The Sequel

Please read The Prequel to the Sequel before this. If you already have, then by all means, enjoy…

• • • • • • • • • • • • • •  • • • • • • • • • • •

I’ve made the choice to remain a virgin until I get married.

I’m not going to tell you how to live your life or make you feel bad about your choices. I’m simply here to state my reasons and beliefs in the hope that they’ll educate and/or encourage someone out there.

I’m not your average female, I’m actually hot cake and can so so get it! So why am I still a virgin? I’m Christian, but it’s not just because God said so. Someone once said in my hearing that she doesn’t understand why God would say no to premarital sex when there are no negative effects. Well, it may seem that way when you choose to ignore the facts but the reality is that you ARE more exposed to certain negative effects when you indulge in premarital sex. If everyone went about sex only God’s way, there would be fewer rates of abortions, STDs, teenage pregnancies, and even failed marriages. God designed sex, and He knows how best it works. We are supposed to enjoy it, but only in the context of marriage. When it’s taken out of that context, it becomes abused and can then be harmful. There is not one thing God says we should or shouldn’t do that isn’t for our good. Let’s take a look at His manual.

“Therefore a man shall leave his father and mother and be joined to his wife, and they shall become one flesh.” – Genesis 2:24

One man + One woman = Marriage —-> One Flesh (Sex)

In my opinion, sex is the icing on the cake, the deal sealer. When a man and woman have sex, they become one. There is a spiritual tie that comes with the act of sex and I only want that tie with my husband. This might sound like bollocks to a lot of people, but here’s reference from the bible:

“Do you not know that he who unites himself with a prostitute is one with her in body? For it is said, “The two will become one flesh.”“ – 1 Corinthians 6:16

So you see, there’s more to sex than mere skin on skin (or even rubber). Sex is as much spiritual mystery as physical fact… “The two become one”.

This means sex not covered by the marriage covenant opens doors for spirits to be transferred. Scary.

God created sex as a bonding tool. Psychologists believe that when a woman loses her virginity to a man, his image is strongly imprinted on her mind, which creates a strong emotional attachment. I only want my husband to be imprinted on my mind. I believe that choosing to live with one particular person for what you hope to be the rest of your life will be challenging… eventually… and sex is supposed to aid in staying together. When two people have sex, the hormone oxytocin is released which creates emotional bonds. Naturally, when that bond is broken, it will hurt. If however, that bond is continually broken and reapplied with other people, it is then weakened until it ceases to exist. An illustration: when you peel plaster off your skin, it hurts. Reapply it a few times and it will lose its stickiness and stop hurting. Bonding works like that. When it’s broken, it hurts. It’s not designed to be made and broken repeatedly because it then loses it’s bonding effect.

I believe there are blessings and rewards that come with waiting. God forgives, but you can’t disobey God and receive the full blessings that would have come if you had not disobeyed in the first place. I don’t want to miss out on my full blessings.

The creator designed sex to come with heavy emotions. I’m very emotional and I probably won’t be able to handle the weight of pre-marital sex. I’d rather enjoy guilt-free and happy sex. I don’t have to worry about STDs, pregnancy, whether or not he is just using me or waking up the next morning full of regret. I do not believe in abortion, so if I was to ever get pregnant, that would not be an option; plus I don’t want to embarrass my family (my father will do an Abraham and Isaac on me. Except, without the ram) My best option is to go with abstinence.

It is popular belief that once you start, it’s hard to stop. I believe sex is a spiritual killer. I value my relationship with God and I believe sex outside marriage can greatly draw one back from God. I’ve heard people try to justify sex outside marriage as just another sin. But the bible lets us know that sex is different from all other sins because we are sinning against our own bodies. It says it is soul-destroying and self-destructive (Proverbs 6:32 & 1 Corinthians 6:18).

Being a virgin, to a certain extent, protects me from toxic relationships. Most men these days are fueled by desire and I believe once I give a man like this sex, he is no longer necessarily obliged to stay. I’m not saying he isn’t going to stay once I do; but when he does stay, how long would we last? Always on the lookout for the next hot thang, he will not hesitate to leave once he finds something better or once he concludes I am not wife material for him even though I may ride him good. What if we are engaged, and then he discovers the sex isn’t so great? Will we then walk away from each other?

In this regard, saying no to sex reduces my pool of datable men by a large amount. If you’re not going to date me because there is no sex involved, you are not worth my time. Am I a sex machine? I think not. I want a man that loves me for who I am, who will stay whether there is great sex or not, because of his interest in me, and not in my sexual prowess. Casual sex relationships and relationships built around sex are more likely than not to be selfish acts, as opposed to marriage, where we are more likely to take the partner’s best interests into consideration.

For me, the point of dating is to find someone I am compatible with and who possesses the qualities I desire in a man. I want to see him for who he really is, and know I am truly in love with him without sex clouding my judgment. Most of us know people who have stayed in an abusive relationship because of the sex, whether they realize it or not. One day sex will mean nothing. What if something happens to that person and it affects our sex life, and how about when we are old; will I still be happy to spend my days with him because of who he is?

“A poll in The Guardian newspaper in February 1997 asked 794 couples who had been married for ten years or more what they liked most about their partner. The most popular answer (18%) said they were ‘caring and thoughtful’. 10% said their personality. Only one per cent said sex.”

