The Nigerian Broom

There is not a single house in Nigeria without an object that emanated from a palm tree. The ubiquitous mosquitoes might be absent and there might be no Nigerians, living or dead in the building but there is always something bearing that Palm Tree DNA lurking in the corner. Palm wine in the fridge or palm oil in the cupboard are variables but the one constant thing is the Nigerian Broom made from the palm fronds. This great iconic domestic appliance epitomises that cult of cleanliness that Nigerians subscribe to. I grew up under the shadow of the broom in Lagos. It was the epicentre of the day. One woke up in the morning and walked as if in a trance and started sweeping. The broom was a collection of palm frond petioles held together at one end by a band (the centre that held) that doubled up as a handle that was used to direct the lower lighter end in the battle against dirt. In the 1970s Lagos was a City with a cleanliness obsession so much so that while the Americans where busy acknowledging that the party was over by the appearance of the fat lady who sings, the Lagosian knew it was the lady or guy sweeping to the beat that told you it was time to go home. There was a rhythm to sweeping and many sang as they swept. Once in a while the song converted into a gasp when money was found.

Even people with no food swept the house clean. It was almost like the home was primarily meant for cleaning. The fetish priests adapted their charms accordingly. There was an anti-burglary system made out of a medium sized broom bedecked with a cowrie studded red cloth and having other accessories tied on its handle like tortoise and snail shells. This broom was normally placed above the door and legend has it that while this broom would not prevent a break in by robbers, as soon as they gained entrance into the house the ‘juju alarm’ kicked in making the robber grab the broom and start sweeping the home;  sometimes till morning light. This went on till the house owner said the magic word of release that immobilised the spell, (perhaps after a sound beating). This broom is called Igbale Esu (Devil’s room) or Aale Oogun.

By April 1975 when Bill Gates and Paul Allen where founding Microsoft with a vision of putting a computer on every desk in every home, Nigeria had reached an average of 4.5 brooms in every home. This high number per household was because on average four brooms were needed. Long hard brooms were used outside the house and a long soft one was used indoors. There was a medium length broom for the toilet and an ultra-short broom for food preparation; for the preparation of Ewedu vegetables in a pot.

There were other uses of brooms though. Kids used the hard brooms in the construction of paper kites and those who had new brooms awaiting their commission while sat in storage used them as make shift tooth picks.

The story is told of a man who asked his son to go and get him one broom stick from storage to aid dislodge beef stuck between his teeth. Mum was angry with dad and diverted the child to the toilet broom. The man thought the broom stick tasted funny and asked the son who then told what his mum had advised. We know how that story ended.
There was a sad broom story in my neighbourhood though. Two brothers fought and one struck the other over the face with the broom. It was an argument over who should do the sitting room sweeping. An eye was lost and depression followed. The guy died latter of causes I am unaware of. I suppose i blamed the Igbale for this disaster.

Sometimes when an insect needed killing but the murderer was too scared to stamp the life out of the poor creature a broom was used. Even tiny objects trapped in crevices could be teased out with two hard broom sticks held like chop sticks.

Everything was about cleanliness growing up. Two baths a day was compulsory, uniforms and shoes had to be super clean and the biggest adverts on the television were all soap adverts.

Lux soap and Joy soap television advertisements made stars out of Patti Boulaye and Benita Hamman respectively and the detergent powders battled it out for the hearts of Nigerians.

The 1980s saw a deterioration in the general cleanliness in the cities of Nigeria. The 50-60 million people in the country had grown to about ninety million and they continued to sweep and pack the waste out but the council men who came around weekly to collect the rubbish in the seventies stopped coming.  Forced environment sanitation days did little to help as there was no well thought out waste management plan for a rapidly growing population of broom owners. 

The broom however had one big advantage over the hoovers which started to increase in numbers in the 1980s. They were hand operated devices needing no electricity. They were cheap and bio degradable.

In the late 1980s just like a broom tied by a weak cord, things began to fall apart in the country and the Cities slowly acquired the ugliness that filth bequeaths. Once the centre cannot hold, the people left the countries in droves and many found themselves in UK where houses had carpets to help conserve heat in winter.

Like most recent immigrants, there is a pining for home and the Nigerian broom was best equipped to ease home sickness. People swear blind that a Naija Igbale reaches places on the floor that the Dyson cyclone bag less vacuum cleaner can only dream about.

