Remember your first

 

They say, “you always remember your first”.

This has been proved true times without number. I have encountered firsts, both good and bad, that I remember to this day that make some other firsts seem like child’s play.

However, there are firsts and there are firsts!

This was a first! This colorful first, was soaked into the neurons responsible for long term memory and will stay with me for a long time to come.

If I remember correctly, I was about twelve or thirteen at the time and actively crushing on Ugo’s younger brother. I had memorized his routine (think Marinette from Miraculous) and would run to either the window in my room, the swings on the front lawn or, if available attempt to strike a nonchalant but elegant pose on my parent’s car (imagine attempting to do this after running down a flight of stairs? The struggle was real mehn) to gaze upon him in all his light complexioned, hungry looking, gangly teen glory.

This was also the season I discovered mixed berry jam.

I could not seem to get enough of that oh so delicious nectar. It wasn’t like I had never had jam before, weird. As a matter of fact, back in Degema some parent or older kid was always organizing an activity or exercise among which was jam making.

There was the time we learned to make various items with annoyingly tiny beads and finger poking wires, used elephant grass to weave baskets and bags, there was the butterscotch/coconut candy making and buying (mostly buying in my case), the kuli-kuli phase, the licking nnzu (native chalk) addiction (I think I was the only one I knew that was into this) and the waiting for agbalumor/udara from Nnamdi their village (it counts as an activity). There was also practicing for assorted performances with CRAB people/some education student group/a church and nursey people coming ever so often to give some vaccine or the other, ask us to close one eyes and read aloud then proceed to place a ruler over our heads to see how much we had grown (this made me think of the witch in Hansel and Gretel – they had to be fattening us up for something).

Then, there was jam making! Of all the fruits we turned to jam, guava, mango and pineapple were my top favorites.

So yes, I was familiar with jam. Yet, the way I went through jars of this one in particular was alarming. Like instead of me to go to the window and wait for Ugo’s brother to walk by, I would sneak into the pantry to look for an unopened container of mixed berry jam to replace the jar I had finished on my own then scurry up to catch a glimpse of his receding shadow.   

Mum usually went shopping once a month, twice if it was a full house. She brought items in bulk which normally lasted until the next shopping day. She was quite alarmed when she found out I had gone through about five medium jars of mixed berry jam in less than two weeks.

She removed the remaining jars from the pantry and warned that if I did not slow down with the jam consumption, the stuff was going to come out of my ears sooner than later.

Did it listen? Nope!

Soon after she gave this warning, I waited for her to leave for work and for my sister to go do whatever it was older sisters did when they are not watching their little sisters as they are supposed to be doing and dove into the jar of jam. This time, I was on an exploratory mission.

I was trying the jam with different things to see which it paired best with. I had tried it with cabin, homemade cookies, bread, yellow garri (not a good match), coaster biscuit (a no for me), left over pancake and was moving to try it with popcorn when my tummy started to ache.

My mum was still out, it was just me and my sister at home. Not wanting to admit I had been eating jam since morning and have her act all older, condescending and tell me how wrong I was, I went to the toilet with the idea that if I was able to evacuate my bowels, I would feel better.

This worked.

I pulled my pants on and washed my fingers (no, I was not washing my hands and singing “the birthday song at the time” - curse you CoVID!!). I had taken only a few steps towards where I hid my stash of “jam experiments” when I felt wetness in my underwear.

I stopped and thought to myself. Did I forget to wipe my bum? Was that poo? Why did it feel gooey? Rather than waste time wondering, I decided to go check it out. It was possible I sat on some jam and missed it. So, I turned around, went back to the toilet pulled down my panties and screamed!

I heard voices coming from outside, it sounded like it was coming from around my bedroom window. It was probably Ugo’s younger brother talking to my sister about basketball. He played basketball, she played basketball. It seemed everyone but me played basketball.

I. Did. Not. Care.

I was dying!  

Right there on my panties, looking like karma in a shade of I told-you-so maroon were clumps of mixed berry jam. My mum had warned me this would happen, but did I listen? No. Now here I was leaking jam.  

I was prepared for mixed berry jam to come out of my ears, just like I was prepared for the bubble gum that was going to glue my intestines together and the orange seed my uncle promised would take root in my tummy and grow out of my head.

