God bless the little men and women,
The ones who grace the pockmarks of society
Whose will to survive is an omen,
Despite their malnutured education,
Ridicule from the so called “elite”
They oil the cogs of the nation.

Who are the little men and women?
These ebony skinned warriors are everywhere.
The kohl eyed teen who lags behind you
Tottering under the strain of your shopping.
The “borla” man who waves at you
While wading through the ocean of your waste.
The elderly janitor who keeps the washroom clean
With his trusty broom and broken bucket.
Or the guard with engraved whiskers
His ivory grin chinked with cola stains.
The heavy set auntie who sells the waakye right behind your house.
Her culinary skill at that meal curiously unrivalled.
Or her sister who works magic with “Hausa koko”
That beige porridge with the capacity of a military MRE

The thousand unnamed soldiers who do the jobs we think are derogatory
The cleaners of your superfluous filth.
Their luck with jobs is migratory.
Yet they are some of the happiest people on this planet.
From the videos of the destruction of their slum Earth,
We witness from our Elysium their will to survive,
That grit which sticks to your palm.
Imagine what would happen if they collectively went on strike.
Daddy would languish in Rush Hour gridlock,
And no plantain chips will grace your tummy each evening.
Big bro would never get that phone he wanted for a cutthroat price.
Mommy would drag you along to the market
To shoulder the strain.
Because the help would be none existent.
The school washrooms would be funky,
‘Cos it is expensive to hire professional cleaners.
The weeds behind your home would swathe your walls in a green dress.
I can’t imagine what would happen if your phone broke.
There just aren’t many official dealers here.
And VAT will take its pound of flesh.

So I say God bless the little men and women,
The ones who grace the pockmarks of society.
Whose will to survive is an omen.
Despite their malnutured education,
Ridicule from the so called “elite”
They oil the cogs of the nation.
It’s about time we showed them the respect they deserve.
© Sena Kodjokuma, 2013


Chris Brown and A Nation of Raped Boys

very interesting and true. Having gone through that experience myself its been a telling influence in my personal life.

Olivia A. Cole

chris brown rape

Yesterday I read an article in which Chris Brown discussed the age at which he lost his virginity. He was 8, he says, and the girl was 14 or 15. He mentions that in “the country” he and his cousins watched a lot of porn, so by age 8 he was “hot to trot.” Maybe so. Children can have sexual feelings at 8, but whether they can consent to sex at age 8 is an entirely different subject. Sex at age 8 is rape, especially given the fact that the girl involved was significantly older, a teenager. Chris Brown was raped, but to hear him tell it, that experience was positive, healthy. Something to brag about. “At eight, being able to do it, it kind of preps you for the long run, so you can be a beast at it.”

And the worst part? This isn’t the first time I’ve…

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Talking to your kids about your balls.

Very honest and down to earth. Trusting curiosity of the blogger’s children makes it a more fascinating read. 🙂 🙂

Sans Deferens

As I recover from my vasectomy, an interesting dilemma has unzipped and presented itself. The kids want to know why Daddy can’t wrastle. The kids want to know why they can’t sit on Daddy’s lap. The kids want to know why Daddy is walking so funny.

Ministry_of_Silly_Walks_by_chaplin007Anti-Baby Steps

My daughter is six and my son is nine. The younger one has been easy. As soon as I said the word, ‘testicles’ she started giggling and quickly moved on. Although, now she feels she has license to say, ‘testicles’ whenever she wants. So, she does. And then giggles.

“You want a hug, Daddy? Don’t worry, I won’t hurt your testicles.”
“Be nice to Daddy. He’s got sore testicles.”
“Good morning, Daddy. How are the testicles?”
“Hey, Daddy. Testicles. I just said, ‘testicles.'”

The nine year old boy is a little different. You see, he has testicles. And questions.

“Was there something…

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Who is a friend?

Who is a friend?
A friend is one who:
Takes the last piece of fried yam and breaks it in half to share with you.

Decides to pay the fare when you’re going to town so you pay when coming back.

Goes to download the movie with your laptop when you tell him it’s in.

Asks you “what is this?” When everyone is gushing about your new painting.

Teaches you how to do alkayida ‘cos you have two left feet.

Borrows money from you even though you just took a loan from him.

Disappears when you finally manage to land the “movement” for the night.

Warns you when you’re about to go cliff diving without a parachute but follows anyway!

Tells you to “trap” the girl when she makes moves on you.

Punches you in the gut cos you’re being an asshole.

Calls you, insults you and hangs up, all for the fun of it.

Is always up for “one game p3” in FIFA but ends up skipping lectures.

Goes to steal the rice cooker when you manage to get uncooked beans.

Says “I’m not giving you away.” like a selfish child.

Comes to your house and drags you to play soccer in the rain.

Tells you your music is boring but sends it to his girl on whatsapp.

Cooks a big pot of Jollof and invites you over cos you’re broke.

Forgets your birthday and deliberately changes hers so you’ll forget some!

Will call you in the middle of a lecture for “scores”

Knows your password and posts dumb stuff on your page.

Picks your washing (including your sexy lingerie) cos he got to the hostel first before the rain storm set in.

Laughs after everyone else cos she just got the joke.

Supports your rival club and never ceases to make fun of you

Pulls a totally meaningless and absurd prank on you for absolutely no reason.

Gets you a card and a box of chocolates when you’re gnashing on Val’s day.

The one who seems to know everything.

Pulls you up after dirtying you in a fight with a smile and a curt “your da.”

Parties hard with you all weekend and wakes you up the night before a paper so you cram.

Does MTN pay for me to call you.

A friend is your roof on the rainy day,
the handkerchief for your snot,
The glue for your broken heart,
The one star that remains in your sky the whole day
And illuminates your moon at night.
A friend is a sibling.
And yes the only one who still gets away with calling you crap!!!

©Sena Kodjokuma 2013