Anatomy of a good day

What is a good day? While doing a junior surgical job a senior colleague told me what a good day was for a surgical resident. ‘Don’t kill the patients and don’t sleep with them either’. He used a different grade of English which I have translated here. Permanently tired due to long on call sessions he had set his sights low and simple. It worked for him.

I recall a line from Ice Cube’s song It was a Good day-

Today I didn’t even have to use my AK

I gotta sat, it was a good day

That song was sounded funny at the time but reading the lyrics today almost brings tears to my eyes. The picture depicted was one in which murder and trouble was the daily expectation and if it did not happen then it was a good day.

It all boils down to expectations in the end. If the day could meet the expectations or even exceed them, then it is a good day. Anything less is was a bad day.

I noticed myself feeling a particular day hadn’t gone well and I started to ask myself questions about the exact matrix I used in coming to that conclusion. It so happens that I had no objective method for assessing the day. It was purely subjective and dependent on the way I felt my interactions with patients went towards the end of the day. The things that did not go well were remembered while the routine tasks that go well were promptly forgotten.

It was not hard to figure out that something untoward was bound to happen most days and if I focus on these things and exaggerate them, I would drift out of balance and start to label each day as a ‘bad day’ due to isolated incidences.

There was a time I told myself that making it to bed at night alive and achieving just one thing no matter how small was enough for me. I soon forgot this mantra which looked as if it lacked ambition and pressurised myself into looking for difficult things accomplished each day to maintain that sense of having lived a day to be proud of.

I think I am back to square one now. Making it to my bed at night alive with food in my stomach and a smile on my face is good enough for me. I will always work hard and be creative as it is too late to change that now. It is the simple things in life that make for a good day. There is no peace of mind like the children finishing their food and having dirty nappies a few hours later. That is a good day.

Trying to find fulfilment in just the work place is not enough. The work place will continue long after you have left. Family is more important. If the family are having a good day then it means my day is good. No matter how good work is, people don’t take annual leave and go on holiday with work colleagues but with family.

Driven people and high achievers can be a miserable lot sometimes as this subset are sometimes defined by their work. They are on top but stay up all night thinking about how they can remain at the top. It is a bit ironic seeing that everyone dies and leaves both the wealth and the status behind.

There is no top man or high achiever in the cemetery.

Everyone wants to make significant impact in their work and continue to be productive and efficient working with friendly motivated people.  But sometimes we might feel that we are fire- fighting all day long;, running from one urgent low priority task to another. There might be bosses we dislike or working practices that we hate but have to work with.

We must however remember that we have only one life to live and we have to make the best of each day.

The days build up to weeks and months and before you know it you might be having a bad year.

Each person should write out clearly what a good day would look like for them and strive to make the various elements on that list come to past. Writing things out will make it easy not to miss the easily forgotten items that are essential and which we would be grateful to achieve.

Waste Management

Waste Management

The secrets of tomorrow’s success might be hiding in what we waste today.  Show me your waste management systems and I will tell you who you are.  No system is blessed with a hundred percent efficiency so, things go to waste. However, the best people limit waste to a minimum.  They convert today’s waste into tomorrow’s raw materials.

The ugliest cities on the planet tend to have the ugliest waste disposal systems.  Refuse plied to the rafters, stench everywhere and water drainages blocked as things fall apart.  Waste piled up blocking the flow of other waste channels leads to a big fat mountain of waste.

The wise will devote a great deal of talent, time and hard work to find ways of limiting waste.  As it is with cities, so it is with people. But unlike refuse which looks ugly, people have perfected the art of wasting resources with style and aplomb.  Some waste money with such panache that frugal on-lookers are tempted to look down on themselves.  Waste can sometimes be entertaining to watch.  The guy who buys three cars of the exact same specifications in different colours to go with his clothes slips into folklore and gives everyone something to talk about, till he runs out of money and the folklore moves to another house.

I have seen people waste things and I do not think a time will ever come when everybody is thoughtful and introspectively seeking out waste to be more efficient.  Here are my top ten things I find that people waste;

Time

Everything takes time and everyone alive has time to use how they please.  Television was invented to keep those unsure what to do with their time, occupied.

Money

Cash is King and we all have a bit of royalty in our pockets.  This is a king that intoxicates you into thinking that it multiplies in the wallet like Amoeba when what it does is sprout out wings and fly away.  The trick is to nail it down in investments so that it flies out of the nests but returns at intervals to lay golden eggs.

Beauty

Blondes have more fun they say.  There is an element of truth in that.  Beautiful people are never short of admirers.  But, there exists a strange breed of beautiful ones.  They hate publicity and hide their faces from the world.  No social media.  Ha!!!!  And you are beautiful?

Do these people know that they will die one day and they would lie in state (against their will) and all the people they did not want gazing into their faces would do so at a time they cannot airbrush themselves?  Make hay while the sun shines, is all I can say.  Flaunt your beauty.

Brain Power

Watching television instead of reading leads to an under-developed brain.  There is so much educational material online that anyone who chooses to could learn just about anything. An inquisitive mind that is hungry for knowledge, helps to keep the brain constantly developing.

