Kaygeegal writes about the many tell tales in our daily life. Enjoy AMEBO, and remember to use the comment box. We appreciate feedback a lot. Thanks

The breeze blew
Harmonizing the hushes after stories
But I have heard…they were talking about me
About my hobby.

She said I’m a lazy seer

Prophetizing a wreckage future.
But I am no seer

I only emit things I see


I told the landlord that brother Jero helps rock his boat
Afterall he needs help down there.

Was I a lazy seer when I prophesied that Lere would die of black heart?
I alone see her around Sikiru 
When all hens shed their chickens at his presence
She dwells with him in the dark

I rock on my stool…listening
She that cast my news knows why 
Her beau laced her with that black rope I know nothing of
She should rejoice I see things
Her naive listener’s husband would have  climbed the unclimbed.

Am I still a lazy seer?
Am I wrong in protecting them all like a great shepherd?
Should I tell her now that her beau just escaped to the Corper’s chamber? 
Naaaaah…let her enjoy my tales with her listener
By my stool, they shall all pass

The writer is on twitter as @kaygeegal. She writes for leisure and pleasure

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This happens to be the first post here this year. I remember promising that I would write more often. While I have failed in that regard, I still have the opportunity to make it right. For today, enjoy ‘Lanre Bucknor’s writing. Its quite a humorous read. Don’t forget to use the comment box too

As much as I want the beards
It has refused to heed my call
As much as I crave the beards
It has refused to yield result

Age has moved in geometrics
Beards chose to be arithmetic
If age were to be the metrics
Maybe mine would have been a matrix

One have seen the womenfolk adorn it
Even though they cherish it not
But not everyone of us chose to be apes
‘Cos some even remove with tapes


The quantity of hair elsewhere swells
Even though one wants them less
Like a military man bound by the code
Hair in the jaw region has refused to grow

Allison coke carves with mischevious smile
Same funny smirks that comes in phase
Methylated spirit wouldn’t change my case
As I have discovered beard gang isn’t my fate

Beard would serve some of us well
Most of us already going bald
For dual purpose in sunnah and gang
For maturity in wisdom and class

Picture Credit:

 ‘Lanre is not particularly bald but have a receding hairline. He craves having beards but unfortunately for him so far, he hasn’t been able to keep a full one. Well, he is on twitter as @lordrooz

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Okay, okay, I go on a raving and ranting spree yet again. Alright, it is not meant to be a rant, before you get mad at me seeing as my last exercise here was a rambling piece.

Seems I would stop entering my bathroom as it is there that many of my ‘funny’ musings come. I really cannot as there are lots of other not so funny stuff that come when I’m in there doing ‘things’. That should let me stay there more often. I have taken life changing decisions while I sat on the white ceramic bowl, emptying my bowels. I have stood, letting water pass through the parts you see, and the not readily

So I was trying to take a bath after getting myself involved in some highly demanding work, and then that thing that talks in my head started again. Let me let you in to the thoughts that camped in my head while I was having that bath.

I heard of the mumu button some years ago. The pretty lady I call the nightingale was the one who talked of having my mumu button when I said something akin to her making me feel giddy and breaking down my defences.

That exactly is how many of us have had our defences broken and weaknesses exposed by that one person; that one person that can change your mind when you might have decided to do something else; that one person that makes every other thing pale into insignificance; that one person that…*coughs*

Have you had to bend rules to accommodate a particular person’s excesses at different times? My dear, that person might be your weakness. If you have had to ‘deal with’ someone for doing something, and made excuses for another, the other person might just be your weakness.

Should I give more instances? There is that person you always want to please, that person whose mood affects yours, that person you always look at as one whose standards must be lived up to, that person you put ahead of yourself sometimes (that is not so cool though), that person you want to keep happy. Whoever that person is, (s)he might just be your weakness. Depending on how much of a grip you have on yourself, that individual(s) might just have your mumu button…and depending on how much of your mumuness you hand over to them, you might find yourself have an improved life or absolutely exploited.