However Naija brooms raise, dust and house dust mites. When the Igbale is in full flow, if you have asthma, hide ya face!

In Lagos I recall people slinging carpets over the walls and beating the life out of its fibres raising dust. At least when done outside the wind takes the dust away. In the UK sweeping carpets with the windows closed means the dust is inhaled.

I just don’t like brooms when Dysons or Hoovers exist. At least for carpet cleaning. But an immigrant must travel home weekly albeit psychologically. Play that old Naija beat, sing and sweep like one is in Lagos. I suppose it provides a psychological therapy that goes beyond how clean the carpet fibres are after the house cleaning.

Cooking Ewedu with brooms always gives me that fear that a splinter will escape into the soup and get lodged in the gullet of someone who will end up needing chest surgery.

For those in Nigeria with uncertain electric power supply, hold tight to the broom. This broom was invented by the ancestors of yore and designed for the huts and compounds of centuries gone by. In today’s world the broom should have been obsolete by now but it lives on as light no dey.

A distracted Life

When preparing for international travel, before I pack the passport and cash it is now customary for me to I pack my phone chargers. My phone must not run out of power. The airlines now have USB ports on the back of the seats in front so that means there must be an I phone charging cord for the I phone and I pod in the hand luggage. The complimentary plugs are neatly packed in both suitcases and hand luggage and if making a stopover in any of those two pin plug countries the necessary adaptors are packed.

The aim of all this fuss to ensure that one is distracted in the present from mainly trivial notifications and that future distractions are catered for by why of a well powered up phone. I can’t even remember the last time I listened to the safety announcement before take -off.

Diverting attention from meaningful activity is what distraction is all about and it has its pleasures.

Throw away, the work to be done

Let the music play on

Unfortunately everyone has work to be done whether it is known yet or not. It is a good thing that the essentials for sustaining life on the planet have been taken out of man’s hands. Breathing, the heart beating and the need to reproduce the next generation just happens automatically, no matter the state of distraction. All three can be achieved even in sleep or in drunken stupor.

For other things we need to manage our distractions and that is no easy task for the agents of distraction get better every year. The gossip gets more salacious and the cars and planes all look sleeker that they did twelve short months ago. A resolve of granite is required to even have a small consistent hobby that you do in the evenings.

I recall the dirty looks I have received when I had the audacity to mention I have never watched Scandal or Game of thrones. I also know all so well the urge to take him by the left leg and throw him down the stairs when I meet people who say they did not watch Pogba et al win the World Cup.

Someone once brought out a phone and it was not a very ‘smart’ one. Calls and texts only was what it said on the tin and it did just that. I wondered how the sad phone owner planned to get distracted. It is true; distracted people look on focused people with a great deal of pity.

They don’t know how to enjoy life

Being focussed is not very fashionable in today’s world to the extent that great achievers dumb down the effort they put in their endeavours. Perhaps they have books to sell to wishful dreamers and they dare not alienate the fans who think they can achieve great things by reading the book of a man who was too busy grinding to have time to read books.

As we get older we surely need to focus on our life’s work. If it is baking for instance it is better to inhabit a world of flour and get the attention distracted from one cake to another. The solution has to be to know one’s life work and make sure all the distractions one is exposed to come from people who inhabit the universe of our own aspirations.

Since the personal phone is now the centre of the universe, rather than fight off the concept, it might be a good idea to learn for this mobile phone addiction that aids mind wandering and the attention deficit that tags along with that.

Focus over the course of a life is the sole preserve of people who pursue what they perceive to be a worthy life goal. It does not matter how much time is spent daily on a goal attainment for over a long period the mind set becomes set in stone. Consistency is crucial to achieving big things.

Those with worthy goals treat their lives like a smart phone. They are in a state of permanently being ‘charged up’ about their goals and would do anything within their powers not to let their dreams run out of batteries.  

When preparing for international travel before the passport or cash is packed, they pack the elements that would fire their dreams. That audio tape or that inspirational book is packed into their hand luggage as the ‘dead time’ spent in the departure lounges of airports and during flights can be a good opportunity for positive content acquisition. Inflight entertainment that does not keep the dreams and aspirations charged are ignored, for watching people live out their ambitions can sometimes be like watching someone else charge their phone longingly while your own batteries go from weak to zero. The responsibility is ours to keep our dream alive, and to ‘break the rules’ if need be. If there is no power supply for your charging cords, carry your own pre-charged power bank!

