Singing Scribe (2025)

29/06/2025

We were in her room, watching Netflix, when she paused the movie and turned to me with that sweet, dangerous smile she uses when she’s about to ask for something expensive.

“Baby, you know my birthday is coming soon, right?”
I nodded. “Of course. I’ve been planning for it.”
(A lie.)

“I want something special this year,” she said. “ lI want Labubu.”
“Labubu?” I blinked. “Na that angry-looking teddy bear”
“Babe! It’s a collectible art toy. It’s cute and chaotic.”

I laughed. But she didn’t. “We saw when we went to the m store. Remember? It was ₦250,000.”
“Oh… that Labubu.”

My chest suddenly felt tight, like NEPA had taken light inside my soul.
But I nodded like a supportive boyfriend.

I just had ₦3,200 left in my account.

So I started scouting.
Jumia? Too expensive.
Temu? Out of stock.

That’s when I stumbled on him…
An account called: . "Cheapest plug in Lagos.”

Against my better judgment I DMed him.

Me: “Oga, how much your Labubu?”
Plug: “₦19k. I fit run delivery to your side. This one na Japan version — limited edition. E even get voice chip.”
Me: “Voice chip?”
Plug: “Yes now. If you press belle, e dey talk .”

I was desperate. I transferred ₦19k and told him to deliver on the birthday.

On the D-Day.

Her room was decorated. Balloons everywhere. “Babe, close your eyes,” I said, grinning .
“OMG,” she squealed. “I know it’s Labubu right!”

She opened the box…

Silence.

Dead silence.

She looked at me… then looked back at the toy.

“Baby…” she said slowly, “why does this Labubu have dreadlocks?”
I blinked. “Dread—?”

She turned it around.

The doll had one eye bigger than the other, tribal marks, and a nose ring.
Instead of a scary-cute vibe, it looked like it had escaped from a Nollywood horror movie.

Then she pressed the belly.

> Labubu (in a deep, Igbo-accented voice): “Cha Cha Cha Labubu.”

“I don’t think this is working. Any man who can’t buy me the real Labubu is not ready for a real relationship.”

Me: 😭

29/06/2025

Me:
“Babe, remember that iPhone you wanted for your birthday?”

Her:
“The one we went to see together at the phone shop?”

Me:
“Yes 🥺”

Her:
“Awwwn, baby… I can’t believe you got it for my birthday 😭❤️”

Me:
“Not really 😐… I just booked another appointment for us to go and LOOK at it again.”

Her: 👇👇👇

29/06/2025

If there’s one thing my Aunty is famous for, it’s not her cooking. It’s her world-record laziness. This woman can sit in one spot from sunrise to moonrise, only getting up to reposition her wrapper.

I went to stay with her for one week. One week only.

I woke up by 8am. No smell of food. No sound of pots.

At 9am, I yawned near her room to give her hint. Nothing.

At 10am, I “accidentally” dropped a spoon on the floor. She no still hear.

At 12:07, I heard it. That glorious sentence:

“Come and eat, oh!”

I ran. No, I flew. I landed in the dining room like a refugee. What I saw on the table was a crime against humanity.

Two slices of bread like say she dey dash beggar for traffic. Not agege. Two dry, square slices of bread.
“Aunty, be like say part of the breakfast fall for ground or is this the starter or…?”

She looked at me and said: “That’s how we do it here. You children eat too much these days.”

I didn't even talk too much I just got up quietly, entered the kitchen, opened the bread drawer.
Took out two fat slices. Just two. Poured tea. Added sardine for flavor and one chilled bottle of Coke for balance. E too much.

Aunty walked in.

Aunty: “Who told you to enter my kitchen?”

Me: “Spirit of hunger.”

Aunty: “So now you serve yourself abi? You think food grows on trees?”

She pointed at the door. “Pack your things. Get out of my house!”

I stood up with my Coke and packed my bags.”

