was hot but I really enjoyed it! And the tomatoes, oh the crunchy yet succulent tomatoes! And they were kind enough to give me more slices when I ‘Oliver twisted’, plenty brownie points there!

Did I mention I met @maihoto (photographer/entrepreneur extraordinaire) for the first time there? Really cool to chat and share our food/business experiences!

Thursday I hung out at Vanity for a friend’s birthday party, and then it was off to Play for my first BYOB in almost 18 months.

Friday was the real deal though, boom! I went (on invitation) to Blakes with Deji and Peter. Deji is a seasoned (as in well spiced) content producer, editor, story teller, project manager (I could go on and on), while Peter’s an environmentalist, a German who’s in Nigeria (for the first time) interning with Heinrich Boll.

We got in, three children of God with dreadlocks (yes I locked my hair again), so everyone just assumed (wrongly) that we would be speaking patois, and it was hilarious to hear various versions with the greetings we got.

Anyway! We had chicken suya (wasn’t very impressed), and then we had grilled catfish. Boom! Was lovely! I took pictures, yep, yep!

By this time the performances had started. I made quite a few videos but we were sat upstairs so they’re a little far away. I promise you’ll be able to see what we saw, and the audio is great too!

Started with this guy doing tricks, lovely!

Then there were two guys dancing; I would advise them not to give up their day jobs, honestly.

Then this impression of Fela that was so cool, it got us up on our feet!

Aha! There was this guy who swung from Elton John to Carlos Santana, wasn’t impressed, especially since his back up singer was wearing knee high boots!

The clincher was the guy who sang Diallo, and then went on sing quite a few of Bob Marley’s songs. We were already up on our feet anyway, so we rocked to it!

And then it was time to go! We were exhausted, but I’m sure we all had a lovely time, and Peter enjoyed the fish! Was a nice way to wrap on a fabulous month in Nigeria, and I look forward to when I can go back to Blakes again!

P: S – Written exactly one month ago (wee hours of the morning of the 30^th).

When to stay and work, or just let go…

If you read my ‘I have a dream‘ post, beyond my hopes and dreams for this blessed country Nigeria you’d see that for most of my life I’ve wanted to be different things. Before I go on I must thank my parents for putting up with all of them, and supporting me every step of the way.

I’ve wanted to be a doctor (thank God for my unique JAMB score that convinced me medicine wasn’t for me), I’ve wanted to be a tailor (after getting frustrated severally by tailors), and yes, I’ve wanted to be a bead maker (I actually took classes for this). Let’s talk about the beads for a minute shall we?

It was early 2007 (the year of the famous driving lessons). I was in Port Harcourt, back from Ibadan, and desperately in need of activities to occupy myself with while I waited to serve (NYSC). By the way, I’d resigned my job as a banker Christmas of 2006. I woke up one morning and said I wanted to learn to make beads. I talked about it all night, all day, and by the next night my dad had found a lady who taught classes. I was under her tutelage for a month, and then I collected ‘capital’ from my dad to buy beads and start my business.

I sold a couple o, and then it was Mother’s Day. I made three beautiful sets (with the best of my beads) to give the older ladies I admired in church and I remember my dad asking, “with all these gifts you’re giving when am I going to start getting returns on my investment?” Suffice to say he’s still waiting on that return today because after a while I became content with making stuff only for myself. Bless you Daddy!

Back to the ‘letting go’ title of today, sometimes we find that things that used to excite us don’t excite us anymore. Quick example – I was hooked on Chicken Royale (with extra cheese) from Burger King and I lived for days when I’d just pop in and treat myself. I weighed myself in September though and what I saw on the scales all but killed that craving! I haven’t had one (or any other burger) since then. Not cos I don’t like them, but because there are ‘bigger’ things at stake. Ahh!

What is suffering because you’re putting up with something/someone you should let go off? Could be work, family, career development/growth or maybe your own happiness you’ve staked for something that doesn’t/shouldn’t rank as high?

Note that I’m not telling you to become a quitter – walk away once people/things don’t work out instead of trying to fix them – not at all. Of course you should try. Satisfy your conscience that you’ve put in your best, and then let it go. Simple. According to my mom, “there’s no need postponing the evil day, pull off the plaster already.”

So, if it’s not working, if it’s causing you more grief than it’s giving you happiness, if your safety is being compromised and you cannot fix it regardless of how hard you’ve tried, let it go.

Seriously.

