Royspace

My book, Ms. Unlikely, now available!

noreply@blogger.com (Roy) — Mon, 22 Dec 2014 08:45:00 +0000

The wait is over, my new book, Ms. Unlikely, is now available!

Thanks friends for your love and support.

You can buy it on Amazon, Createspace and Nook.

Please leave a review and let me know your thoughts and comments.

Email me at remiroy@thelightedgirl.com

Cheers!

Remi Roy

My new book, Ms. Unlikely + I'm retiring this blog.

noreply@blogger.com (Roy) — Sun, 23 Nov 2014 20:41:00 +0000

Hi Friends,

I have exciting news!

The past few months have been a mix of emotions. I have not been posting on this blog because I have been really busy working on my Masters Degree and publishing my first book!

Now I'm ready to take giant strides and start a new chapter of my life.

You know that feeling you get when you’re on the brink of something new? Like uncharted territory? That’s exactly how I feel right now. And for good reason!

My new book, Ms.Unlikely, will be released in a few weeks!

Am I excited or what?!

I can’t wait for you all to read it.

It is a story and theme that is close to my heart. I almost always get to talk about purpose when I write because I believe life makes no sense without it. And without God the creator and ultimate designer how do we know why we are here? I'm excited about sharing Reki, the main character's experiences with you. It just may mirror your own.

Please head up to my pre-release page at http://msunlikely.weebly.com for more information on the book, updates on the release date, coming giveaways and more.

Here’s the cover image. What do you all think?

PS. I'm retiring this blog but will keep the link working. I have content on here that is very close to my heart and life message.

My new site will be up soon. Stay tuned for that.

Cheers!

Remi Roy

http://msunlikely.weebly.com

You Have No Idea Where I've Been! #WongFuProductions

noreply@blogger.com (Roy) — Tue, 11 Jun 2013 17:01:00 +0000

How awesome would it be to have your job involve making videos, short films and fun stuff on youtube? I mean for a living? Great, right?

A few weeks ago I found out about WongFu Productions and I just fell in love with their work. This is what these guys do. Great videos, high quality stuff.

But then I started thinking how do these guys make money? They just appear to be having so much fun.
I found out they also do merchandising; they design and sell their products online.

This week they celebrated 10 years of being together as WongFu Productions and the stuff they talked about really really amazed me. I never knew they went way back and have put so much hard work into their brand.

It's easy to look at people doing great today and think they're just lucky or simply rose out of the woodwork to start running things. It hardly ever works that way. Most of the time you need to talk to them to get a picture of how they started, stuff they've been through and endured to be where they are.

There's always a lot of work behind the scenes. A LOT.

Sometimes I think the "10 year plan" "5 year strategy" is overrated. It may even lead to a lot of paralysis by analysis. We talk so much about what we want to do and achieve but end up only sitting on our behind fixing and editing our speech to make it sound good to others.

Note to self: The steps you make today will constitute your story tomorrow. No deliberate steps, no special achievement.

Here's their 10 year anniversary video.

And here's my absolute favorite. A series called "Away we happened" sponsored by AT&T. This is just episode 1. Episode 2-6 are also on their youtube channel.

Congrats WongFu productions.

Congrats Ted, Wes and Phil!

You guys rock!

Roy.

What’s In It For You? #Dreams

noreply@blogger.com (Roy) — Sat, 18 May 2013 22:02:00 +0000

At every point in our lives we need to have some dream or the other, something special and dear to our hearts we want to achieve. We really cannot lead meaningful lives without such things tugging at our hearts. It’s what makes getting up every morning even worth it.

I’m saying this because something happened that just brought tears to my eyes and made me value dreams and visions so much more.

Many years ago while I was still an undergraduate I met this guy. We were in class together actually and he always struck me as kinda weird. He was very studious and committed to his academics but also kinda … wild. I didn’t know how to place him. For me you were either this or that but this guy seemed to live in both worlds.

We used to tease each other about who studied more (it was him really, I just copied him J) anyways we got close and I learnt he’d always had the desire to be a doctor and he was bent on making it to medical school, no matter what it took.

Now I also grew up with that fantasy about being Doctor Roy. But sha the system, a few disappointments and a scary bloody (literally) surgical procedure I saw on TV cured me for life! Doctor Roy? Thanks but... er… no thanks. Now I didn't know what I wanted to be but I sure knew doctor wasn't even close. But this is not about me. This is about my friend Alban. He is a great man. J

We graduated and lost touch. And for the next seven years I wouldn't hear from him. And then… one sunny afternoon few weeks ago he buzzes me up on Facebook and I couldn't believe my eyes. His profile name? Dr. Alban… and no he wasn't hoping to be a doctor someday, he had done it! Tears welled up in my eyes.

Now people become doctors every day, no big deal. But what made goose bumps break out on my skin was his determination. After four years of undergraduate school turned five, he went back to study medicine? Like seriously? It’s what makes you want to ask, with your nose in the air like in the movies. ”What’s in it for you?”

If you grew up in Nigeria, without parents who have everything and can offer you the world, you had to work, I mean literally take your life in your hands and run with it. Either that or you … well take whatever life hands you.

Seven years, folks, this guy went back to medical school because he had a dream. It must have been hard. Most guys just want to make money when they leave school, nothing wrong with that. But the pressure, oh, the pressure! Everyone expects you to do this or that. Move out of the house, get a car, take care of your younger siblings, get married, get an apartment, be responsible. But he chased down his dream. He did. It must have been hard but he did.

I think of my friend Jirade who runs a catering company, the way she works tirelessly, day and night to work her dream. It IS hard. But she’s not giving up. Oh no she’s not!

These folks inspire me. What’s the point of living if we don’t follow our passions? What would life be like if we just lie down and let it walk all over us? And for folks like us who won’t get it unless we work, roll up our sleeves and get our hands dirty, the fulfillment of getting there is … ah…worth too much to pass up.

That's why I aim to rise. My dream is alive!

Is yours?

Roy.

P.S. If you’re in Lagos and need a caterer buzz Jirade at Sweet Pea Edibles, 08036954523, 08099786854, BBpin: 22FB845A. http://www.facebook.com/SweetPeaEdibles

A Sockful of Hope

noreply@blogger.com (Roy) — Wed, 15 May 2013 05:03:00 +0000

If you're out there reading this, well then I posted it for you. I've been MIA but I thought to post this story I wrote for a writing competition. Didn't win so...

It's kinda long though. :)

www.abc.net.au

I looked up at the darkened ceiling and whispered the words like a prayer. "This Christmas I will run away."

I rose gingerly from the creaky bed, mentally willing it not to squeal. It was 2am and the last time I counted the money was three o’clock in the afternoon after Yeye sent me back home to get more palm oil for her customer, Iya Benji. I shifted the old coca cola crates aside and reached for the pillowcase wedged in between two crates. I listened for any sign that someone was awake. Satisfied I had roused no one, I reached for the money, peeled the tattered pillowcase aside and felt for the rolled up newspaper. Inside the newspaper was the sock where I hid the money.

I had been saving for the two years I had been with Yeye; hundred naira thrice a week. Aunty Agnes was my angel and I always prayed that her fiancé Uncle James would come to our neighbourhood. He always did. Like the predictable crow of Yeye’s weird black cock every morning, he always showed up Wednesday, Friday and Sunday evenings except on very few occasions. He was a banker, or so Aunty Agnes said.

The first time I met him, Aunty Agnes had sent me on an errand. She gave me 1,000 naira to buy yoghurt, Digestive biscuit and a pack of juice.

“Don’t buy the fake one o,” she said of the digestive biscuit, like I could have known which was fake or not. I nodded and dashed off. I came back panting and sweating, having ran all the way to the store and back. I found her sitting on a man’s lap when I walked into her room. Her arms were around him and she looked so happy. She looked up and wagged a manicured finger at me.

“Always knock, okay.” It didn’t sound like she was scolding me, so I smiled and nodded. “James, this is Atilola, the little girl who works for my landlady.” Uncle James smiled at me and I saw his dimples flash. The way she said ‘little’ made me feel like a nine year old. I dropped the items on the table and handed her the change. She pressed a hundred naira note into my hand. I curtsied and left hurriedly before she had a chance to change her mind. I heard her giggling as I scampered off. I tried not to imagine what they would do in my absence. Such thoughts made me shy. Instinctively, I covered my eyes and giggled; almost tripping over the little steps in front of the room in the process.