That’s roughly 8 people out of 800. So how important is great sex at the end of the day?

Quote: “The only thing that creates commitment is character. And character is often in short supply when we’re indulging in premarital sex.”

For me, sex is a prize for getting there. Like eating that big piece of chicken after finishing your pounded yam; or your rice and stew if you don’t like pounded yam. Wait. How can you not like pounded yam?! Oh sorry, I digress. Where was I? Yeah…

I want something to look forward to when I get married; when we go for our honeymoon (imagine releasing up to 25 years worth of konji on the poor man…… *now playing Unleash the Dragon by Sisqo*. I want to say “Yes! I did it!” and make God proud.

I am keeping myself also because of the respect I have for my future husband. I want to be a one-man woman. That’s how we were created. God didn’t make Eve, Evelyn, Evelette, and Eveniqua. We weren’t made to be shared, that’s why we humans get jealous. I want the man I marry to be the only one that got to hit that. I don’t want to have anyone else to compare him to either. I don’t need to experiment. (This part is hard for me because I’m always looking for new things). I have value for the sex we will eventually have. It says long term commitment. I want my heart to agree when I give sex. I want to know we are fully committed to each other, and that won’t happen till he puts a wedding ring on it.

It’s just not worth giving it up now. It’s a one-time thing and I want to do it wisely. I’d rather ‘suffer’ patiently now in exchange for many years of a sex life free of guilt and frustration ahead. I believe if I wait till marriage, I will have the best I can get. People say you need experience or someone with experience. This is a lie from the pit of hell. After all, even those with all the experience started from somewhere. If I’m going to have sex for very many years of my life, there’s no rush. Self-control is necessary. If one cannot control self before marriage, how can anyone believe they will be able to afterwards?

All God has for us is love, He knows what’s best for us and wants to protect our future. And God will not tell us to do or not to do anything if His grace will not cover us. Don’t think Christianity is just a set of rules and regulations that will make life boring; it’s a one on one relationship with God and it’s the best way to live. It’s about grace, love, and freedom. And He wants us all to enjoy that.

Peace and Love.


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Sorry to burst your bubble if you were hoping to go to town with the lady’s identity. I bet most of y’all are mature but too many immature folk cloaked amongst you guys. We’ll just play it safe and keep this anonymous, yeah? Just take my word for it that when she says “I’m hot cake and can totally get it”. Chic ain’t lying yo! *sigh*

Forget that she’s a lady, I share each and every value posted up here. They apply to both males and females. And these, ladies and gentlemen, are the whys of my (and her) virginity.

So what are your thoughts?

The Prequel to the Sequel

This is not a post.

Well, it is, but it also sort of isn’t.

This is an intro.

An intro that is longer than an intro and so gets its own post even though it’s actually just an intro and so therefore not really a post.

You dig?


Oh well. On to the meat of the matter…

First though, a little reiteration:

I am a virgin. And despite what popular media and society at large may feel, say or do, I’m unashamed about it.

This is of course stale gist to most of the people reading this. For those to whom this, however, IS news, I ‘announced’ it in a post titled Losing My Virginity sometime last year. I clearly stated then what the reasons for which I was declaring it were.

Thanks to that post, many have felt comfortable enough to open up to me concerning their varying views and/or issues concerning sex and, in a few cases, sexuality. I count it privilege and am deeply honoured anyone would trust me with such delicate information or with giving them any sort of advice. I’ve also found these discussions very enlightening, probably even more enlightening than the light-bearers who come seeking light from one who boasts of bearing no light. You may not have known of the light you bore, but thank you for your light *shakes off fairy dust* (Who talks that way? :s ) I certainly hope I have been helpful in some way or the other. I try my best not to judge anyone for mistakes made, their ideologies or decisions. Same way I asked that no one judge, dismiss or look down upon others (virgins in particular here) for making the choice(s) they have made.

A few people have admitted to me to also being virgins. People who would get the same kinds of reactions I got if the word got out…

“Stop playing jor”

“*stunned silence*”

“If you wan lie, lie better lie. No be dis one”

In opening up to me, they also admit they are wary of saying it in public or even to friends of theirs because of the embarrassment or even ridicule it may attract. *sigh* We have a long way to go, I guess…

If there’s one thing I appreciate from that experience, it’s that I’ve since then been approached on the subject of abstinence and virginity largely with respect and tolerance, (as against the condescending attitude such a conversation would have previously evoked) which is part of what I hoped to achieve by writing that post. Hopefully, this same respect and tolerance is being extended to others too.

But something was missing in that post and it was obvious enough that I’ve been asked about it in nearly every conversation I’ve had on the matter since the post went up. The question:


“Why did you choose to remain a virgin?”

Another frequent question is:

Till when?

“Do you plan to stay this way till you get married”

Due to space constraints and consideration for the views of some of the audience I expected on Losing My Virginity, I didn’t really address those questions in that post. They will now be addressed.

But not by me.

I was having a conversation on the issue of abstinence with a new friend when she eventually, as expected, asked me the earlier stated questions. I answered and then she went on to state her own views on the matter which impressed me to the point that I asked her to please write a sequel to my earlier post. She obliged, thankfully. This post-which-is-not-a-post is an intro to that post.