Anatomy

The body needs exercising and freedom from noxious chemicals and gases.  The body weakens and wastes away when not exercised, washed, fed and watered well.  Strength goes and so does quality of life when the body continues to be unfit for purpose.

 Youth

This is a period that occurs just once, characterised by high levels of strength and low levels of experience which helps in producing a stupendous amount of courage to attempt the impossible.

That is why novel start-ups have young founders.  Unfortunately, some waste their youth watching other youths attempt and succeed at doing the impossible. In the end, it becomes too late to ‘chase that dream’.

If I knew then what I known now………………………

Talents

What if Michael Jackson worked in the post office and told his colleagues his hobby was dancing?  Or perhaps Ronaldo worked as a bank clerk and indulged in a football home at weekends when he could find the time or energy?

Behold the curse of the hobby!  

Ideas

Too lazy to write ideas down?  Too lazy to start the preliminary moves of making these ideas a reality? Soon the ideas stop coming and move next door.

Relationships

We should nurture good relationships and generally be kind to those we come into contact with.  There is nothing as irritating as hearing from a ‘friend’ who needs something and they start the small talk with, ‘how is the baby?’ to which you reply , ‘he is just about to start secondary school’.

Opportunities

Sometimes the planets are in alignment and a great stride can be taken at a fraction of the usual effort.  The cursed will procrastinate on a day like this and forever sing the ‘had I known’ song.  Some opportunities are never coming back so never waste them. Sudden windfalls, opportunities for business, opportunities to network with important individuals, all these opportunities of a life time must be grabbed with two hands and exploited to the maximum.  Individuals might suddenly find a market for their well-honed skills while countries might discover huge reserves of natural resources.

Sudden wealth is usually wasted and I would strongly recommend one year of counselling to anyone who suddenly strikes it rich.

Waste Management – an example

Some waste of time is inevitable like the case of a guy who spent two hours in traffic jams on his daily commute to work.  These ten hours trapped in the car were mostly spent listening to the radio which provided jingles, promotions and mindless pop music.

He struck on the idea of listening to audio books and now does two books a week during his commute.  He warns anyone asking for a lift that his car is his library so no ‘gisting’ allowed.

Teds, Business podcasts and documentaries follow and in a few months his colleagues at work notice he has become more knowledgeable about business in general but slightly behind in the latest celebrity gossip.

Who celebrity epp?

The loss of purpose (2009)