These things happen and there is no reason to feel bad about having a weakness. The only thing I do not like (and which unfortunately I cannot change) is the fact that people mostly exploit the fact that they have your mumu button in a negative way. Mostly when we take stock of how people who are our weaknesses have dealt with us, we often feel short changed.

I am pretty sure someone is thinking about the opposite gender when we talk of weaknesses. NO. Even in those people who have the same privates as you, there are folks you like so much that you accommodate and tolerate crap from. Those are folks who will get away with blue murder and you will stand there grinning like someone who just won the best mumu award.

No matter how tough or stony your heart is, I do not need you to admit, I just only will say that there is that person(s) who is your weakness. I know you will not admit that you have a mumu button, so let us just say it in English: “there is that person you will cut some slack” #yimu. You see now? That does not make you a mumu like me, it only makes you human. LOOOOOOOOOL

I am sure some people would be asking themselves what I am driving at with this piece (seems like a bit of rudderless junk to me too, so I no dey vex if you reason am like that). Wait, I will explain, I do not need to justify what the man that talks in my head tells me, but I will explain. I know people who are my weaknesses, and a few of them know they cannot get a NO from me. I know people who will never say NO to me as well (I am lucky fam).

In all of these weakness and mumu button pressing, try as much as possible to not be too much of an exploiter on the negative side of things. Yes, you one of are their weaknesses but make sure you don’t leave a bitter after taste in their mouth arising from the special place they put you in their mind and heart.

Let me go and cook biko

I’m outta here…xoxoxoxoxoxo

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SO I sit in my office tonight, the noisy hum of the Ox fan that is helping us deal with both the heat and the defiant mosquitoes has an additional function for me, it is playing me some sort of music as it oscillates to the left and the right. The reach of the breeze is however limited as the mosquitoes still have a field day under the table. Let them feed, they have no parents J

I cast my mind back to the turn of the millennium a decade and five years ago and I remember how Dad saw my then book of poems. He was not meant to see it and it was a sort of shock when he said “Oluseye, I saw your poems”. There were less than five poems in the 40 leaves notebook I used for my writing. Of the five, three were love poems inspired by my high school lover. Yes, it was the final year and we were readying ourselves for our WASSCE, and hormones were running wild, and I was channeling part of mine into writing for my ‘lover’.

I expected to be told off by my journalist Dad for ‘wasting my time writing romantic nonsense’ at such a young age but he did the exact opposite. Lauding me, he picked a favourite of the five and encouraged me to do more. I got to publish in the newspaper where he worked, the exact company whose land and structures gave way for the Cocoa Mall in Ibadan today.

I would write and write after my WASSCE exams. I kept writing without any care in the world. I would ink my thoughts in poetry without being scared of anyone to judge me. Even if you wanted to judge me or make uncomplimentary remarks, it would not get to me. Maybe it was the innocence of adolescence; maybe it was the beauty of having nothing to lose and everything to gain by writing, I just kept writing and keeping inside the house or getting space in the youth section of the newspaper. In my writings, there was me; the exuberance of my youth, the happiness of doing something I liked.

Those were sweet old days. Fast forward fifteen years and I have noticed that I have been very careful in my writings. Maybe the demands of adulthood have made me want to stay on a good note with people around. A handshake here and a hug there; a tickle here and a giggle there, and little by little I have slowed down on expressing myself full blast. I have slowly lost the edge in my writing that made me see who I am, and what I want to pass on wholly.

I would craft pieces I would see as beautiful but I would not be satisfied because I have left out the parts that ‘might get me into trouble’ or court controversy. According to the Manager of the team I support in the EPL, I have been writing “with the handbrake on”. I would make my point but I cared too much whose ox was gored. I would prevaricate and dance around calling black what it was in its absolute blackness; I would be too nice and end up calling it ‘grayish black’. Now, that is just an example.

Reflecting over the past few days, I have discovered that I should write without the handbrake. Writing is for me a form of letting out steam and expressing what I feel from my interaction with my immediate environment. Why then have I not fully expressed myself because of what people would think or say? Fact I have come to realize in the past few weeks is that it is a crime against myself and my brain to stifle myself. It might have been acceptable before but it no longer is.