This? This was different. My hands felt cold, I was shivering in fear. I was going to die, and I would not know what popcorn and jam tasted like.

I tried to plug the leak with a wad of tissue and clean the horrid jam from my panties, but it in the time it took to get a clean pair of underwear and return to the bathroom to wash the soiled one, the one I wore would be jam filled again.

It was relentless and continued to drip on.

I was running out of clean underwear and numb with fear. Not caring for the consequence anymore, I called for my sister, the sound that left my throat was a feeble whimper.  

So, this was how I was going to die? As a last resort, right there in the bathroom, I got on my knees and began to bargain with God. If the jam would stop leaking out of my bum, I would never again eat, lick, taste or even be in the same room as mixed berry jam.

Although it seemed like forever, I was in the bathroom for only about twenty minutes. My sister had noticed I was not at the usual “brother watching spots” and came to check in. as soon as she opened the door, I lunged into her, wrapped my arms around her waist and started proper bawling.

Through hiccups and ugly crying, I confessed I had been eating jam and narrated how mum had said it was going to come out through my ears, how it refused to come out of my ears and how it would not stop coming out of my bum.

Till today, I do not know how she was able to refrain from laughing out loud when she realized what had happened.

My first period.

To spare my young child from going through a similar experience, the day she noticed and asked about the crimson stain that spotted my clothes when I had an accident, I told her it was from my body trashing the special decorations it had put up to protect and feed a new baby.  Although her brother heard this and warned me to keep the waste from my expired decorations from his clothes and property, we all agreed that if decorations were there to protect and feed a possible baby in the tummy, then it was important to get rid of the bad decorations and have the body put up new decorations every month.

Do you remember your first period?

 

 

Toyo-toyo

Gather round my children, pick up your stools and come sit close to me by the fire. While the heat warms my old bones, I will set fire to your young minds with a tale of valor, love and hope.

Before you lies Abemeji.

Like an eagle, the land rises. It stretches its wings and spreads for miles and miles, going beyond the hills, past the river from the goddesses bosom before settling to roost at the horizon where the starlit skies kisses the earth. 

The land is beautiful yes? 

It was not always so. 

Abemeji was once a land divided and kept apart by evil men who learned he kingdom's secret. You see the kingdom is made up of a variety of people who have migrated from lands far and wide. While it is home to various people. Our greatest weapon was the strength in our diversity;  where one household with ample wisdom was lacking in courage, the house with courage but no wisdom would supplement and so forth. 

Together we were strong.

This was our secret. The evil men learned of this and rather than unity, they preached tribalism, bigotry and vanity. 

In time the land was torn apart and resulted in the creation of two kingdoms. 

After separating the land, they left descendants whose only ambition in life was to continue to promote the destruction of the once beautiful land. 

Although there were no outward signs of suffering or lack. There was a gradual decay of the society from within, people lost sight of what was important and what was not, they spent their lives searching for what they felt would lead to happiness at the expense of family and friendships, they became indecisive, easily fooled and weak. With every member of of the older generation that passed on, the problem got worse as the history of their once great kingdom was gradually being erased. 

While the people of Abe who were known for their game, valuable trees and brave warriors lived in the south,  the people of Meji who had precious stones, fertile lands and beautiful women occupied the Northern regions. 

Anyone who was convicted of a crime, or caught without any justifiable cause at the boundary of both kingdoms, was made to suffer a crime worse than death; they were banished to the evil forest - a place no man or woman had ever returned from. 

It was believed that the years ago the trapped spirits of those who were wrongly accused had turned evil and caused any mortal who wandered into the forest to turn mad and feed on themselves. 

In Abe, there was a warrior called Akaworlu. Known for his bravery, skill and talent. He was revered by members of his community while merchants spread tales of his valor to neighbouring towns.

One day he went on a hunt that lasted for many months and returned with a maiden more beautiful than any the land had seen before. 

This made three men, Kayo, Showgo and Iraw who were already envious of his good fortune very upset. A situation which was worsened years later when Akaworlu's wife Dizia, gave birth to a  baby girl. Rather than pay the fine, and take in another wife who will then bear a son as was the custom of the time, Akaworlu slaughtered an animal, had a feast and wrote songs for his wife.