The money was intact. I folded it and stuck it in the white cotton sock with pink frills on the edges. The sock had turned brown. I fingered the frills and fought hot tears as I remembered the last time I had worn it.

Five years ago at Christmas. We had prepared to do a Christmas play during the end of year party at my school; Ilesanmi Private International School. It was the only private school at Iberekodo where I lived with my mother and brother. We were not rich, not by any means, but we were not poor either. My mother worked hard. She had vowed that none of her children would attend the local Iberekodo primary school. She was never prideful though; she never looked down her nose on the other women who sent off their little ones to the public school with no lunch packs or socks on their feet. She didn’t know what was really international about Ilesanmi either, but there we went and joyfully so.

That Christmas, she bought new second-hand clothes for my brother and I. Well they were new as far as I was concerned. I tagged along with her to the market and watched in fascination as she haggled with the clothes sellers. She bent down several times picking up blouses, shirts, skirts and other stuff and tossing them back again when the sellers gave her ridiculous prices. We bought many clothes that day and I couldn’t wait to try them on. Most of all I couldn’t wait to show off my 'Virgin Mary' costume for the Christmas play. My mother had bought a white dress complete with a straw hat and white socks with pink frills. It didn’t look to me like what the Lord’s mother would have worn but who was I to complain.

I shook my head to ward off the memories, nice as they seemed what followed was something I never wanted to remember. I stowed away my savings and lay back on the creaky bed. Looking up, I traced the patterns dust and age had made on the concrete ceiling with my eyes. Tomorrow was Friday, a good day, and it was closer to Sunday, another good day.

After what seemed like only a few minutes, I woke up to Yeye’s slaps and screams.

“Wake up! Foolish girl. Owuro lojo, alakori, dide nle!”

I scrambled up and rolled to the other side of the bed, cursing the night under my breath. What a fleeting one it was. It seemed I had only nodded off a few munities ago. I knew it would take Yeye another two minutes to raise herself up from the bent position she had taken in order to wake me up. She would support her back with one hand, while the other rested on her knee. She would then wince as she hoisted herself up before walking away, her arms almost at ninety degrees to her sides. The woman was fat, with thick dark skin that never glowed; rough, dry skin as black as soot.

I wondered how she got the name Yeye. I had overheard some of the neighbours call her Iya Aje. That mama Benji and Iya Kausara were her cult mates. Isiaka, the mechanic swore to it, that they were all witches. If not why were they all widows, fat and balding? Yes, yeye had no hair. Well a ring of hair around her head, but that was it. I wondered how it got chopped off. Everyone also wondered why they all had funny looking cocks that crowed every morning. Not that having a cock was rare in these parts but these cocks were, well, odd. Yeye’s cock was a thin wiry thing. It had lost all its feathers except for a tuft on its back, and it challenged humans. You only had to move close to it to experience that. I hear Mama Benji’s cock is so fat it wouldn’t run, not even in the face of a butcher’s knife.

But whatever Yeye was, I didn’t care. One thing was clear to me, this Christmas I had to disappear.

I hurriedly did my chores and headed to Yeye’s shop across the street where she sold oil, garri, beans and rice. I liked to avoid Yeye in the mornings. She always woke up with a sour mood. I would hurry to the shop and wait to be joined by Funmike, an older girl who only worked for Yeye at the shop.

This morning Funmike arrived with a long face, her nose running. I knew she had been crying.

“Kilode?” I asked. Funmike only spoke Pidgin English.

“Ah, I am trouble o. Babatunde ti pa mi!” she placed both arms on her head and stamped her feet, biting her lower lip till I saw blood. I pulled her inside the shop and made her sit down; no point drawing the attention of the whole neighbourhood. Word will get to Yeye. It always did. I knew Yeye would come late to the shop; she had had visitors early that morning.

“What happened? Why are you crying?” Even though Funmike was a few years older than I was, she loved to confide in me. She said I possessed Ogbon Iya agba, an old woman’s wisdom.

“Ah, Lola. I am trouble o. Babatunde have kill me.” She slapped her tights and winced. Then she rubbed them down, both in grief and in an effort to relive the pain she had inflicted on herself. She moved closer to me, her chair scraping the ground noisily and whispered, “Mo ti loyun!”

I shrank back in shock, my mouth slightly open. She placed her index finger across her lips and moved her chair closer to mine, finally closing up the space between us.

“What will I do now? He say he no get money for abortion. Me I no fit carry this pikin o! Ha, mo gbe!”

I was at a loss for words. Abortion? I didn’t even want to think of that word. I had always lived a sheltered life, so this kind of issue was new to me. But I wasn’t altogether naïve.

“Funmike, don’t do abortion o. what if you die? It is dangerous now.” I had begun to ache for her. I couldn’t imagine myself pregnant with a baby I didn’t want.

She looked at me like I had suddenly grown wings. “Kini? Make I carry pikin for my age? Where I go get money buy pampers, baby food, ha, mi o se o. I go remove am.” She sounded so sure like she had counted the cost and decided that was the only way. My mother used to say that the dog that will certainly get lost will not hear its masters call. I knew I couldn’t persuade her.

That evening, after I bought digestive biscuit, a pack of juice and sanitary pads for Aunty Agnes and she had pressed another note into my hands, I stole back to my room to count my money again. My hands shook slightly as I took out the old pillowcase. How had Funmike known I was saving money? Why did she ask me to loan her money for the abortion? Did yeye know? Did she tell Funmike? And how many people knew about my money? I hurriedly counted the notes and exhaled slowly when I saw that it was complete. But before I could finish placing it back, Yeye called for me.

“Lola!!! Lola were! Eti e o di o. Come here!” I scrambled up and fled from the room in search of yeye. She was sitting in the balcony as usual, counting her proceeds for the day. Her eyes were red as I stood before her, my heart in my throat. Her call had startled me and now I looked like I was guilty of something.

“I put Forty thousand naira in my Igbadi. Ten thousand is missing.” She bit out, holding out the wad of Five hundred naira notes, her eyes never leaving my face. I began to hyperventilate. The first time Yeye had accused me of stealing, I had suffered grave consequences. Unconsciously, I glanced at the spot behind my hand where she had cut me and rubbed pepper into the wound.

Three days later, part of the stolen money was found in Mufu’s possession; the boy who had worked in Yeye’s shop before Funmike was employed. Yeye never apologized to me.

“I didn’t see any money ma. I swear, I didn’t take it.” I touched my tongue with my finger and raised it to the sky, praying that Yeye would believe me. I couldn’t take another cutting. I just couldn’t.

“So who took it? Ehn, who took it? Hmmm, I’m giving you the last chance to confess. Ole! Oti ji mi lowo!”

The tears started to fall unbidden. I prayed to God that she wouldn’t search my room; she’d never believe I didn’t steal the money. I had saved thirteen thousand five hundred so far. I couldn’t lose my savings. I went on my knees before Yeye. “Mummy, mi o mu owo yin. I swear I didn’t take it. I left the shop before you today.”

“Ehn ehn, are you saying Funmike stole the money? Ehn, is it Funmike?” She had leaned forward on her low chair and I could see the veins in her neck bulging.

“Ah, I didn’t say that. I didn’t …”

Furious, Yeye sprang out of her chair and grabbed my scarf which I was wearing loosely on my head. Wads of naira notes fell to the floor around our feet. A large chunk of my long silky hair was in her grasp and she pulled on it with such intensity I felt my brains rattle. After a few more slaps, I still had no confession for her. Her eyes were red and I swear I could almost feel heat coming from her mouth.

“Get out of here!” she shouted and I scampered away.

As I lay in my room that night I couldn’t shake the feeling of foreboding that washed over me. Goose pimples broke out on my skin and tears stung my eyes. I suddenly missed my mother fiercely. I thought of Mummy Ikeja. She had brought me to Yeye more than two years ago when my mother died suddenly. I had packed my bags joyfully when Mummy Ikeja said she was taking me to live with my mother’s friend. She would take care of me, she promised, better than my own mother could because she was rich and she lived in Kuto, also in Abeokuta. My excitement had died a natural death, however, when I overheard the amount of money Yeye paid her to have me. I knew then that Yeye was no friend to my mother. I was a domestic help.