I once saw a guy agonise about the cracked screen of his phone which he had just dropped. (He was being particularly rude to be at the time so his small accident was a welcomed distraction). He cradled his phone lovingly and you just knew he would have called an ambulance if there was a free smart phone emergency repair service on the NHS. Unfortunately his body did not receive much love from him. Little sleep to ‘recharge his batteries’, toxic downloads to clog up his memory and slow down all operations and he was marinating his mind in alcohol like those people who think their smart phones can withstand boiling water and actually test out their hypothesis.

Man smart but woman smarter

At least the ladies put the kids before the phone. The kids always get fed, watered, cleaned then put to bed before the manicured nails start to negotiate the touch screen.

The Gangsters & Lovers

1

The Gangster and his horned love

Spread beef from west to east

They stroll in ancient strides

They are both beauties and both beasts

2

Born a pretty golden calf

Her leather to the gangster is silk

Now a full grown dame on all fours

She flashes many breasts for sweet milk

3

Gangster loves his lady’s slim tail

Fell in love on an animal farm

As they roam the fine country

They spread jungle laws and evil harm

4

Moonlight walks singing sweetly

They stop for a bite at the local plantation

Eat up drink up and shoot up the locals

Pack the guns and leave the commotion

5

Cowboy movies come to life

We enjoyed those bygone Spaghetti Westerns

But what we now have cuts like a knife

Vicious Tuo Shinkafa Northerns

 6

The lady and her gangster

Daily in search of dinner

She wears her ugly perfume

He straps what makes him the killer

7

They tip the waiters well

Stomach full of bullets; tipped into a grave

The Police all flee the crime scene

The army did not hear so cannot save

8

Next comes the funeral processions

Black fabrics and swaying leaves

Halleluyah Joy we shall meet on that day

Then we pray, all on their knees

9

Why love what seems to kill us

For after murders by cows and their lovers

The beef has no enemies

We serve beef to all the mourners

10

Most gangsters guard their wares

With guns that cost much less

But here the case is different

Makes no sense but buy AKs nevertheless

 11

The gangster knows you are all addicted

You will buy no matter the human cost

Beef on a pedestal higher than humanity

Shaki ponmon just buy and ignore the mini holocaust

12

The gangster is a pimp

He sells his lover at the right price

Then goes to recruit another herd

For meat goes well with jollof rice

Babawilly

Dr Wilson Orhiunu

16/01/2018

She no sabi cook

She No Sabi Cook

Babawilly tak say...


We all have our talents
Rare gifts, peculiar traits
And judging from her many kids
She has talented ovaries
Yet come the kitchen-matics
Her sums just don’t add up
She started off baking a cake
And ended up with bread
That babe no sabi cook
It’s true just cannot cook
Town crier warn the neighbourhood
That lady just can’t cook



I found out just last Christmas
When invited out for lunch
While everyone was saying grace
I opened up my eyes
I saw the little fish
Kissing the giant shrimp
The fish said to his lover
We will continue in his stomach
That babe no sabi cook
It’s true just cannot cook
Town crier warn the neighbourhood
That lady just can’t cook



I didn’t learn my lesson
Went there for easter lunch
She served one kain egusi soup
that looked like oil spill
Palm oil floats above
submerged vegetables
Was on the loo all night,
and in the morning saw my doctor
That babe no sabi cook
It’s true just cannot cook
Town crier warn the neighbourhood
That lady just can’t cook

I am here to watch the football
Upon their giant screen
he told her ‘cook something spicy
we will eat come the half time’.
she brought a mountain in
I said 'thanks for the Tuo'
She snapped ‘don’t mention Mr Neighbour
but this is Jollof rice’
That babe no sabi cook
It’s true just cannot cook
Town crier warn the neighbourhood
That lady just can’t cook.

Return match was at mine
My babe cooked for half time
Smooth pounded yam, ogbono soup
with fish and chicken thighs
My neighbour licked his plate clean
then begged for second round
I told him food was finished and he
should eat when he gets home
That babe no sabi cook
It’s true just cannot cook
Town crier warn the neighbourhood
That lady just can’t cook

He looked at me with bad eye
as if it was my fault
he fell in love with alchemist
parading as a chef.
His phone went off so sudden
His dinner was now served
He walked with Africa on his head
as he moved towards his poison
That babe no sabi cook
It’s true just cannot cook
Town crier warn the neighbourhood
That lady just can’t cook.



