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Showing posts from September, 2018

WHAT MY MOTHER AND DOLLY PARTON TAUGHT ME

When the cassette tape played, I was seldom interested in the lyrics—how likely was a 6-year-old to care? Yet I could feel sorrow, compassion, and sadness in the singer’s voice. I imagined someone hurting her. Was she hit, betrayed, lonely? Her voice held a mystery I wanted to uncover, but she was miles away from me. Since I could not unravel the enigma, I let the thought go. As I grew older, my mother did not grow tired of playing the cassette tape. I could not hide from hearing it either, unless I could afford a roof over my head. One evening, during the holiday and with no homework to attend to, I had to ask her. ‘Mum, who’s this person always sad when they’re singing?’ ‘You mean all this time, you don’t know it’s Dolly Parton? And who told you she’s sad? When you truly express how you feel, it is not always a sad tale, my girl. Do you even know what this song playing is about?’ ‘Yes, ma. It’s her coat of many colours, just like the one Joseph had, right?’ ‘Eh en. Only hers was give...
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THE CIVIL SERVICE: A DREAM JOB OR NOT?

  THE CIVIL SERVICE: A DREAM JOB OR NOT? The Civil service is not my dream job. It is not the kind of place I see myself working because if you look at it I see it as a place with a lot of redundancy; people just sit down doing nothing. It has never been my dream job but “dem say condition dey make crayfish bend.” I am not unemployed but it seems like I am... Generally there are civil servants who are doing well in their place of work. They tend to be very busy especially those working in federal agencies, like the FIRS, the Central Bank, NDIC, NIMISA and so on. They operate more like a private sector so there’s serious competition in those places so you have to be at your best; your A game. But in the mainstream of the civil service; both the federal and state, there is redundancy. People just go to the office, sit without doing anything and at the end of the month they take home peanuts. This is why you see many civil servants leaving their offices to do other menial ...
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How Prepared Are You? By Elisha Seyitan

How Prepared Are You?  By Elisha Seyitan I am sure the title of my essay may come across as some damnation tract topic. Put your mind at rest for I am not one cut out for that though, not to say the concept of salvation should be undervalued. However, the muse was gotten thanks to a Facebook reminder I got earlier this week regarding a self mission I had undertaken in relation to my dreams. After gaining remarkable exposure in the course of my self-development last year, I had picked up interest in the field of marketing communication with bias for Strategy. The reminder resonated in me exactly 12 months later not because it was a reminder of what I had said but the fact that I am currently living my dreams slowly but steadily; surely it will end up shaking my generation amongst other things ( my conviction, remember to have yours). The cogent drive of my article is the attitude I put towards those words of mine. May I say that I did not just stop at expressing my inte...
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MORALITY IN TRANSIT

It was a cool, quiet evening—one of those rare days when the city seemed to exhale. I boarded the bus home from work, grateful for the unusual calm. The vehicle was only half-full, a welcome contrast to the usual chaos of rush hour. The driver was sealed off in his little cubicle up front, and we passengers were scattered like leaves on a still pond. Among them was a man who immediately caught my eye—late 60s, wearing a crisp white cap that read ' Chosen One' in bold black letters. He was flipping through a newspaper with such frantic energy it looked like he was searching for something long lost—or perhaps arguing with the headlines themselves. Opposite him sat another older man, though you wouldn't know it from his clothes. He was dressed like a teenager—like someone clinging to relevance with both hands. Then, out of nowhere, the man in the cap spoke, loud and clear, as if addressing a courtroom rather than a quiet bus. 'Does time determine what's right or wrong...
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IF HAIR COULD TALK

  “You know, I get nervous by the sight of unkempt hair” “And why’s that?” “Well, it makes me imagine the worst of the man or woman in question.” “But you can’t always have clean cut or well-made hair. It’s hard work and who has time for such beauty strife. Or why do you think Beyonce sang that beauty hurts?” “I’m not talking about beauty. Rather I mean responsibility. Bad hair must surely birth a bad day. Look, I hate seeing my wife without her hair done or at least covered. I blame it on Medusa. Should have never seen that movie, T he Clash of the Titans .” “Hahaha, that’s just cracking! Now you blame your sick theory on a movie? Buddy, your wife must be tolerating a whole lot of shit from you. Cut her some slack and leave her hair alone. If you continue shaving yours all the time, you’d be bald before you’re even 40, man.” I’ve been thinking. A thousand tongues there would be if our hair could talk. Imagine, a million heads would have a zillion tongues and more! The ...
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WHAT ARE YOU THANKFUL FOR?

As the final hours of the year slide quietly away, it is only human to look back, tracing the paths of our days, sifting through moments that have shaped us. With the twilight of 2025 upon us, will you gather at a humble or grand table, surrounded by laughter, silence, or absence? Perhaps you have already counted your blessings—each one a dim light in the dark. Or maybe your mind is busy weaving hopeful blueprints for the dawn of 2026. Just the other day, I watched the children in CoComelon sing their gratitude for life’s simplest gifts—things we often overlook, absorbed as we are in our hurried routines. How easily we forget that wonder. If we slow down, just for a little time, we all have so many things to be grateful for. Even the most ordinary blessings are worth our quiet thanks. In this spirit of reminiscence, my heart swells with gratitude for more than I can name, but here are a few gifts that shine especially bright: Sanity Good health A job/craft The gift of memor...
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