The Cockroach Letter

A cockroach letter is a standard bulls**t letter sent by a company/service provider to a customer in response to a letter of complaint/evidently dissatisfied customer when the body of said letter meets certain criteria.

Today I was reminded of an incidence from 2009 between me and my bank when I got a mail that didn't concern me (or so I thought) from them.

I had often heard people talk about cockroach letter and did not think much of it until (and to my surprise) when for all my effort and after the stress they put me through, the bank sent me said letter and (would you believe it?) a complimentary pen! Like I was supposed to write away my hurt.

I was too weak with disbelief to do anything then; I mean who gets a pen after being defrauded?

So today, when I got the unnecessary email from them and saw their reply I looked up Cockroach letter and discovered a funny story which I'd share next.

"

This guy on an aeroplane noticed a cockroach in the aisle. On arriving at his destination, he fires off a letter to the president of the airline, pointing out that roaches thrive where there’s filth, and that he expected better things of the airline company.

Within a few days (this is in the days when one posted letters) he got a letter in response, deploring the roach incident, saying that they had never heard of such an incident before and that if he produced the letter he could get an upgrade to first class next time. In addition the plane and its hangar had been fumigated and that the maintenance crew had been disciplined, and in closing, Thanked him for bringing this nasty situation to their attention!

For months he told his colleagues and friends about this fantastic service, attention to detail and how the passengers of this airline meant so much to them. 

Then one day he hauled out the letter to show a friend, and a post-it note that had been stuck to the inside of the envelope drifted to the floor. He picked it up and read in absolute shock - it said: Grecian - send this idiot the standard cockroach letter

."

My bank asked me to send the transaction date and my account number which thanks to my penchant for taking pictures every other day I was able to provide. I am quite curious as to how this will play out...
a). Would they refund my money after 5 years?
b). Will they still insist I arranged to have myself robbed?
c). Will they send me another Cockroach letter?

Have you ever received a Cockroach letter from a service provider?
How did you react?

As you like it

That awkward moment when the sugar rush from eating milk wafers is lacking after going through the whole mouth pleasing pack.
Torn between fighting the urge to spit out the last bit while checking to make sure the product isn’t expired makes quite an amusing picture.
Eventually the realization that wafers are not a good remedy for eye-blinding hunger comes to mind.

A funny thing happened last week…

February 14 was St. Valentine’s Day.
A day which appears to have been ‘from a summary of past accounts and history’ originally a celebration of love between lovers but now is an occasion to give alms to the poor, visit orphanage homes, go to church, bankrupt selves in the name of impressing a beau, have meaningless sex (possibly after receiving a gift of white handkerchief, singlet and boxers) and/or feel sorry for yourself for not being in a relationship/in love/ involved.
From past accounts and recent times, it seems to be a day when people not only choose to wear red and white looking like members of the Ayelala secret society in Edo state but also generally pair up and have fun with one or a multitude of friends/strangers.
Somehow this definition was lost to me because I ended up spending the fun part of the day being continuously dunked in water and it was not because I was smoking hot.
I was supposed to be a quite observer at a pool party; drink in hand, beau at hand all was well with me until a girl who even I had difficulty keeping eye contact with (she had water filled balloons for boobs that threatened to fall out of their barely there ‘enclosure’ every time she moved) decided to pick up the ice filled champagne bucket, ignore the lot of people wearing swimsuits and boxers and empty the contents on a fully clothed me in the name of ice bucket challenge.

I mean, what the hell was that?!

Shocked and freezing, I scurried off and went to change to dry clothes taking time to towel dry my hair and apply lip-gloss on my kisser.

location: Hôtel Bimyns, Porto Novo.

I barely reached the landing of the party grounds when suddenly I was airborne, twisting my neck in a bid to identify my pilot, the arrival destination came to view: the pool.
Screaming, I tried to explain that I wasn’t dressed to swim/I had just changed out of wet clothes. The final bit of my protest came out as a gurgle as I had been unceremoniously dumped into the pool.
This happened about two more times until it occurred to me that changing out of my wet clothes seemed to be a subliminal invitation.
The highpoint part of this account happened the next day when a young man who spoke in amazement about a guest who had an unbelievably ample behind for her tiny frame was cut short by another man telling him the buttocks was fake, that the lady took them off when she went to use the bathroom. The look of hurt that lined his face at the deception was so sad it was hilarious.

I did not find anything wrong or right with what she did though. It is her body after all and she is allowed to do whatever pleases her with it.

Shout out to NEPA for giving me a few seconds of power to write this.

For your views and comments on body magic, wonder bras and the likes (aka fake hips, nyansh and boobs), use the comment box below.

Ciao!

An unforgiving god

I stood outside the house starring at nothing in particular with my hands akimbo.
There I was happily rocking my short-cropped hair and wondering if today will be the day I pass a comb through it or just do my usual finger brushing thingny after my morning shower when this young lady began inching towards me.
I had prepared my mind to think of the simplest and shortest possible route to give to her as I assumed that she was in need of directions – why else would a normal and sane looking person be going out of her way to approach someone gazing at noting in particular so early in the morning?
(when in a bank, I prepare to share my pen, give the date or help a little old lady fill her bank teller, when wearing ‘hundred’ inch heels I prepare to break a possible fall as a result of my erm... no idea and when walking alone after 9pm on an eerie road I set my legs to flight mode. Any strange entity come too close to me, I make like Usain St. Leo Bolt and…!!).