Dr Wilson Orhiunu

August 2008

Ideas

The source and course of the River Niger was a mystery in Europe for many years.  Many explorers died in the quest to map out its course.  One such was Mungo Park who saw the River Niger in 1796 and wrote about it in his book Travels in the interior of Africa 1799.  He returned to the Niger for a second time and died in present day Kwara State.

Human beings have a strong desire to know where things flow from as knowledge is power.  Those not blessed with the risk-taking curiosity that could potentially kill are happy to live on the river banks and explain away things they have no knowledge of with imaginative assumptions and superstitions.  The Europeans knew that inland waterways could open up opportunities for future trade while the locals were happy to fish and worship river goddesses who placed no demands on worshipers to build boats and travel the whole length of the rivers.  Why engage in speculative travel when curiosity can be assuaged with colourful myths?  Thought the West Africans then.

It appears that since the world began, if a people sat still long enough, some other people on the move are bound to travel to them.  Travellers usually come bearing gifts and asking flattering questions that stimulate boastful answers.  Notes are taken and the guest bids the hosts farewell only to return with an invading army.

So, where do ideas come from?  What makes some people build progressively bigger ships and develop navigational skills?  What makes them set sail despite the numerous cases of people being ‘lost at sea?’  Why do others have, ‘let sleeping dogs lie’ as an ideology.  No risky ventures, no experimentation, no hypothesis formulated to be disapproved or validated.

The source of ideas might be harder to explain than the source of the River Niger it seems.  I have watched so many interviews of people who have achieved great success in their creative fields.  The question of the inspiration behind a work of art always arises.  The answers are always impossible to decipher.  Many say they are inspired by what they see around them every day.  Now, if what we all see around us is the fountain of ideas and inspiration, how come everybody is not bringing great ideas to past?

The same event in the neighbourhood inspires people differently.  A man down the street has a windfall and buys a new car and throws a party for friends which has all the neighbours talking.  One teenager at No. 6 who offers to wash the new car loved it so much he resolves in his heart to work hard and buy that kind of car as soon as he can afford it.  House No. 8 has a guy who knows a lot about the movements of the guy with the new car and the love he has for his daughter so

decides to get his friends to organise a kidnap of the daughter for a ransom.  These are ideas forming in the minds of people based on what they have seen around them.  Even among the positive people, the kind of ideas people have from the same inspiration varies.  A beautiful girl walks by and the painter reaches for his brush, the tailor grabs his pen and paper and starts to sketch dresses, the sculptor reaches for his marble, the poet babbles creatively, the vocalist pours forth a love song and the love-struck designs and builds a Taj Mahal.

 The door-bell to our minds constantly rings as different influences seek to gain entrance and gives us ideas.  What really matters for an individual is what he has been taught and how he has been conditioned from birth.  Family, friends, neighbours, culture, society, faith, willingness to endure hardship years before any material gain is seen, education and mentorship all play a role in how ideas are received, analysed and worked on.

One of the things people waste in life are good ideas.  A life of wasted ideas is exemplified by seeing more and more examples of people succeeding today using ideas you had thought about twenty years previously and had not acted upon.

If only we reacted to the ideas that come into our heads with the same zeal as we react to those physiological urges that cannot be ignored.  No matter the coldness of the night and the cosy warmth of the blankets, a full bladder enforces the idea of a trip to the toilet on us.  Hunger, thirst, sexual urges are all physiological states producing all kinds of ideas that produce actions.  I have never heard of anybody ignoring the peristaltic ideas generated by diarrhoea.

Never waste an idea

      Write down every idea that comes to mind in your idea journal

      Expect to have ideas come to you and always have writing materials to hand

      Research the ideas you have

      Start to entertain yourself in the areas where your ideas lie. Watch documentaries and films themed on the particular subject of your ideas

      Learn to act on your ideas and start small.  Celebrate the successes and learn from the failures

      Describe yourself as a creative person full of new ideas.  Write it down next to a picture of yourself.

      Ideas have to be good for others to make it worthwhile.  Seek to harm no one

Talent dey waste

Talent Dey Waste

Some clever people do not believe that talent even exits.  They say all things are possible to everyone who puts their hearts to it.  These clever people have obviously not watched Messi on the soccer pitch.  Training and determination can only take one so far.

