A LETTER TO THE BISHOP

My Lordship,

SITUATION REPORT ON THE JUST CONCLUDED CHILDREN, YOUTH/ADULT  HARVEST AND BAZAAR




First of all, I want to congratulate you for your recent installation as the bishop of this diocese. From your early days as a seminarian and even as a priest, I have known that you will do mighty exploits in the kingdom of God through the Roman Catholic Church, in that regard I say more flame to your fire.

The advent of the bazaar has been in anticipation by the parishioners and visitors for so long; in fact since December of last 2013. Chains of collection were mapped out by the bazaar’s offering architects. Collections were mostly made on last Sundays of the month. As a philosophical man or a salary payer to the church workers you will understand what I mean by ‘last Sunday of every month.’ After salaries must have been paid on Friday and still intact in the pocket waiting to be deposited in the bank on Monday, the catechist will mount the pulpit to say ‘brothers and sisters, glory glory to Jesus’, after our response he will plead with the congregation to generously donate for the success of the forthcoming harvest.

Those sitting in the front row, who may be completely filled with piety extravaganza would always rush out to give to the Lord, even before the announcement ends for the collection. This is usually accompanied with melodious songs from the 8:00am St. Cecilia’s choir. The call for second offertory kept coming on every Sunday from last year until March of this year. The bazaar-know-how committee had earlier addressed the church in April that second collection for the bazaar would be every Sunday and financial report about that Sunday’s collection would be given during announcement of the next Sundays.


His Lordship, after that announcement I bought a big brand new hard cover book and a carton of blue ink pen. I began to take records of each Sunday’s collection. Although it looked and seemed stupid, but I had to keep records because I  perceived a rat far away. I decided to play smart by keeping records for retrieval on the day of reckoning. My Lord, despite the stress of coming to church early and attending all masses every week to get a proper seat for clear listening from the faulty Public Address System for a good record of figures, I still made it. I got a detailed entry of all collections, thanksgivings and pledges that were made. Finally we waited for the day of all days, which was to us the parish’s Christmas.

October 26th’s alarm woke me up smiling like never before, after all the preparations to church; I endured all the sequential thanksgiving. We moved to the church hall which was the harvest event centre for the celebration of the season; although it was hilarious, I still took my record book, from the mass to the bazaar venue. I took a detailed record of sales and finally the event came to an end with the closing prayer by the Parish Pastoral Chairman.


Two weeks later, after all the bazaar trauma, I don’t know if I was in a trance or an illusion but probably it was real, one of the ex-bazaar committee members came out to say "dear parishioners we did not realize enough money from our previous harvest and bazaar, so please we need your unending donation." The whole congregation were astonished, and to my greatest surprise, NOBODY donated. My Lordship, you will probably know why I was day dreaming or startled, because I had the complete record at hand and the total amount of the millions in my head. Highly infuriated I stood up, went to the altar, took a slow bow, and I gave my personal financial records of the harvest/bazaar happenings because I felt  it was time for the congregation to know the truth about the actual amount of money that was realised. while I was announcing it, I saw the guilty ones burying their heads in shame while upholders of the truth applauded me. After my analysis, the Parish Priest ex-communicated me from the church as he considered my act inappropriate and ungodly.

As a man of high theological knowledge, I want you my Lord to be the Judge over this issues and intervene promptly.


Yours faithfully,
Adrian Danbaba.

A concerned ex-parishioner.

LOVE GONE SOUR

Love was the craziest thing that ever happened to me, yes! For starters like me, it shacked me more than star lager beer or Hennessy. You would not blame me, especially when you have a soul mate whom you think blends completely with you and the sight of him gives a cool and sweet flow of blood deep down through your vain that could be felt.



Mr. Tamtopopolis, my papa, who had an immeasurable amount of energy to farm sold all his farm produce and livestock for me to go to school and at least bear the title ‘graduate’ of a secondary school, which most Achinaka villagers couldn’t afford. After six years of rough studies in school and obtaining an O'level certificate, I started working as the community secretary in my village. Whenever I was leaving the house, popsy always told me to be careful; carefulness which he meant was not specific, as being an elder comes with wisdom. Most men were making passes at me, giving me 'dry' compliments, some would say 'chai asamnwa, asam mpete, ada mma', although most of those compliments excited me and even made me walk with my head up high with pride, I still tried to keep papa's words in mind.



Oga Parto liked me so much and he told me he would like me to be his twelfth wife, jokingly saying I would make the family to complete a dozen, but I never liked him. He kept stalking me and his sight disgusted me. I woke up one morning on an Eke market day to the loud noise of the flute and ogene which was playing in my compound, it was oga parto who came with his clans' men to meet papa. They told papa that they came to harvest the banana which papa planted and has been watering for years; with great anger, papa brought out his old gun, which he was awarded with as a colonel in the Biafran army, ordering them to leave the compound before the count of three. Immediately they left, the place became as quite as the Sahara desert.