THE LOSS OF PURPOSE By Dr Wilson Orhiunu(Babawilly)Babawill2000@gmail.com

2009 Chidi was a dissatisfied man. He hated his job, car and the council house in which they resided. Despite his Christian faith he hated his neighbours. In number 15 was a middle- aged man who always seemed to look at Sonia lustfully. That drove him mad. While he accepted that with a butt the size of Australia she was bound to draw glances from some men, Chidi drew the line at Mr Jones’ (the chronic bachelor) lascivious expressions.Number 19 was permanently drunk. Empty cans of beer and cigarette ends littered his front garden and the wind helped to bring the mess over to Number 17.
Then there was Phil, the scrawny white kid who lived across the road who thought of himself as the new Quentin Tarantino. He was in film school and for some reason was always filming the children. Chidi Junior, Anne and the baby Tony featured in his assignments on a regular basis. Whenever he visited to take permission to film the children and there was music playing, he asked to borrow it. In the end Chidi told him to take the entire CD collection home, down load to wherever pleased him and return as borrowed. Chidi disliked the boy but Sonia liked him.
Chidi’s patience was stretched to breaking point when Phil turned on boxing day last year with a camera. He wanted to film Chidi and Sonia kissing under the mistletoe. It was half time and Arsenal were losing. Chidi had been complaining about everything. His pounded yam was too lumpy. The soup was too salty. ‘The world is reducing their intake of salt yet my wife is cooking Hypertension soup to kill me with’ he protested. Phil could not have walked in at a worse time. 
 Sonia shooed Phil off very quickly.
Chidi could not afford to move to a neighbourhood he felt was deserving of him.Sonia suggested he spoke to their Pastor. Chidi liked the idea. He looked up to his Pastor who was on the telly more times a week than his beloved Arsenal football club.As Chidi got to his car Phil walked up. ‘Chidi, can I film this tree in front of your house? The leaves are falling off beautifully. Will do it from my bedroom window using my zoom. You wouldn’t be disturbed. I hope to fast forward the..’‘Do what you want. I am sorry, getting late for an appointment’ said Chidi dismissively.After a short prayer his Pastor, Reverend Kunle looked him in the eye and asked how he may be of help.
‘I don’t know where to start. I seem to have no purpose for being in England. I haven’t told my wife but I am thinking of moving back to Nigeria’ said Chidi.‘Fine. You know what you what. When do you fly back and on what airline?’ asked the Reverend. Chidi felt the slimy tentacles of irritation begin to grip him. Surely the Reverend must have known that the going to Nigeria was an opening gambit. Why was he trying to humiliate him?‘Eh, I am not sure that I really what to go back home’ said Chidi. In the silence that followed Chidi heard his belly rumble.
‘I see. So you are unsure about your purpose in England’.‘Precisely sir’ said Chidi happy that his predicament was now being fully comprehended by the Man of God.‘So that brings us to the next question. What is your purpose in life? I am sure you are familiar with the scripture, I paraphrase, “without vision the people perish” ’ said the Reverend. Chidi’s irritation began to return. He watched the reverend unconsciously fiddle with his cuff links. He noticed the wrist watch. He once argued with his wife Sonia about if it was a Rolex or not. They had both moved close to the telly that day but it was impossible to say. Here, now, with the benefit of close range vision he knew it was a Rolex.‘That is why I am here sir. I do not know my purpose in life. I provide for my family, love and protect them, go to work, come to church but I feel something is missing’ said Chidi. ‘The Maker of the Digital Camera writes the manual. He knows its purpose and he only explains how it works’ said the reverend. He pulled out a box from a drawer in his table and out came a camera. ‘Get the picture? Let God show your purpose’.‘I get the picture’ said Chidi. He hoped his disappointment did not come across in his voice. He was not sure what he had expected to hear but this was not it.‘I will give you one hint. Your purpose will be linked to your natural abilities. That thing your do effortlessly. Done with grace. That thing your don’t mind doing for free’ said the reverend.The only natural abilities that  Chidi’s could think of were eating pounded yam with draw soup and sex. ‘But who will pay me money to do that?’ he thought.
As he drove back home he planned what to say to Sonia. She would what to know how it went. Was great insight he had acquired that will stop his constant mopping about the house. He would tell her to keep up with the pounded yam. Served hot at half time during live Arsenal games on TV.The sex bit was going to be trickier. He didn’t call Sonia, Jayne Austin the period drama queen for nothing. Once she claimed to have been on a period for three months. In the end he took to surveying the bins for evidence, usually at night as if he was a UN inspector in search of weapons of mass destruction.When he confronted Sonia with his evidence; no ‘smoking tampons’, she instantly developed nocturnal headaches.
 On a particular night he wondered if he could open up her head to inspect her brain for headaches.
Chidi parked his car and placed his wheel clamp on. He looked up and saw Steve from number 19 fixing the fence. There were bits of wood everywhere. Bits of fried potato chips and newspapers caused an untidy mess on Chidi’s front garden. Steve’s dog was having lunch.
‘Steve, why are you serving your dog leftovers on my garden’ asked Chidi angrily.‘Let it rest mate. The dog is keeping me company. The missus said I must fix the fence today’. Steve took a swig from his can of beer and continued to hammer away at the fence.‘This is unacceptable. Ever since you dirty lot moved here, all I have done is clean up after you. The wind blows in our direction and all your filth gets blown to our front garden’ said Chidi angrily ‘If you don’t like it here, go back to Africa’ said Steven without turning to look at Chidi.Chidi grabbed him by the shoulder and spun him around. ‘What did you say?’‘Clear off to the jungle Mr Kunta Kente!’Steve’s dog attacked Chidi. It bit his right ankle then backed off snarling. Chidi quickly looked around and picked up a piece of wood which he crashed into the dog’s mid section. It collapsed in a whining heap.‘You have killed..’ Steve was now swinging wilding at Chidi with the hammer. Chidi jumped out of the way twice. The third blow was aimed at Chidi’s head. Steve missed and spun like a hammer thrower before losing his balance and falling backwards onto the concrete floor.Steve was motionless on the floor but still held onto the hammer. Chidi rushed to his side and extracted the hammer from Steve’s grip.Steve’s wife ran out having  heard the noise. ‘Someone call the police! Get away from Steven. Put that hammer down!’ she screamed. The judge was lenient. At least that was what Chidi’s lawyers said.The good thing was Steve did not die. He had surgery on his fractured neck and was out of hospital in two weeks. He however came to the court in a wheel chair he didn’t need for each court hearing. Five years in jail was lenient. The humiliation was complete. Someone had leaked the story to a newspaper in Enugu State, Nigeria where Chidi came from. His parents were now in distress. Sonia during her visits to Hoston Prison brought with her news from home. It cut like a blunt knife.