Most people would agree that there are domains in which they seem to excel in with relatively little effort.  They get great returns on their investment of time in training and may even develop competence without training.

I have wondered if every single human being has a gift in them; an ability that sets them apart from others.  Do all people have a unique aptitude for the acquisition of high levels of skill in a particular field that differentiates them from their fellow men?

The title of this article demonstrates my bias.  I believe that most people are gifted in something but the development of their talents may not happen.

In the kingdom of animals where only the strong survive, the talents each species has must be expressed to the full to avoid untimely death.  The cheetah either runs after prey at great speed or starves.  Unlike humans who need to be discovered before they feel validated as talented individuals, the cheetah hits the ground running.  Animals do not have crazy parents creating home environments not conducive for the growth of human potential neither do they have governments that do not provide that much needed high quality education essential for young minds.

Animals don’t lack self-esteem or get denied of opportunity for growth.  Daddy Cheetah does not catch the prey and spend it on his side chick and neither does he barter the prey for booze.  He eats and shares the food with the family.  After a few hundred meals, the lesson is etched in the memory of baby cheetah.

The animal just exits as itself irrespective of who is watching and who is ‘discovering’.

But humans are too clever.  They need to be discovered to believe they are talented. And when an authority figure tells them they lack talent they stop trying.  The authority figure might be wrong but it does not matter.  They have the power to create a reality in the young minds.

There are other indirect ways to tell the young ones that there are no indicators of future promise in their tender lives.  Make no provision for their quality instructions and offer no opportunities for their training and they soon get the message.  A spirit of self-blindness to abilities soon evolves and then we can truly say talent dey waste.

The word talent is derived from the Latin word Talentum which is a weight of money. One could view talent as what buys you skills when you travel to the skill shop on the rail coach of training.  No one can break into the shop and steal skill.  It must be acquired.

According to UNICEF, 40% of children between 6 to11 years old do not attend primary school.  Since education exposes kids to the various options available to them to apply their talents to, being at home serves them not.  

Growing up without reading or writing skills means if these kids do not have physical attributes for sports, they are destined for a mediocre life.  According to the UN, 8.73 million elementary school aged children did not participate in education at all making Nigeria the country with the highest number of out-of-school children in the world.

The known determinants of success and high performance usually do not reside in the poor homes where majority of the kids excluded from education come from. However, in these same poor homes might be children supremely gifted with the traits required to achieve world class status in science, sports or medicine. Failure to harness this huge human potential means that the future generations have been robbed of individuals capable of taking the country to the next level.

When leadership is not concerned about what will happen in thirty years, there is a problem for the babies born today.  One should expect that all babies born today in Nigeria would have graduated from school in thirty years and be in a job that they report to daily in a car driven from their house on good roads to the office.

It would be a shame to expect the babies born today to all be at home scratching their groins and smelling their fingers in thirty years when their counterparts in other parts of the world are going to work in driverless cars.

 Reversing the Tide

A parent who did not achieve their potentials may shout their kids down when lofty ambitions are mentioned.  Parents and even teachers might want to shield the young one from future disappointments.  In the animal kingdom that does not exist.  A cobra grows up biting like a cobra.  There are so many things one can learn from the animal kingdom.

If no one teaches you that your natural instincts are unattainable you will not put the brakes on your experimentations.

Proverbs 6

⁶ Go to the ant, thou sluggard; consider her ways, and be wise:

⁷ Which having no guide, overseer, or ruler,

⁸ Provideth her meat in the summer, and gathereth her food in the harvest.

It is possible to go on natural instinct and be successful.  The absence of a guide or overseer does not stop the ant from consistently hustling.  And even if one tried to discourage the ant, it has no capacity for de-motivation or depression.

The ant is just who he is.  Like that Diamond in the ground that is sure in its identity even if it isn’t discovered, so must men be. Even if parents, teachers, government do not recognise potential, we must trust instincts that lie within to push us to challenge the expectations placed in our talents.

You don’t need to win a talent contest to know you have something special, you just need to be yourself. The Cobra bites without enchantment and if you doubted its talent for killing in the past, one venomous bite makes a believer out of you. Human beings must strive to be fully formed in spite of the absence of encouragement.  Even the celebrated stars need to work every God sent hour to produce their next big thing, so how much more the rest of us.