Vex catch me sha o that papa drove them away, but I realized the real reason for papa's anger. Oga Parto was a sixty five year old elderly man that still fantasised about still being a very young man, perhaps someone in his early 20's. He was forming bomboy, he dyes his hair and applies the white men's cream on his body to look like them. After Parto's issue, I left the secretary work to do something else that would sway me away from men that were drooling after me.



The 'peanut' salary which I saved from my secretary job, and the money I got from my esusu contribution helped me to get a shop where I began to sell sweets, biscuits, gin and cigarettes near the community market to help myself and papa who was an old-soldier-never-die. I also got the shop basically to run away from those old yuppie looking men, that will want to use money to entice young girls, just to get them laid.



Benson came to my shop to buy biscuits, when I first sighted him, my heart skipped a little because he was very handsome, I couldn't even concentrate on giving him what he asked for. Weeks after weeks he came to my kiosk more often. One day he described his feelings towards me, saying he wants to be my nwa bobo. I was so excited, but didn't show it, I just smiled in the usual shy way most young girls do when they are being approached by a guy they like for the first time, and followed the usual girl's principle "let me think about it." Joy untold dwelled inside me all through the day and it showed in my business. Some weeks later I gave him an unspoken reply in agreement to his request.



We started meeting at UCT(Under the Cashew Tree), it was a slang that he used to deviate suspicion whenever he came to the shop and also to deceive papa when we are going out. So love sick and lonely one Saturday morning, I decided to pay Benson a surprise visit at his house and carry out a woman’s function to cook for him and also have a nice time with him. When I got there chai! Nwan nem! What I saw was 'twoderful', I saw my Benson having sex with his fellow man, a man o! What will I call that? Ashawo? I have no name or a description.



Am left with two choices now; either to get him beaten by the towns youth or go to the police… I'm in a fix right now.

THE COMPLETE JOURNAL OF AN OFFICE WORKER

The rate at which youths in Nigeria clamour for white collar jobs has become more pensive as each day passes by. So when God looks down upon you and answers your prayers by including your name among those short-listed for interview, and finally among those employed, remember that white collar jobs require some etiquette that should be observed as this will gain you a legible and prolonged stay. They include;

I. Punctuality

After receiving God’s blessings, you won’t in your right senses wake up by 7:55am to start preparing to go to the office knowing fully well your resumption time is 8:00am. Ensure that you maintain consistency in punctuality to the office. Do not arrive after your boss as it connotes unseriousness and superiority over your boss.

II. Style up nicely

In most offices, there is a dress code provided for all employees to adhere strictly to. If your office does not have a predefined dress code, ensure to create one for yourself, make sure it's something elegant, stylish and smart. Ensure that you put on something official from Mondays to thursdays and something quite casual on Fridays and Saturdays (that is if you work on saturdays). Purchase a gigantic parallel mirror to gaze at every morning before leaving for work, to save you from looking shabby to the office, as an appropriate style up commands trust from your business clients and an unseen respect from your colleagues.


III. Seek before you find

When you have familiarised yourself with your colleagues and maintained a good working relationship with them, ensure to ask for permission from them before making use of any of their properties. When you do this, it will boost your trust percentage level among your colleagues.

IV. Always use the magic words ‘please’ and ‘thank you’

When seeking for any official item either a leave(no matter how long), allowance, or any work related issue always include ‘please’ before and after your statement to show that you were well trained; if you were eventually granted what you requested for, always appreciate by saying ‘thank you’. Even if your request was not granted, you can still say 'thank you', smile and walk away.


V. Tame your tongue

Avoid using vulgar words and don't use slangs like ‘I'm gonna’ ‘I wanna’ among others. Try to speak in a manner that proportionally befits the way you're dressed. Do not interrupt people when they are discussing, rather wait for the discussion to be over before you talk. After you must have learnt how to speak in a good manner, try to always engage in a pro-active frequency reduction therapy; that is your voice should be tuned down when talking to someone on phone or in the office.

VI. Avoid "Amebo" and back biting

Try by all means to refrain from malicious talk, because when you discuss uncanny issues and laugh in a ‘jezebelious’ manner, you reduce your dignity and respect in the eyes of your boss and co-workers. Whenever you see two co-workers gossiping, resist the spirit of participation and it would flee away.

VII. Make your work zone clean at all times

There's a popular saying, ‘cleanliness is next to Godliness’ and as we all know, cleanliness begets friendliness, cleanliness also attracts complements. Before settling on your desk and before leaving the office, ensure that you clean your work zone properly. A little decoration with flowers or pictures of you or an inanimate object won’t be a bad idea. The outlook of your work area describes your personal life, it speaks whether you are organised or not. Do not over decorate or stuff your desk with too many flowers as it will make your table or office loose the official look and also look clumsy.