So let’s talk about the trending issues, outside American Presidential election.
Black Lives…
I’ve heard a lot of arguments as to the rationales people have behind their stance for black lives. I’ve seen memes, either trying to make mockery of the activism or trying to support it so bad that it hurts.
What’s shocking is that things (by things I mean the actions of people) contradict themselves in ways we don’t even realize. It’s quite impossible to apprehend.
I’d love to begin first with Nigerians (I’m Nigerian so, nothing spoil). I must confess I have found myself guilty of this. Most of the time, we hear that there has been a bombing in the North, or the Avengers have blown up someone’s village in the South, or some little kid has been killed somewhere in the West, we tend to shove it aside because, what the hell, there are over 120 million in Nigeria, a hundred of them dead won’t hurt our ever retrogressive population. Moreover, the lesser the better, right? But then when we hear of bombings in France and shootings in America we shiver because, nothing. We have gotten used to the tenderness of people outside Africa, that we begin to feel sorry for people we’d probably never know if we were given thousand years on earth. I’m not against the sympathy that we front, all I’m saying is we should front similar sympathy when it comes to our own people. I came up with a logical reason, though. To my mind, I just think we’ve elevated them to a position because of the extent of their development that we see their actions as strange and queer and delinquent. Adversely, we’ve reduced ourselves to the impossibility of development and right thinking that when it is done in our country, it becomes normal. Violent conflict has become an inevitability that we’d rather die than stop. Development is not even an option, because our ‘ancestors’ did it, we will do it. 
Secondly, I must warn that racism is not different from xenophobia. It’s just that one deals with two opposing colors while the other is a color at war with it self. I heard Donald Trumps daughter claim that her father is color blind as to the racism in America and not just him, many others have claimed to be color blind when in respect to race. But I beg to differ. Actually, ones acceptance of a particular race should come with awareness of that race. In my opinion, being color blind is just a way of ignoring the giant blue whale lying helpless on your front porch. (I don’t see any reason why a whale would be at my front porch though) It is there making you uncomfortable, but you try to ignore it thinking it’ll go away, because you are unaware that it needs your help to move. Same thing is with racism, you see people that make you uncomfortable, instead of understanding them you shoot them or kill them or even castigate them and make them feel worthless. But they still won’t leave, because like you, they need help one way or another.
I don’t know the way forward myself, but it would be good to start from some. In the very little way you can, good thing is that there’s always light at the end of every tunnel

From The Saloonist’s Mind


I am…

I am captivating and fierce, loud and calm. I make haste in a hurry, I put final the beginning. I want the best but rest with less. However it happens I don’t recall. It makes me hopeless, with hope I had not. Where I stand I see a headless crowd governed by animals of greatest forest, making empty claims and vicious threat of blood shed. The only path I see is one that goes in round circles of recurring failure. I am large but small. In my sense of livelihood I see only a mustard seed being eating by hideous termites, that continuously grows from the remains of its existence. I claim to be indivisible but I war with myself over issues relating the heart. A heart that is unsure of its desires. My name is the bone, the skin and the blood all at once. I wish to break free but a dome of wishful thinking envelopes me in my own head. There’s nothing that can be done. There’s something that can be done. A higher force is needed to liberate me. I am Nigeria. I am by myself my own creator and my own destroyer.

The word for the day: the Race race

You claim to be the master, The jack of all trade…….master of none. All you think is right because you have atomic powers.
You may rule the world, But we were here before you, We saw dawn before you ever did, We saw the sands before you built blocks.
Even though tables have turned, We know who we are. You call us public enemy, But we own the future.
What manner of Perfection! You think because you’re white you can kill?
One day will come, History will change: Your children will pay for the mistakes you made!   
    A white man once asked my dad “as a black man, how do you know when your hands are clean ” funny right? So racist it shows that it’s not just something they copy. Racism is something that’s innate and people have refused to think differently. “The problem is that white people see racism as conscious hate, when racism is bigger than that. Racism is a complex system of social and political levers and pulleys set up generations ago to continue working on the behalf of whites at other people’s expense, whether whites know/like it or not. Racism is an insidious cultural disease. It is so insidious that it doesn’t care if you are a white person who likes black people; it’s still going to find a way to infect how you deal with people who don’t look like you. Yes, racism looks like hate, but hate is just one manifestation. Privilege is another. Access is another. Ignorance is another. Apathy is another. And so on. So while I agree with people who say no one is born racist, it remains a powerful system that we’re immediately born into. It’s like being born into air: you take it in as soon as you breathe. It’s not a cold that you can get over. There is no anti-racist certification class. It’s a set of socio-economic traps and cultural values that are fired up every time we interact with the world. It is a thing you have to keep scooping out of the boat of your life to keep from drowning in it. I know it’s hard work, but it’s the price you pay for owning everything” -Scott Woods. LOL, I love my dad as calm as he is, he replied “ohhh, when they are white they are very dirty, but when they are black they are extra clean ” I’m sure this reply should have pissed that white guy off, white people don’t like to believe that they practice identity politics , the definition of being white in America is that you’re a regular or normal individual while, other demographic groups set themselves apart to pursue their identity and interest. Whiteness, to white people is the American default. The fact still remains that black people are classic: We are strong, intelligent and we motivate. The question is are we proud of black? Do we show our skills? We want to be like the whites, no kwamzaa but we don’t have to be like them completely forgetting who we are. Racism is a sign of inferiority complex, that’s why they hate us we do what they can’t, we strive where they can’t, we survive and pull through what they can’t. Be proud, Black is Classic. Happy valentines day show some love to the black brothers and sisters .