She followed me, still shouting like a market megaphone.

“Ungrateful child! You're a glutton”

All that one I did not say anything until I heard.

After all I fed you!”

29/06/2025

You see, I’m a peaceful person.

I mind my business. I don’t fight. I don’t shout.

So, one fateful Saturday, I went to visit a long time family friend. Luckily for me they were having a party. I was served some small chops and I sat down to enjoy myself.

The moment I sat down, I met Joshua their child.
Three years old.

“Uncle who are you?”
“Uncle what’s that?”
“Uncle let me follow you.”
“Uncle I want your shoe.”
“Uncle I want to sit on your head.”

I smiled. “I’m your mummy’s friend.”

He smiled back. Then climbed straight onto my lap—without invitation.
Before I could blink, he had snatched the puff-puff from my plate.

“Joshua! Stop that!” his mother shouted, weakly.

He looked at her… then looked at me… then took another puff-puff.
I waited for her to take action. She said:
“Please don’t be angry. He’s just really hungry.”

I hadn’t even finished answering that one when he saw my drink.

“Uncle, I want to sip.”

I said, “No, it’s not for children.”

He started crying. Not normal cry—cinema-style tears with volume.

The mother panicked. “Please now, just give him small. He won’t stop till he gets it.”

Out of pity, I gave him a sip.

BIG MISTAKE.

He finished half the bottle. Then belched.

Then said, “I don’t like it.”

At this point, I was about to run mad but, I still smiled. Until he reached for my phone.

“Uncle, let me play game!”

I said, “No game. I’m using it.”

He held my charger like a hostage.
“I will cut this thing ohh.” And he did.

Snapped the charger. Looked me in the eye. Smiled.

I gasped. “JESUS!”

The mother stood up and said, “Oh no… Joshua!”

I looked at her. I looked at the remains of my charger.
She came to me, embarrassed. “Please forgive him. He’s only three.”

It wasn’t until food came that I realized God had a plan for revenge.

They brought out jollof rice, fried rice, salad, big juicy meat, and chilled malt.

“Uncle… I want.”

I ignored him.

“Uncle please. Just small. I’m hungry.”

The mother, watching, said softly:
“Please now. Just give him a few spoons. I’ll get yours later.”

I called Joshua. “You want meat?”

He nodded with all the energy of a hungry squirrel.

I smiled sweetly. “Close your eyes. Open your mouth.”

I gently slid the great ancestral bone into his mouth.
He bit. He swallowed.

Then…"Kkhhkk!! Khhkkk!!"

Then he dropped to the floor like a tired mosquito.

The mother screamed,“JOSHUA!!!”

She slapped his back and the bone flew out.

I heard Joshua cough one last time and whisper weakly:

“Uncle is wicked…”

Me: 👇👇👇👇👇

17/06/2025

™️
We walked into the pet shop. My girlfriend and I.

Everywhere was smelling like baby powder and fur.
A dog barked at me in a British accent.

Me: “These dogs look expensive.”

Her: “They’re not that expensive. Let’s ask.”

The pet attendant walked in with a smile.
“Ah! This one is a Cavapoo-Chow-Poodle hybrid. ₦450,000 only. ”

Me: “Sorry, did you say four hundred and—”

My girlfriend: already holding the dog. “Aww, look at his eyes so cute.”

The dog licked her cheek. That was the beginning of the end.

I don’t know what the dog whispered into her ear and then it looked at me and I can swear it smiled at me.
All I know is I was swiping my card five minutes later.

Me: “So we’re done now, right?”

Her: “No love, we can’t just take him home without the essentials.”

Essentials ke. Before I could blink, we had paid for:

Orthopedic dog bed: ₦75,000.

Organic grain-free imported dog food: ₦55,000

Designer food bowls: ₦25,000.

Dog perfume: ₦13,500.

Dog jacket: ₦17,000.

Dog name tag: ₦20,000.