 Although a few years later Dizia bore two boys for the great warrior, by that time, the threee men had been consumed so much by hatred that they made a pact to  destroy Akaworlu and all held dear, even if it meant their own destruction.

Akaworlu named his daughter Mmawa, in memory of his beloved mother who had imbibed in him values and respect for life and taught her in secret how to wield weapons and engage in hand combat.  This was done in secret because it was forbidden for women to learn or do any other thing but prepare meals and fetch water from the stream. It was an offence punishable by banishment to the evil forest.

The three men suspected  Mmawa was trained in the art of weaponry but because she was obedient, humble and graceful, hard as the three men tried to provoke her to reveal her talent, by forcing people to torment and bully her, she always remained calm and resolved issues diplomatically. 

When the time for Mmawa to be wed grew close, the three men knew that if Akaworlu's family got united with another family, it would become difficult to carry out their evil plan so, a few weeks to Mmawa's coming of age party, they planned with wicked native doctor who summoned a creature to attack Akaworlu on his way back from a hunting trip. Although it was unable to kill him, he was badly wounded and was unable to continue his journey home. 

Worried about her father, knowing it was unusual for his hunting trip to last for so long, Mmawa, left her mother with her younger brothers, took her father's donkey  and went in search of him. Using the tracking skills her father had taught her, she was able to locate him on time and bring him home. 

Mmawa's father was sick for many nights. He was so sick  that Dizia was worried she would soon become a widow and began to prepare for his passing. 

They ran out of food and because the three men had been busy spreading false news and rumours about Dizia, calling her an orphan and foreign spy, people were unwilling to sell or give her food.

Not able to watch her family and sick father starve to death, one early morning Mmawa picked up her father's weapons and headed into the forest, by nightfall, her satchel was filled with enough meat and wild fruits to feed her family for a long time as well as herbs and medicinal plants her father had showed her on their many secret lessons. 

On her way home, she heard a loud cry, looking around, she saw no one. She was about to continue her homeward journey when she heard the cry again. 

It was a human being and  from the sound of it she suspected whoever it was, was being attacked by wild animals, without considering  the risk of exposing herself, she hid her satchel of food under a nearby bush and silently hurried silently towards the direction of the sound and climbed up a nearby tree. Below, she spotted wounded young man being taunted by a pack of hyenas. She pulled out her arrow and shot the animals dead one after the other. Using tree branches and vines, she fashioned a crane which she was able to use to carry her satchel of food and support the stranger. 

She took him to her parents home.  With the help of her mother and younger brothers, after a few weeks, both men were nursed back to health. 

The young man had grown fond of her. He  crafted tokens  and hid gifts around the house for her to find but he refused to tell her his name. Whenever she would ask for his name, he would sing a song which he taught her. 

When he was able to travel, he expressed his gratitude to Akaworlu and his wife and left without saying goodbye to Mmawa. 

She was heartbroken. 

For days she was depressed and refused to give audience to any suitor that came calling. Just as she was beginning to cope with the feeling of loss, the three men sent a message to her mother that she had been found guilty of stealing food and was to be escorted to the public square to be stripped and flogged in front of the members of community. When the men came to retrieve her mother, in anger, Mmawa attacked them, beating them up without the use of any weapon, thus revealing that she was indeed a warrior. 

Without letting her stand trial, the three men convinced the elders that she should be immediately banished to the evil forest or risk infecting the rest of her peers with her malicious spirit of disobedience and disrespect for tradition. 

When Akaworlu heard the news, he instructed his wife to pack up a satchel while he raced to the square to rescue his daughter before he reached her, he was subdued by a dozen warriors who had been told to lie in wait. 

Mmawa cried for her mother and brothers as she was being led in a procession towards the evil forest.  

There was a loud cry and suddenly, a ferocious beast with wings for hands and talons for feet, swooped down and disappeared into the evil forest. While people scrabbled and ran for their lives, Mmawa knelt in front of her father's captors and begged that she be given his weapons and the leather cloth he wore across his shoulders. Believing it would do her no good, her request was granted. Unknown to them, she had heard the song that was taught to her by the man she had fallen in love with coming from the belly of the beast and had somehow gotten a vision of what she had to do.

Her father saw the look on her face and understood, helpless to assist her, he nodded to her mother who was hidden in the crowd. She ran to her daughter and tied the satchel around her waist.