‘They saying its drug trafficking. Some are saying it is wife beating. Some are even saying money laundering. Why can’t our Nigerian press men get their stories right, eh?’ Sonia said.
Sonia proved to be very strong. She organized a move from family home due a hate campaign organised by Steve and his friends. When a brick was thrown through the front room window the council agreed to move the family. It turned out well for them as they ended up in a new development. As money was tight, church friends helped with the move.She sat across the table looking much better than he had expected. He wondered if she really missed his absence.Chidi struggled with this new role. Absentee father. Prisoner. Absentee husband.Absentee protector of the family.
Chidi brought up how well Sonia looked, trying his best to sound as causal as possible. She saw through him.‘You are ungrateful. I am only trying to cheer you up’ she had told him. She came every month without the children. She looked slimmer each time. More attractive.On one visit Chidi mentioned her plummeting weight. ‘I am doing it for you. When you get out you would have a new wife’ she said.Sonia always came on coaches. They couldn’t afford the fares for all the kids. She had the car but was terrified of driving on the motorway. It was six months before the whole family came.It was meant to be a surprise.‘Mr Jones gave us a lift’ Sonia said when Chidi wore one of his quizzical looks.‘But we have moved. We are no more neighbours’ said Chidi. His tried in vain to suppression thoughts of Sonia in a tight embrace with Mr Jones whose large hands were place firmly on Australia.
‘Mr Jones bought me a bike dad’ said Chidi Junior.‘And me too’ said Anette.Sonia had never mentioned Mr Jones during any of her previous visits. Chidi shrank into himself. The children being there meant he had to talk in riddles.‘A father should buy his children bicycles. Are we now a charity case?’‘Chidi dear, the children have been through a lot. They have been looking towards this visit for months. Mr Jones is a kind man. No fighting over this. Don’t let pride cause trouble today o’ said Sonia. There was an unmistakable threat in her tone. Chidi could not believe the changes that 6 months could bring. ‘Daddy, we exercice in our garden every evening. Skipping and stretching’ said Anette. Chidi instinctively looked down at his flabby gut and made a mental note to start visiting the gym.‘So many changes’ Chidi thought out loud. Changes that excluded him. He did not even know where his own family now lived.‘There is no one to wait on hand and foot so I fill up the time with exercises’ said Sonia. Chidi wondered if that was all he represented to her. Someone to be waited upon.
It was Sonia’s turn to comment about Chidi’s physique when she returned alone four weeks later.
‘Oh, I have started using the prison gym. Also reduced my food. That was not hard to do. The food is useless. Prophylaxis against hunger I call it. How I long for my pounded yam and draw soup’‘Hypertension soup you used to call it’ teased Sonia.‘Eight months in jail soon teaches you to appreciate what you had. What you have. I love you Sonia’. Tears materialised in both their eyes. Chidi had now been in jail for thirteen months. There was talk of a move to an open prison. He was now fully involved in prison life. He played in defence for the football team. Had become a lay preacher running regular Sunday services for inmates and worked part time as a gym instructor and a library assistant.‘Someone must be praying for me’ was his reply whenever inmates asked about his sudden positive out look on life. When Sonia walked into the room, he said it out as he thought it. ‘This woman is having an affair’. A sense of loss hounded him. ‘She will move off with the children into another man’s den. He would be alone’ he thought. He pondered on a few ways he might choose to kill himself. All the positive thinking of the last few weeks went out of his prison window.The main problem today was Sonia looked stunning. He had never seen her like this in years. Her lips looked like they had been smeared with the brightest of palm oil and her jeans were really tight. ‘Hi baby’ she smiled. ‘Yes’ thought Chidi. Smile at me then kill me.‘A Christian woman like you dressed like that’ he said coldly.‘But I am wearing a coat’ She stood and took off the coat and then slowly turned round to hang it over her chair.Chidi could see Sonia had returned to her Coca Cola bottle figure. Every part of her body had shrunk except Australia. When she turned to sit her saw her cleavage and swallowed hard. She was no longer the 2 litre cylindrical plastic coca Cola bottle.‘So who is the lucky man?’‘You’ she said
‘I am banged up’‘But soon you would have you filthy hands and mind all over me’ she giggled like a school girl as she spoke.‘Two things will have to happen. First you will need to commit a crime and be banged up and secondly the home office will need to introduce same sex prisons’ said Chidi.‘You are coming home next week’ ‘What do you mean?’‘Remember Phil?’‘If I die and I am resurrected I will remember Phil. Who can forget that pest with a camera?’‘His two minute film, Falling leaves won an award. You starred in it’‘He used one of my CDs as background music did he?’ asked Chidi wondering where all this was going.
‘Yes Femi Kuti’s Fight to Win’ said Sonia.‘I hope he gave me credit’ said Chidi‘Chidi my dear, prison life has made you slow. The short film featured the dog attacking you and your squabble with Steve. When the film is slowed down it clearly shows your innocence’ said Sonia.It too a few seconds to sink in. Then he let out a scream. A scream that had security guards rushing all over the place in panic. A scream of pure joy. A scream of freedom. 
‘Surprise!’ came the screams. Everyone was there and Phil was filming. This time he had Chidi Junior holding up a light for him. It seemed the whole church had cramped into the living room. He noticed Mr Jones and smiled at him. Even Reverend Kunle had come. There was a well dressed man who came up towards him.
‘I am glad you are out’ he said. The face looked familiar. Chidi barely recognised Steve. He was sombre for starters. Chidi turned to walk away ignoring Steve’s hand which was suspended in mid air. All the talking stopped. Chidi walked into Reverend Kunle in his haste to get away.
‘Take the man’s hand. He is a changed man. Do the right thing’ said the reverend.
Grudgingly Chidi turned, took Steve’s hand and then hugged him. Everyone clapped. Sonia, overcome with emotion ran into Chidi’s arms.
‘My purpose in life is to love you’ he whispered into her ear.
Someone raised a song. It spread like a forest fire in the middle of a scorching summer.
What the Lord has done for me
 