My New Chosen Career…

I made a decision this morning, and that is to be very rich. Mind you, I have always wanted to be rich, but this morning I decided on a new course of action to achieve that goal. I am going to get into public office (currently working on schematics) and then I will do one thing – plunder like there is no tomorrow.

I will award contracts to phony companies set up in different variations of my name and the names of my family members, and to my friends as soon as they sign over a minimum of 30% of the contract sum to me. Whether they deliver or not is immaterial, and I can always look good from making a big show of threatening to revoke said contracts when I’m up for a second or third term.

Ahh! I will give personal gifts using public funds, including cars, landed property, trips abroad, livestock, you name it – all that matters is that I’m seen as generous, loving, and supportive. Doesn’t matter that basic amenities in the areas under my jurisdiction are non-existent or dilapidated, that the people whose votes (whether real or stolen) put me in that office are impoverished, or whether I cannot even bear to live in my place of primary assignment because of the alarming level of crime that I have done sod all about. I will give gifts on behalf of my family and myself to whosoever I please, and I won’t give a damn what you think.

Why won’t I give a damn? Errr, because apart from craft cleverly worded tweets and Facebook updates, you don’t do much else. Matter of fact, I can count a good number of your activist peers who pay me nocturnal tea visits, hoping for a slice of national cake to go with it.

Why don’t I give a damn? Let’s see… right. Another reason is because traditional rulers, who should be the custodians of our culture, teachers of right and wrong, and role models for the community, have made camp with political parties that best serve their interests regardless of ideology.

Long as you use the creamiest butter on their bread, doesn’t matter if you’re a rogue, murderer, or pedophile. I’ve been advised that once I’m in that office, they will flock to me, begging to give me chieftaincy titles. And I will accept, because I am an illustrious son of the soil.

You know the biggest reason why I don’t care though? The more wealth I amass, the more immune to prosecution I become. Ahh, there are even some offices I can occupy where something called the ‘immunity clause’ posits that I am above the law.

A thousand blessings to the brains that enacted and ratified that law, it is one of the reasons I aspire to public office. For all the enemies of progress who at one time or the other tried to campaign against that clause, it will not be well with you!

Now, in the event that I offend someone higher up who decides to embarrass with a robbery/fraud accusation, I can decide to engage my army of thugs to fight off the Policemen who dared to try to arrest me, or simply flee to another country to escape prosecution. If the odds are stacked against me and the Police there get a hold of me too, I can post bail, and then escape!! Yes, flee that evil land either dressed as a woman, a circus animal, or inside a drum of oil.

There’s no place like home. I’ll return knowing fully well that after a few days of talking about me and my triumphant entry from my sojourn abroad, they’ll move on to ‘fighting corruption’ in other quarters. And the icing on the cake?

A few years of laying low, bowing at strategic shrines, rebuilding my profile, and of course showing remorse, and I get a presidential pardon! Glory! My slate is wiped clean, and I am free to vie for office again to finish what I started, serving my country with all my strength.

Background reading

Presidential pardon sparks outrage & Nigeria pardons Goodluck Jonathan ally

P:S – originally posted on the Future Challenges site on the 20th of March 2013.

RE: GTB, my card is here!

Whoop!!!

My Guaranty Trust Bank (GTB) ATM card is here! Finally!

In case you  missed the very sad story on my ‘ordeal’ with the Bloomsbury branch of Guaranty Trust Bank in Abuja, it is here.

So, I published the story the day after I got back into London, and there were retweets, comments, all of that; the solidarity was incredible. Maybe because I’m a good person (big smile) or seriously, maybe because there are quite a few people with a chip on their shoulder for GTB. Judge for yourself from the comments.

Anyway, from the day the post went up, different GTB officials got in touch, and said they’d send the card to me.

Long story short, my card arrived in the post yesterday. Whoop! A few pictures…

Old card…. can finally be laid to rest.

The new card… Plus a
‘love letter’ from GT, was thinking they’d compensate me for the ‘trauma’ I suffered sef.

The parcel…. Whoop!

I’m particularly thankful to Pauline (TSG, Abuja), Onyeka (Abuja), Olaniyi (Lagos), and especially Bukola from the Victoria Island branch who made it a point of duty to keep calling and updating me on the activities to sort me (and the card) out.

Thank you so much!

Final word? Dear GTB, I am a trained social media strategist with varied levels of experience (including catering to really large numbers). I’m happy to design a training module for your social media team, they could really do with a few tips to be honest. You have my number!