I carried all the bags.
The dog was in her arms like royalty.
I was sweating like a servant in a Nollywood movie.

That night, after spending ₦784,000 on a dog, I said to myself: “Omo, it’s fine. At least tonight, I’ll collect small reward.”

I walked into the bedroom. She was already under the duvet… spooning Sir Pudding. (the yeye dog)
I cleared my throat. Smiled. Whispered:
“Babe… let’s have some quality time. If you know what I mean…”

She looked at me—half-asleep, half-irritated.

“He just slept. Please don’t wake him. Maybe tomorrow.”

Tomorrow???

I looked at her.
I looked at the dog.
The dog looked at me... and then, with full confidence, the idiot lifted his paw and placed it right on her chest.

She smiled and kissed it's forehead.

“Good boy…”

GOOD WHAT???

17/06/2025

So I was marking this children's script 😭😭
April come get 59 days 🤧🤧

16/06/2025

It happened at one wedding like that.
You know those events where the food takes three years to reach your table? I waited patiently. I was starving, but I maintained dignity. Class.

Finally, they served the plate. Jollof rice, salad, moi moi, plantain and one beautiful brown meat the size of some people destiny. The meat was so big.

I looked at it and smiled. “God is good.”

I didn't even taste the rice first — I attacked the meat straight. That was my first and final mistake.

I bit into it, and the bone inside the meat jammed the back of my throat. Blinked twice. Tried to cough small. Nothing.

The thing refused to come out or go down. It was stuck. I tried to drink water. The water entered and hit the bone. Nothing changed. I started sweating.

Person beside me said, “Bro, you dey alright?”

I nodded. But my eyes were turning red.

Then I stood up — slowly — trying not to attract attention. But my face was doing “trouble is near.” I rushed to the toilet. Locked the door. I started coughing like someone possessed. I bent over the sink. Tears in my eyes. Life flashing. Until one final cough brought it out — one long, evil-looking bone.

I looked at it. Looked at myself in the mirror.

I had survived death.

When I returned to the hall, I walked in slowly, like someone who just escaped prison only to meet the server in front of the hall, dumping the rest of my untouched food into the dustbin.

Me: Faints in bone-choked hunger and heartbreak.

06/06/2025

Let me tell you about my friend Blessing.

This girl fine die. Good girl. Na the kind person wey dey cook, clean but unfortunately, her mumu button na her boyfriend, Chuka.

From day one, we knew that guy head no correct.
He too dey para for small things. If food no sweet — slap.
If she no pick his call — slap.
If she breathe the wrong way — slap.

At first, we think say na play. Until one day, she show up with serious bruise for her hand.
I ask her, “,Wetin happen?”
She said, “I mistakenly pour hot water on myself.”

But the hand get five clear finger marks. Hot water dey leave handprint?

I said, “Blessing, talk true. Chuka hit you?”

She just look down. “It was my fault,” she said. “I provoked him.”

Provoked who? He be lion?

I was angry. I told her point blank, “This guy go kill you one day. You better leave.”

But no o. Next thing she talk be: “He loves me. He just has anger issues. I’m the only one that understands him.”

Ah. Na there I know say jazz fit dey involved.

This guy don beat her reach the point where she dey wear hoodie for sun — just to hide injury.
She no dey go church again. She delete all her male friends.
Every time we see am, na one excuse or the other. And the worst part? Her family knew — but because of the guys money they said nothing.

One day she called me at midnight. Her voice weak. I rush go her place with two of our friends.

We reach there — blood full floor. The guy beat her with belt and iron hanger. Say she no boil rice early.

Omo, my hand begin shake. We rush am hospital.

You know wetin pain me pass?

As she dey hospital, almost die — she still dey say, “Please don’t arrest him. He’s not always like this.”

I look her. Tears just full my eye.

I say, “Blessing, if you die inside this thing, you no go get chance to explain say ‘he’s not always like this.’”

But guess what?