The Letter (From a Nigerian Rat) 2000

The Letter One dusty harmattan morning when the good Lord's North east trade winds brought cracked lips to the masses, wondrous grey hairs to the children and crocodile skin to the legs of those not insured with a 'Vaseline policy' or perhaps a 'palm oil policy' (as all fingers are not equal), lightening struck.It was no ordinary strike. It was stamped and addressed to the Skido household and measured very high on the 'Gbosa' scale. Sir Skido's life changed unrecognisably. His car, bed, shoe, and eating habits changed. His dreams changed also. No more did he see the landlord evicting his family into the streets as the crowds jeered and the heavens opened up like a new book in the hands of a bookworm. He now slept seeing himself contesting for the Local government chairman's seat and making witty speeches at exclusive gatherings with microphones bearing the logos' of NTA, CNN, MINAJ, and AIT clustered beneath his chin. Such is the power of the lightening strike they call sudden wealth. No one dared to inquire about the source of this newly found wealth (at least not in public), for such questions are deemed rude in Lagos almost akin to asking the Oba how many children he had or asking a society woman her age. The harmattan was yet to engage top gear when the unthinkable happened. Lightening struck twice. The 'Gbosa meter' exploded and Sir Skido decided to move out of the his Ajegunle neighbourhood. "How can a man of my class continue to live in this jungle city?" Sir Skido asked his friends over drinks. As he was paying, his friends controlled their anger at Sir Skido's newly found "class" and smiled heartily through clenched teeth while they cursed him in their heart of hearts. On his last day in Ajegunle, the large crowd that had gathered to help with the move were shocked to see a tiny pick-up truck parked outside the Skido family home and what more, the Skidos' were not properly dressed for the hard task of moving. Sir Skido knew what they were all thinking but decided to play games with them. He served drinks and "small chop" of groundnuts and chin-chin and chatted nostalgically of his years in the area. Many shed a few tears. "Don't cry for me Ajegunle" pleaded Sir Skido. "For I go only across Lagos to my small house in Victoria Island. It's not as if I am going to die and go to heaven". "Or hell" shouted someone in the crowd causing roars of laughter. Sir Skido pretended not to hear. "For some of us, heaven is nearer than Victoria Island. We may never see you again" said an old man causing a murmur to sweep through the crowd as folks marveled at this nugget of 'suffer man' wisdom. Soon it was time. Sir Skido announced that as God had so buttered his bread he would not need any of his old property as his new place was fully furnished. "All I need you Alaye boys to do is load my three seater settee onto the pick-up trunk. Then I will go in and fetch my City and Guilds electricians' certificate and you people can have whatsoever you wish". The air was thick with excitement and everyone braced themselves for what latter became referred to as the "harmattan rush". At this point Sir Skido's wife butt in, "that rotten settee is going nowhere. Ah-ah, what will the new neighbours think? You wan de-shine me bicos of ye-ye sentimental value? I no gree". Sir Skido was hurt. How dare this wife of a woman belittle him in public he thought. He lost his temper and pushed his wife aside then helped the Alaye boys with the settee. He then gathered his children out of the way and declared in jest "let the property massacre begin!" What happened next surprised all including the participants. People rushed madly for the door all at once and got stuck. Alaye boys quick and nimble jumped in through the window. Vicious punches and elbows were freely dispersed and blood flooded freely. Some came out breathing heavily clutching radio sets, shirts, and children's clothes, cooking utensils and even bars of soap. One group of elders too old and wise to struggle poked fun at the rat race called life. Suddenly the one they called chronic bachelor burst out of a window with his T-shirt completely in tatters holding his spoils of war high above his head. "What good are two ladies scarves to an unemployed with neither wife nor girlfreind?" the elders teased. "I go sell am Tokunbo for market" came the reply. Sir Skido saw friendly neighbours who had known each other for many years shove each other out of the way and muttered to himself "there is no friend or brother in property. First thing Monday morning I must write my will". All this was months ago. Today has brought new problems for Sir skido in his new house. His settee had come back to haunt him and his wife, true to type taunted him thus, "I told you not to bring the rotten settee but you just had to be "the man" in front of your friends. Shame Skido. Shame on you!" Saying that she marched into her jeep and went shopping. Despite the central air conditioning the sweat poured forth. Sir Skido eyed the long letter and contemplated reading it for the umpteenth time. He rubbed his eyes, put on his glasses and picked up the letter. His whole body shuddered as he began to