                                                            
 
 
 
 
                                                       THE END

WELCOME BACK DAD read the banner over the doorpost.  ‘It is good to be back. Thank you Jesus!’ exclaimed Chidi as he walked into the leaving room.

I cannot tell it all.                                

MISS MOST- WOWO PAGEANT (19-01-2009)

Dr Wilson Orhiunu

(Babawilly)

Babawill2000@gmail.com

 19-01-2009

Life is like a vapour….

Ologbo watched Dr Igo’s mouth move. He heard words which seemed intended for someone else.

‘Ologbo, do you understand?’ Dr Igo asked

‘Perhaps you have the wrong test results. It cannot be mine. I don’t even wear a beard’ Ologbo muttered in a throaty voice he barely recognized as his own.

No wonder the looks. Ologbo could have sworn he saw a look of pity in her eyes when the nurse showed him in. She gave him a cup of tea and biscuits. Others in the waiting room wondered why he had such special treatment.

Dr Igo had gone straight to the point. ‘I am afraid it is bad news. You have a rare form of Leukaemia; Hairy Cell Leukaemia’.

A huge book was opened up. It looked so large to Ologbo.

‘You are not even in the age group for HCL. That’s life’ said Doctor Igo who seemed to be reading the six o clock news. Bad news.

Outside the Igo Infirmary Ologbo had to hold back his urge to smash the windscreen of his Doctor’s Navigator jeep.

It wasn’t till he got to Isaiah’s flat that he broke down.

‘I only went for this lump under my chin and now this’ cried Ologbo.

Beers were ordered and the DVD player switched on. Isaiah got Ologbo talking after a few bottles and it didn’t seem so bad after all. At least there was treatment.

‘In three day time we see the haematologist. Till then we drink and drown our sorrow’ said Isaiah.

Laughter is like good medicine……  

They laughed till tears came out of their eyes. Isaiah slid off his chair and began to cough.

‘Of all the Leukaemia wey dey, na di byah-byah one you see carry’ said Isaiah gasping for air

‘Na wa o! When I no bi Santa Klaus’

Isaiah’s phone went off.

‘Hello. Commissioner for beard speaking’ he said. He soon staggered to the door.

‘You are drunk. I have been ringing that bell for twenty minutes’ said Egala.

‘My cousin, we are mourning. My friend here says he is going to die’ said Isaiah.

Egala ignored the drunk pair and took her suitcase to the bed room. She often turned up unannounced whenever she tired of the University Campus life.

‘If that your cousin was finer, I would have loved her’ said Ologbo to his friend.

‘Forget love. Drink and be merry’ replied Isaiah.

Egala had changed into something more comfortable and joined them in the cramped sitting room. She took the remote control and started the DVD from the beginning. It was a stand up comedy show.

Beauty is vain….

The first comedian joked about the difficulties of being ugly or ‘wowo’ as they preferred to call it. Each time the word ‘wowo’ was mentioned the audience was thrown into fits of laughter.

Four more comedians come on all making jokes at the ugly people. The camera zoomed on two girls who were definitely unattractive. These girls were obviously finding the jokes very funny indeed. That in turn caused Isaiah to slide back onto the floor laughing and choking.

Ologbo and Egala gave each other high fives.

If you laugh me, you dey laugh my God….

Isaiah regained his breath, ‘ this is immoral. I was brought up never to laugh at anyone’s anatomy’.

‘Pause the DVD make e no waste if una wan talk’ said Egala as she rushed out to the loo.

‘I wouldn’t laugh at a cripple or the deaf and blind but wowo jokes make me laugh. Didn’t you see those wowo girls in the DVD laughing?’ asked Ologbo.

‘What does it tell you about the state of the Nigerian mind when jokes about other people’s ugly faces gets the loudest laugh eh?’ asked Isaiah.

‘Tells me we all have no mirrors. Everyone thinks they are pretty. It is the neighbour who is wowo’ said Egala as she made her way back to her sit.

‘My wowo cousin is correct’ said Isaiah

‘You father wowo. Please press play make I laugh ojare’ said Egala as she sipped on her second bottle of beer.

Wetin your hand find to do; do am well-well. Dat grave wey you dey go so, working and planning no dey dia o….

It hung over them like a dark cloud the next day. A cheerless mist brimming with grief filled every room. Egala’s tears flowed freely ever since Isaiah had told her what Dr Igo had said. When they all sat for breakfast nobody eat. They moved their food about and avoided eye contact.

‘You guys are making me feel dead already’ said Ologbo when he couldn’t take the silence any more. ‘May be I better go home’.

‘No, wait. It is such a shock. I love you. We love you’ said Egala. She reached out to hold onto Ologbo’s hand across the table.

‘When will you tell your parents’ asked Isaiah.

‘Never. You know they are in poor health. I would most probably outlive them’ replied Ologbo.

‘Ologbo, should you want a child, I mean before chemotherapy. I don’t mind helping you out’ said Egala tentatively.

‘No, it is not that kind of chemo’

‘So you asked? I cannot believe you this boy. Someone gives you bad you and all you are worried about is your millionaire status’ said Isaiah.

‘I didn’t ask. Dr Igo was just trying to reassure me when he mentioned my millions of ‘little Ologbos’ were safe. I might not even need treatment for years’ said Ologbo.

‘Whatever. Remember, I will be right here waiting’ said Egala.

They began to eat in silence. Soon the dark cloud began to dissipate.

‘I thought of bearded revolutionaries before going to bed. They had no mirrors. Too busy to shave. Che Guevera, Fidel Castro and not forgetting General Odumegwu Ojukwu during the Biafrian war’. Ologbo looked at Egala as he spoke.

