BOKO HARAM (western values are forbidden) IN PRINT

http://www.amazon.com/Boko-Haram-Western-Values-Forbidden/dp/1505336287 Boko Haram translates into Western education is forbidden, a clarion call that forbids Western values. It is the insurgency across northern Nigeria with political bombs in Islamic shells, establishing Islamic values by expunging Western ones. It likens this mysterious young vengeful quest to fight a perception of God’s war, deny itself the fair chance to live according to values it holds dearly. Every one is potentially a writer because they make up some sort of story in their minds. Respective stories vary from factual to fictional. People tell it or write it, share it or not, but everyone wants to be heard making sense of their deductions of the life they observe and live, trade or share. The most idealistic writers are quite assertive and would want to have the last word. They rebel against other assertive ideals that conflict with theirs and seek to establish their values by force. The most aggression comes off the most conservative extremists. Boko Haram became the identity of the Nigerian variation of militant Islam, long after it had taken root the world over. Their campaign of terror is construed to be barbaric idiocy to all who aspire civility. As the sect marked their brand of insurgency across most of northern Nigeria with emerging political bombs in Islamic shells, they sought to establish Islamic values in the country by forcibly expunging Western values. Boko Haram translates into Western education is forbidden, but in practice the clarion call has always been Western values are forbidden. Deservedly or not, each individual feels they have earned a say and it is usually just enough to voice it. But these extremists must have their say at all costs. Since it is in the nature of people to have more of what they most desire, these extremists naturally do not stop at just having their say, they must also impose it, regardless that every single person must have their own say too. In his quest to fight his perception of God’s war, a mysterious keeper of an elite community Mosque denies himself his own natural ability to live according to the values he holds dear. By embarking on crusades across humanity to end the excesses of cultures they abhors, Militants simultaneously deny their own values the opportunity to exhibit their laudable essence. In effect, they torture themselves without the decency of living even the simple sacred lives they deserve.

BORN TO SIN

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Sin is not just outside, somewhere;
From where it comes without fear,
Disintegrating our shelled defenses;
To break and consume our senses.

It is inside us, just right within,
Where it sees through us so thin
And struggles to appear right out,
To roam and enjoy its world about.

Alive so well to breed its yield;
It pushes and urges us to build
A worldly home for it and us
To wait outside, in mutual loss.

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THAT OLD PAST

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I miss a lot I never saw,
Its still aloft yet old as raw.
I missed much I still can hear,
All that such still remains here.

I miss old ways in past years,
Those old nays and crude yeas.
I crave for the meal I never ate;
Yearn so much for a feel I never met.

I miss soft tapping finger tips,
Strapped swinging held swaying hips,
Swishing feet on glittering marbled floors,
Flowing gowns, paired feet in coupled fours.

I miss good music guided by tiny sticks,
Quiet audiences in silent peace that reeks.
And when they dance, its like a mute hymn,
Tapping away on hard soles, following a rhythm.

I miss husky sleepy humming lullabies,
With honest night stories full of nice lies.
I miss trained hands on black and white ivory keys,
And the sweet old past would ever numb all knees.

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SUICIDE

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From where comes all this dew,
Delighting thoughts with to chew.

Soothing pressures that boo,
But sound frightfully so lewd.

I grabbed the wind horn I blew,
For I alone do hear it so true.

A loss I think I’ll cause you,
The pains might escape a few.

My swift scheme hardly new,
Like good cheats daring who.

Life is the full pot of new stew
Emotional foot found with its shoe.

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MOUTHING PIOUS PLATITUDE

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Two gentlemen of the world met,
Sitting on a park bench together.
They shared as their extremes let,
Yet their unique talents will hinder.

Pious is the madman, who lives here;
His abode ignored but litters the world.
Platitude, a Proffessor that goes there,
To seclude from the kind his world mould.

Crazy in his rags and papered home,
Pious welcomes his regular guest’s tale.
The rotten egg welcoming the bone;
Like a dog, he shows off his one tail.

They converse about a news item;
The learned Prof reads off his News daily.
Forwarding arguments befitting them,
Each reasoned man’s folly mainly.

Teachers sought reason for the sane,
Making sense of theories as realities.
While the insane do the very same,
Realities as theories are certainties.

In ostentatious escapades of the mad
Roams religious virtue so uncommon
And in sanity’s commonness easily had
Grows the loose morality we do summon.

Embedded in their platonic briefs
Is the story of their common child;
Man’s common sense and beliefs,
Are like madmen’s, when all are blind.

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Okpekpe Experience

I was recently in Okpekpe Village in Etsako East LGA of Edo State Nigeria. A village now famous for the Okpekpe Road Race.

I was there for the funeral of the aged mother of a close friend but I came away with a short impromptu document on the ingenuity of some local boys and a cute shy dancer…. ENJOY!!!

Smart Brave boys, getting paid to have fun

Folakemi Odoaje: "This is impressive! Great seeing young children having fun and being creative with it. Interesting different turns the video took – imagine if these boys learn to be precise with timing, having a timer so they know how long each experiment stayed for. Also, Isn't it funny that as young as they are they already believed girls are scared hence they are not part of the experiment – I bet they can't give any example to solidify this myths – just the believe that was pass down.Loved them, happy children having fun!"

Beyonce in the making….eh?

Just kid having their fun at
FINE TIMES

Winners so abound,
Strapped and bounded.
Elated all around,
Joyously dumb-founded.

Those fine times
Speaks for all kinds.
Saying as do chimes,
That time do binds.

Rare times of winning
Brings forth the hidden.
Revealing all missing;
Fingers in the mitten.

LIGHT OF DEATH

1554493_241905279304957_1436764750_n With fools death is celebrated,
For understanding gains height.
When death is communicated.
The moon hides its very light;
Today it’s clear, tomorrow cremated.

Hausa translation
(Hasken Mutuwa)
Da wawa a ke rawan mutuwa,
Domin haske na chan sama.
Ranan da dare ya ga mutuwa,
Wata za bache daga sama.
Yau da haske, gobe mutuwa.

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LUCK SUCKS

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“Well,” they ever said indifferently,
“You can’t eat your cake and have it.”
‘Bug off!’ I puff out most angrily,
‘You happen to do so every minute.’

“Ah! But it is so, my mate and son,”
They grin with eyes all a sly glint.
“We can all have the same bait on,
Yet I catch and you are still skint.”

‘Never alive?’ I wonder not so loud.
‘Like déjà vu?’ And I’m yet helpful.
“Where many danced your dance proud,
You will be jeered and hailed a fistful.”

‘Is it me then, and my own luck?
Need I add fate, destiny’s slut?’
“We agree to prove only to mock.”
‘Then I’ll set bait and eat my lot.’

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THESE CLICHÉS

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Do they reap what they sow?
I’ve wondered as long as I come.
Often enough it has been as before,
They bury the hive yet have the comb.

Spare the rod and lose the child,
Same as many who didn’t at all.
The least expected child went wild
While the worst possible stands tall.

Surely and steady wins the said race,
But the rash in haste, are long gone to lose.
The patient keeps the bone or the chase,
The flesh it devoured only with its nose.

One step at a time is the long walk,
It has shown so many their goal.
That more had lived this same talk,
They still are now staring at a wall.

Rome was not built in a single day;
But it was conceived in just one.
What just any man really is anyway
Was a mere thought that was none.

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