The young lady touched me ever so gently and questioned in a slow whisper “ sister, na your husband follow you go abi na your boyfriend?” I gasped and tried to prevent my jaw from dropping to the floor. Now that was one question I did not foresee.

After a brief exchange with me answering her questions and giving my candid advice, I bid her farewell and watched as she scurried out and away from my line of vision.
The young lady was from either kalabari kingdom, akwaibom or somewhere in the riverine parts of the south – south of Nigeria (I wasn't paying too much attention to what she said but remember saying "so you sabi swim wella abi?").
It turns out she has been nursing a craving to have her full head of unadulterated virgin hair cut but was not permitted to do so.
When she spotted me, she saw a kindred spirit and decided to share her plight.

In her village, a woman was only allowed to cut her hair if she was in mourning.
To do otherwise, she would need to tender either a husband or a boyfriend who will accompany her to the venue and proceed to tell the barber, cutter or hair stylist that he was aware of her said intentions, was in approval and had granted his permission. Or else, someone will face the consequence!

Isn’t tradition wonderful?!

Reflecting on this brought another possibly unrelated incidence to mind.

Sometime in the past, Uselu market in Benin City, Edo state experienced a fire accident.
During the commotion, there were a whole lot of looting, plundering and general misdemeanors.
In anger, one of the affected people, an African traditional worshiper cried to her god (small letter g) and placed a curse on peoples were in possession of stolen goods.
Immediately word of her deeds got around, people started returning goods, even goods not stolen from Uselu market!
The returned items amounted to a huge pile.
The pile was there for a long time as the real owners were afraid of accidentally taking an item that was not theirs and in the process end up with a raptured belly, rotten feet and something to do with the tongue (can’t recall the details of the curse again, it really was a while back).
I can’t remember what happened at the end of 'the day' or how the pile varnished but I know I was in awe for a very long time.
Maybe I still am, who knows?

‘Officially’ in Nigeria today, there are more Christians and Muslims than traditional worshippers and native doctors (juju priests) but there is less honesty, justice and fair play.
It is not only disturbing but unsettling as the holy books describe traditional worship as devilish and wicked yet most of these 'evil people' show more respect for human life, reward for labor and the laws of their land.
Are these robbers, extorters, murderers and kidnappers not either Christians or Muslims?
I hate to ask this, but I am quite confused so I'd ask anyway.
Our darling chairmen, senators, governors and leaders of the land. You who are responsible for the Progress, Safety, Security and Life of the citizens of this great nation?
Where lies your faith?

Potty Logic

If you went “What the hell?!” on seeing the picture, you can half imagine my elder brother’s reaction when after calling out my name for a couple of minutes and searching for me in my regular hiding holes, he came to my room and stopped short as I waltzed out of the toilet with said item on the really pretty saucer.
At first I wondered why he was looking at me like I had sprouted chicken feet, was airborne and using thousand Naira notes as chop sticks to eat goat poop.
Then, it clicked.
I laughed so hard that I came close to dropping the saucer along with the bewildering item on my freshly laundered sheets.
When I stopped shaking so hard from laughter, he cautiously came close to me, examined my bounty and left the room with an incredulous sigh.
After controlling the urge to give into another fit of laughter, I dropped the saucer on a stool and went on about my business.

A couple of people at the end of the year decide to take a break and leave the hustle and bustle of city living behind for a few days.
Some travel out of the county and go to either exotic or questionable locations, others go to their holiday houses within the country (a few people in this category have to hold a series of meetings to decide which “holiday home” they would retire to) while the rest return to the states from which they hail from; also referred to as their villages.
It is when you live in a city rich in smog, traffic jams and head splitting street noise from dusk to dawn that you can appreciate the peace and quiet of the last mentioned location.

The fresh unpolluted air, friendly well meaning greetings from neighbors and the magnificent starlit skies at night might shock you initially but after a day or two, it becomes something for the “happy moments”.
With the rate of indiscriminate industrialization going on in the country, unworthy road vehicles and the ability to change a “stop work” sign with a few Naira notes, I often fear that in Nigeria 10 years from now, children would have to refer to story books for pictures of open fields, fruit trees and butterflies.

At the moment, I still have a village.
I count myself lucky.

Among the things I look forward to in my village are the structures that defy time and stand till this day, the do’s and do not’s of the land (…when giving a gift of yams, you either give 3, 5, 7 and above never 2, 4 or 6) and the assorted traditional delicacies which include *Ikpekere, *Oka bi ize weh, *Oli



and the not so traditional roasted groundnuts in their shells
* I am very sure my ancestors have gone 360 degrees in their graves at the bastardization of my mother tongue; I hereby beg their forgiveness.
*Ps:
To the nice reader who asked me what happens when you fart in a swimming pool, I’d like to first start by saying Oseyi is not short for ask.com (notice the absence of the preceding A and dot com in the name?) and then go forward to reassure him that the pool water will not change color around him (to my knowledge, that only happens when you pee in the pool).
For the record, it is very wrong to pee/piss/take a leak/ pass out urine/make water in a swimming pool.
You should never do that.
Seriously!
What happens when you fart however is that the gas, travels around your swimming suit (like a warm caress on a mildly sunny day) and comes up to the surface of the water as air bubbles.
So, unless you have a logical explanation for having loads of air bubbles around you, I do not think it is also a good idea to fart in the pool.
I hope by my kind efforts, I have been able to satisfactorily answer your question.
Have a lovely weekend and do not think of monkeys
- Oseyi