Suspecting they were planning an escape, Iraw one of the three dragged Mmawa away from her mother and pushed her into the dark alley of the evil forest... 

The Robbers tale

 

A Play

There’s this killer attractive thing about a man who knows how to weave, stroke and stitch words together that drives me soo… I can’t explain! On some level, it is possible that listening to that song ‘I like the way’ by Timaya will give the curious an idea of the mush my brain turns into after interacting with such a man. 

To be clear though, I am not talking about ‘street boys’ with their undersized trousers, excessive crotch grabbing and ridiculous lines. 
I am referring to sensible, mature, brilliant men who bear the prestigious title and fulfil the role of...  *swoons a bit*

... Authors

(Novelist, playwrights, etc.).

Bust and a fan 

Although the list of these lot who are endowed with the amazing ability to make me pull out them clear heels and get my non-existent booty popping (in other words get me to believe in self and potential) is as long as the unfulfilled promises made by "you-know-who", today's focus is on the work of one of my African favourites [which include Femi Osofisan, Ahmed Yerima (the playwright), Wole Soyinka and Ben Okri ] .

The emotions they invoke, the words they preach, their ability to use poetry, satire and music to teach valuable life lessons? 

It is nothing else but magical!

Stage presentation at The Crab, UNIPORT

While I understand it is not always easy to capture the depth of a written piece and compress it into a half hour/forty-five minute production, I have been lucky enough to witness awesome live performances that were vivid, enthralling and captivating. 

Fond memories from stage events I attended growing up include: gorging on popcorn, sweating from every possible orifice and looking out for my current object of affection in the darkened confines of the tiny theatre aptly named the Crab.

About the first encounter...

Now, I do not know if it was because the actors that performed the first presentation I witnessed were delicious looking men and women or if it was because said actors were truly talented or if, maybe it was the pull from the energetic rendition of Keggite-ey songs used to pass time between power outages (trust NEPA) but, whatever the reason, the theatrical performance of the play Once upon Four Robbers by Femi Osofisan is one of the lot I will watch over and over again.

Life in Nigeria is hard. After accepting the fact that ‘take home pay’ can barely take the common man home, it is easy to understand why no regular citizen will be interested in parting with any amount of money in a bid to indulge in 'stimulating entertainment'. 

Common knowledge describes our leaders as corrupt, selfish-forked tongue beings who bleed the nation, destroy what’s good and oppress the oppressed.

While this may or may not be true and it is obvious they have played a significant role in the destruction of our national pride, does this mean they are also the ones responsible for the death of heritage,  values and cultural identity?

Does it have to continue to be so? 

Inspired by folklore and Yoruba symbolism, the play Once upon Four Robbers was written by Femi Osofisan in 1970’s as a moral argument against the practice of public execution of armed robbers in Nigeria. 

It revolves around four characters – Alhaja, Angola, Hasan and Major who are presented with a charm by an Aafa after he is moved by their sob story.

 On the condition that they abide by his three Robin Hood type rules (steal from only the rich, steal in public places, and most importantly never steal a life) the charm gives the four robbers the power to steal from people without meeting any resistance. 
The play features comedy, conflict, betrayal, suspense and depending on the audience a happy ending.

I can vaguely recall the rhythm of the robbers anthem’ Maa jό - maa jό as I type this. I remember laughing my head silly when a victim of the charm pulled her wrapper and gave Hassan to hold so she could fetched the money pouch she had hidden in her underwear (to prevent theft) and my very brief career goal of becoming a thief when I grew up after watching the play.  

Oh and I was in love with the dude that played the Hassan character for a long time (he was a cutie). 
Sadly, the only actor’s name I remember from the many viewings I had is Michael Ogundu (talented fellow by the way).

In 1978 Osofisan wrote the play based on the theory that society was responsible for encouraging issues of unemployment, hunger, hoarding, inflation and embezzlement of public funds. He was more concerned about the causes of armed robbery rather than its consequences on the society. 
Decades later although it is the same problem we are facing, we have chosen to ignore the contributing roles we play and sing instead the “it is the government and politicians that are to blame for the nations decay” chorus. 

The question now is, does government alone determine the choices you make?  
What influence does the million and one churches present in this same government oppressed nation have over their members individual actions and decisions?

