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Few Things In Life

There are few things in life
That make it seem like a blessing
Like parents that love you
Siblings who care
And friends you can rely on
A dream you can pursue
And people to spur you on
A person you admire
And one you’re in love with
A job where you’re comfortable
And a career stretching forward
A house where you can relax
With a hobby that’s refreshing

There’s few things in life
That make it more interesting.

Egbemawei D. Sammy

Nigeria’s Gift

When I was a kid I recited the National Pledge without really considering the words, but from when I was old enough to understand what I was saying, I realised some people should NOT say the pledge if they don’t intend to keep it.

A pledge is a promise. And many have broken said promise.
Myself included.

So I decided: let’s give Nigeria a gift – technically a bribe (shhh!!!) – so she forgives me for having broken my pledge a few times. And as my country turns another year today, I wonder what gift to give her.

Now, I really suck at picking gifts for girls, so I’d like some help with this. After all, Nigeria isn’t just some girl.
She’s a 54 year old transvestite hermaphrodite.

Uh no, I don’t mean that in a wrong way. Honest. Here’s my reasoning.

Countries are all ‘she’, but Nigeria is my ‘fatherland’. There’s also evidence to support my statement.

The Nigerian National Anthem says:
“Arise O compatriots,
Nigeria’s call obey.
To serve our fatherland…”

And the pledge says:
“…To serve Nigeria with all my strength
To defend her unity…”

So yeah…54 year old transvestite hermaphrodite. And not many people – Nigerian and otherwise – realise this.

Back to my question: what gift to get this lovely lady?

I’m not in the government so I can’t promise radical change in the sectors and infrastructures that obviously need it.

If Nigeria was physical, I’d give her a hug. Mindful of the fact that though I call her a she, Nigeria is also a he.
Instead, I’ll give that hug to my family and friends (with a handshake first, so the guys don’t freak out. Can’t do 14 years in prison, you know).

After much thought, I decided to say the pledge again, and mean it. I also make these two pledges today, along with the pledge to my country: I won’t get in an argument today, and I won’t complain about the state of affairs in the country.
Until 12am tomorrow.

That’s my gift to you, Nigeria.
Happy birthday.
Happy Independence.


Different Girls

Our eyes are of different shades,
Different sizes, different shapes,
Different colours, different views
That’s why you don’t see the way I do.

Our different cultures and different races
Open our eyes in different places
Our situations and different experiences
Directly impact on our senses.

Different Nationalities

There are more we try not to see
And fool ourselves not to believe
Making that which looks dull to you
Appear to me in 3D.

If you find you cannot follow
The tribe from which I am carved
Do not destroy that which you do not know
Simply for fears you have.

For that which only you seem to know
Or only I recognise
Can be explained to build a bridge which grows
To span our different lives.

Egbemawei D. Sammy

A Bush Man’s Rainbow

Rainbow in the Field

The red stands for the blood
Of our heroes who fought our wars
For those conquered by the sword
And those who refused to fall.

The orange signifies the falling leaves
When they leave the mother trees
Carried away by the solemn wind
And the mother’s tears fall free.

The yellow is the midday sun
Its rays harsh and beautiful
Helping our crops grow strong
And our children, playful
Revel in the light it brings
Running around half naked
While nature all around sings.

The green is the grass and our crops
Nurtured by our love and hard work
To sit on our plates and tabletop
To be eaten with hands, not forks.

The blue stands for the sky
That covers us like a blanket
Or like the cool stream on a hot day
A beautiful sight for sore eyes.

The others we do not know
But when our children grow
They shall sit on the white one’s table
And then they will be able
To tell all of us, their fathers
The meaning of the different colours
That appear after the gods cry
And wipe their eyes dry.


Hey guys, it’s my birthday. Here’s a post to commemorate the day. Enjoy, and share. And oh, leave a “happy birthday” msg for me in the comments. Thanks, and much appreciated :)

He woke up happy, it was his birthday
He wondered what his family would say
Freshening up, he went down for breakfast
Stooping low to stroke the cat
Everyone was in a hurry, no time to talk
His dad said goodbye and dashed off to work
His mum hurried them off to the bus
Sitting next to his sister, he was at a loss.