 

 

Try a little tenderness!

Don’t know if I prefer Jay Z and Kanye West’s version of the ‘Otis‘ song better than the original – some of the bars are interesting, but there’s something very ‘feel goodish’ about the old school version.

‘Try a little tenderness‘ is the focus of my chronicle today. It’s easy for us to be nasty when we feel we’re in a higher position than the next man – we act like we are bestowing favors when we manage to be courteous to people who appear to have less favourable circumstances than we do. Why do we think kindness/courteousness/chivalry should be alien to employees, servicemen, and people in general? It’s shameful, and the reason why, respect her work as I do, this article by Adaobi Tricia Nwaubani disgusted me to no end.

I’ve spent the last two weeks in the Eastern part of Nigeria, and suffice to say I’ve had a great time with my family (chronicle on that will be ready soon) and I’ve gotten a lot of stuff done that I’m happy with.

Went to the airport with Momma this morning, checked in, and when my flight was announced, kissed Momma and went to board.

Walking towards my seat at the rear and there was this guy trying to fit a large hand luggage piece into the overhead locker. Even a two-year old could tell the box wouldn’t fit so I don’t get why he kept at it.

Now, the plane is a DASH 8 Q400, so it’s one of the much smaller planes, with a capacity for just over a hundred people (if I counted the seats right). Plus, it has the tiniest conveniences ever! I’m five feet six or so and I was almost literally bending over! If you’re taller than I am and you’re flying … to any of the less popular destinations, chances are you’ll have a tiny plane too so do your business before you board. And thank me later.

Back to the guy with the luggage. There was an air hostess beside him (trying to get through to her station), and unknown to him in trying to fit in his luggage he was hitting her head with it.

She told him he wouldn’t be able to fit his stuff in (since his brain didn’t register it) and told him to take the luggage out so it could be tagged and stowed. To my surprise and utter irritation he starting shouting at her! He said stuff like she shouldn’t hurry him, he’s doing her job, etc.

She tried to explain that his hand luggage was his responsibility and it really wasn’t going to fit but he wasn’t having none of it, preferring to raise his voice and talk down at her. When she mentioned she needed to get through and the box was hitting her head, he called her names and continued with the ‘if you had done your job right my luggage would be stowed already’ line.

At this point she turned and walked away, and returned with a supervisor who told the ma to take his luggage out for it to be tagged. Guess what? He did! So what was all the ruckus about earlier? Did he have to raise his voice, or call her names? No.

I would have been totally embarrassed if  I knew this fellow so you can imagine the look on my face when he said hello to me later and asked my name. Shaking my head! This type will easily hit a woman. Baby animal, lol.

To my mind, it’s a lot easier to be nice, to be courteous, and worst case scenario, to be civil. I made a conscious decision immediately to be nicer to everyone I meet; do you think you could do that too?

Hugs, and welcome to a new month!

P:S – written on the 25th of March 2013.

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Still on speaking out….

A couple of weeks ago I wrote on Speaking Out and I said that if we were intended to exist without each other it would have been one person per continent or country. But, we need each other to survive, and it is foolishness to suffer in silence when help is just a phone call or conversation away.

I had cause to ‘walk that talk’ recently. I had to seek help with some work and it was such a learning experience I thought I’d share so you would have a practical example. Also so that you wouldn’t just relate that post to mental or emotional issues, it applies to just about every aspect of our lives.

I’m particularly happy about this because simple as it is (now that I know better obviously) I could have decided to go it alone, and probably made mistakes in a more public place.

Ok, so I had to hand in an article as part of my Future Challenges commitment, and the more I wrote, the more it occurred to me that it was becoming a satirical piece. I finished writing it, loved it (how do you not love the work of your hands), and I was going to hand it in when I told myself it would be nice to get it vetted first.

I decided to send it to a friend who would know, and who I’d seen critique other forms of writing (fingers in the air if you’re an Abuja person and you ever attended GAP meetings). I rang @Elnathan (of the famous ‘How To’ Series), and he graciously agreed to have a look.

In 24 hours he’d sent it back (whoop), and it was my very first lesson in writing satire! I was so chuffed by the experience I saved some of the notes he made on the work and just feel like sharing them with you!

• …..The whole idea of satire is that you assume that the ridiculous situation is. Using quotation marks weakens the satire – it is a bit like seeing the camera man’s hands while watching a movie.
• Use only three dots for ellipsis (I’m always guilty).
• Remove the quotation marks in ‘illustrious’. Remember, in satire, you mean the ridiculous things you say. The exaggerations, and sarcasm employed for effect are taken seriously and done without apology.