A warning though, and to a large extent, the reason for this intro/post. The Sequel is heavily laced with christian views and biblical references. If you choose to avoid these, we respect your decision. We respect the fact that everyone has a right to their opinions and beliefs, as do we, and we’re not trying to preach at anyone. Only to share our thoughts on the subject and answer previously asked questions. This is not Ladun Ikeji’s blog (pun intended). We are not looking to be sensationalist or to get insulted for what we believe in.

Peace to all men.

And to each his own.

If you’re christian, or you’re not but are open to seeing what our views on the subject are, you’re welcome to read The Sequel.

I am to Blame

Today is December 1st, another World Aids Day.
Today, a poem of sorts…


I am to blame
No doubt it is me who bears the shame,
The fragile frame that bears my name
Is the gain I lost in the game
The game of the dame, my dame the hurricane
The one that swept me away when she came

Most certainly
Put the blame on me
Who else would it be?
Me, definitely
Certainly not the other half of me
My baby, my one and only
To whom apparently
I’m one of many
The only mystery seems to be
How I could have been so full of gullibility
My sensibilities lost in shows of virility
The endless possibilities ending my sterility
My positivity in reality a negativity

I’ve got HIV

But na my fault
Say my baby no better pass pillar of salt?
Say for only a bottle of malt
My baby fit follow you enter cot
Enter cloth, comot cloth
Baby dey floss
But of course for her mind she no be slut
Jejely she just bin dey carry her cross
True, true no be her fault

True, true na me be the mugu
Who knew?
To be truthful, it could be you too
What! You think. Impossible
It’s unimaginable
You’re too true, too good, too cool
You’re too schooled, too beautiful, too faithful
The chances, too minuscule
You’re not that gullible
In other words you’re saying I’m the fool

In other words you are saying I must deserve this
I must have earned this mark on this black list
Me and a million faceless babies
Whose this fate is
Me and several ladies
Who really wanted to encounter their rapists
Mine and a thousand cases
Of mistakes in the basics
Of blood transfusions and infusions
Medical non-vestigations
Tiny incisions in barbers’ salons
And tinier ones still in nursing stations

We are unfortunate preys of chance
Victims of circumstance
Some caught in battle stance, some in victory dance
Others in a seemingly inconsequential instant
Of happenstance
At the speed of a glance
We lost all chance
But one: we are still humans

No less…

This may seem like just fantasy
May only tickle your fancy
I’m no Clancy
But if you look closely enough,
You can see
The clarity, the irony
The fictional reality,
The truth is no candy, it’s candid
Tragic, almost slap-stick
But not quite
Quite sick

Someone says ‘Don’t discriminate’
But disgrace relays the phrase
All priorities misplaced
We escalate the case
Sure, “AIDS no dey show for face”
Except the one that castigates
Yours in this case

So am I to blame?
Should I hang my head in shame?
What difference does it make
When all the same
I hear your eyes saying
With that much disdain

I am to blame


Apologies for my long absence on this here platform. Today, a story…


The words come to my blooming consciousness first. The spoken words. Hushed whispers trickling down to this place from another life. Like they have returned to me from a distant civilization, from an alternate reality.

“He’s been such a great husband. I feel so sorry for his wife and kid…”

“The best ones always seem to go first. He had so much potential…”

“No one deserves heavenly peace as much as he does. Such a saint…”

“Ashes to ashes. Dust to dust…”

Then the memories follow. The painfully contradictory memories. In vivid high-definition. More vivid than I ever remember experiencing them…

Borrowing that five naira I knew I would never return from mother’s purse without her permission when I was eight.

Playing truant at fourteen and then changing my grades to cover up.

At twenty one, handing cash to two of my girlfriends, within hours of each other, to terminate the blossoming life I had carelessly planted in them… and then directing them to the same clinic.

Defiling an ex-girlfriend’s matrimonial bed as my best friend smiled down at us from a picture frame on the wall.

Hitting my wife in the face repeatedly the morning of the day I was going to die…

These and many more images flash through my reintegrating consciousness even as my whole being begins to take shape. I feel like I am… how do I put this now? Brand new! Much like a human clone must as it comes into existence all grown up but with memories that it has never experienced but in actuality, belonged previously to an entire other person despite the resemblance in DNA build-up, physical features and even psychological patterns they may share.

Even as this assimilation settles in, more memories flash by. Good memories of myself carrying on genuinely saintly occur now but they are few and far between and in no way as vivid as the ones that have captured me as an unmasked perpetrator of evil. It would appear I did not live the most purposeful of lives. Even now, my last conscious memory replays itself in my mind’s eye and this one also has me playing the antagonist…

*   *   *   *

As my car hurtled down the highway, I muttered under my alcohol-laced breath, in the words of a pedestrian road-farer as he barely dodged the missile I was driving, “…like pesin wey dey crase!”. He was referring to my driving but there was hardly any difference in the way you would have described any other thing about me that night. The very thoughts that raced through my head, a few of them exiting through my lips, were those I would have ascribed to a lunatic only that afternoon but here I was saying things I had sworn never to many years ago.