If you and your household are seen profiting from simple, honest, innovative ventures will  this terrible government single you out and hunt you for oppression sake?

Here’s an idea, rather than wait for change and lament about expensive and scarce crops produce, why not plant your own? No land? Use a raised bed!

crops planted in a wheelbarrow 

Raised bed from recycled tyres 

Raised bed from a recycled desk drawer

If you decide to park one or more wheelbarrows, damaged buckets or the drawers from a discarded cupboard back to back in a corner of your tiny compound, throw in compost from your household food and paper waste and grow your own pepper, tomatoes, onions and leafy vegetables will the government arrest you for not starving? 

(If body sweet you, you fit sef add another cupboard, expand your "farmland" dey sell small portions of fresh vegetables to the family living across the mile high fence.) 

Government might be to blame for the unsuitable environment for creativity, skills transfer and entrepreneurship but I don’t think we should allow that stop us. 
We the people are the majority together, we are strong.

Nigeria has a diverse culture, a coloured past but rich history. 
This one no be tori ask your older folks or read the remaining history books we have if in doubt.
Once we were passionate, driven and hospitable people today respect is bought. 
While the verdict on our ability to make jest of dire situations is still being debated, we have to learn to be proud of where we are from.

Dear friends hustle oh! 
Hustle hard because there is no denying the economy these days is terrible. Except you are into ***, ******** and/or ****, there is no other option but to hustle. However no matter how much you struggle to make ends meet, if you don't make out time to relax, connect and live, one day you would look into the mirror and wonder at the old, frail and sickly person you have become; too exhausted to spend the wealth you have accumulated.

Today I plead with you, give Nigeria a chance. Be concerned, be interested. Appreciate, interact and engage with this country we call home.

Maa jό!   

This one go sweet

The first time I laid eyes on Mercy Johnson, I couldn't help but fall in love. 

It was around 2007/2008 before the age of selfies and #teamLightSkinned at the premier of ‘Ebuwa’ an English subtitled film in Edo language. 

With a lot of Imasuen’s in the production credits, the movie was about a mother’s greed, a daughter’s innocence and HIV (good movie by the way).

I somehow happened to get myself invited to the invitation only premier and was looking forward to mingling with the stars and maybe nabbing a celebrity boyfriend or two. 

I arrived at the cultural centre looking super fly, got infected by the high energy atmosphere and was just about ready to mingle when my wandering eyes flirted and settled in the direction of… my parents! 

Apparently they happened to find time to leave their busy schedules, travel all the way to Edo state to attend the event without even bothering to inform me.

My first thought when I saw them was to pretend I did not see them and leave the arena but from where I stood, watching my dad get star struck after Liz Benson shook his hands and seeing him get all excited over spotting more of his favourite artists I decided what ever ‘rep’ I had would be safer if I stayed behind to keep an eye on him.

Before the movie started, we were introduced to this brand new talent the guys were proud to present. She had ambition, passion and drive, they were certain she would take Nollywood by storm. 

When she got up for recognition, I was taken aback. 

She was not what I expected to see. 

She looked different, acted different and had this naïve shy smile that I hope to encounter again one day soon. 

They however said she held promise I can’t deny that till date, the lady still makes an effort to keep the promise.

What sealed this day in my memory was the conversation I witnessed in the tour bus (apparently, hanging out with my folks had its perks). 

It was between two veteran actresses. 

Since I can’t recall their names at the moment, I’d call them Cut and Sew. 

They were discussing about a movie and I honestly hope that is not how Nigerian movies are made.

The conversation went something like –

Cut: eh, Sew why Arinze no follow Patri come this thing from Lag?

Sew: I no know but e be like say im follow for that tragic accident for Lagos – Benin express road

Cut: ah! That’s serious oh, make I recharge phone call am.

Sew: meanwhile, Lucky don tell you say im wan shoot movie with me, you and Amanda? Me and Amanda go be sisters, you go come be our mama. E don tey since we do movie together oh, this one go sweet oh, how you see am?

Cut: na true oh, ah imagine say Arinze come be the bobo come make the whole thing blend. The thing go pure well!

Sew: you are so right. Make I call Lucky now. I go tell am if Arinze no dey the film me I no go follow…

Till date, I don’t know if the movie was ever produced or if ‘Arinze’ even survived the alleged tragic road accident. What amazed me was the faith these women had in the success of the movie without even knowing the fate of the man they had cast for the role of the leading man.