Posted from the Saloonists mind

The day before valentines…

… That’s when she told me she was back with her ex. I was devastated. Well devastated may sound over dramatic for a guy like me, bordered on the fact that I was usually the one who turned girls down. I never expected it. First it hurt my pride to make her aware of my feelings. Second I was confident she was as attracted to me as I was to her. We were this close to becoming the it couple for the semester, but life stepped in.

My name is Eric Brown and I’m in love with Bella Okpara. For no reason, I always pictured my Mrs. Brown to be an overly sophisticated woman that smelled like roses and had all the asserts that every guy would swoon over. Her hair would be silk and long, her face fair and bright and her shape, curved and edged. Silly right? I watched to many movies as a growing child so I had my criteria lined up for me. Bella, however, did not meet the criteria even to half. Slim, slender, sleek was the best way to describe her figure. No curves whatsoever, her edges were bone cut, she did her hair whatever way suited her, she talked rubbish all the time, I’d only realise I was with a girl when she was away. Yes, yes, that’s the effect she had on me. Felt completely safe around her, I didn’t mind mixing my words around her. No girl has ever had this effect on me my whole life. It was a miraculous feeling. I had already fallen in love, even before I could say yes.

Unfortunately, my effect on her was not strong enough. She didn’t feel the same way about me. “I wish he’d treat me the same way you do, Eric” were her exact words to me. But I keep wondering, why date him when he doesn’t treat you right? Why not let go of the good and get the better? Life with its twists and turns, right? I had to accept fate as it was served to me.

Well, tables turned on me. I had to accept defeat as there was nothing I could do about it. There was no way I was forcing her to make any decision she wasn’t willing to. So I had to move on. Move on in the sense that I stopped pestering her with my feelings. But my feelings still remain the same for her, she still has the effect on me but I have to keep it hidden so I don’t look like a persistent freak, that I am.So there goes my first and true love story.

Hi readers,
A friend asked to help him share his devastating love story. Hope you like it? From the saloonists mind.

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My “FRAT” brother

Cass and I had always been as inseparable as glue on wood. He’d make my life so miserable only to tell me how cute a little sister I was. He had his way of getting into my head, causing chaos and then vamoose like he was never there. But I loved him anyway. The number of boys he had beat up just so that I could get first hand treatment is to numerous to even count. He’d give me every detail of every boy that liked me in school and what they said about other girls in the males hostel. I recall him getting suspended once for beating up this guy who was checking my butt out. Smh. He was the big brother any sister would wish to have.

However, things changed. Few months after he left for the University of Lagos, he stopped calling home; calling me. He didn’t even pick the calls I had managed out of my slim pocket money. Even when he did, he’d tell me he was to busy to talk, that he would call me back later, which he never did. Even when he came home, he would treat himself to a self imposed solitary confinement in his room. He hardly even came out for food, talk less of joining us our weekendly family time. Most times, some of his new friends would come over and leave with him, only to come back smelling in a way I could not understand

This was strange at first. I even tried to break my way in but that nearly caused me my life. I vowed not to try again, although it troubled me deeply. My heart squeezed in my chest each time he would pass by me and not mention that I had an exceedingly large head, or how I had envelopes for an ear or how a man would never marry a woman with so much muscles. It wringed my soul to think of a heartless and souless brother he had become suddenly. Especially one I had grown up to trust my fried plaintain with. He had lost all the things I loved most about him and then I thought it the best time to pray for him

Every night and every morning i’d pray for him, committing his endeavors into Gods hands. But he still wasn’t changing. So I decided to take a break because Gods time is always the best.

This went on for the whole of his first semester. The effect hit me harder during the summer vacation.

It had always been a family tradition to travel abroad during summer break, and we always went with cousin Chinyere. Her parents had been killed in a car robbery some years back. All their estates had been willed to her which she finally inherited last year as she clocked 18. LUcky her.
Cass and I had always loved it when she came home because her stories were numerous. Even when they weren’t so interesting she would add her own ingredients to spice it up. That was actually what ignited Cass’ passion for Unilag. He wanted to be there to witness first hand every details of cousin Chinyeres stories. Unfortunarely it looked like he had witnessed much more than he could contain.

I was shocked to find out from cousin Chinyere that my dear Cass had joined something she called a “fraternity group”, which I and most of you know as cult. I was horrified. It was a group of fraternity boys who had ambushed cousin Chinyere’s  parents on their way back from Owerri. Things now made sense; the odd, offensive smell that emanated from Cass’ clothes each time he returned home from his friends place. Thats when it hit me and it hit me real hard that I could not maintain my balance. What had come over him? Impossible! We had both vowed to remain attached to God till death. He even made me promise to stay chaste till marriage, even gave me a chastity ring. Had he just been playing games with me. Definitely not! Cass was to honourable to stoop so low.