read. Dear Sir Skido, You dey craze? What lame excuse do you have for the multiple attempts you have made on the lives of my family? In Ajegunle you never gave us any problems but since your arrival in Victoria Island your attitude towards us has changed. Are you now ashamed of us after so many years of cohabitation? You feel your ascent up the social scale calls for a severance of all old acquaintances whose faces no more fit eh? You wan kill us all eh? Sir Skido, you leave me no choice. I hereby declare war on you and your family with immediate effect. I Chief Ekute Rattus Muridae, the third by the powers vested in me by God almighty and in my position as the leader of this family decree a state of emergency in this house forthwith. May I however implore you to study and understand why during the Second World War the Rats of Tobruk were so named and more recently why the victorious Desert Rats were so named during the gulf war? So you really want to annihilate us eh? You are not the first to attempt the impossible. Let me teach you a lesson from history.Many many years ago our forefathers had established themselves in Hamelin Germany and were basically running things at grass root level when a Flute playing nobody pranced into town wearing a colourful Hugo Boss jacket. (I say flute because if I refer to him as the Pied Piper of Hamelin , his proper nickname, you and that Coconut brain of yours will think him to be a pipe smoker). He won a contract to exterminate my forefathers. He used music. Chai! See how relations fit disgrace person! My forefathers foolishly danced in the streets to the flute this deceiver was playing. When they got to the River Weser he changed tune, opting for a Sir Shina-ish rhytym. Ol' boy, the Rats raced into the sea and drowned. Never in the history of humanity have non-swimmers rushed to a watery grave like my forefathers. Ah, well the swine in the Bible did it ke? At least they could plead diminished responsibility, as it was evil spirits that lead them astray. What excuse do my forefathers have eh? The story continues thus; the Piper returned for his fee but the mayor must have had Naija blood for he claimed armed robbers had just left his office having cleaned him out completely. The Piper cried bitterly for he knew that numerous companies and private individuals all glad to see the back of my forefathers had donated large sums of money towards his fees. Alas the '419' came to light when the news reached the Piper two weeks later that the mayor was building a big house in his mother's village and was paying cash for everything. Furthermore he was now referred to as "Mayor keep the change" on account of his lavish generosity to the shopkeepers of Hamelin. Next came the repercusion. The Pied Piper returned to town with an even more flamboyant jacket and blew a re-mixed version of his Rat killer tune. This time all the children followed him while the parents looked on smiling. It was like the Children's Day march past at Tafawa Balewa square. The Mayor even waved at them from the giant window in his office. The Piper led them to the caves in Koppen Hill and all were never seen again. The moral of this story is simple. Man wey say Ekute no go sleep, im sef no go sleep. So you want to kill us? Your mama no born you well at all! May I inform you that since arriving at Victoria Island we too have been making contacts with Rats who live with great men from all works of life. In fact, we don open eye finish. We now network with fellow Rats from all over the world. You know Ben? The one wey Michael Jackson sing about. Well the grand son is now a big man in Hollywood and has promised to send us arms and technology to finish you. You useless man. Right now as I write this letter with blood (not red ink), three Hollywood stars of the Muridae family are organising a charity benefit to raise money for the suffering Rats of Lagos. They are none other than Chief and Chief Mrs Mickey and Minnie Mouse and Chief Professor Master Splinter, the Ninjistu don . May I inform you that Master Splinter will be smuggled into the country in two weeks to begin guerrilla warfare training in a disused Shalanga (pit latrine) somewhere in Ikorodu. Did you not see how well he trained those Area boys to become the Teenage mutant ninja tortoise eh? When he finishes with us I'm sure we will be ready to take over the whole country if we so please. Sir Skido, you don enta. So your children now watch Rugrats eh? I know you wish to insult me with style. We shall see. Please inform your offspring the cat that died for whom they cried so much was killed by me. Ha ha. No be curiosity kill am, ha ha ha. I no fit laugh. I have read the post-mortem report (remember I have cousins in every pathology laboratory and veterinary surgery in this Lagos state), Warfarin poisoning my foot. I bet you think your cat eat the Ratsbane you left out for us eh? All the so-called Rat poison is no more than an afternoon snack to us. We store the Warfarin they contain in our livers and it doesn't harm us. Unlike your Ajebuta Ologbo. I set a bait for him with one of my sons and he fell for it. The same happened to that silly hawk that used to terrorise the neighbourhood. It took