It is the same amazement I feel when I come across a new policy/regulation from the decision makers in the big A. 

The way they come up with this things without ensuring there are measures in place to facilitate the success of the policy leads me to believe they dream up these ‘bright ideas’ while seated in a tour bus of sorts after a couple of drinks or more.

I mean, how on earth do we patronise Nigerian made products when we do not have the Energy (electricity and fuel) to produce Nigerian made goods? 

So after the legislative parents looked away for so long while the ‘child economy’ played in other peoples ‘neat and tidy rooms’ letting his room that was once a liveable chamber turn to a sanctuary for rot and decay, do they think suddenly dragging that child away from the influence of the foreign friends by the ears and locking him in the room will fix the problem? 

For starters, to make that room liveable again, if you must, lock that child up with a mop, a broom and a bucket! If possible teach the child to clean.

In the news I hear Nigeria is the place to be and I'm like "for real?" Is it the same country that has so much human and natural resource and yet is unable to give the average citizen access to municipal drinking water, electric power supply or fuel? 

As we are such a happy nation, I am guessing we are expected to embrace the big picture, use ingredients pulled out of the bottom of the fictional chief priest's calabash to create the change while clutching our empty bellies and smiling in hunger.

Aha! I remember how I got invited to the event now.

72 hours and counting...

4th's S8AVC April

Guess what people? 

It’s Friday! 

*in early Rihanna’s voice* “Turn the music up!!”

April has been well; a month of interesting occurrences.

For starters I met a couple of people who still write letters (complete with having customized stationery, stamp collections and really nice coloured pens #lifegoals), I realised I am now more tolerant of cats, have more female friends who are way taller than me and most of all, with all that’s happening and not, I STILL have faith in a better Nigeria.

A few years back, I mentioned fuel scarcity in one of the stories from my collection of short stories (Greenland, 2013) as a way of preserving a trend I believed was about to be a thing of history but as we all know, I was wrong.

While our ‘sister’ countries are hustling for renewable energy, decentralization of power supply and feeding tariffs, able bodied Nigerian men and women are participating in unholy trades, flexing muscles, gallons and kegs in the search of PMB!

Generally speaking, aside from having a face off with a man-child who implied that I was promoting promiscuity because I dared to put up a picture of a painting that celebrated African pride (it was of a fierce looking beautiful black skinned woman who was naked save for a neck piece and bangles that adorned her neck, wrists and ankles. She held her hunting spare and was accompanied by a Lion) as a result of his ignorance and narrow mindedness, there is no major news to rely.

Something different about this month’s Super 8AVC is that I listened to just the audio of the tracks before comparing my expectations for a music video with what was actually presented in the official music videos.

Without further ado, here is number…

8. Rizzla – Burnaboy

*MVE: as soon as I hit the play button for this track, it was “get up and dance” for me. With that in mind, if this song is true to its ‘message’, there would be loads of smoke filled hazy scenes with Burna holding a stimulant of sorts doing his trademark ‘haters can hate’ nodding head dance. 

*whispers* I think Burna needs a hug.

*OMV: he was high in the video! Him and a whole lot of people *laughing out loud* here is a classic example of why you should not do drugs people. 

Oh I was right about the other stuff too; he did consume a stimulant and there was the nodding head dance. The video is way better than what I expected though.

7. Standing Ovation – Tiwa Savage ft. Olamide

MVE: I expect to see a sergeant Tiwa in military style outfits looking badass with separate clips of Olamide mingling at a party or being the boss while hanging out with his ‘goons’ in an empty warehouse. With one of his goons holding a baseball bat maybe? 

OMV: although Tiwa was badass in all of her scenes, rather than wear military style outfits, she made casual and laid back clothes look super sexy and stylish. Olamide was neither at a party nor in a shady warehouse with his goons but mainly out in the open supporting Tiwa to create a beautiful song with a proudly Nigerian setting.

6. I Concur – Timaya ft. Don Jazzy

MVE: there would be a walking stick in this video. Location: Bayelsa maybe? A harem of colourfully dressed ladies shaking their ‘African waists’ with Don J. trying to look cool while awkwardly gyrating in the name of dancing. 