It worried me to a point that I could not sleep at night, knowing that my brother that I looked up to my whole childhood had turned against his own believes. I grew sick. Sick from fear, worry, disappointment, pain, betrayal. Knowing that no matter how hard I tried, he did not budge. I still prayed.

It was a Friday evening that the news of his death got to me, precisely Friday the 13th of June 2014. Cass was killed by a rival fraternity group. He had been caught up in one of their many fracas. He had been decapitated, his eyes gorged our and his tongue cut off. The terror of the news struck me harder than I expected. I fainted. There was no way I was going to forgive myself. Praying was not enough. I should have spoken to him. The guilt haunted me forever, nothing was done to change fate. And that was how my dearest brother turned to my frat brother and then my dead brother.


Have you once or twice fallen in love with something or someone that its even hard not to think about it or him/her.
I recently came across this couple, so in love. He couldnt take his eyes off her and she couldnt stop being shy of his stares. They had never spoken but, you did not need God to tell you that they were in Love with each other. It reminded me about the way i felt when i got my blackberry phone when it was in vogue. I would put it in my pocket if I had a pocket and if not I would put it in between my boobs. They felt safer there. I loved the phone; the way it looked in my hands, the way it notified me on everything and I knew it loved being in my hands. It always felt comfortable in my hands. There, that was true love, where both parties know and feel the presence of their mutual. Each time I held it I felt happy and so did it (i just knew). The way it buzzed in my hands, oh what sweet memories.
Ok, so back to our couple in context. They always seemed happy to see each other, they did not see the need to speak. Staring was good enough for them. They both knew what they needed to keep their relationship going. Ok so im sure your thinking, if they never spoke, why call them couples? I tell you, what they had was way more than most “married” claim to have. Both coperating to keep the relationship at its peak. Not breaching any of their unspoken protocols. And even when they spoke, had nothing to do with their relationship.
To me, that was the best romance ever. No need to lie, because they never spoke. No need to be fake, they could see right through eachother. No need to explain, because they knew what they felt, and it was inexplicable. No need to prove, it was written all over their faces.
Then i thought to myself, this kind of feeling is very, very, very rare. The kind that makes you wake up by 2am and smile for no explainable reason. The kind that makes you happy from the fact that theres no need for competition; you just know it belongs to you. You just want to work for the futherance of the relationship. The kind that you know that you will do great harm to any one trying to intrude, not because of jealousy, no, because they tyring to come in between something that they cant form.
I just looked at them and knew. I wanted to fall in love that way one day. And when I do, I really dont know what I would do. Really.

Posted from The Salonist Mind

The need to write

‘ Its better to be careful a thousand times than to be killed once’, a wise man once said. I wish I had read that before heading for the christmas dance tonight. Now here I am sitting on my sofa with a pair of trousers ripped right up butt area.
Dressing up as a dude has never been my thing, but I had to learn. Ashley and I had no dates for the dance so we decided to go together. I was to dress as the guy and she the girl, well that took alot of courage despite the fact that I’m suppposed to be the crazy one. So i jst let it slide.
I had just finished ironing the my new zara trouser suit to peak the perfection. I strolled to my full length mirror to finally put myself into the flawlessly straight pair of trousers, still unsure wether or not to go. I had already both legs into them and was about to start my twerking session to make sure the trousers fit perfectly. Then I heard a quietly loud sound that sent my heart leaping with fear.
Too scared to look, I quickly buttoned up and put on my white polo shirt and then then the suit. Just then, my mum yelled my name from a floor away( i always thought her voice was louder than a mega- phone). I quickly put on my glossy black stilettos and was on my way to the stairs.
There she was looking gorgeously beautiful, brown curls tied up with few escape strands infront and her velvet red gown gave her the Beyoncé kind of  flawless she aimed for. I have always been envious of her mexican descent. I handed her my grand mothers silver pendant that matched her shoes. Her main aim was to make the guys that didnt ask her to the dance jealous. Well, I think that would be a completed mision.
After all the ecstatic compliment from mom, dad and cousin emily, they finally settled down to take the legendary “prom” pictures. They made us hold hands and we stayed like that till we got to the black limousine. It was filled with my friends, just that they had this happy giddy air around them. I felt quite wierd seeing our friends with dates of the opposite sex.
We finally got to the civic centre. Ashley and I where the first to step out. We held hands as we walked the red carpet. I must say i felt pretty important and special. Clicks. Flashes. Screams. It was a wonderful moment, until Ashleys purse fell to the ground. Being the ‘gentle-woman’ I had dressed up to be, I bent over to get it the purse. Thats when it happened. I heard a sound quite familiar to the one I heard infront of my mirror some minutes earlier, just that this one lasted longer than the previous.
Here I am sitting on my sofa, Ashley laughing uncontrolably by the side and my parents trying to depress their impatient giggles. I am pretty sure the guy who came up with the adage ‘ a stitch in time saves nine’ was a tailor.