Funmike never returned to Yeye’s shop and I knew what she had done. Yeye never brought up the issue again and I was glad. I walked on eggshells around her from then on, counting the days till Christmas.

Few weeks later after I came back from an errand, Aunty Agnes told me she was getting married. I looked at her blankly at first, unable to smile or cry. No more hundred naira tips. I looked at the calendar on the wall behind her. 19^th December. I had a few more days. “Congratulations Aunty. Will you still be living here?” I asked her still dazed.

At fifteen I was small for my age. I had no curves and my chest was as flat as an ironing board. Looking at Aunty Agnes made me want to grow up fast. She was tall, slim and shapely. And now she was getting married.

“No dear. I’m moving to the East. James just got a job in Awka. You be a good girl, hmm.” She patted my shoulder and looked into my eyes. “You will be just fine,” she said then resumed moving around the house. I considered myself dismissed.

I knew I won’t grow up to be like Aunty Agnes if I remained with Yeye so that night I hatched a quick plan.

On the night before Christmas I will stuff my belongings in a polythene bag. I will scribble a note to Yeye, divide the money into two, fold a portion of it with the note and hold it fast with an elastic band.

At the crack of dawn, I will tiptoe, barefooted to Yeye’s door and wedge the note and the money in between the door and cemented floor. It would be payment for the remaining days of my servitude. Yeye had paid the agent, Mama Ikeja, for my services, it would only be right that I paid her back since my time was done here.

Praying to my mother’s spirit to bless my plans and make me like Aunty Agnes someday, I lay down gingerly on the creaky bed and smiled. I’m sure of it. It will work out. This Christmas I will run away.

The next morning, even before the black cock belted out its deathly crow, I got up and made straight for the crates. I had had a dream. The money in the sock had grown and my room was filled with money. There was money under my bed, money in my bucket and money in my mouth, choking me. I grabbed my trusted pillow case and felt for my lifeline. The bulge of the naira notes in it sent my pulse kicking. This is it. The idea of running away had never been so close, so intoxicating. Yeye will certainly see red. But the money will pacify her somewhat. The money hadn’t grown. It was still just enough.

I unwrapped the pillowcase, reached for the sock in the folded newspaper and my breath caught in my throat. Hot tears formed at the corners of my eyes and strange shapes danced across my vision. I covered my mouth to keep from screaming. There, in my hands, was a sockful of dried leaves.

END.

Girl Rising!

noreply@blogger.com (Roy) — Fri, 08 Mar 2013 06:27:00 +0000

Courtesy UNICEF @ UTD I just watched Girl Rising, a film dedicated to spreading the word about the education of girls all over the world. And it was touching. Touching to see how many girls around the world do not get a chance to get an education and get ahead in life.

Of course what keeps them from school is even a greater injustice. Poverty, cultural sentiments, child labor, early marriages.... Yes it's not new. We hear it all the time. We know these things happen. And just like all other ills in the society, if it doesn't knock on our doors we can pretty much go on with our lives. Right?

But seeing those girls, real girls with real stories of how the very world that should uphold and protect them strips them of innocence and dignity- it really made me see how much we take for granted. If you're reading this and you went to school, have a family who loves you and want to see you succeed, didn't get married off to some stranger just because your family needed the dowry money... you're blessed, so privileged..and in a position to help a girl.

See the film if you can, it will surely make you see the world in a different light and thank God for the little things. It tells the story of nine girls, their obstacles, their struggles and how they found the strength to keep going, to keep fighting, despite the odds against them. Here's the trailer.

Earlier today I also watched Aamir Khan's TV show about Female Infanticide in India and I...I can't explain how I felt. To think that these things still happen, people killing baby girls because they want boys, deem them more profitable or whatever? Sad. I hear of these things even in Nigeria and I wonder what kind of people think like this, let alone commit such atrocities. Na wa o!

Here's the TV show on Female infanticide.

I feel like I can make a difference. Like we all can. In our own little way.

Roy

Outrageous Courageous and FireGoofs!

noreply@blogger.com (Roy) — Wed, 12 Dec 2012 17:49:00 +0000

So I really love all the movies by the Kendrick Brothers. Fireproof was great, courageous was even better! I've watched these movies like 10 + X times already. I like the fact that they are wholesome with great messages for the family. God bless Sherwood pictures. Ya'll are doing a phenomenal job!

So I found these silly video of the making of courageous. It's filed with bloopers and jokes and funny dancing and stuff. It's great to see how these films are made...and to think they work with mostly volunteers and a low budget. Nice!

For those of you who appreciate these movies, more films are coming from Affirm Films (owned by Sony Pictures). Great christian movies with awesome messages. You should look out for them.

Here's the funny courageous video... Enjoy!

Here's another silly video of the making of Fireproof. Does any one recognise a mock scene from Facing the Giants? That is just hilarious!

And Kirk Cameron just inspires me. Watch...

I just love these guys and what they're doing. :)

Roy!

Tochi Eze: Waiting for Isaac!

noreply@blogger.com (Roy) — Mon, 29 Oct 2012 20:06:00 +0000

I read this note written by Leading Lady Tochi Eze, my friend, sister and personal person for whose headache I will joyfully take Panadol. hehehe :) That's Tochi speak, if you ever heard one!

Anyway, I read the note and I nodded hard till I felt my brains rattle in my head. You'll understand what I mean when you read it. 2012 is almost over...I rest my case.

Tochi at a Selah Inspirational event

Waiting for Isaac!

It's the 10th month of the year o, just incase you have not noticed, 2012 has almost finished! That's right; now is a good time to take stock and balance account...or perhaps for someone, now is your convenient time to panic!

Like seriously, what have I been doing?!!! Those were my thoughts three weeks ago; tucked away in my room, on a late saturday evening, sulking away in familiar despair, hanging out with demons of depression and almost enjoying their company. I have always been a dramatic melancholy, so it's always easy for me to paint dramatic pictures of doom in my head and fall into the lead role. Honestly, na Jesus dey slow me down!

What my problem was? Simple...Isaac. The Isaac matter. Relax; I'm sure you think I am talking about a Man...(You no see yourself) hehehe.

I had spent over 9 months waiting for Isaac and I couldn't stand the ambience of the waiting room any longer. I panicked!!! Isaac; the child of the promise! Isaac; the child of laughter, Isaac; the proof of my visitation, Isaac; the defiance of natural laws and human logic, Isaac; the assurance that I am not barren, Isaac; my seed of posterity!!!

My mind did a time travel, and I quickly recollected the boisterous excitement and thunderous applause as we all cheered on in the place of worship...The shepherd had just announced to us that 2012 was going to be our year of laughter. The congregation keyed in Faith, the expectation of the future was almost a physical cheque you could cash in a bank, and in the midst of tight hugs that threatened to squeeze the air out of your lungs and firm handshakes from the sweaty palms of strangers, I knew without a doubt, that 2012...I would bear Isaac!!!

So imagine my horror as the months went by, with friends testifying about the authentic reality of God's sure word...I began to feel like the blacksheep of the Christian family. (What; I told you I could be quite the melancholic).

But this is it! In the action movie of my negative thoughts, just as I was about to pull the trigger on the character I was playing in this self deluding script, just as I was going to write off myself and write off my year...I saw Light!!!

As in Nepa literally brought light. But the light that hit my bulb did not travel on it's own...It came with a certain measure of hope, It came with strength, clarity and a warm mushy feeling in the pit of my belly!!!

So it is this same hope that I have come to share with you...To live Life without Faith, without expectation is like going to bed at night without expecting the sun to rise in the morning. It is a certain death on it's own! To stand aloof in complacency and succumb your emotions to the events of chance as you physically see it is like embarking on a mission of self destruction.

Will a player disqualify himself from the match because he hasn't scored any goals? Do you stop your push-ups simply because you haven't seen the six packs yet? Even if you do, does it mean the muscles were not building underneath your skin?!

In truth, Isaac may seem like a distant echo, a vague memory, an idea lost in the sea of life, By this 10th month October, what has your Isaac become? Wishful thinking or a faint whisper? Have you moved on to more 'practical goals? Remember that Convenience has never been the path thread by Champions!!