At school his friends shook his hand, and “Hi”
His girlfriend said with a kiss and a smile
Grabbing his hand they walked to her class
Another kiss and a pat on his ass
He shambled to class as the bell rang
Not wasting time, his teacher was a strict man
He sat in his class, very surprised
When would anyone realise?

Now school was over until tomorrow
He walked to the bus, kid sister in tow
His girlfriend had said she would be busy
There was an assignment she had to complete
He sat on the bus thinking “Now I know it
“They’re planning a surprise, everyone is in on it”
With that he relaxed and smiled at his sister
Of course, no way no one would remember.

Calmly he paraded his house all day
Still no one had anything to say
It was almost evening, time was running out
He wondered what his surprise would be about
The time is eleven, he’s losing his mind
At 5 past midnight, he’s startled to find
He was wrong five minutes before
Today is the day, not the day before
His phone rang, it was his girlfriend
As his kid sister ran in with a present
Wrapped in a hug, his parents in the doorway,
Holding their gifts, singing “Happy birthday”.

Let It Go

Let Baloon Go

In my hands, I hold a letter to you.

On the table before me are your letters to me.

They contain our promises. Our exchanges. Our smiles, our joy, our happiness.

But because of what I’m about to do, as if all at once, I remember a lot of the things I have let go. All the times I had to whisper my goodbyes, let go of my dreams, hopes and wishes.

“Let it go,” my father had told me as I stared with dismay at my first bicycle, wrecked at the hands of my brothers and cousins, without even a chance to ride it.

“Let it go,” my mother had told me as she ripped one of my favourite shirts to shreds because of how old it was. On my bed was a new set of clothes I didn’t want.

“Don’t worry about it too much, just let it go,” my brother had told me when I was refused my visa to study abroad.

“You’ll get it next time dear. Don’t let it get to you. Just let this one go,” my sister had told me when I failed the entrance exam to a university after studying so much.

“She’s dead.” my uncle said, as I cradled the corpse of our pet monkey, Ribsy. “I’ll take her. Give her to me. Let go.” And he wrestled her from me.

“There’s not much we can do sir. It’s non-refundable. Just let it go,” the booking agent had said when my trip to Italy fell through.

“Let them go,” I told myself as I watched some of my friends leave for various reasons.

“It’s okay, don’t worry about it,” an ex had told me as I tried to apologise. “It’s just time to let it go.”

Goodbyes. Resignation. Love.
Slowly I have let go one by one.

And now, my heart feels that familiar twinge of pain, surpassing any I have felt before.

But I do differently from what I always did when this time came.

I whisper my goodbyes, let go of my disappointment, negativity and cowardice, and I gird my heart and my mind as I pick up my lighter and set a flame to the letter in my hand.

Once again, I’m letting go.

But this is the last time I will let go.

And this time, I’m letting go of letting go.

I will never let go again.

Egbemawei D. Sammy

Love You More

They were the perfect couple.

No one was happier than the other. They were both blissful.

Everyday was a good day, and they went through each day with the same enthusiasm.

When they met, they met with the same level of joy and expectation.

When they played, they played with abandon, holding nothing back.

Each could see the depth of the other’s love.

There were moments they stared each other in the eyes, revelling in the beauty there.

Their hours together were gold, and the minutes were diamonds.

There was peace and love and no jealousy or distraction of any kind.

Until one day, one said to the other: “I love you”, and instead of the usual “I love you too”, the reply was:
“I love you more.”

This was the beginning of the end.

P.S – I pose a question to my readers. Who do you reckon said “I love you more”, and why?

Egbemawei D. Sammy


We hate our friends for different reasons
And love our enemies in particular seasons
Our desires fuelled by actions or words,
Expressions or thoughts, hugs or swords
But sometimes a sight to look forward to
Is a feature that makes people so beautiful
Not their face, lifestyle, warmth or heart
But some people were made for one purpose:
To smile.