My seven-and-a-half month pregnant wife was in labour, induced, and I was beside myself with apprehension since I had received the phone call. I had been drowning my few but highly buoyant sorrows at my desk at the office when the call came through from my best friend. He was placing the call from the hospital where he’d rushed my wife after he found her unconscious in our living room. He believed she may have fallen down the stairs, but my still-bruised knuckles and I knew better.

The speed at which I sobered up as I dashed to the car was astounding and thus began my race to the side of my wife and, by extension, my unborn child. She must have been lying on that cold floor all day and I feared for the life within her. This suddenly brought upon me a huge wave of guilt. Not only at the part I had played in putting my offspring in danger, but also for my other offspring whose lives I had played a part in taking many years back.

The guilt, which I had kept at bay for so long then began to bring to the surface other atrocities I, only now, felt deeply ashamed of. The best friend whose trust I had betrayed and never confessed to, was the same one now being a friend in deed. The realisation of the undeservedness of the punishments I had meted out from time to time on my once-beautiful wife drove me to tears and I began to beg for forgiveness from ears that were still all the way across town. I cried out also to the God whom I had purposely turned my back on for forgiveness and begged Him to spare the life of the ones I had almost forgotten how to love.

And the tears flowed, tears of unabashed remorse. But as with any thing that is right, but has come at the wrong time, they only did more harm than good. The tears blinded me and with my emotions raging the way they were, I never though to stop and pull myself together. I drew my sleeves across my eyes to clear my blurry vision but, ironically, only succeeded in blinding myself totally… only for an instant, but one which turned out to be truly tragic. The car struck something, very hard, the impact sending the vehicle spinning and flipping along the bridge across which I had been racing.

I found myself screaming “Jesus!” repeatedly as the car rattled, rumbled and cavorted, pieces of plastic, metal and glass flying everywhere, some making impact with my body and inflicting some damage as they did. The car finally ground to a halt now resting on its roof, leaving me suspended upside down in the driver’s seat. The only reason I was still conscious was the seat-belt that had me still securely strapped to the seat. The air bags which had deployed on impact and the strong hull of the car which had neither crumpled nor fallen apart may have also helped.

The car appeared to be lying across the bridge and with my head crooked at an angle which had me looking out my window, I saw what appeared to be another wreck. One far worse than the one I was in. The danfo bus, which it appeared was what I had struck, lay propped up on the crumpled railing of the bridge like a child’s forgotten plaything. From where I hung, with my head so close to the ground, I could see blood, flesh and body parts litter the tar leading to the mangled bus and could hear a few passengers, alive and still trapped in the yellow and black metal carcass, scream and moan for help. As I watched, horrified to my very marrow, the twisted, distended railings which had hitherto held the bus half-suspended over the lagoon below gave way and the danfo fell out of sight, taking its few living passengers to their watery deaths.

All the pain I was beginning to feel across my body and even the blood rushing to my head and making me feel faint could not keep the horror of the fact that I had just killed all those people, and possibly my wife and child also, from my fading consciousness.

The dust was settling and I knew witnesses and onlookers would soon begin to arrive, some with help and others with accusatory stares. Suddenly, the eerie silence that settles briefly immediately after accidents like the one I had just been involved in was cut by a sharp, increasing sound. I turned my head in the direction it seemed to be approaching from, the passenger’s window, and saw the unlit headlights of a large vehicle bearing down on me. The screeching from the tyres’ frictional romance with the road got louder and louder till it was deafening.

I never even heard the impact that killed me.

*   *   *   *

My new eyes flutter open as the memories come to an end. I look around me and see that my new body, clothed in swaddling apparel seems to be suspended mid-air in some tiny room padded all round with soft fabric. No, this is no room, it is a box… A coffin!

This sudden realisation would ordinarily throw me into a panic trying to figure out how I have come back to life in the coffin I must have been buried in and how I will get out of it but they do not seem like such a big deal at the moment. Somehow, I can tell the answers will present themselves in due time.

As I try to figure first how I can see anything in an enclosed place with no visible source of light, the door opens… I think of it as a ‘door’ because in the apparent absence of gravity, I had not realized that I was actually ‘floating’ upright and not face up and also the lid of the coffin had opened much like a double door and unlike any coffin I had ever seen in my short life on earth.

The door must have been opened by this beautiful, huge, winged person in front of me. Behind him is a huge, huge room that seems endless yet has a sky, mountains and hills, bodies of water and an ecology all its own. The best way I can probably describe this place is as an inverted planet. Creatures fly, soar, hover and walk all over the place as far as my eyes can see.

The winged one speaks holding out one hand towards me

“I am Elon Unya, welcome to The End of the Ages”

With his other hand he makes a sweeping gesture towards the room, which I now notice has its source of light in its centre. I take his hand and he begins to fly me towards The Light at an unfathomable speed.

“We have all just now relived with you the memories that make up the life you lived on earth and it is now your turn to take the witness stand and make account to The Creator how that life was spent.

“It is the life you lived, the decisions you made, that shall determine whether you shall now live… Or die…eternally”

We arrive at The Light of the World and I take the witness stand which is really no stand at all. Just me ‘hovering’ beside Elon Unya in the midst of the greatest presence ever experienced. As I look up on at His tripartite being, I see immeasurable mercy and grace look back upon me, but also see in His eyes that the time for grace is over.