Sweetheart, Ore mi, Beloved, Stranger or Stalker, Ndi otumokpo...feel free to categorize yourself! *hehehe (na joke o), Don't give up on God's promise...don't insult him with a filthy slap of unbelief. Even though there is nothing in your logical mind to prepare you for it, Isaac is going to come! You know why? Simple; God said so.

Life can really be that simple, we can go to bed resting on the pillow of God's promise...because no matter how long the night is and how loud the darkness makes her boast, morning will still come and the Sun will radiate brilliant glory...You know why?...Exactly! Because God said so!!!

I love you jare.

With 2 fingers in ah d air,

October 2012

Tochi is a writer, Author, Speaker and Social entrepreneur. She is the Chief Efficiency Officer at Selah Inspirational.

@tochi5

www.facebook.com/tochi.eze.9

http://www.selahinspirational.com

So, do you feel a little trepidation that the year zoomed past and now it's almost over? Then re-read Tochi's last paragraph. :)

Roy.

So I'm supposed to be a Versatile Blogger O...

noreply@blogger.com (Roy) — Wed, 10 Oct 2012 11:58:00 +0000

Relentless Builder gave me the Versatile Blogger Award. I feel guilty sha, because I have not been blogging with diligence (Sounds like christianese, abi? hehehe )

Thanks Relentless, for passing the award to me. However, I apologise before hand because I doubt I'd be able to fulfill all the requirements. I shall try though. Here goes.

Here are the rules for accepting the award;

Thank the blogger that nominated me (done)
Share 7 Random facts about myself
Nominate 15 bloggers who are relatively new to blogging
Let the nominated bloggers know they have been nominated

So here are 7 random facts about moi :)

1. I can watch a movie a hundred times!!! Seriously i can. As long as i really like it, i can watch it over and over and over again. Some of my friends think i'm crazy but hey na me be dat. Case in point, 3 idiots! I must have seen that movie a gazillion times already. *sigh*

2. I am an introvert. Okay thats no news abi? Well just had to say it. I'm energized and more creative when I work alone. I get physically drained when I move around lots of people for extended periods of time. Ask my colleague Susan Cain, she understands lol!

3. I hate honey. I know its hard to believe. Sweet as it is honey nauseates me.

4. I'm so not a morning person. I can stay up late working, playing, watching movies anything but when the first rays of light break through the sky, I change gears in la-la land.

5. I still want to marry a rich man who will buy me a house by the sea, provide all I need and I will send the rest of my life just writing. *sigh*

6. Aal izz Well is my favourite song right now. (3 idiots again!) Sue me *grins*

7. I still love God more than anything in the world. Cant get past what He's done for me. I'm sold!

8. Okay this is an extra. I love Mandisa!!!! Do ya'll know her? She's this awesome sister who was on American Idol some seasons ago and Ryan Seacrest used to call her ManDIVA! She's a full fledged artist now with awesome songs like Good Morning, Stronger, He is with you and many more. She's just too much. I follow her on facebook and she always inspires me. Plus she has changed a lot since American Idol; used to be really overweight now she has lost all that and never stops sharing her story. Hmmm, she just rocks!

So those are random facts you may or may not have known about Roylicious :).

Well about the next part, I haven't been around blogs a lot these past few months but these are a few I'd like to pass on the award to.

Cee

Roy!

So I'm An Introvert, Now What?? (Jobberman and Time Magazine speak)

noreply@blogger.com (Roy) — Wed, 03 Oct 2012 20:10:00 +0000

blog.social-marketing.com

Yes. I am an introvert and if you're like me you've probably been through the "Lord, why did you create me thus?'" phase.

It can be most unnerving to find that words elude you when you need them most. Or the fact that crowds and activity draws energy from you while others thrive on them. Or you mentally relive a conversation or moment where you should have spoken up more, given that person a piece of your mind instead of standing there like a stick figure. :( The list is longgg.

So what's an introvert body to do in this jet age, especially as per careers where it's a dog eat dog world and you have to speak up or get left behind? Well, I bumped into an article by Jobberman that made sense. The meat of it was how to sell yourself and succeed at a career (that seems to be tailor made for extroverts) despite being an introvert. Below is a short excerpt of the piece. Find the full article HERE

You are shy and introverted; you always seem to be at loss for words when you need the words most. And you are concerned, even worried that your career choice needs a certain level of being extroverted. So, how do you sell yourself seeing that you are such a shy person?

Three points were mentioned:

1. Know your audience very well: Make sure you understand the kind of people you want to sell yourself to, what they are interested in, what makes them tick, what businesses they are involved in etc.Research is therefore very essential.

2. Use your wealth of knowledge as your weapon against shyness: position yourself in your friend and family members’ mind as the go-to person on that industry and subject matter. Gradually, begin to talk to people outside your circle as you meet them, on the knowledge you have. For example, you know a lot about social media and you want to be positioned as someone who is vast in career fields related to social media. Let your conversations with people and problems create awareness in their minds that you know a lot about the subject matter. Pick up words and conversations in the line of that career and job, and talk about it.

3. Use other non-verbal platforms to sell yourself: Blog, be active on social media networks, get on the professional network platforms and build conversations around your business, job and career path.

Emphasis was:- Be an expert, become known as an expert and build relationships.

Another article I really like was written by Bryan Walsh of TIME Magazine. According to him there's an Upside to being an introvert. Although he started his article by examining the different ways in which the world system seems to be in favour of the extrovert. I particularly like this paragraph;

Simply being an introvert can also feel taxing--especially in America, land of the loud and home of the talkative. From classrooms built around group learning to open-plan offices that encourage endless meetings, it sometimes seems that the quality of your work has less value than the volume of your voice. *Ouch!*

Download #klo3 for free!+ Mazi Nwonwu reviews the City Issue of Klorofyl Mag

noreply@blogger.com (Roy) — Wed, 26 Sep 2012 21:38:00 +0000

Mazi Nwonwu reviewed the City Issue of Klorofyl. Below are his thoughts.

If you're like me and patience is not your middle name, sharp sharp download your free copy of #Klo3 Here :)

Don't forget to drop your feedback @ feedback@klorofyl.com.

Now to the review. :)

Klorofyl Magazine’s City Issue and the Modern Reader

Writing a review is not as easy as people think. It is not just about reading, viewing or listening to a work of art and writing glowingly about it, or dismissing it with a few strokes of the pen, or key strokes, as it is these days. True, you approach some reviews with care, especially when the artist is friend or family and a bad review may put paid to the economic success of their artistic expression, however a good reviewer knows to tell the truth at all times. No, this is not as impossible as it sounds. Since a review is about the good and the bad of a product, any product, a good reviewer can either focus on the good more than the bad or the other way round. This way, the truth is told and the reviewer gets to keep his integrity.

To tell the truth, it is easier writing good reviews than bad reviews and this is primarily because it is easier reading, viewing or listening to good works of art than not. I don’t see myself as a reviewer, not a professional anyway. I am in simple words a consumer who has answered the call to provide feedback on works of art I come across and feel strongly about.

Of late, there have been calls for artists, especially writers, to embrace the peculiarities of the internet, to create platforms that will pander to the dictates of modern living, to take the short attention span of the multitasking internet user into consideration, to evolve with the times. Many online publications have tried this, but most seem to lack that special thing that captures the essence of the advice. These failures may have more to do with not understanding what is needed, than with anything else.

The meat of all these talk about reviews, attention spans and the internet generation isKlorofyl. Klorofyl is one of those answers you seek, those ones you know lie somewhere at the back of your mind and yet can’t grasp, those ones you touch but can’t recall for the life of you, until GBAM!

Klorofyl is a digital magazine that hits you from the first page and gifts you a Eureka moment. You think, this should be me, I should have thought of this, this is my idea of an online magazine. It is funny, but the truth is that you never really thought about it, but the concept is one of those simple ones that must have taken serious thought and planning to achieve.

I didn’t know about Klorofyl—beyond a mention here and there—before I got the third edition via a writer friend who was featured in it. This third edition, “the city issue”, appears to be a continuation of the magazine’s focus on literary and graphic art and it does it with aplomb. If the fluidity of the “Captains Log” that introduces you to the magazine does not convince you this magazine takes its topic serious, the beautifully done cityscape of the content page should. You know, just as you feel it: this is one of those outstanding ones.

