Tag Archives: Unmarried

The bundle of Joy –The devil is in the details

Children are the payback of marriages in many instances.

If marriages were businesses their break-even period is at most the first nine months—during which they spend all the money and gifts given to them at the ceremony—anything afterwards is pure shortage, especially, with the arrival of the bundle.

Children contrary to popular opinion are not such the cutie little dolls we think they are. For some they are no more like demonic agents sent to torment the souls of men, and of course women.

The Childcare Budget

In the first year alone?!!
In the first year alone?!!

To raise a child in today’s economy is so excruciating that you wonder why bother at all. A major disincentive for any conjugative relationship should be the sheer economy crush. The golden morn, pampers, clothing, medicals and laundry cost towers above the national minimum wage. Then, how many Nigerian fathers earn above the minimum wage?

A family friend, who earns #25,000 monthly, got so tight on finance to confront his six months old daughter to suppress her bowel movements. The little doll did and for three days the blood level of the mother was on the rise because no one knew what was wrong with the baby; until the father pleaded with the child to be gracious and release whatever was in her bowels. The child did, only this time, her father’s laps formed the WC.

Their cries

Why we dont't know
Why we dont’t know

We’ve all come to accept the noise of generators in our lives.

But how many have come to accept the noise of children. I haven’t. The cries of babes drive me to the cankers.

I have a friend, who has never lived with his parent since he was six-months.

His father had strolled in one day and declared Junior is old enough to have a junior, to the hearing of Junior, his mother and the mother-in-law, but Junior had other plans.

Every night when daddy creeps into bed with mother and they transferred baby-boy to the cot, Junior awakens and starts yelling. At that point nothing can pacify him until he his smothered in the reassuring bosom of his mother.

What are you people doing??
What are you people doing??

That was how that little creature sabotaged his father’s moves for several months until he was ceded to the grandmother for safe keep. Only a good father would forgive such a kill joy of a son.

My baby-sitting experience

Sometimes ago, a nursing mother left her baby in my care to run to the grocery. But for god knows why, the babe wouldn’t stop to cry. The pitch of his decibel was high enough to burst a close-by listener’s eardrum.

I tried my cutest smile to pacify the little demon; I read lines from my verse book and did a gangnam- style dance, but dude keep on yelling.

This bros don marra o!
This bros don marra o!

I resorted to my last antic, I carried it in my arms put up a very straight face stared for some long seconds and burst into a hysterical scream with a shit-face [the kind you use to behold your shit afterwards]. The baby quieted in a brief moment, hiccupped a few times and went completely rigid!

The babe never cried in my presence, again.

So, that’s how I became the silencer in my neighbourhood. Children don’t just cry in my presence.

Their Mischief

Children could be very vindictive too.

There’s a story of a child who never forgets a hurt—we all had our ways of getting even with those brutish brutes of siblings. He was born the baby of the house but the eldest child made a mistake of ‘correcting’ him with a slap one day. The dude promised to show him at night, but no one paid heed to his threats.

When night came, the dude was awake with a very fine cane and hid himself behind the door in the room they all shared.

When the first lash came on the elder brother, he let out a savage scream from his sleep.

‘Ye! Kini mo se?’  [ouch, What have I done?]

The household ran to his rescue but not before the second lash. The visible stripes left concern on the faces of their parents.

They offered prayers binding the devil and casting evil forces away. They sprinkle anointed oil on the stripes and everybody went to sleep minutes later.

And the demon ran to the bush...
And the demon ran to the bush…

But the dude wasn’t through with big brother, so he rose again and lashed out at him two more strokes.

This time, the mother became convinced the kingdom of hell has descended upon the household.

“Father, we bind all demonic oppression in this house, in Jesus name!!!”

The “Amen” thundered out more violently because no one knows who’s next.

“Let fire burn every evil hand whipping our child from his sleeps, In Jesus name!!!”

After two hours of night watch, the family agreed to sleep but victim refused. It took the presence of the parents in the room to reassure him to sleep.

About, thirty minutes later little Lucifer arose again went to the hiding place, waved his cane casually in the dark to ascertain no one is watching. He waited some few minute and sneaked out a bit and tried to land another stroke…

“If you dare it!”

He stopped dead in his track, and the light came on…


And why do I tell you this tale? I believe you should count the cost of any venture before you enter into it. Parenting isn’t a bed of roses but knowing that kids are not always a bundle of joy gives, you heads-up on how to be prepared.