As I open my mouth to speak, to try to make what I already know will be a pathetic attempt to make a case for myself, I hear His unmistakable voice, the one I ignored for so many years on earth, speak into my very heart, but somehow, also to the hearing of every being present.

Judgment is passed.

As Elon Unya takes my hand to take me to the place where I shall be spending eternity, I think to myself:

Apparently, here too, actions speak louder than words.


Considering the scenario painted above, where do you think our ‘saint’ will end up? Does making a careless mistake that results in such a tragedy count as ‘sin’? Would you say he deserves the grace, made available only while he lived, which he had consciously turned down most of his life or do last minute ‘repentances’ count?

Say your piece…

Who We Are

*Le Sigh*

*walks in and dusts cobwebs  lying around blog*

I have not been suffering from writer’s block. I have not been lazy either. I’ve just been quite, quite busy. Not so busy that I would forget my obligation to post here regularly but busy enough not to eventually have. Work has been crippling of recent and I’ve been involved in a project with some friends and yet, I Have been able to write… just not stuff I can put up here. I can share one of these though…

I had the priviledge of being a part of #TheWritersRoundtable, a series on @d3ola’s blog. The project had contributions from twelve of us writers/bloggers and involved a story that was developed and passed along from one writer/blogger to another. We each had the leeway to do with the story as we pleased while the ball was in our court. Deola began the series here and subsequent writers were picked via ‘lucky dip’ which means noone knew when they would be up and so couldn’t prepare ahead as they didn’t know what the next writer would come up with until they read it like everyone else when it was put up. This means we each had only about 48hrs to develop and write our continuing stories, daunting I assure you and the end result was pretty interesting. Well, I came up towards the end of the series and you can find my contribution, Revelations, here. Please read and show Dee some love through your comments.

Well, on to today’s post. In the spirit of our nation’s 51st independence, patriot that I am, I thought I’d share something from a little while back. This was written while I was in NYSC orientation camp all the way up north in Katsina and I believe the message therein is still quite relevant to us all today, whether we’re corpers or not. Enjoy…

*        *       *

We are the beginning, sometimes the end
We are not enemies, we are friends
We are the elements, we are meant to blend
We are conduits, we are instruments
We are the federation, the future of this nation
We are a new generation, we are the intervention
An inspiration, at the mention…
Of which we silence all aberration
We are the members, the placenta
We are the melting point, we are the blender
We are the propulsion and yet the fender
We are the glue that together hold the centre
Remember, remember, we are the future
We are the succour, we are not the furor
In the face of failure, we rise above the stupor
We are superior, we are superior

Fellow corp members, we are Africa
We are from all over Nigeria
From Yenogoa to Minna, we are Katsina,
We are beginners and yet we are winners
We are proud, we get mout’
We fit shout, we get clout
We are scouts, from North to South
We are the pioneers of new routes
We are ambassadors, we are servants
We are on diplomatic errand, we’re not errant
We are elite, no more peasants
We are the ones they await with perseverance
Ladies and gentlemen, we are soldiers
We grow older, wiser, bolder
Sooner or later, the fight will be over
But until then we are proud Nigerian Corpers


This post is dedicated to the memory of the Fallen9 corpers who lost their lives during the tragic post-election crisis that occured in Bauchi state in April this year.

Special shoutout to the 2010 Batch C corpers across the nation who are scheduled to pass out on Oct 4th, 2011, many of them my friends.

God go make una bigger o!

The Makings of a Ho’

Whew! That last post!! If there’s was just one thing I appreciated amidst all the attention and what-nots, it’s that (most) people actually got the point(s) I was trying to get across. Didn’t however  stop those who didn’t really get it from going and near-trending  the discussion on twitter but only served in spreading the word, eh?! Believe it or not, comments are STILL coming in and They’re largely messages of solidarity and for that I say Thank You. Are you perhaps carrying last on what I speak of, please see Losing my virginity

Oh well, moving on. Today’s post is written by @iskminov and is very much in line with what I said about generalisation in my last post. Hope you enjoy.

* * * * *

As the door of the bus opened, I raised my head to see who was about to walk in. I quickly noticed her pretty face, caramel complexion, about 5ft11″ or so (the wedges she wore added a few inches), spotting a tank top and capri pants. As she moved closer, I saw the tattoo on top of her left breast (lovely breasts, I might add) and as she sat down, her tight fitted top moved up slightly and I saw the beads around her waist. Even though I try as much as I can not to judge people, the first thought that came to my mind was HO!

For most guys, when they see a lady with a chain around her ankle, piercing on her nose,
tattoo(s), beads or chains around her waist, that’s the first thing they think about. And as much as we like freaky women, we don’t want to get married to such a person. It’s a perception that has developed over time and has been passed on from one age group to another. And possibly a poor generalisation (or what do you think?).

There’s a lady on twitter that I like. She has a tattoo, although I didn’t know this when we started going out. We’re not together any more, but I wish we were. I can’t say knowing about the tattoo didn’t slightly alter my perception of her. Who am I kidding? IT DID!
But it doesn’t bother me anymore.

I don’t think I’ve totally changed my perception about these things. The same way I totally abhor seeing hairnets on women outside the house (No matter how hot or intelligent the lady is, I immediately put a big X on her).