That article ‘My new chosen career’ has since gone live for FC and I’m very happy!

Moral of the story? There’s nothing wrong with first acknowledging that you don’t know something, finding someone who’s more knowledgeable than you are, and then swallowing your pride enough to ask for their help! No shame in that at all; matter of fact, you’ll be better for it.

Toodles!

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Thank You’s – you knew I would do this didn’t you?

On the 7th of March, I boarded a BA 083 to Nigeria, Abuja to be precise. The trip was the culmination of about five months of work on a series my father wrote. The ‘God Wants You’ series explores God’s plans for different aspects of our lives and guides on how we can live out those plans and promises.

Working with Lordbanks, my friend and Chief Technical Officer of CC Consulting, we coordinated the proofreading, cover  and website designs, concepts for the books and the launch, and a bit of logistics too. Lordbanks flew in and was a great help on the day, and I’m just so grateful for friends/business partners that have become family.

I’m also very grateful to the Local Organizing Committee for being such pillars of support to my parents. For attending meetings, fundraising, being literally at this beck and call, you won’t ever lack people to stand by/for you o! I will err if I started mentioning names and miss out on any so can I express my thanks to the Chairman of the LOC for everyone? God bless you richly!

To everyone who came in on the day of the launch, from far and wide, you are all amazing! I’m so grateful you turned up to honor and support your own. To my foster grandparents, Papa and Mama Diai, even in your frailty you made it down… Just remembered the tears that flooded down Momma’s face when I led Papa Diai into the hall, precious memories. Thank you Mama and Papa for loving us, we love you too!

To my Pastor and Father in the faith, Pastor Goodheart Obi Ekwueme, God sent me to you/you to me. Thank you for every word of encouragement, every word of prayer; you are the definition of the word ‘shepherd’. And thank you for writing that very powerful foreword! God bless you and your family richly!

A very big thank you to my friends who stood by me when there was so much to do it nearly drove me mad! Thank you for being ever-present sources of warmth and encouragement. To my darling Wumi, the best friend anyone could ask for, the one to whom I am ‘Ada Obosi’, and to Ace, thank you!

To my sister (Inne), brothers (Kizaro and Qintaro), and our #Ogaatthetop himself (Boo Boo), we’re such a team! You guys are the lights in my sky, thank you for being there and helping out (in person or in spirit, or by just being the reason we smiled at the end of really long days)! There’s only one way people – UP!

To my Momma, nne m oma! The glue holding everything and everyone together, our prayer warrior (with direct access to God’s hotline), thank you for being you! For smoothening all the rough edges, cooking all those wonderful protein based meals for me (team rock hard body), and for worrying (the way only you can), you did a lot more to help than you think you did. And we love you to the moon and back! We do!

To the Patriarch himself! The author of the first six in the ‘God Wants You’ series (Boss! Who else writes six at a go), the ‘builder’, and the best father anyone could ask for, we did it! They can’t hold you back! You’re bigger, better, and this is just the beginning! (Thank you Daddy for running the generator a lot more than you’d do normally so I wouldn’t die from the heat, and especially for coming into my room every night the power came back on just to switch on my air-conditioning.) You’re a star! Love you plenty!

To God, for life, love, family, and all the beautiful things in-between, receive all the thanks, praise and adoration; today, and forever.

Whoop!

GTB and Me: short story.

I’ve been a Guaranty Trust Bank customer since 2003, just under thirteen years. A child born then would have started their period or had their first wet dream, depending on their gender. To be honest, I got the account because a close family friend worked there, and in the days when ATM’s weren’t popular, it was easy to ‘check my balance’ anytime I wanted.

Moved from one account to five in 2o10, needed the domiciliary accounts because I was going to school. Since then I’ve fallen in and out of love with GTBank several times and I’m almost equating my relationship with them to being in an abusive relationship I’m gathering the willpower to leave.

Some days I’ve found out my account was frozen (for the most silly, unfathomable reasons) when I tried to use my card, other days their ‘system was down’, while on some other days the card would just be declined, on a well-funded account. Each time I’d have to call, stay on hold (you know the drill), exchange emails, and not get anything sorted till I yelled. And then I’d feel bad about it later.