OMV: there is a keke that looks like it is being used to move house. That mattress has seen better days though. 

There were more men than women shaking their waist and things in this video *drools*. There appears to be elements of dance and clothing from various tribes in... Africa? 

My, doesn’t Timaya look real snazzy in this video?

Did Don Jazzy ‘dance’? Yes. Was there a long stick in this video? Yes, Timaya’s. Was the video amazing? Yes. 

Unto the next one.

5. Osinachi (remix) – Humblesmith ft. Davido

MVE:  this track has highlife elements sprinkled all over it. It seems to me like another song about God’s awesomeness slash an individual reaping the rewards of hard work. Like Godwin, I expect clips of different people triumphing over hardships. Sadly, there would be no ‘hungry belle’ dance moves from brother Korede in this one.

OMV: different from what I expected, it is just one occasion; a coronation of sorts. 

It pays homage to the culture and traditions from South East Nigeria. 

Rather than take centre stage, Humblesmith and Davido step out of focus occasionally to allow viewers enjoy the rich and vivid displays set before them.

4. Ferrari – Yemi Alade

MVE: driving into number 4 with highlife rhythms as well, is Yemi in a ferrari! This lady is sha not afraid to talk am as e dey do her. Her videos ooze with energy (I should find the original painting of that African woman and her lion and gift it to her). 

I expect to see bold hairdos, colourful outfits and some humorous clips.

OMV: Energy? Check! Bold hairdos? Check! Colourful outfits? Check! Humour? Yes of course!!

This track features Remi (from Gulder Ultimate Search) as Yemi’s love interest. Through time abi different societies, he tries to win her over with elaborate formings and panache but did omo babe gree to give the guy face? Don’t ask me, watch and see for yourself.

3. Dance – Flavour

MVE: as I listened to the first few seconds of this song, I had begun to sing Sir Uwaifo’s Joromi before uncle decided to get on with the singing. The music video might feature a story within a story and a live performance like the one in Golibe (mehn I still love this song. Someone please tell me what he is saying because I am sure Flavour wrote that song with me in mind)

OMV: wow! Apparently Flavour decided to make up for the lack of girls in Timaya’s ‘I Concur’ by being the only man in this music video. 

Sadly the lovely ladies were too busy being gorgeous while rocking to the music to inform that other nice lady that she was not wearing all of her black leather jacket. 

While I was disappointed that he did not get to flex his amazing pecs this time, he kept to the proudly Nigerian theme by having a greater number of his dancers decked in popular prints that were probably sewn in Nigeria.    

2. Guitar Boy – Sir Victor Uwaifo

MVE: listening to Dance by Flavour got me in the mood for some Osadebe and Uwaifo. Guitar boy takes me back to my teenage years. I can almost hear myself and Sisi singing this song quite loudly and out of tune. I had a chance to meet this living legend when he was in Ibadan on tour but missed the opportunity because I was busy chasing free suya and gizzard *hides head in shame*.

I doubt there is an official music video for this song.

            1. Tupepe – Sir Victor Uwaifo ft. 2Face Idibia

             MVE: *dancing* are we playing here? Free me make I dance!

             Wait, what were you expecting number 1 to be?

Will I dare to assign anything other than the first position to a Chief, Professor and Sir?

I don’t care about the video but if 2face doesn’t live up to his 2Baba title by making this video great, I intend to write a very long letter of complaint to someone.

OMV: I am afraid that writing, “I like it, I like, I like it a lot” will fail to pass the right message across. The official video matched the tone of the track; I can’t image a better blend.

You definitely have to watch it to the end to witness Sir Uwaifo drop the rest of his old school dance moves.

Bubbling Under. Reggae Blues – Harrysong ft. Olamide, Kcee, Orezi, Iyanya.

And just because I can, there is a number 9 today. *Screaming* “After the reggae play the blues” *folds shirtsleeves* dances* shoki, suwor oya etighi. “Dj, Dj! Give am belle!”

That was fun guys, let’s do this again soon!

Cheers!

** MVE: My Video Expectation

     OMV: Official Music Video

*** FYI the series “Spice Rack” would only be back by popular demand so to the few people who’ve asked about the rest of it, I’m sorry guys. If I don’t get enough feedback/comments/messages to proceed, Spice Rack would be publicly sentenced to a slow painful death.