Ode to a Silver Spoon

I initially wrote this for the ‘The writer’ competition at http://thenakedconvos.com/. I think its time I flushed it out of my ‘drafts’ folder.

I refuse to be held accountable for any perceived silliness. It was written in a dank laundromat at 5 pm on a cold Sunday evening. This may or may not explain what you are about to read (if you have not already read it)



Ode to a silver spoon.

My soul is overwhelmed with a thousand quakes
My heart suffers a dull and constant ache,
As I sit upon this chair – a throne of thorns
Condemned to suffer for this mistake.
T’was not but half an hour ago
That I purchased Ben and Jerry’s cookie dough.
An ice cream balm for spirits descended low
Ah! But fate did deal me a cruel blow!
My spoon, I forgot by the window
My splendid spoon! Of stainless steel and fire born!
Sitting upon your kitchen windowsill throne, all modesty shorn.
The thought of which unto me brings only woe and mourn!
I wish I could reach forth and take you but alas, I am forlorn.
I sit here emotionally torn,
For to my Laziness I am well and truly sworn!
Your glory and majesty lies in the kitchen so far away
Can you not rise and come my way?
Spoon, spoon, spoon! Mine to hold and woo!
My dear sweet spoon, I must have you!
Will you not come to my rescue?
I shall sing your praises, if you but come on cue
I beseech thee, silver Zeus of Olympian cutlery,
Conspire with gravity, take leave and come to me.
Surely, you can achieve this minor glory
The tales of your exploits are the stuff of legend and fine story.
Radiant Aphrodite herself spoke highly of your beauty
Your curvaceous body is the envy of all other cutlery.
Your cheerful shine, I reflect upon as you fit into my mouth perfectly
Whenever I consume ice cream or pudding or soup rapturously.
Your bottommost design is reminiscent of seashells,
Cast upon a sun swept beach by dutiful waves.
Your slender frame remains the envy of the finest supermodels
To possess your features, they would gladly become slaves.
Of your functions, praise singers have made many melodies
They sing of your battles and attendant glories.
Of the time you sent three million grains of rice to digestive death
And caused ten delicious apple strudels to cease breath.
Conqueror of food! Silver prince divine!
Hasten to me that again you may shine!
I cannot rise but surely you can, please! I implore!
I promise I shall wash thee only with the finest detergent d’or!
Lovely spoon, my eyes now see of a true hue
And realize now that even as I yearn for you,
And beseech you with praises old and new
I have yet never heard tell of a spoon that flew.
So I know in my heart that today, you and I will not meet,
My ice cream is already melting around my feet
And laziness will not permit me rise from this seat.
Glorious utensil! Sadly, we must concede defeat.
Pulchritudinous silver spoon, thee I still adore!
This shall not taint your magnificence of yore
And even though you have never failed me before
In this moment of disappointment I truly love you more
Than ever I loved any spoon before.

How to write a Nigerian Story: Case Study

Student Name: TTXIII

Course Lecturer: NaijaRookie

Course Code: NGNSTY101

Course Title: How to write a Nigerian story

Assessment Code: 3131419

Case Study on how to write a Nigerian Story.

Class instructions can be found here: How to write a Nigerian story

Time Allowed: Unlimited

Actual time taken to write this Case study: 57 minutes.


Bode woke up from his dream with a strange pain in his chest. He knew at once that he had to go back to his village to see Baba Togoriode. This affliction did not have its roots in  the physical world. No, this was the handwork of unfamiliar spirits. He struggled to his feet and walked over the the window of his single bed room in the face-me-I face you blaock of apartments that he had come to call home over the last 3 years. Pulling apart the threadbare curtains, he gazed toward the rising sun and remembered a time when he and his father used to watch the sun rise together. And then he began to weep as memories of his father flooded his mind. Memories of the prison visits where his father would smile a confident smile and say “dont worry Bode, Abacha will not have me killed, the UN is watching him closely. I will be home soon”. Three days later, his father – a well known industrialist and political activist was executed by firing squad and buried in a mass grave with 20 other ‘conspirators’ by the cruel regime for opposing their blatant looting of public finds. He never even saw his fathers body. All his fathers properties on Banana Island and Ikoyi were seized by the regime. His father had paid the ultimate price for the hope of democracy and his mother could not endure the transaction. She too, died of a heart attack shortly thereafter.