But, I have stayed. Why? Cos even with their cumbersome token business, theirs is the only Nigerian internet banking system I use, and so far, so good. Plus, being able to use my Naira card abroad is just brilliant. Saves me both time, and charges with transfers to my accounts here.

Today though, I’m livid.

I traveled to Nigeria on the 7th of March, got in early in the morning on the 8th. Same day, I went to GTBank situated in Bloomsbury Plaza, in Wuse 2, and asked for a new ATM card. My card would expire in April, my ticket back to England was dated 01-04-2013 (also known as the 1st of April), and I didn’t want to take any chances with it not being ready.

I spoke with Jimoh Ojo, a Customer Care Representative, and explained that I needed the card before the 1st because I needed to travel with it. He said I didn’t need to make a request for it, that my card would automatically be sent to Abakaliki, Ebonyi State, where the account was opened. I had no business there and I said so, and so he said to request a new card, I would be charged for it, and it would take eight days, during which the card I had would be disabled. I agreed, filled out a form, and left.

Traveled to the East a couple days after, got back to Abuja on Monday, and visited the bank on Wednesday the 27th of March to pick up the card. To start with, I had to stand and wait for the said Customer Care Representative to finish taking pictures of his colleague, then the female beside him asked what I was there for. I told them and after I wrote out my account number on a sheet of paper they provided, Jimoh Ojo said (very calmly), “your card would have been sent to Abakaliki”.

I nearly passed out. With all the pains I took to get to the bank on the 8th just to avoid this, and all the advice I was given? GTBank had NINETEEN (19) days to provide a card they claim is ready in 8 days, and what do I hear? With all the civility I had left, I explained the events of the 8th, expressed my displeasure and then he said, “let me see if the card was sent here”. Of course it wasn’t there. To check if the card had really been sent to Abakaliki, and I was told, “the system is down”.

Anger. Frustration. Disgust. Especially when they started on the ‘don’t be offended please’. Really? I should be ecstatic and probably buy you roses for not doing your job? I was going to sit and wait for the ‘system to come back up’ but he promised to sort it and let me know (plus I had so much to do) so I left. To be fair, he called later that evening, but only to say the system was still down. *sigh*

Thursday the 28th of March was the last working day before Easter, nothing. No word, no card.

I returned to England yesterday, without my ATM card, and bile in my heart, especially since when I tweeted about it, the silly person behind GTBank’s Twitter account sent me the generic, spam type message – Hi, our sincere apologies. Please contact us via careonline@gtbank.com with details of this issue. Thank you- they send to every tweet they’re mentioned in (I’m sure if I checked well they’d give that reply to a greeting as well).

Not due in Nigeria till Christmas time so dear Guaranty Trust Bank, what do I do? I’ll rephrase; what are you going to do?

SOUPS, TEES, ONE OF THOSE DAYS…

I decided to pop to Etisalat’s friendship center to renew my data plan and so I got in a taxi, and we headed for the office around Omega Plaza. Got out of the cab, and dongle in hand I walked up to the security guards only for one of them to ask me, “madam did you come to pay for your internet”? Before I could roll off a ‘no I came to confirm the color of your hair and uniform’ answer, I saw a sign saying that branch was shut down temporarily for renovation and to visit the branches at Ceddi, Silverbird or at the Hilton. To think I left the Hilton less than an hour before. *Sigh*

I turned and walked back to the road to stop a cab, only for a car to pull up and two guys asked me to ride with them. In my early 20’s I would have been flattered, but now? Naaaah! Let’s not even talk about security…

Now I decided to head to Ceddi Plaza because I haven’t been in about three years. On the drive there I noticed a new Sahad Stores; really tall building – obviously the one in Area 11 has really been profitable…

Then there used to be (because I don’t know if it is still there) a joint I knew as ‘under the mango tree’, to the left of Ceddi. Affordable, really tasty food, and back in the day there was literally no one you wouldn’t meet there! I remember driving there with a friend once during the Ramadan fast; the normally bustling, ‘ants-to-sugar’ type place was deserted!  How did we forget the people who ran the place are Muslim?

Anyway, I got into the Etisalat friendship center, and told one of the staff what I wanted to do. I was getting two plans that would cost N16, 000. When he finished activating them and I paid, he said, ‘next customer’ and I asked if they didn’t give receipts for payment. He said I didn’t ask. Really? I have to ask? What if I got home and instead of the 12GB of data I paid for I saw 6GB? How would I prove that I paid for 12? He said ‘madam I don’t forget faces’. I wasn’t impressed at all. Suffice to say I collected a proper receipt and ensured there were duplicates too.