‘I find beards wowo in a man’ said Egala smiling.

‘You said last night that no one thinks they are wowo. I disagree’ said Ologbo.

‘I see we are all back on the wowo trail. What ever makes us happy. Cut!’ said Isaiah.

The friends gambled over ever argument. They linked little fingers and Egala separated their hands with a gentle Kung fu style chop. This signified a bet was on.

‘So what much?’ said Ologbo.

‘I bet you 60 thousand that we find twenty women who will agree they are wowo in 2 hours’ said Isaiah.

‘You have lost your money. No woman will agree that she is wowo. I should know’ said Egala

‘Done deal. My risk aversion days are over. Come to think of it, how many more days do I have left sef?’ said Ologbo.

‘Please don’t talk like that my dear’ said Egala.

They worked out the details of the bet over what was left of their breakfast. An advert was composed and handed over to Egala. Egala’s best friend was in a relationship with a Newspaper editor. She would get him to run an advert the next day.

Entries for the Miss Most Wowo pageant invited. First prize 5 MILLION NAIRA.

Ring the number below for application forms.

‘I will be 60 thousand richer tomorrow’ said Isaiah rubbing his hands gleefully as they all made their way to the Newspaper office.

The race is not to the quick nor the battle to the strong. Time and chance happens…  

That night Egala went crazy in the kitchen. An eight course dinner for three she had said. A few neighbours came knocking.

‘Party dey?’ one asked.

‘No. Na evening food we dey prepare’ replied Isaiah. The frying and baking sent distant signals. Even houses across the road could smell it.

Isaiah worried at the first phone call. Someone at the Newspaper printing press wanted information on how she could get four forms for the wowo pageant.

There were four more calls in quick succession.

‘Ologbo, have you organized chicks to ring this number so that you can win the bet?’ asked Isaiah.

‘I would not do that. But the paper is not out. What’s going on?’ asked Ologbo.

They both went into the kitchen to tell Egala about the calls.

‘Are you surprised? How much do those suffer- head girls earn at that printing press? They want free 5 million’ said Egala dismissively.

They eat like royalty that night. Then they watched the stand up comics. They laughed at the impersonations, the farting jokes, the rich man poor man jokes, the Ajebuta-Ajepako jokes and most of all, they laughed at the wowo jokes.

By 7 o clock the next morning it was obvious that Ologbo had won the bet. By 12 o clock they knew they were onto a winner. It seemed the whole world wanted to be wowo for 5 million Naira. The phone never stopped.

Ologbo’s diagnosis was temporarily ignored. Egala complained of a right sided abdominal pain and was told to shut up by her cousin. This was business.

Every penny they had in their bank accounts was withdrawn and they hired a chauffeur driven car for the week.

Next they went to the Newspaper office and took out a full paged advert. This time stating that application forms will go for 5 thousand Naira. Egala got the Editor to do a feature on Wowo Factor Productions, the name they coined while waiting outside the editor’s office.

Egala was on fine form during the interview.

A series of events made them all millionaires in 5 days. First the sale of application forms went through the roof. They signed deals with a production company that owned its own TV station and with a Mobile phone network company. TV audience voting was written into the blue print for the grand finals of the  Miss Most Wowo pageant.

They  went to see the haematologist together. The news was not as bad as they had expected.

He said they would be watching out for Anaemia and infections. He spoke about Interferon but the threesome had other things on their minds. Money.

Next day it was in the papers.

Wowo Factor Productions chief  given 6 months to live.

‘Going together was a mistake. Drew too much attention. Trust the press to miss- inform’ said Ologbo.

‘It’s your parents you should be thinking about. Its time you went home’ said Isaiah.

Where there is no revelation, the people cast off restraint.

Ologbo’s diagnosis turned out very good for business. 12,000 applicants had to be auditioned. The nation stopped in wonder. Every night girls and women tried hard to convince the panel that they deserved to be in the final twelve. The ratings went through the roof. There was even talk of the show being sold to other countries.

Egala, Isaiah and Ologbo were now being dubed as ‘the famous three’ in the press. Ologbo was the kind heart. Isaiah the cute looking one who was only there for the money and Egala ran things. She dismissed contestants with her acerbic –‘you are too cute to be wowo. Get out’.

 Someone in the TV company had an idea for a spin off. The plan was to ensure that only obese girls with ‘reversible factors’ as cause for their wowo-ness made it into the last twelve. They would then be entered into another reality TV programme that involved an intensive weight  reduction programme and plastic surgery.

A plastic surgeon and dentist were drafted in anonymously from South African to choose the final twelve. ‘The famous three’ just sat there pretending there was a method to the insanity. To please the viewing public each of the major tribal groups in the country was to be represented in the finals; that is the Yoruba, Igbo and Hausa.

Things went well for four weeks of live television till Angel turned up.

Angel was an 18 year old with left sided facial scars from an incident with hot oil and a careless mother. She needed the cash for plastic surgery.

Egala didn’t like the look her.

‘Turn and let me see your right profile’ said Egala. She bit her biro for a few seconds as she studied this contestant’s perfect figure.

‘Too cute to be wowo. Get out’ she said. Most contestants walked off instantly but not Angel.