Kudos to all those who are raising children with all genuine sacrifices, shame on those populating the earth for all of your selfish reasons.


So, What’s your parenting experience? What hilarious moments do you recall? Share with me.

My Grouse with the word ‘SINGLE’


My passion for words is legendary. Go ask my girlfriend, most of our quarrels starts and ends with her choice of words. I have a deep seated aversion for improper word usage. And I have little tolerance for poor diction.

One word that I dislike the most is the word: ‘Single’ in the marriage context.

Now, don’t go thinking it has anything to do with the fact that I a jobless 29-going-to-30-years-old-mateless individual. Rather, think of my revulsion as a result of its negative effects in our community.

It is ungrammatical

Your grammar is bad

The designation of an unmated person as ‘Single’ is a big grammatical blunder; funny enough, it has escaped the British throne for this long. Question, what is the opposite of Single? Is it Double, Couple or married?

Now, people will answer me, depending on their age, level of desperation and occupation (Pastors seem to operate a different corpus of grammar than the laity). Single takes the antonym Double; Couple goes with One; Married is simply Unmarried. However,some mischief makers decided to make Single the opposite of couple—for god knows why? Pastors proclaim that the two shall become one, but still refer to them as couple.

It’s Creepy

There’s something about the singlehood. It creeps in on you. Every age has a milestone and we cheerfully look forward, to attaining them. Children look forward to teenage years, as teenagers look forward to adulthood; even fools look forward to age forty to affirm their foolishness. Somewhere along the timeline comes the word ‘Single’ without a milestone! Is that not fraudulent?single life

Mother used to drop me off, at the children’s church until I became thirteen and the church took me to the teenagers’ class. Father proudly ushered me into the adult cathedral when I turned twenty-one, and introduced me as his son, now in the university.

The pastor asked me to wait after service on a certain Sunday after my graduation from college, I was to start attending singles’ fellowship—just like that?! ‘Who are they?!’ ‘People, just like you!’

It is conspiratorial

At this imaginary status, the society gangs up against you, even your immediate family are in the game. Their aim: to get you married. Your mother suddenly starts asking about the pact between you and a certain girl, your father drops off names of random individuals who are doing well and well mannered—as if that affects the price of shoelaces.

cupidYour neighbours, those ones?! They become emergency matchmakers. Some funny thing is how Mama Bukola, the grocery seller down the street, loans out her daughter to help carry your purchases to the house, and other random antics of other neighbours’ children.

Mama Ngozi, the igbo food restaurant, will conveniently allow Ngozi, a new graduate like you, take your order for Garri and Ofe-onugbu and she graciously fill your portion to the brim.

It is left to you to fall into their antics—experience says a lot have fallen that way.

It’s not Representational

The height of discrimination is when an official document requests you to fill either “Single/Married”. My brain cells cry out in desperation.  The fact that I am not married doesn’t make me a “Singular being.”Hello! My name is Single

As a matter of belief, every being is at least three-in-one—spirit, body and soul; of course, with the exception of those who are said to have murdered their souls. Curiously, marriage does not connote any notion of twoness. If every being is at least 3-in-1, then there are at least 6 people in a marriage. That’s why, it aims at oneness: the process of becoming one or at most two—coupling!

I am just an Individual

The truth of the matter is those people were just unlike me—in so many ways! I don’t crave the pitiable desire to mingle; I have enough confusion in my head than to worry about how some people think of me. Everyone wants to tag you with some prefixes to your name and every girl trips on her heels to get your attention.

The men are straining their necks to catch a glimpse at the ring-finger of the ladies—okay, I am hopelessly guilty here, too. For some unexplainable reasons, I spy at ladies’ ring-fingers during worship sessions in the church. A particular chorister has a trademark ‘lift up your hands as we worship the lord, this morning.’ It’s not surprising most unmated men enjoy his sessions better.

A story is told of a passenger who got into a scuffle with another passenger at a Lagos bus-stop.

The said man had wanted to join another at the front seats beside the driver, but the first passenger on board had simply alighted and asked the new man to go in, which Mr. Somebody took exceptions to. He felt, by some rights, entitled to the vacant seat and started ranting like a typical Nigerian does:

‘Do you know who I am? I will deal with you…’An Individual

‘Who are you? You’re just an individual!’

‘What, did you just call me an individual?

That’s where the crisis started!

But, in all honesty, I am just an individual. I feel comfortable in my skin.