I know with time and effort it will change, as long as I keep working on myself. And I hope a lot of guys do too. Because making generalisations about people based on the behaviour of a few in the group isn’t fair.



*heavy sigh*

I feel sad about all the flak this post has received both here and on twitter and so I thought I’d come and just clear the air.

Stanley’s (@iskminov’s) point has been grossly misunderstood and I guess I share some blame for that. When I first read it, I liked it because I got the point all at once and so, besides changing his spelling of ‘Ho’, I left it all as you see it. That was my mistake, my not editting or doing a shoddy job of it and for that, I apologise.

From the more constructive feedback I’ve received, I’ve been able to garner that because of the way the piece was structured, the point generally becomes clear only after a second or third read, which most people, despite the brevity of the post, have no patience for.

And so, to lend clarity to things a bit, in one sentence, all he’s saying is:

I admit I used to be prejudiced and I’ve been guilty of generalisation and I’m now trying to change my perspective on these things… you should too (if you have been).

Most people just ran to town with “He says if any girl has a tattoo, beads or extra piercings, she’s a hoe!”, some after only reading the post half-way, others without even reading it at all. But he negated that statement by calling it a ‘poor generalisation’ and saying later on that…

“I know with time and effort it (his perception) will change, as long as I keep working on myself. And I hope a lot of guys do too. Because making generalisations about people based on the behaviour of a few in the group isn’t fair.”

All in all, this is not in anyway a disclaimer. Based on the clarifications I’ve added, I still stand with Stanley on this.

*Le sigh* I sincerely hope I’ve done justice to this now. If anyone still doesn’t agree with the piece, I’m sorry, I can’t help you any further. To that all I can say once again is…

‘To Each His Own’

Again, apologies for any confusion

Losing my virginity

Catchy title, eh?

Yeah, I think so too… /:)

This may or may not be a tell-all tale. A few days ago, someone said on a friend’s blog and then on my timeline that all the bloggers just seem to be blogging for shock value now. I know there’s this way all them shocking tell-all tales can make readership, commentaries and subscriptions on a hitherto little-known blog soar. You know, those controversial topics/discussions that have comments in their hundreds on theToolsman’s blog/site? Yeah? Or that post on Terdoh’s blog over this last weekend? (almost 1000 comments!!) Or remember that other slim girl’s post that went on to trend worldwide on twitter, with it’s own hashtag too?! *sprinkling ugwu leaves around* hehehe

Well, what writer doesn’t want some level of exposure and acclaim? And who doesn’t want some level of popularity, at least? The knowledge that there are people who greatly value your words and take them to heart? Who doesn’t want that kind of far-reaching influential ‘power’?…


Well, that may or mayn’t be me. I won’t deny or admit that’s what this is about. You’ll just have to read and find out for yourself. And maybe at the end of this, you can even tell me whether or not this falls into that category.

Now, where do I begin this tale of mine?… The beginning? Ok, fine. Lehgo!

Well, I’ve always been a pastor’s kid. The term actually defined me for a bit, especially back in high school- my nickname in certain circles was omo pastor. For as long as I’ve known, until very recently, my life has been centred around church. I mean, I was born while my father was studying in the seminary and following that, we actually lived within the church premises until I was ten. Now, as expected, virtually everyone in church knew all the pastor’s kids and seeing as church was really big growing up there was almost nowhere I would go where I wasn’t known as an omo pastor. Heck, today I still randomly meet people I’ve never met previously who recognise me from back then or who hear my surname and ask if I’m truly the son of my father. Well, not literally sha, but you get the picture.

Why have I started my tale with this and what’s it got to do with that controversial title? Here’s why. Growing up, due to my ‘omo pastor status’, one phrase I heard more times than I wish to ever remember is: All pastors’ kids are the worst. It always came in different variations but the idea was always the same. And almost always, it came with examples given with dramatic emphasis of some pastor’s kid(s) somewhere or the other who did this or that that even an unbeliever’s kid would never do… *smh*

I’m not here to admit or debunk this theory… What I will say about this though is that I know quite a lot of omo pastor’s who are upright and well behaved, at least, outwardly. And not because of their parent’s ministry either but because it’s who they’ve consciously chosen to be. I personally believe that in describing human behaviour, making blanket statements and using generalisations are unacceptable. That you or someone else knows some pastor’s daughter who got involved with drugs or a bishop’s son who is into yahoo yahoo, doesn’t then mean ALL pastor’s kids are that way, does it?!

Okay, moving on… to me… For as long as I can remember, I’ve been seen as the kid in my family who wanted to ‘escape’. Artistic, adventurous and having a potential wild-streak is how I would’ve been described growing up and so I was the one who was constantly monitored and hawked-over (for whatever reason, I came to the conclusion that it was so I wouldn’t ruin the ‘family image’)… X_x

I wasn’t allowed to go to a boarding school after passing common entrance in primary 5 cos I was “too young/small”. Got admission into King’s College the next year, but ended up a day student all my six years there. Then I tried to get into ABU Zaria in my first Jamb attempt ’cause I heard they have one of the best art schools and got accused of trying to ‘run away’ (I passed but the results of everyone in my centre got cancelled). I ended up getting cajoled to pick Unilag in my next attempt and now I’m a ‘proud’ Unilag alumnus. *sigh* I almost wasn’t allowed to go serve when I was posted to Katsina but… Nah! Me I wasn’t going to stand for that. E don come wan dey too much dat time… Are you getting my drift here? All my siblings, by the way, went to boarding houses far from home. Same thing with higher institutions. Na only me dem tie join wrapper throughout.