‘What do you know about scars?’ asked Angel.

Egala stood and lifted her blouse to reveal her appendicectomy scar.

‘You’ve seen it now clear off. You no wowo, just unfortunate’ said Egala.

‘I have been scarred from the age of six. Everone looks at me like I am a freak show. I really cannot afford plastic surgery’ said Angel.

‘Too cute. Abeg commot’ replied Egala.

When Angel turned to walk away Isaiah suddenly woke up. ‘Wonderful. She has stuffed two pillows in her jeans’.

‘Not just one-derful but two-derful. Abeg Egala lets call her back’ implored Ologbo.

They argued for a while but Egala put her foot down. That night they had a record number of phone calls calling for Angel to be brought back. The people won.

On the way back home Egala complained about her tummy aches. ‘It is just over my appendicectomy scar’ she said.

‘You are a real show off. Imagine flashing your scar on live TV’ teased Ologbo

‘Egala, I think we should go and see Dr Igo’ said Isaiah.

‘Forget that. If Ologbo can work with Leukaemia what is a belly ache eh? I will take Paracetamol’ replied Egala.

Better is the end of a matter than the beginning.

The grand final of the Miss Most wowo pageant broke all previous viewing records. Ologbo and Isaiah had insisted on their favourite comedian to kick things off. He was none other than Lagos Boy.

As he walked on stage, he surveyed the contestants and looked away with a frown.

‘My friend Chidi dey bite finger as im wife no gree contest. Una think say these ones wowo. Make una see Chidi wife picture’ said Lagos boy as he unfolded a picture of a smiling chimpanzee for the camera.

‘This is the only chance you will have in your life to make your vote count, so if you no get credit abeg go tief’. The studio audience were falling over each other laughing.

‘Many countries hook up tonight so make I no talk too much. But una understand. Counting na our weak point. Census sef, we no know how many we be. They say the men are more than the women. E bi laik dem no count wowo girls!’ joked Lagos Boy looking into one of the cameras.

Ologbo looked at Egala who was not laughing.

‘Aren’t you enjoying this?’ he asked

‘It is my tummy. The pain’ said Egala.

‘As soon as the show is over we will get you to a Doctor’ said Ologbo

Beads of sweat were beginning to appear on Egala’s forehead.

‘Ologbo, I am afraid’ she whispered.

Beautiful you are. Your eyes are like doves.

                                                                                   

Angel won in the end. Her belly dancing nailed it. She wore a veil and her eyes looked beautiful.

Egala’s protest about the show degenerating into a beauty contest brought jeers from the live audience.

When the votes were finally rounded up Angel was ahead by 10 million votes. By then Egala was already on her way to hospital.

Life is like a vapour..

The head line story the next day was unbelievable. Many thought it was a gimmick of some sort.

Egala dies on the operating table.

The confusion reached boiling point when a radio station claimed she has died from complications relating to  perforated appendicitis.

At one stage during the day a government minister was quoted as saying ‘Wowo factor Productions were toying with the nation’s emotions and causing under stress in the name of entertainment’.

That evening Igo infirmary was subjected to an arson attack and Dr Igo went into hiding. His house was also burnt down by unknown people.

The next day Wowo Factor productions called a press conference. Ologbo and Isaiah looked in a bad way. They wore black.

First to speak was the surgeon who operated on Egala. He said he had diagnosed appendicitis and proceeded to operate. Egala’s scar was only skin deep. It was too late by the time they did the operation. Septicaemia had set in.

The pathologist who had performed the post mortem confirmed the cause of death as septicaemia secondary to a perforated appendicitis.

‘What exactly is going on here?’ asked a bewildered journalist. Most people had watched Egala reveal her appendicectomy scar on TV.

The state commissioner of police spoke up.

‘Dr Igo is a fraud. He put people to sleep, cut their skin and stitched up. We learnt he has performed over  two thousand of such operations. He has also been falsely diagnosing people with Hairy Cell Leukaemia and then charging his patients millions for Interferon Alpha treatment. His accomplice, a haematologist, has confessed to the scam. All they do is write Interferon on Saline infusions and deceive the public. We also learnt that though Dr Igo took blood samples for which he charged extortionately, the samples never made it to any lab. He threw them in his bin and made up a blood report’.

‘Any comments from Mr Ologbo?’ asked a reporter.

‘What do you want me to say? I thought I had Leukaemia but didn’t. Egala thought she did not have an appendix any more but she had. Dr Igo has betrayed our trust. Now Egala is no more. She has left this wowo world’ said Ologbo with tears streaming down his face.

                                                        THE END

                                                        

Last day in Lagos

My last day in Lagos

Doubled up as my worst day

I almost missed my flight with the angels

But the maniacal mob was at hand

To ignite the one wheeled

Human rocket doused in gasoline

My worst day in Lagos

Was my last day for sure

They sent me out of the country

Without a passport or Visa

Ashes to ashes airlines

Dust to dust terminal

On my last day in Lagos

I was relieved of my hand luggage

For it was stolen

I was relieved of some blood and flesh

For the maniacal mob was at hand

Their cruel finishing touches

On my last day in Lagos

My life flashed between the slaps

Leader of tomorrow no more

I lead today this escape from Hell

My crime my sin?  I aimed too low

I should have waited and stole a Billion

My last day in Lagos

Came, only to pass quickly

May my tormentors live long

May their blood burn with the flames of my live cremation

Let their jollof turn to glass while they chew

May their last days in Lagos be worse than mine.