The theme is city and the writers, photographers, poets and graphic artists that Klorofyl collected, delivered one of the best odes to the concrete forest that I have seen in a long while. Jibola Lawal begins the offerings with an evocative picture of school girls probably on their way home from school and an endearing flash fiction “The Bariga Philharmonic”, a story of the city of Lagos at night, of the humming of the mosquitoes, vigilante gongs, snoring spouses, and generator buzzing- all that makes for an annoying harmonic.

This flash fiction effectively opens the book and the beauty it conveys is replicated across the magazine. Story after story, picture after picture, Klorofyl celebrates the city in a myriad of ways that are beautiful and redolent in their familiarity.

This edition, as I said before, is dedicated to the city and the treatment is classic. Tosin Otitoju, Dami Ajayi and Olatunde Asagba used poetry to express the theme and gifted us beautiful poems that could only have come from poets of their statue.

The arrangement of pictures was thoughtfully done and complimented the essays and flash fictions. An example is how Segun Alawode’s photo treatment of Lagos traffic on a rainy day opens for Sylva Nze Ifedigbo’s poignant creative non-fiction piece “Rains in the City.”

The general idea, I feel, is a conscious effort to engage with the reader through beautiful prose, poetry and visuals. The attempt in my opinion is a resounding success. The stories are short, very short, and there is no monotony to it. The photo essay on Makoko byLeke Alabi-Isama was exquisite, same for the essay on New York by Olubunmi Ode,David T Msimanga’s “A Day in Town” Olatukunbo Ayorinde’s “Rising”, and so on and so forth.

Klorofyl’s City issue may have Nigerian leaning, but it is not overly so, not that that can be helped as most of the contributors are Nigerian, but the magazine still manages to evoke a global appeal as it touches South Africa, Zimbabwe and Asia.

There was nothing not to like about this magazine, at least I am still searching for something not to like.

The truth is that liking or not liking an artistic work should be determined by individual tastes. However, in this age of multi-tasking, that burden has been passed on to the reviewer. The reviewer is supposed to make that choice for others. You read, view or listen to an artist’s creation and you pass judgments. It is this judgement that is difficult.

For Klorofyl, I have a a judgement and it is thus: A high quality magazine tailored for the multi-tasking reader whose attention span is limited.

For the City Issue I say, Exquisite!

@mazinwonwu

http://7venhillsmedia.wordpress.com

What Have I Been Up To?

noreply@blogger.com (Roy) — Tue, 11 Sep 2012 16:46:00 +0000

I woke up today wishing I were a poet. I wanted to write a poem on how crazy life can be. The ups, the downs, the demands, unexpected twists and all. All I came up with was...

Life is...crazy.

Lol!

I'm so not a poet. :(

Well, on to other things.

ONE

Klorofyl Mag, that awesome online literary and graphic lifestyle magazine with urban and African roots, is set to launch it's City Issue on September 15, 2012! It's totally awesome again this issue. The design, the graphics, the photography, the stories, the poems...all out of this world! I am so proud to be associated with this work! You'll find my story in there somewhere :)

You can visit the Klorofyl Mag WEBSITE and you'll come away impressed, I can ~~ashuwa~~ assure you! :)

Congrats to one of my many bosses, Tolu Oloruntoba, the editor of Klorofyl Magazine.

Here's the cover image.

TWO

My story "When Grandpa came to stay was shortlisted for the Ugreen Foundation sponsored Creative Wings Prize. See the link HERE.

I hope I win something. :)

Cheers people!

Have a great September!

Roy.

He Is With You by MANDISA encourages me!

noreply@blogger.com (Roy) — Wed, 08 Aug 2012 20:13:00 +0000

He is with you By Mandisa (Lyrics)

There's a time to live

And a time to die

There's a time to laugh

And a time to cry

There's a time for war

And a time for peace

There's a hand to hold

In the worst of things

He is with you when your faith is dead

And you can't even get out of bed

Or your husband doesn't kiss you anymore

He is with you when your baby's gone

And your house is still

And your hearts are stone

Crying "God what'd you do that for?"

He is with you

There's a time for yes

And a time for no

There's a time to be angry

And a time to let it go

There's a time to run

And a time to face it

There's love to see you through all of this

Through all of this

He is with you in the conference room

When the world is coming down on you

And your wife and kids don't know you anymore

And He is with you in the ICU when the doctors don't know what to do

And it scares you to the core

He is with you

We may weep for a time but joy will come in the morning

The morning light

He is with you when your kids are grown

When there's too much space and you feel alone

And your worried if you got it right or wrong

Yes He is with you when you've given up on ever finding your true love

Someone who feels like home

He is with you

When nothing else is left and you take your final breath

He is with you

************

Awesome Song!

Roy.

And You Thought You Were Nice

noreply@blogger.com (Roy) — Fri, 13 Jul 2012 21:23:00 +0000

http://madamenoire.com

First published on YouFLYMag

♥

There’s something about committed romantic relationships that just bring out the best (and worst!) in you. Romantic because that’s the closest you’ll ever get to another human being. Committed because somehow you’ve gone past the stage of thriving on impressions and fantasies; you’re living the real thing. That’s when you notice the awkward way he laughs, or the annoying way she chews her food. You become less patient with her inability to keep to time like you did when you just wanted to impress her and seem accommodating. You’re angry, you’re arguing, and refusing to let little things slip by. Congratulations! Now you’re in a relationship.

If you’re like me, you start to feel like an unwilling little monster and you wonder where the real you went. You probably have always thought of yourself as nice, sweet, easy going, understanding and really accommodating. And maybe you are. It’s just that you never imagined that you’d have any ‘issues’ with the love of your life. After all you get along well with everyone else at the office and at home; you’re even nice to strangers and everybody talks about what an amazing person you are!

Why can’t your relationship be less demanding?

Well, it’s something I call the law of proximity. The closer it is to you the less patience you have to deal with it. You just do not expect that such crude behaviour be exhibited by someone so close and dear to you. This is further heightened by the fact that you’re in each other’s faces most of the time. And of course there’s that connection and chemistry that somehow demands better.

Relax, really, it’s normal.

Well, almost.

If you’re fighting over everything and can’t see eye to eye about anything (how did ya’ll hook up in the first place?) you may have to critically appraise the whole thing.

But if you’re sincerely both giving your best but still see those flaws, you’re just human. The truth is there isn’t any such thing as sunshine, roses and loving all the time. Well, yes, you love your partner no matter what but the ‘feeling’ of love doesn’t really have a mind of its own. It’s simple; you ‘feel’ more loving towards your beau when he’s on his best behaviour. You ‘feel’ like giving your sweetheart a warm hug when she’s just a real good girl. But then she gets cranky or upset about the plates you left unwashed since last night and you ‘feel’ like storming out and hanging with the boys. Or he forgets your appointment and you ‘feel’ like giving him the silent treatment. Get the point?

It is life’s way of forcing you to grow in your relationship. Looking at life through rose coloured glasses doesn’t do anybody any good. You’re going be living with a real person the rest of your life not some Barbie doll that’s never going to change, fart, or annoy you. And yes he won’t always do everything right.

It is the way of the world. We adjust, we understand, we compromise, we love, we care, we fight, we make up, we live…

If not, then what’s the point?

Roy

LeAndria Johnson!!!!

noreply@blogger.com (Roy) — Thu, 21 Jun 2012 21:25:00 +0000

I'm speechless!!

I saw LeAndria's audition on Sunday Best. She walked in wearing white socks on flip flops. She was at a low point in her life. But today a grammy award and many trials and victories later, she's still awesome, awesome, awesome. God bless her real good. She inspires me! She's so passionate about Jesus I wonder what I'm doing.

Don't ever give up people. God's promise and word in your life is a seed. It will surely manifest!

Please watch this video!

Roy.

Random Bits: 2 Videos, 1 Link and my Favourite Websites!

noreply@blogger.com (Roy) — Thu, 14 Jun 2012 21:21:00 +0000

Hi People! Just thought to share some stuff with you.

I look around a lot and when I see something that's great, I like to acknowledge it. :)

I'll start with two websites I really, really, really, really, really loooove! That's:

Tracy Chapman's and Ajay Devgan's websites! They're totally awesome. Whoever designed those websites should be given an award. My opinion.

Also....