It wasn’t until I got into ‘Lag that I truly became free to make (some) decisions for myself. And like a caged bird set free, I revelled in that freedom. Ol’ boi, I did and undid o! Went clubbing for the first time in my life. First girlfriend… Ok, this one was actually really stupid. Lemme spell it out for you:

Day 1: Met chic for the first time through some friends. Pretty girl, I noticed…
Day 2: Hung out a bit with mutual friends
Day 3: Mutual friends and mine who saw us together the previous evening tell me that it’s kinda obvious “…say she dey feel you die”
Day 4: We go clubbing together. It’s my first time in a club ever…
Day 5: I ask her out, she says yes!

5 days, yo! *rolling eyes* Yeah, ridiculous, I know. Especially for someone who’s always been about serious relationships and never been one for flings. Moving on… Joined my first dance group (outside church) in which I danced alongside one very dark-skinned dude called Wande. Amazing dancer he was but he’s now a singer. Back then, he went by the name Black Wand 😉 We acted/danced in our first (and last) movie, Tunde Kelani and Mainframe’s Campus Queen. Landed my first major role in a tv soap that same year… You sha get the drift of “I revelled in my freedom”, shey? Ehen…

I bet at this point, people be wondering so what has all this got to do with the title and when do we get to the juicy stuff nah?! Cool ya blood jor! Baby steps, yo, baby steps…

Okay, let’s fast-track things a bit. Present-day. I came on twitter actively about february this year and one of the things I noticed was the edginess… the near-raw sexuality of a lot of the terrain. Lotsa weird twit pics, hashtags and twitter lingo almost had me running scared again but I decided that I was finally going to just stick it and make some sense out of the madness, and maybe even get something positive out of it. It’s how I was exposed to the work of some amazing and talent writers which then inspired me to start this here blog of which I’m very proud… Oh, I deviate again? Sorry…

The sexuality, abi? Okay. Well, I saw/see people talking a lot about sex and stuff with frankness and honesty and I was like Ok, cool, whatever makes you happy. But when I started seeing people bashing my personal choice of sexual orientation, I thought it was sad, real sad. And perhaps needed to be addressed and that there is largely why I’m writing this post.

You see, we live in an era where the opinionated people with the ‘biggest’ voices seem to dictate the way the rest of us ‘little people’ live our lives. Peer pressure is evident everywhere around us, some positive, more negative. I can’t even have an unpopular sexual preference without being judged and bashed on anymore. And so, I’m writing this post to stand up for what I believe in. I’m not trying to shove it down anyone’s throat o, neither am I trying to put anyone who doesn’t subscribe to my decisions or preferences down. I’m just here to state who I am and ask that you accept me and the other people like me without judging me/us. Same as we have (largely) accepted everyone else.

Ladies and gentlemen, I am unashamedly, and entirely by choice, a virgin

I made the decision to ‘keep myself’ until marriage a long time ago, sometime during my teens. It was a conscious and well thought-out one and seeing as I’ve decided to put myself out there like this, I owe anyone reading this the truth about why… I chose this path according to the convictions of my faith. I’m a christian.

I’m a firm believer in To each, his own… and like I said earlier, this is not about putting anyone with contrary opinions down and so I choose to not continue along ‘religious’ lines in this discourse so as to respect people with different beliefs within and outside my faith.

I will say this though, staying this way has been entirely by God’s grace. I’m a proper open-eye omo-boy. I know wassup weller. I’m not claiming to be a saint here. I’ve been in relationships before and I understand the phrase Body no be wood. I’ve had my fair share of near-misses. There’ve been times where it really wasn’t by my will that I didn’t follow through on well-laid plans (not necessarily mine o) and so, I repeat, it’s entirely by God’s grace in my life. I say this moreso because I realise there are people who are not virgins, not because they don’t believe in the concept or decided they wanted it so, but because that decision was made on their behalf, in a lot of cases, forcefully and I commiserate with any such.

In conclusion, I’m coming out to say this as testimonial to the fact that it is definitely possible to be cool folk today with no deformities socially,physically, psychologically, physiologically or emotionally and still be virgin or celibate. The default reaction I get when I tell people I’ve never had sex is Yeah, Right!! However, I personally know many, many people like me who are likeable, correct people, well accepted by society who have remained virgins by choice. They would not all declare it to the whole world like this because they deem it unnecessary. I, however, am of the opinion that too many young ‘uns today make the decision to do away with their virginity like a soiled diaper out of the misconception that everyone is doing ‘it’ or that if you aint doing it, you must be some kinda weirdo. They need to know this, that You don’t HAVE TO be that way if you really don’t want to and that Not everyone is doing it

After all, I’m not.

I am OlaToxic and I’m unashamedly and purposely a Virgin

The White Sea of Nothingness

White, blank and intimidating. One of the most tortuous experiences I have, and very regularly too, is having to stare into the face of some form of nothingness and make something out of it.