I decided to just look around Ceddi, see what stores were still there from my last visit, and what new ones had cropped up. Entered one lingerie store with absolutely ridiculous prices. There were items from La Senza that cost more than double the original price (not forgetting that La Senza has one sale or the other on at least nine out of the twelve months of the year), and more befuddling, items from Primark for the same price! Haba!!

Reminds me of a particular Zara bag retailing for £80 and daughters of Eve sold the same bag for N60, 000, that’s double and some! A friend of mine had made a part payment, had cause to visit, saw the original price of the bag, and bought two! Still makes me laugh till today, but I digress.

Back to Ceddi. I left that store, and walked past two ladies glaring at me (this unmerited ‘beef’ we females have for each other will only be explained in heaven) and walking towards Bon Café, I looked in at the restaurant on the right and saw a man eating what appeared to be semo/rice flour/eba/whatever. I had to take a call so I stopped walking. Next thing he sipped from a teacup and from his mannerisms, whatever he was drinking was hot! I quickly moved on.

Last stop was Spar, where I got a small pack of cherry tomatoes for N1, 014. They were juicy and very sweet though, so I guess I’ll ignore the price.

I had to go home afterwards, and that’s where this post ends!

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Protecting ourselves and our little ones….

My Darlings, take heed for the days are evil. Evil has drawn so near to us we cannot afford to be lax in securing ourselves and our loved ones.

I was chatting with Momma this morning, and the story she told me chilled me to the bones. I’ll recount the story below, and hopefully the knowledge gained from it will save at least one person from the situation. I’ve changed the child’s name and refrained from mentioning any location to protect their anonymity.

A family friend has three boys and a girl, with ages between one and 11 years. One evening after finishing with their homework  the children were riding their bicycles outside in their neighbourhood, while she was in the house doing some chores and catering  to the little baby. About 6pm she went outside to bring them in for their night bath and dinner. To her surprise, they were not ‘complete’. “Where is *Ben”, she asked? “Our neighbour (living opposite their house) called him so he went into their compound. He hasn’t come back yet’. This mother went into the said compound only for the person who called seven-year old Ben to say that his uncle put Ben on a bike and went out. What!!!!!

Alarmed, the woman called her husband who came home and called the Police. Of course they notified my parents and everyone started to pray for his safe return. They called the said Uncle severally, his phone was either switched off or he wouldn’t pick up at all. 24 hours after, no word, no ransom call, nothing.

The Police arrested the young man who lured Ben into their compound, and took him to his village in a different state where they arrested his parents. 72 hours after, no word – everyone continued to pray, and the poor mother was beside herself with worry.

The Police were smart in a way though; they alerted the resident vigilant group in the village though, and everyone was on the lookout for this evil Uncle. This was the fifth day.

One particular day, a man carrying home his produce from the farm noticed a man walking into the deep parts of the bush with two young boys, half dragging one of them. They were quite far from him so he couldn’t make out their faces but when he got home, he told someone who told someone who mentioned it to the vigilante group. The vigilante group immediately made camp at the entrance and exit points of the forest, and started waiting.

After about 24 hours, the man appeared, and when he was questioned, said he didn’t know anything about the boys, and he just entered the bushes to pray, a personal retreat of some sort. It was only when he’d been doused with petrol and a tire was hanging round his neck that he confessed and then took the villagers to the place where he hid the children, our family friend, and another young boy.

This story ended well, and I was joking with my Momma and said I’m sure that mother won’t let her children out of her sight again!!

When I wrote about pedophiles and child molestation cases on the rise sometime in 2010, apart from ranting I mentioned some ways we can protect ourselves and our little ones while we wait for our government to leave the comatose state it is in presently. Ladies and gentlemen, the days are evil. Let’s teach our children little things like

• Talking to strangers is forbidden.
• Following ANYONE is forbidden, be it uncle, aunty,neighbour, friend at school, no one except mummy or daddy give their express permission in person. They shouldn’t listen to ‘your mommy said you should follow me’.
• Call me paranoid but have codes with your children. I’m an adult but apart from knowing my parent’s voice and writing style, there are words/names they use with us without fail each time we communicate. If I don’t hear that, it’s not them. Grow your kids like that.
• Teach them not to beg o!!! And not to accept anything to eat or drink without mummy and daddy’s express permission.

It’s always better to be safe than sorry.

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