Gospel according to Saint Farouk!
It's a really Hilarious article I found and I couldn't help but share. My lips are sealed about the content but the delivery is just hilarious! That's the only word that comes to mind. Here it is. Let me know what you think.

Now two videos :)

Yeah, you guessed wright! It's Just Wright!! Great movie. Queen Latifah nailed it.

and

This is Phillip Phillips' american idol audition. I truly, truly had a goood gut feeling about that dude when I saw this audition at the beginning of the season. I couldn't follow through on watching the whole season but I was not surprised when he won! He walked into that room looking like he was just dressed for strolling around a park and look at him now. Amazing.

Well, thats all for now :)

And I'll just leave you with one word, no matter how hard it looks, no matter how fearful you may be feeling, try.. Always try. better to die trying than remain on the sidelines.

Cheers!

Roy

Be Comforted, Nigeria

noreply@blogger.com (Roy) — Mon, 04 Jun 2012 11:27:00 +0000

RIP

We have to keep going and hope, for the memories of the dearly departed, that we can yet make something out of the mess we find ourselves in.

I can only imagine the pain and hurt families are going through right now because of the sad, sad events over the weekend in Nigeria. Statistics get a life of their own when we see a name, a face, a family we recognise or know on the victim list.

May the good Lord comfort and speak peace to everyone affected, like only He can.

For the rest of us, it is a wakeup call (and this is not a cliche) All we think we are, know and own ceases to be important when death knocks.

God is the only constant. And any one who knows and follows Him is a winner any day, whether he lives or dies. Make that decision today. Join the family of the One who holds everything. If we're wrong, you lose nothing, but since we're right, you'll gain eternity in His presence.

God Bless, Comfort and Heal Nigeria.

Roy.

Check That Bulb Girl! (As posted on Femmelounge)

noreply@blogger.com (Roy) — Mon, 28 May 2012 13:13:00 +0000

Hi People,

Please click the link below to read my piece on Femmelounge today. It's all about Inspiration!

Check That Bulb Girl!

Win a free Copy of the Naijastories Anthology on Royspace!

noreply@blogger.com (Roy) — Tue, 10 Apr 2012 19:30:00 +0000

Hi People,

So the Naijastories Anthology is still on sale, have you got a copy? If you haven’t here’s your chance.

I will be giving out three free copies of the anthology here. All you have to do is answer any of the questions below:

Name twenty-five of the thirty authors who make up the anthology J

State the title of my story and write a short love story of your own below 150 words. Be sure to use Tobi and Chibuzo as the main characters just like in my story. J

Send your answers to leroy7.18@gmail.com

This little contest closes on Saturday the 14^th of April.

I’m excited about the Anthology really and I’m particularly grateful to God for Myne Whitman, a true trailblazer and wonderful boss! Thanks Myne, I appreciate the leader in you!

Thanks for being a part of my space people and I hope you win a free copy!

Cheers!

Roy

Naijastories Anthology: A review 2

noreply@blogger.com (Roy) — Tue, 27 Mar 2012 16:24:00 +0000

The First Volume of the Naijastories Anthology, of tears and kisses, heroes and villains, launches today March 27th, 2012.
Here's another review by Tolu Oloruntoba, Publisher of Klorofyl Magazine.
Enjoy!

The NS Anthology: Of tears, kisses, heroes and villains, and might I add, empathy.

Why do we love Nigerian stories? Those tales of the improbable, the fantastic, the quotidian? These fountains of dramatic justice bubbling with every emotion known to man? Nigerians are born raconteurs, you see? We'll dip you into it, willing or not.

What makes a good story? We forget ourselves in the instant. We abandon decorum. Clapping and cheering for the dramatis personae. Shrieks of horror, or delight may escape us. We laugh, cry and sniffle, sometimes in spite of ourselves. We're at the edge of our seat, at times. We let out the occasional involuntary chuckle.
A good story is like the unrehearsed banter of a mischievous friend, the earnest storyteller. And like most Nigerian stories, has a moral- an agenda, if you will. And surprises aplenty. Most Nigerian stories abandon the fluff and reach directly for the good stuff: our heart strings. I suspect, too, that this is why Nollywood is so loved, world over. It interacts with the basic motivations of us story-loving humans.

This is not to suggest that the offerings in the anthology are basic.Far from it. The first volume of Naija Stories contains stories, as the rider goes, "of tears, kisses, heroes and villains", is nuanced with the contradictions, unseen difficulties, and surprising turns in the road that we have found life in Nigeria replete with. The anthology of 30 stories will be launched on the 27th of March, 2012, although digital copies can be procured already.

It is true to life, examining issues, horrors and concerns of the day, and our national lives: Militancy in the Niger Delta, murder and armed robbery, corruption, sexual abuse, cultism, child marriage, (unsafe) abortion, prostitution, mortalities from AIDS, and sectarian violence. It also, however, speaks of bereavement; love, lust and adultery; family; peer pressure and rivalry; long distance relationships; over-salted food, and the kindness of strangers. It's not all gore. We still recognise our country.

The authors live in Lagos, Abuja, Ilorin, Kaduna, Port Harcourt, and Niger State, but also Canada, London, The US and the Netherlands. Theirs are voices of the new, cosmopolitan Nigerian youth.
We recognise, too, the dialogue, and settings. Very congruent with our authentic, emotive patterns of speech, and which manage, in several instances, not to look contrived. We recognise these voices. We are the ones speaking.

The anthology is a snapshot of that most elemental of artistic forms: the Nigerian story. Rising above the fray, however, are several pieces I will highlight, which I found striking and unforgettable for several reasons.
The anthology begins with A Glimpse In The Mirror. Yejide Kilanko's touching tale of a young coffin-maker moistened my eyes at some point (I could be a softy, I know J). Other striking stories were, Mother Of Darkness, by Rayo Abe, a supernatural tale of teenage 'experimentation' with the occult; Blame It On A Yellow Dress, by Uche Okonkwo, which approximates the innocence and violation of a little girl at home, from the viewpoint of the child; and Damilola Ashaolu's poetic cadences of illicit love in Nothing Good, which are nothing, if not good (you'll excuse the pun).

Others include Adiba Obubo's Visiting Admiral John Bull, which explores the armed insurgency in the Niger Delta, a lawyer's disillusionment with peaceful dialogue, and the fallout from hideous acts of the 1999 Odi Massacre. What Theophilus Did, by Gboyega Otolorin is an immersive story, with particularly enjoyable dialogue. In Illusions Of Hope, Ola Awonubi reads, true, the pulse of a populace gripped by uncertainty and insecurity, and the editor of the volume, Myne Whitman, writes of an essential kind of courage, in A Kind Of Bravery.
Two Straws In A Bottle, Remi-Roy Oyeyemi's mellow romantic tale, ends with quite a flourish; Wiping Halima's Tears is simple, yet poignant; and in Meena Adekoya's story of a vengeful Abiku in Catalyst, you'll likely find an interesting read.

My absolute best of these stories, however were Tola Odejayi's Co-operate!, of a midnight encounter with armed robbers that unfolds, and ends in unexpected fashion, for everyone; Lulufa Vongtau's short, pithy and cheeky Jesus Of Sports Hall, an adolescent story that still ends up being a grave indictment of our society at large; and Rachel's Hero by Henry Onyema, an action story complete with grenades, Uzis, masked men, and one desperado Bruce Willis type, is a hackle-raising tale of heroism, and maniacal terrorists besieging a school.

The volume ends with a heart-pounding thriller/horror story– by Raymond Elenwoke- The Devil's Barter, which leaves us like we were at the end of tales by moonlight, the Nigerian Stories we grew up on- excited, and wondering, probably, when the next will come.

The longest of these stories come in at about 13 pages, while the shortest average about 2 to 3. The disparity is somewhat worrying, though. There doesn't seem to be a followed convention on length, and there are several pieces that could work just as well, or better, at a third of their current length. Segmentation across themes, or better navigation across stories, particularly with a more coherent contents page, or perhaps numbering the stories or introducing them with a synopsis in the contents, would also have served the layout of the book better. One may not be interested in reading back to back, but maybe I'm just speaking for myself.