Two weeks later… she got back to him.

Till today, I no fit understand. Love no suppose be boxing match.

Me, I don rest. I no dey beg again. Because until she’s ready, she go still dey inside that prison, calling it ‘love.’

05/06/2025

Look, there are things in this life that don’t make sense. Like how NEPA can take light while you're still plugging the socket. Or how your salary disappears by the 5th of every month. But nothing—nothing—beats what I saw with my two koro-koro eyes.

It started like this.

I was hungry. The kind of hunger that makes you start remembering all the food you wasted as a child.

So I branched my guy Jide’s house.

Me:
“Guy, abeg, you fit help my destiny with small food? Even if na dry garri and cold water.”

Jide:
“Omo, e no reach like that nau. I just soak garri now. Come join me.”

Hope! My spirit lifted and I entered the parlour.

That’s when I saw it.

The bowl of garri.
Floating inside:
Cold water ✅
Sugar ✅

But beside it... resting on a blue plastic plate...
Two hard-boiled eggs.

At first, I thought he was still prepping. You know, maybe to slice the eggs for something else. Maybe egg sauce?

Until I saw him pick one egg like it was gala, take a bite, and then sip garri like juice.

Sip.
Chew.
Swallow.
Repeat.

I stared. He continued like nothing was wrong.

Jide:
“You no go chop?”

Me:
“I dey...come.”

Jide:
“Ah ah. Na normal nau. Garri with egg dey give joy. E balance the hunger with protein.”

Me:
“But egg and garri? Like this? Together??”

Jide:
“Yes nau. You never try am before?”

Me:
“Bro... I was raised by responsible parents.”

He laughed.

Jide:
“No worry. Na experience. Once you try garri with egg, you no go go back.”

I stood there in silence, watching him dip half a boiled egg into the garri like bread into tea.

Me (in my mind):
“If my ancestors see this now, na slap dem go give me.”

But as hunger nearly bent my spine, I had to make a decision. Starve or join him in this food abomination?

Reader, what should I do?

04/06/2025

Let me tell you a story that still gives me chest pain anytime I remember.

It was a hot Thursday afternoon. NEPA had taken light since morning. I was broke.

My only hope, my last and final card, my ₦500 note, was hiding in my old Biology textbook inside my cupboard.

I had big plans for that ₦500:

₦300 for bread

₦100 for groundnut

₦100 for pure water.

Everything was budgeted like government salary.

I opened my cupboard. I was humming "Jehovah you are the most high" in advance because food was coming. I opened the book…

And I froze. I blinked twice.

The money was gone. No… it wasn’t just gone.

Half of it was chewed. Like bite marks.

At that exact moment, like it was planned, I saw something scurry across the floor.

It was big, brown, and shameless. It paused, turned, and looked at me like, "You dey find something?"

It was the rat.

I screamed:

> “You this ancestral rat! What did I do to you? Why me?! Why not EFCC? Why not politicians?? Why my last ₦500?!”

I held what was left of the note. I tried to take it to the kiosk. The woman looked at me like I brought forged currency.

“Abeg, wetin do this money?”

“A rat ate it.”

She squinted. “Na rat or na you chew am?”

I said, “Madam, I no get strength. Give me pure water before I collapse here.”

"I no dey collect this kind money"

Me: Faints in rat caused hunger and starvation.

03/06/2025

Let me tell you something… I’ve eaten a lot of questionable things in this life. Burnt rice, salty beans, meat that needed counselling. But nothing—nothing—could have prepared me for what I faced that day.

It all started when my friend, Juliet, invited me over for lunch. She said:
> “Come now, I cooked. You’ll love it! It’s egusi soup.”

Egusi? Say no more.

Me, I wore jeans and sneakers. I came with hunger and hope. And a bottle of Coke to wash it down.

I sat down, smiling. She brought the food. I opened the plate and—

First red flag: the egusi was swimming.