You see, painful as it is, it is my job to do this. No, it is beyond a job, it is my calling, it is my purpose…

It is what I was created to do

But flawed as I am, it can be difficult a lot of the time. The whiteness which is meant to be my conquest looks me in the face and mocks me. No matter how many times I have faced and vanquished it in the past, hydra-headed monster that it is, it rises again and taunts me, scoffs at me, knowing full well it will eventually fall, but revelling nonetheless in its power to unnerve me while it can.

I will vanquish it again. Several times over, as I have before. But too many times before, it has been with my back against a wall, or overhanging a cliff. Never in retreat but usually in defense. I should be on the attack more often. I should be on the attack all the time.

Perhaps, what makes it more difficult is how my tormentor comes in many shapes, sizes and forms. In many textures. In many tones and shades. Such that when I have mastered one or the other of its forms and am well practiced in the ways of vanquishing the inherent nothingness, but inadvertently letting the skills needed in vanquishing another form lie fallow in the process, I am taken aback when faced with the form I have not practiced at in a while.

The nothingness, not always white takes many forms…

Drawing Paper. The canvas. The stage. Photopaper. Cloth. The Monitor. Clay. The notebook. Leather. The blank wall. My body.

But I find some solace in the knowing that as diverse as the forms of this nothingness are, so are the tools and weapons I have been equipped to battle it with:

The Pencil My first love, still the one I first rely on when preparing my campaign…

The Pen The one for the decisive and final strokes. Permanent and never to be erased…

The Brush Still the weapon in my arsenal the handling of which is most awkard. Has got me out of a few scrapes though…

The Spatula
A tool I have entirely laid down. Once weilded it with great prowess. Alas, gone are those days. Or are they?…

The Scissors, Needle and Thread Weapons some assume, wrongly, are only for the feminine folk. If they only knew…

My Body Weapon of Mass Destruction. Lit up the stage, the screen, the dance floor. The monster sleeps… for now…

My Voice The tool with which I amplify the power of my pen. Works wonders, believe…

The Mouse and Keyboard/Keypad The ones that supply the daily bread. The ones I groom the most for the battles ahead…

The Camera With which I freeze and capture moments in time. The beautiful, beautiful moments…

But the sea fights back. That feeling of exasperation one may get when one stares at that great white sea and balks has been given many names, the most popular of which would be The Block amongst writers, Seeking Inspiration in art and music circles or generally… Laziness. Laziness is most often the real issue but don’t we all like a little dose (sometimes a large one) of denial? So we say “I have writer’s block” or “I need inspiration, mehn” but hardly ever “I need to get over this laziness”. But, I admit to myself and to the world, here and now, that I have been lazy, very much so.


My creator has equiped me well to go forth in his likeness and likewise create, and create I must. The sea of nothingness I will now and again vanquish and fill with something or the other. I will replace that white with colours bold and bright, images striking and captivating, movements swift and sure, patterns simple and complex, shapes crisp and defined, words insightful and inspiring, art pure and true… all of them beautiful. For this is my calling, my purpose, my destiny.

For like my creator, I am creative.

I am an artist.


Can you relate?

Hopeless (the finale)

To get a fuller picture of this post, you may want to first see Hopeless (the prequel) and Hopeless (the 2nd installment). Well, here’s the finale on Hopeless

… So lost, she is so lost
Hope is so lost and still she’s so sought…
after at no cost. on the map there’s no ‘X’
And still she so lost and so on and so forth but
Seekers are finders, finders keepers
Take off the blinders, the mind’s in creepers
It’s time to delve deeper, steeper, be a believer
Be awake and still be a dreamer
Have you seen her? She’s in the open
Hoping you see her, she is so keen
She’s a token for the taking, she’s glowing
But apparently your line of sight is broken
So frozen, we keep roaming
We lost the signal and still we’re homing in
We are groping for a solution and…
Barely coping, we keep hoping, groping, choking,….

And then a miracle, hope finds us
It was inevitable, she was always behind us
Seemingly invisible, sightings at a minimal
With impaired visuals, we’re specimen for blind trust
A one man strike force came and took us away
Bled hope as His life force faded away
Christ’s life was the price that was paid
I’m no more afraid, I found hope when my whole life I laid
At the foot of the cross, with heaven’s applause…
The OST, Christ wrote off all the scores
The chorus crossed out all the laws
And at this clause Christ crossed out all of my flaws
Jesus is hope for the lost, He fought for our cause
Won us victory at the cross
And the cross is a plus, just a little less short
And at 45 degrees, ‘X’ marks the spot!

At 45 degrees, 'X' marks the spot


The spot where hope was, is and forever will be
I find that I’m not hopeless,
In Jesus is where my hope is….
So where’s yours?

Simply what my own experiences have taught me and where I’ve learnt to put my trust when all hope seems lost. But don’t take my word for it, try it out for yourself. Certainly worked for me. We can’t but thank tha Good Lord for His mercy and provision towards His shidren. To say He neva send ‘PP’ aka ‘Private Practice’ aka ‘Freelance work’ boku come awa side, na im be say man pikin eye for don see redder, make awa blood come hot weller. But thank God, he haf not allow His shidren become a weist nor our daily journey to be in vain.

Oh, and jus so you know, ‘they’ paid yesterday….
Guess the next thing now is “So when is May Pay-Day?!”