Bode quickly snapped from his reverie and rushed to take a bath in the public space outside his compound. On his way there, he ran into Chudi, his neighbor

“Bros! We neva get light for almost tiri months now, I don call landlord but e no gree come. Wetin we go do?”

“Chudi, landlord no send us. Na so country be. Government sef no care about us just like landlord. Wetin man pikin wan do?”

“Chei, Broda Bode! Na God go save us o!”

“It is well, my brother. God dey”

And with that, bode carried on into the zinc and wood cubicle and cleansed himself with some difficulty. His chest was still hurting but he knew he had to endure. As he left the bath shack, he thought he saw a black Mercedes Benz pull away from the small clearing in front of their compound. Amina used to drive a Black Mercedes. A tear escaped his eye as he remembered the first day they had met in the market.

She had asked him for some help carrying her things and he had agreed. Back then, he was helping Nonso the trader carry rice bags from the trailer park and studying for his JAMB in his spare time in exchange for being able to sleep in the shop. When he finished helping her, she offered him money, but he declined and started to walk away. She called out to him and asked if he would help her father do some gardening for N10,000 a month and a room in their Boys quarters. He agreed and began work the next week. Their affair began the week after. They spent many hours talking under the comfortable shade of the Shiswitlikeshokolate tree behind their boys quarters. He told her of his family and how rich they used to be before the tragedy. She fell in love with him. But one day, her mother came home from the mosque and said that the Alfa had warned her, there was a snake in their house. Their love was discovered and Amina’s father Dr. Usman, threw him out.

Bode struggled into his shoes and made his way to the motor park, fighting with memories all the way. The bus took only 3 hours to reach Wiastilstuckendedarkages village where Baba Togoriode lived. Making his way to Baba Togoriodes hut, he happened upon a crowd of villagers gathered around the Iroko tree in front of Baba’s house gazing at the lone flickering light bulb that hung from it. He could hear the sound of Baba’s generator in the back. Baba was the only man in the village with access to a generator. He wrangled through the crowd and entered the hut.

“Baba, its me Bode” he called out

“Bode, welcome. Come inside”

He stepped into Baba’s inner room and all of a sudden the pain in his chest increased as he saw two men seated beside Baba Togoriode. He could not believe what he was seeing. Seated on the raffia mat  were men that appeared to be Gen. Sani Abacha and Gen. Muratala Mohammed. They were smiling. Bode turned to Baba togoriode and asked

“Baba what is going on?”

“Amina is a witch” Baba spat out


“you kissed her when you were living in her house?”

“Yes Baba, but…”

“No buts! She is a witch! You must bring me N100,000 in 3 days or your pain will get worse and she will eat your spirit”

“Ah! Baba!”

“Go now. Take this number, call this man, he needs some assistance, he can help you.Now go!” 

Generals Abacha and Murtala Mohammed smiled.

Bode turned and exited the hut hurriedly. He did not glance back to see that the villagers that had been staring at the bulb were now staring at him.

When he got back to Lagos, he quickly dialed the number and the man on the other end asked him to come to an address in Ikeja. He got there at 10:00pm and met four men in masks. He was quickly briefed that they would be robbing a house and needed a lookout; that his cut would be the N100,000. Bode balked at this, the memories of his father and mother strong in his mind. He could not become a robber like the great robber – Abacha – that had killed his father. He also recognised one of the robbers as the P.A. to Dr. Usman. He excused himself  with the pretext of going to urinate and leaping into the bush, called Amina to warn her. As he returned back the clearing where the robbers had been, he was shocked.

Standing in front of him were Amina, her father – Dr. Usman, her mother, Baba Togoriode, Dr. Usman’s P.A., and the other ‘robbers’.

“You are a good man, Bode. Even though you are Yoruba. You may be with my daughter now. and I will treat you for the Acute Pericarditis that is causing your chest pains. I have always known you had it, just as I have always known you always go to Baba when you are sick.”

Amina rushed into Bode’s arms and he hugged her tightly. He felt like he was a character in a Nicolas Sparks… errrr… no sorry… I mean … in a Tchidi Chikere movie.

But none of that mattered, he was happy.