I dipped my fufu in with courage.

My hand went in… and kept going in… and was still going… and at some point, I felt like Moses parting the Red Sea.

Where was the thickness? The power of egusi?

What I pulled out was fufu covered in warm water.

I looked at her and said:

> “Juliet, this soup has no backbone.”

She replied, “Don’t be dramatic. It’s egusi smoothie.”

SMOOTHIE?!

I took another bite out of politeness, and the soup actually slid off the fufu and went back to the plate like, “Nope, I’m not ready.”

I paused.

I tried to find meat. I stirred.

I saw nothing. No pomo, no fish, no titus, no beef. Just leaves floating like they were stranded.

I asked, “Where’s the meat?”

She smiled. “Oh, I blended everything together. Even the crayfish.”

Blended?

You blended the meat into the soup, and the soup into juice?

Juliet, are we making zobo??

After three spoons, I felt the Holy Spirit telling me, “My child, this is not your battle. Flee.”

I faked a phone call. “Ah! Hello? What? My landlord is fighting the plumber?! I'm coming!”

I dropped the spoon and ran out of the house.

31/05/2025

So one morning, we were all chilling at the usual spot—under the mango tree beside Mama Ibeji’s kiosk. Everyone dey chop gala when my guy, Kunle, just dropped the bomb:

> “Guyssss… I wan marry.”

Silence. Even the mango tree pause the breeze.

We looked at him.
Me: “Marry who?”
Kunle: “Sandra.”
We laughed.

But Kunle was dead serious.
I said, “Kunle, I no dey vex o… but what do you have in your life that qualifies you to marry?”

He said, “Love. Commitment. Faith.”
I said, “You no get rent, no job, your bank account is a prayer point, and you dey say love?”
Kunle pointed to the sky, “Even birds of the air have nests, and I too—by God’s grace—will nest with Sandra.”
Chuka shook his head, “You don’t even have feather. You want to nest.”

But Kunle no gree. The guy was in love. Head-deep.

Against all advice, the guy said he’d go ahead.
“Marriage is not about money,” he said, “We will start small.”
I said, “No wahala. Let’s start na”

Next thing you know, we enter WhatsApp group:
“Operation Kunle & Sandra 2025.”

Contributions started.
I gave ₦2,000.
Chuka gave one speaker and two sachets of groundnut oil.
Sandra’s cousin pledged two crates of malt.
Another girl said she’d do makeup

We still had no venue because apparently Sandra wanted an outdoor wedding not in a church.

Then Chuka remembered:
> “My uncle get land. It’s just... a bit overgrown. But it’s peaceful.”

On the Wedding Day we set up chairs (borrowed from church), hung white bedsheet for backdrop, and tied mosquito net as wedding arch.
The bride’s dress tore small while she was climbing down from the okada, but we pinned it with office stapler.
Kunle wore a suit he borrowed from his cousin. The blazer reach his knee.
Sandra wore white gown that used to be her aunty’s wedding dress.

The pastor came with his Bible and his generator.
Once he started preaching, generator said “kprrrah!” and went off.
Pastor shouted, “We don’t need light. Jesus is light!”

Everyone clapped.
Pastor: “Kunle, do you take Sandra… for better or worse?”
Kunle: “Yes, sir.”
Pastor: “Do you have a ring?”
Kunle looked at me.
Me: “Omo!” I ran to the bush, came back with a key holder shaped like a heart. We cleaned it.
Sandra wore it like fine accessory.

Reception started with zobo and puff-puff.
DJ played love songs but generator kept going off. Music turned to clapping and humming.

But Kunle and Sandra? They danced. Like millionaires.

Moral of the Story?

Go and Marry😁😁

Singing Scribe

29/06/2025

29/06/2025

29/06/2025

29/06/2025

17/06/2025

17/06/2025

16/06/2025

06/06/2025

05/06/2025

04/06/2025

03/06/2025

31/05/2025

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