four of my daughters to finish him off. If you don't believe you are welcomed to buy another cat. And mind you, I will never run out of children for madam dey born seven times a year and each time na six or seven pickin dey come out. Even sef ,when I hungry I dey chop some. So you want to kill us eh? You go die o! You keep on scandalising my good name, calling us vermin, claiming we eat your useless City and Guilds certificate and claiming we spread disease. What disease? Go to London and ask about the Bubonic plague. That is disease! Where a quarter of the population dies and those alive live in fear. That is the disease we can bring. Sir Skido, we haven't started with you o! Was it not just one bite I gave you last year and you succumbed to Rat bite fever. If not for that antibiotic wey the doctor give you na coffin you for dey now and I for don chop your right eye comot by now as na im dey hungry me pass. By the way, did you get diarrhoea with those drugs? I eat some you left on the table and belle come turn me well- well. Take ya time o! I know you are petrified and looking to make peace. It's too late. A white flag will not cut it. I will sit down at a round table conference with you only if Kofi Annan, Nelson Mandela, Jesse Jackson and the presido of Naija are present with full guarantees for my safety. And just a word of advice, you are wasting time with those rusted rat traps harbouring mouldy bread and bits of rotten fish as bait. Right now we possess the technology to take the bait off without detonating the trap. Furthermore, we are now high class and would no more contemplate eating such nonsense even if it were served on a platter of gold. Finally to make sure you don't get any sleep here are my war plans. Sabotaging of electric cables will start next week. We will chew off insulation causing sparks and fires. This will occur by 4 am to ensure the house burns down with you in it. I have already told you about the Ninjistu training. We will attack you in the bath when your eyes are closed in a pack of sixty. I have sons who when they bite will not let go unto death. As for your baby in the cot use that useless imagination of yours. Biological warfare excites me the most. We all carry fleas called Xenopsylla Cheopis. Chai! What a name. They in turn are the sole distributors of Yersinia Pestis the producers of the Bubonic plague. For the now the fleas are happily living off our blood but should anything happen to us they have vowed to attack you in twenty four hours thus gifting you with the plague. When Lagos people find out that the plague was caused by Sir Skido's stupendous behaviour, your house will be burnt to the ground while your children will be awarded the 'tyre medal' (you understand don't you? Tyre, petrol, matches, boom!). We are also making arrangements to import Endemic Typhus as soon as possible. So you want to kill us? Go ahead then. Signed Chief Ekute Rattus Muridae the third.Sir Skido put the letter on his laps and sighed. He didn't hear his wife come in and jumped when she spoke.Sir Skido promtly told her they would be moving back to Ajegunle as this situation was too big for him to handle. "Over my dead body. Move out for rats? Tuffia! Skido ,you are not a man at all" said Lady Skido. "That might be true but whatever you might call me I'm still alive". Lady Skido sat next to her husband and read the letter. They sat in silence bar the occasional hissing from Lady Skido as she turned the pages of the letter. She tore the letter to shreds as soon as she had finished and whispered to her husband "the rats are afraid" "How can you say that?" "Chief Ekute uses his sons as bait. Where is the courage in that? Can't he die fighting for his people? I will sort him out!" said Lady Skido. "How my wife?" "I've been out to see a friend who had a similar problem. First we kill off all the fleas, and stop putting out ratsbane or traps. Next we start leaving out good bits of food for them. This will lull them into a false sense of security. Next we leave out kai kai spiked with infertility drugs. In no time they will all be sterile alcoholics with no fleas biting their backs. Life go just dey sweet them so.When we build a bar for them with free flowing Kai kai in the garden, long throat no go let them dey suspicious. After one week of free booze we will change the bar's door to open one way only, hence trapping all the rats inside By now the bar will double up as a gas chamber. As the now drunkard rats will all be hooked on Kai kai they will come in to be gassed. As for those who refuse to come out to drink we shall recommence ratsbane and procure some tough cats. Them go sabi say dis one no be Tom and Jerry matter at all" said Lady Skido. "Na die!" screamed Sir Skido."But women get sense o! Abeg come sitdon for my lap jo". Lady Skido shifted her bulk onto Sir Skido who received her with open arms. Their combined weight caused the settee to sag . Chief Ekute was woken up from sleep. He heard giggling and saw he's roof moving. "They laugh despite my letter" he said to himself. He turned over to his wife Chief Mrs Ekute who was neck deep in the travails in labour and said, "I smell a rat. A big stinking rat © 2000 Babawilly