Dr Wilson Orhiunu

Babawilly

1/12/16

GPS (Garri Matters)

GPS

Garri Plus Sugar

My positioning system

Make eyes shine crystal clear

Know I cannot starve when you are near

I know my location

Bulging stomach points north

GPS speaks into my ear

‘Don’t forget the nice groundnuts’

Each road is embedded in my brain

Through Garri, my  Cerebral battery

Just one spoon, I go for hours

Cassava has amazing powers

GPS gives warnings

Of armed robbers, young ruffians

Potholes and dodgy check points

This GPS for Nigerians

Garri, you’re my symphony

Music to my oesophagus

I will eat you everywhere

Even in the new Lexus

My Time 2005

Dr Wilson Orhiunu

(Babawilly)

                                               Kai kai Lady

1

Kai kai lady

Bico, have mercy on your liver

The flavour of juniper berries

Conceals the spirit’s venom

Mocks you

Washes you dry

That Sapele water

That heads for the liver

2

Your claustrophobic secret

Herniates out in at parties

Explains your photophobia

Kai kai lady beware

They all know why you smile

For behind you they whisper

‘Her joys are propelled

by Push me-push you’

3

The babe you suckled

Lies comatose, succumbed to milk and Kai kai

Oblivious to mosquitoes that

gyrate in it’s small ears.

The ill informed suck your blood

but it goes straight to their Anophelese brains

Unbalanced in flight

As Ogogoro takes over

4

Apketeshi lady

Share thoughts for your liver

and Betty Ford acquaintances

all hung out to dry.

The brew is illicit

Your tremors explicit

This treachery could set them back

A year or two.

 Dr Wilson Orhiunu

My Time

2005

Excerpts from Cynthia Ikoro Oroh's Thesis

Final Year Project

August 2014

Writing in English, the language of the imperialist conquerors of Nigeria, Achebe’s stated goal was to create‘new’ and more African English. He integrated Igbo words and phrases, proverbs, folktales and other elements of communal story telling into the narrative in order to record and preserve African oral traditions and to subvert the colonialist language and culture. It is against these backdrops of the language arguments that Wilson Orhiunu’s  My Time, a collection of poems in the new and more African English and Pidgin English, was written. My Time is a collection of 101 poems with some written in English, some in pidgin and others in a blend of both. 

3.12 “KAI KAI LADY”

Poem Summary/ Subject Matter

The subject matter of the poem is the unknown effect to the victim of taking spirit (kaikai). The poet persona is aware of the effect of alcohol on the human liver and tells the lady the effect it has on her in a bid to make her stop. He tells her that the flavor of the drink is deceiving her from grasping the effect alcohol has on her liver.

Aside the effect it has on her liver, he makes her see the effect it has on her personality, her suckling child, down to the mosquito that sucks her “kaikai” ridden blood.

Stanza and Verse

The poem consists of four stanzas and each stanza has 8 lines, altogether, the poem has 32 lines. Each stanza is a blend of English and Pidgin English, and represents a unit of thought.

Rhythm and Metre

The poem is not rhythmic and the use of metrical feet pattern is completely absent, because the combination of stressed and unstressed syllable is completely absent. The poet has no intention of creating rhythm with his choice of words, instead, he is more concerned with making the lady know the effect of “kaikai” on her system.

Rhyme Scheme

The poem has no well-defined rhyme scheme, since the poet’s intention is to make the lady realize the negative effect spirit has on her liver, herself as a whole, and her baby, and at that, he is not overly concerned with creating a rhyme scheme. The only places where 2 rhymed lines followed each other, is simply done to make emphasis. In the first and last stanza of the poem, there are two rhymed lines each:

Lines 7 and 8 – “water” and “liver”

Lines 28 and 30 – “illicit” and “explicit”

In the first stanza, “water” means “kaikai”, so placing the rhyme on the “water” and the “liver” places more emphasis on the two words, showing that taking one leads to the damage of the other.

In the last stanza, “illicit” shows taking “kaikai” is not legal, especially for a breastfeeding mother and “explicit” is when something is made more obvious to anyone who cares to look. Having tremors (shaking) that are explicit shows that the result of taking “kaikai” which is illegal is made obvious by the tremors. Putting the rhyme on these two words shows their affinity and makes the emphasis effective on the reader.

5.3 CONCLUSION

From the foregoing, it is evident that much work has not been done on the overall literary appreciation of Wilson Orhiunu’s My Time. Structure and language is an aspect of literature (poetry) that has been adequately explored in many works but there’s a wide research gap in terms of some contemporary works especially those written in Pidgin English. This research has to an extent covered a gap in this field but there’s still so much work to be done in this area. Aspects on literature like the themes, socio-historical context, form and content etc. are still unexplored in the poems of Wilson Orhiunu. The researcher therefore suggests that writers should pay closer attention to homeland poems that are deep-rooted in the Nigerian society