I may not have been crazy about the cover design and was irked by the odd typo, several instances of worn expressions, and the occasional dead-end story, but I found gems, and pleasant surprises, as you will, too. Very often, the stream of the narrative rises to very admirable heights, and the one thing you cannot say, is that these stories were told without heart. It's a fairly accurate portraiture of the lives of Nigerians, as they are currently lived, and a reasonably enjoyable aggregation of our stories. And, find it palatable, agreeable, or not, you cannot deny that it speaks truth. Could a greater compliment be paid?

Tolu Oloruntoba is a physician, prosist and the publisher of Klorofyl Magazine.

Sent from my BlackBerry wireless device from MTN

Naijastories Anthology: A review 1

noreply@blogger.com (Roy) — Tue, 27 Mar 2012 14:17:00 +0000

The First Volume of the Naijastories Anthology, Of Tears and Kisses, Heroes and Villains, launches today March 27th, 2012.

Below is a review by Abayomi Ogunwale.
Enjoy!

THE NS ANTHOLOGY: A SHORT REVIEW

Short stories are truly one of life’s understated gifts; and a well spun tale in the hand of a skilled writer has within it enough power to amaze and transfom us. But stories -good stories- are also like desperate suitors; they turn you in, out, and around with their advances. Compiling a perfect anthology is therefore a difficult undertaking, akin to the task of designing a hostel where all a woman’s suitors can comfortably co-habit, and allow her to transit, unhurt. It is difficult, the task. In two hundred and forty-eight pages, the NS Anthology made it look all so easy.

From the moment I stepped into Durosinmi’s coffin- making workshop in Yejide Kilanko’s ‘‘a glimpse in the mirror’’, I knew I was in for a delightful journey. And even though you feel a little offended and betrayed by Kilanko’s skillful arrangement of Durosinmi’s final plunge, you feel the need to forgive her only because her voice leads you into the arms of another guide: Salatu Sule. ‘‘If tears could speak’’, they would surely fail to match Sule’s eloquently executed coup de grâce. He delivered a sad story in a language that makes you happy. That must be illegal, the execution maybe.

The socially instructive message in Seun Odukoya’s ‘‘Can I please Kill you’’ was well balanced out by the equally well delivered, though lighter prose of Uko Bendi Uko in ‘‘One Sunday morning in Atlanta’’. Such is the authority of the writing that, you feel a certain kinship with Okon; and his words seem to proceed from a part of you.

Rayo Abe Delivered. Her story ‘‘the mother of darkness’’ takes you right back to secondary school. There is something beautiful and even enviable in that ability to capture and sequester all the emotions of a life-phase into one story. The mother of darkness will scare you a bit. But not when you are reading it. The fear comes after you leave the story.

Babatunde Olaifa’s ‘‘Showdown at Rowe Park ’’ is a short read. What it lacks in lenght is adequately compensated for in the vivid and hilarious language of its delivery.

‘‘Blame it on a yellow dress’’ is a story of loss; the loss of innocence. The frail looking Uche Okonkwo writes in a language that belies her phizog. She indicts too; she calls us to more vigilance.

Time would not allow me to tell of the healing humor of Bankole Banjo’s ‘‘the writer’s cinema’’, or of the amorous leanings of Ugoji’s ‘‘seeing off kisses’’, or even of the sobering message in Odeshilo’s ‘‘too late’’. Obudo will compel you along in ‘‘visiting Admiral John Bull’’, and the dark politics of the Niger-Delta Oil Struggle. Otolorin and Vongtau both command admiration, but in different ways: one, in a short Hilarious story, and the other in a more serious but tight prose. Iruene and Lawal will also make you laugh, while Ezenwaka and Awonubi explored more challenging genres with amazing craftiness.

Whitman and Oyeyemi remind you of their quality, with two mature deliveries: ‘‘a kind of Bravery, and ‘‘Two straws in a bottle’’. I stand, hands facing one another; I applaud.

Unfortunately, I do not have the required space and words to comment sufficiently on Ashaolu’s, Osinowo’s, Adekoya’s,Onyema’s, Ilevbare’s, Chukwubuike’s, Turtoe’s, Osi’s, and Elenwoke’s deliveries; a honor that their talent undoubtedly deserve, and which the reader of the NS Anthology will realize at first glance.

The NS Anthology is not perfect; there is no perfect anthology anywhere, no perfect collage in the world. But it is good. Sitting here and typing this review, I know how it feels to read through and summarize a very good book: content, excited and honored. That summarizes the emotions I wish to convey to the fortunate reader who will get a copy of the book. I wish I could, in Oyeyemi’s words ‘‘now to find the words to seal the deal!’’

***

Abayomi Ogunwale is a writer, medical doctor, poet and social commentator. His articles have appeared in the Sentinel Literary quarterly, Subjective Substance, Firsteditions and the Sun Newspaper amongst others. He is currently studying in Texas, USA and working on his anthology of short stories.

Sent from my BlackBerry wireless device from MTN

Naijastories Anthology and My Favourite Things To Watch!

noreply@blogger.com (Roy) — Tue, 20 Mar 2012 18:36:00 +0000

Hi People!

How you doing out there? I have good news. The Naijastories Anthology has been released! Click on the NS ebook on the right to read more. Will post more reviews and stuff before MARCH 27th the official launch date.

For now though, just wanted to share some of my favourite things to watch with you.
Enjoy!

Jamie Grace, she's really young and I like her voice.

I originally wanted to post Francesca Batistelli's Beautiful, Beautiful Video, but I found it hard, so this is Free to be me; just as great as this young woman after God's heart.

Courageous!! Please watch this movie. Thanks to my boss I didn't watch a pirated copy *tongue out*

But seriously, everyone should watch it. It's great, inspiring and totally awesome!

Okay! I have watched this movie gazillion times already and it never fails to make me laugh and cry and laugh some more. I totally love it. It's not new though, but please see it if you haven't.

That's all folks.

Enjoy!

Roy.

Unreserved, Unconditional, Unqualified ....

noreply@blogger.com (Roy) — Thu, 16 Feb 2012 16:13:00 +0000

I cannot get over the many times that He overlooks my faults when I come to Him. The seventy-times-seven times that He forgives and washes and cleanses and hugs and holds and assures and blesses and forgives again, washing and cleansing and hugging and holding and.... Thank you Jesus...

♥♥♥♥♥

Kolade, the whole gang and I had been caught. And I hated that it was Mrs. Orosi, the long necked mathematics teacher cum house mistress, who crept up on us. How had she known? She probably heard the dorm door open. The thing always squeaked no matter how gentle you were.

We knelt in the staff room the next day, our hands stretched up to the sky. What I hated most about the punishment was the way my armpits were exposed when I raised my arms. Those annoying male teachers will ogle me like I am some slab of meat at Balogun market.

Their punishment meant nothing to me. They could say whatever they wanted. Last night had been fun. It was my third time of going out of the school compound with the gang and I felt so proud to have had a partner this time. It was like being married, but not entirely. Kolade acted like a gentleman. I wonder who taught him to be so suave; his older brothers probably. He told me he had three of them! Shade and Kenneth were the star couple, but I didn’t envy them.

My mouth curved in a smile as I thought of the events of the night before, oblivious to the teachers’ remarks about silly children who were too eager to eat the forbidden fruit. One said ‘Their parents are to blame!’ Another said, ‘Ha! It is peer pressure o!’ I chuckled at their confusion. Whatever.

Then I heard that familiar sound of a shoe sole scraping the floor and I looked toward the door. My eyes widened when I saw her. My heart did a triple jump and slammed against my ribcage. Who had called her? How had she come so soon, all the way from Badagry? I looked away hurriedly and buried my face in my chest, willing her to disappear. I didn’t want to see the look on her face. The one that said she was disappointed in me. The one that accused me, yet pleaded with me at the same time. I hated to hurt her. And when she spoke I knew I couldn't wish her away. She was really here.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Akpan,” she greeted the head teacher.

Her voice had that slight tremor in it. The one that turned to a full blown quiver anytime she was sad or upset. The same one that sent daggers tearing through my adolescent heart. Oh, God I hated to hurt her.

She stood in front of me and bent down to peer into my face. My lips quivered at the look in her eyes.

“Queen, Ki lo tun se?” she asked in halting Yoruba. I lowered my arms, clutched the cape of my uniform to my chest and sighed deeply, my face contorting in what was a prelude to tears. Her voice rang loud and clear in my head, like the ominous school bell announcing the beginning of Maths class. It sent dread into my soul.