Fighting For Our Own

We rowed, to battle we rode
We soared, to battle we crawled
“To freedom, to victory,” we roared
“To arms, to arms,” they called.
We had for too long borne the pain
They had for too long reaped our gain
With anger, with hate, for justice we went
With power, with disdain, their forces they sent.

We landed, we banded, with knives and pitchforks
They laughed, our ragtag group couldn’t make them baulk
Our leader on his horse, his sword held above
Called out our intentions, an honourable move
They laughed and then charged, to them it was fun
We called out our charge, the battle was on.

Hours later, the cries of battle still rung
And at my side my blood-stained sword hung
Madness, my soul disturbed by a deep sadness
It was wrong, there would be no victory song
For my belief, for my family I had staunchly fought
I had sliced, I had diced, I had killed, I had shot
My peace came when an arrow found my heart
For we had known the end from the start
In death I had hoped to be proven wrong
But my comrades were dead, I was the last one.

Family – Dear Diary

A story from ‘The Family Series’ by the writer of Family – Chapter 5.
Enjoy a different take on Father, titled Dear Diary by Gideon.



Sometimes when I’m bored I like to play eyewitness and describe myself to myself. Short, balding, a little too round around the belly, with very dark brown eyes and tiny wiry beards like I’m sixteen. Well I wish I was sixteen, I was one hot sixteen year old.

Puberty screwed me, looks-wise anyway, but my life has turned out well. Proud owner of a chain of businesses, currently working on my second doctorate, and I’m just thirty-two. I’m married with two lovely children, twin boys, Thierry and Henry, yeah I know, we arsenal fans are weird like that.

Oh, one very important thing about me, I HATE my dad…like I HATE the man so much if he were on fire, and I had a glass of water, I’d rather water a cactus.

It wasn’t always this way, I remember in my third grade I was the only one in all four arms of the class who said his dad was his favourite parent; everyone else wrote a comprehension about their mothers. *shrugs*
Well its all in the past.

Sometimes we go through experiences so distressing, we can never get ourselves to say what happened out loud; we are too ashamed about what we’ve had to go through that we pretend it didn’t happen. Not because we are forgiving, but because reacting would draw suspicion and questions we’d rather not answer.

I’ve had one of those scarring experiences.

I’d share with you an excerpt of my diary…but honestly, I’d rather not relive the events of that day.

September 12th, 2010
Dear diary,
A part of me died today. That part of me that loves and trusts people unconditionally, it’s dead.
Today redefined what a shitty day is.

Vaccinations on the farm failed and in two hours, over 1000 birds died.

On the ride home, my right rear tyre picked a nail and I had to change the tire under the pouring rain.

To compound my annoyance, I left my phone in my pocket all the time I was in the rain and the stupid phone got soaked and refused to come on.

So I got home in the pouring rain, soaked to my briefs, annoyed and frustrated and unable to call anyone to come open the gate for me. I had to climb the barbed wire fence to let myself in, tearing my trousers and bruising my thigh and shin.

I was furious, but in fairness I could understand why my dad and nursing wife would be asleep in this cool weather. Besides it was barely 11am and they didn’t expect me home till late in the evening.

Life doesn’t prepare you for the real shocks. There’s no background music increasing in its intensity till you walk in on your dad screwing your wife while your twin babies are sleeping nearby.

I can still picture the defiant smirk on his face and the horror in Addie’s.

What’s worse is I can still remember my weak response, slumping on a chair in a heap and crying like a fool. What was I to do? It was my dad for Pete’s sake, my hero.

I’m writing this because I’ve decided to forget this happened. This is my escape, my therapy. My dad should have known better. I can’t even divorce my wife because word of her infidelity would get out, so I am still ‘happily married’.

For some reason, this line from a famous poem keeps playing in my head: “The distance between you and your father should pull closer, not push farther”.
I wish…


Gideon blogs at
Please pay a visit to his blog and enjoy.

You can view the previous instalments of the Family Series here:
Family – Chapter 0
Family – Chapter 1
Family – Chapter 2
Family – Chapter 3
Family – Chapter 4
Family – Chapter 5
Family – Chapter 6


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