“Why do you keep doing this kind of thing? After all I told you last time?” She bent closer to me and I could feel her breath on my face; her warm breath that both comforted and frightened me. I covered my face with both hands and wept, the tears flowed fast and free, running down my arms.

After what seemed like hours I heard the sound of her feet walking away as she said, “Mr. Akpan, if I beat her now, she will probably faint.” She knew the power she wielded over me. Yet I knew she loved me. I looked up at her just as she turned back at the door. “Please handle that for me, just be gentle,” she shook her head at me as if wondering how she came to be burdened with a daughter like me, “she’s all I've got.” She scraped the soles of her shoes on the floor again as she made her way out, probably to the car where Sule, the very docile driver would be waiting.

Two days later, on the first day of our mid-term break, I stepped into the house, unsure. I had agonized about seeing her again. I wondered what she would do. Would she punish me again? Would she beat me herself now? She would most certainly not have remembered my birthday the day before. She didn’t call the house mistress to ask to speak to me as usual. I had waited all day. Would she talk to me now? Ignore me? The questions chased themselves around in my mind till I was weary with the anxiety.

Naturally, I expected everything but the table set with delicacies and drinks and a huge birthday cake. Anything but the colourful card with my name emblazoned on it; everything but her wide smile as she gathered me into her arms, tenderly, like I was the best thing in the world. Tears pooled at the corner of my eyes and I didn’t even fight to keep them back from rolling down my cheeks and to my lips. I tasted the harsh saltiness of my misdeeds in those tears.

Later that night I turned to her as we sat watching TV, and asked the question that had been burning in my heart since she came to the school.

“You’re not sending me back?” I waited. She smiled; a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. I lowered my head and fiddled with the hem of my skirt. I wouldn’t blame her if she did. Maybe I was way past redemption now. I half expected her to say, ‘after your birthday.’

But she only shook her head and said, “No dear, you belong with me now. Surely you know that.”

A feeling of warmth flooded my heart. And I couldn’t help myself as my shoulders shook mildly, tears threatening to flow unbidden. Her words comforted me, frightened me, assured me and exposed my foolishness. The warmth in her voice reached beyond my mind, way past my soul. It touched the very core of my being. And I couldn’t help but remember what I had felt on that Sunday evening a few years ago when she stood at the orphanage smiling at me.

She had looked at me, a scrawny eighteen year old, left to scavenge her way through life; condemned to have no education or loving guidance because I was already set in my ways. I had felt her warmth reach out across the room, wrapping me in such love ad protection as I have never known. Her next words had sealed the deal and I was ready to follow her to the ends of the earth.

“Yes, she is the one. I will adopt her.”

Still I kept on fiddling with the hem of my skirt, vowing in my heart never to hurt her again. But even as I mulled the words over in my mind, I knew I needed more than my own will to follow through. I leaned into her and sighed, drinking in the freshness of her presence; the assurance of her thoughtfulness. I would keep her aura with me, I would think about her every time and hopefully, when my demons rise, I will fight them, and I will win.

♥♥♥♥♥

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..but you received the Spirit of Adoption (sonship) and by him we cry “Abba, Father!” Romans 8:15

Roy.

Something To Smile About + FemmeLounge

noreply@blogger.com (Roy) — Fri, 03 Feb 2012 07:57:00 +0000

Hello People!

I stumbled on this, it made me laugh! and I decided to share it here.

Just smile :)

Top 10 Sayings of Moms in the Bible

10. Samson! Get your hand out of that lion. You don't know where it's been!

9. David! I told you not to play in the house with that sling! Go practice your harp. We pay good money for those lessons!

8. Abraham! Stop wandering around the countryside and get home for supper!

7. Shadrach, Meshach and Abednego! I told you never to play with fire!

6. Cain! Get off your brother! You're going to kill him some day! (like duh!!)

5. Noah! No, you can't keep them! I told you, don't bring home any more strays!

4. Gideon! Have you been hiding in that wine press again? Look at your clothes! (Judges 6:11)

3. James and John! No more burping contests at the dinner table, please. People are going to call you the sons of thunder! (Mark 3:17)

2. Judas! Have you been in my purse again?! (He can't help it mum! heehaw!)

michz83.multiply.com

And the number one is:

1. Jesus! Stop working on that old wood and come in and eat! You'd spend your life on that wood, if your father asked ya to!* (And He did, Halleluyah!)

Serious one here ------ * Please note that the word "spend" isn't used in the sense of time, but in the sense of "giving his all" "being poured out."

Kinda reminds me of Sunday school days. :)

P.S. Last week I posted a flash piece on www.femmelounge.com ( a great online magazine for young women!) titled On The Brink: When Nothing Makes Sense.

If you haven't already, you can read it here http://www.femmelounge.org/?p=5091
I'm grateful to everyone who shared and left a comment. Thanks for the love!

Cheers!

Roy.

Happy New Year + A testimony!

noreply@blogger.com (Roy) — Fri, 06 Jan 2012 13:10:00 +0000

Happy New Year!

Phew! I'm very late, I know, but my wishes are sincere, believe me.
I'm praying you'll have a great year ahead. Much more fulfilling than any other before now.

I want to share a testimony with you. A real testimony if there ever was one.

One day, a group of people were having a meeting in an office complex. They were seated in one of the many conference rooms in the building. All of a sudden there was a loud, ominous bang and the walls of the complex came tumbling down. There was confusion everywhere, people running pell-mell trying to run for cover.

One of the men who had been in the conference room, was thrown in the air at the explosion. he landed with a heavy thud of the floor, a slab of concrete quickly landing on his belly, a dislodged table after it. In short he was buried under a pile of rubble. He was able to look beside him. and what did he see, his colleague who had been sitting beside him, dead. He looked to the right, same thing. Several of the people he had joked and laughed and talked with were lying around the room in different states on consciousness or lack of it. All he could mutter was 'Jesus, Jesus.'

He struggled to get to his feet and found his way outside where he gathered that a crazy fellow had rammed into the building and detonated a bomb, killing himself and several other occupants of the complex in the process.

He couldn't believe it. Some people were dead, their heads blown off. He was checked by paramedics and taken to the hospital. He wasn't bleeding and he only felt a slight pain in his belly. At the hospital he saw several injured people. Some with their arms and legs severed. He was in shock but he just wanted to get out.

The doctors checked him and didn't find any bruises or injuries but they knew he wasn't totally out of danger. After a while he started having serious pains in his belly. It got worse and I think he passed out.

Anyway, I can't remember the details clearly now but he got real bad and had to be taken to the general hospital. They were to perform a minor operation. After a while he got infected, his lungs, his kidney, his liver, the infection kept spreading.

He had to be flown to South Africa for further treatment. At some point he fell into a coma and was unresponsive for a whole month. He was hooked to several life support machines at the time.

While at the hospital, his wife kept praying and speaking the word over his life. She got a cup of water and prayed then anointed him with it. She couldn't get any oil. She rejected all the doctor's reports and kept speaking life over her husband.

A month later he suddenly opened his eyes and spoke. It was a miracle and the doctors called him the man with the nine lives. His wife was overjoyed, glad that she had not given up on the word that could save and deliver.

The man got better and then told the story of where he'd been (you know we're much more than our bodies right?) and what he'd seen during that one month.

He had been taken up by an angel. They ascended until he could see the earth. He also saw hell, and people suffering and in agony. He was then taken to heaven. and Jesus came and spoke to him.

I can't remember the details of their conversation now but it was something about Jesus asking him, "Will you come with me and be my friend?" Our friend said "Yes lord I will."

And angels sang in the background. He remembered the song clearly even when he woke up.

Our friend was discharged a month after this. He spent only two months in the hospital after the doctors predicted that he had only a slim chance of survival.

What an awesome testimony!

No. It isn't fiction. It happened. Like seriously. The man's name is Mr. Olukoga. He was one of the 'victims' (now Victor!) of the UN Abuja bomb blast last year.

He gave the testimony live at my church on 31st night, complete with pictures of him in the hospital, connected to several machines, tubes running everywhere.

I was stunned.

I do not doubt the power of my God to save and deliver. I'm just amazed at the ways He chooses to show His power.

The fool says in his heart that there is no God.

Na bible talk am!

Roy.