I have therefore come out to say with effect from now I shall write the way I see it. Enough of the buttering up, enough of the sweet talking, enough of the surrendering to people’s whims and bending to their caprices.

I will come out very plain and direct as from now. Some articles will be seen as subliminals, some as direct attacks, some as famzing or whatever we call it. I will see it from my point of view: just writing out my thoughts. Many times I will sound to some like a broken record or a noisy cymbal, please do not pardon me. Just see it as me letting you into the innermost portion of my mind, and sharing with you what I think and feel.

Maybe I will create a category on Oscarpoems blog and name it No More Handbrakes, maybe I will just write at random; maybe I will give it another name. One thing is sure; I am going to write, no holds barred, and I will not apologize for my thoughts. Enjoy this serving, and an introduction to what to expect, a regular piece of my mind. I would still do fiction and faction, but Reflections will regularly feature.

Time to steal some of my employer’s hours and lay down to sleep, after all that’s what they are also doing right now.


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Re: The Charisma, The protégé; The Duplication of the Zeal.( A rejoinder by ‘Lanre Bucknor)

The work of Allah is not a noise making exercise! It is really this simple; one will come to this later.

It’s been a while one penned his thoughts. Also, it’s been a while one was furious at someone who one feels he shares mutual respect with, the one who made one do both stuff recently is the same person who penned the above titled article.

Owoyele accepts he has a protégé in someone, he denies it with words of mouth but half-heartedly, he acts as much as so.

A protégé by definition is a person who receives special attention, protection and promotion from someone more established in a field. If this definition is too technical to you as it is to one, let’s look at this way, a protégé is a young person who is taught and helped by someone who has a lot of knowledge and experience.

Owoyele seemingly passed a torch to his protégé impliedly or expressly, he holds the stick and carrot but Owoyele only gives his protégé the carrot and rarely wields the stick on his protégé when he ought to. Maybe, he would have done this more if he realises that his protégé listens to him more before anyone else apart from maybe his parents and his siblings. Instead, Owoyele prefers to blame one, yes blame, not criticize, for his protégé’s undoings as regards the subject matter of discuss, as evident here:

“…He hence blames issues of the second term regime on the other who he feels by the golden advice for Islamic workers, Charisma handed him the torch”.

Owoyele obviously doesn’t get one’s point with the above statement, he feels one blames one’s incapabilities and or failings on another, he doesn’t understand what one means by one and his protégé not operating on same pedestal, he fails to see that, whilst one wants to get things done no matter how hard, the other wants to be in the spotlight no matter how hard.

But then, the work of Allah is not and never a noise making exercise because if it’s the spotlight one craves, one will find himself in it and the huge reward accrued to one passes one by.

Owoyele keeps failing as it were, to distinguish between the grand motive of these two fellows, one understands what it means to fail himself, the people he represents and the God he serves and do whatever in his power albeit procrastination laden to get things sorted. If this is the motive of the other fellow, Allahu A’alam.

One accepts Criticisms, in actual fact, one adores criticisms because those who criticize one hold one in high regard and have set standards for one with their own impression and measure of one’s intelligence or dumbness as the case may be. Owoyele needs to understand this; he needs to recognize that very thin line between criticism and blame. Owoyele will keep making one furious if he keeps missing this subtle point.

Owoyele issued a disclaimer, that he did not train anyone. Maybe he didn’t, but then, he needs again to understand this too: you don’t choose your mentee most of the time, your mentee chooses you. Therefore, Owoyele needs to find time and tutor his ‘protégé’ on how to channel his massive ginger energy which they look to have in common into positivity and productivity like he (Owoyele) has been doing over a period of time.

The work of Allah will continue with or without anyone no matter how influential the person might seem or think s/he is, as rightly pointed out by the Glorious Qur’an and Hadith and as quoted by Owoyele in his beautiful penultimate article, because really, the work of Allah has never been about who makes most noise but who Allah gives the Grace to achieve set goals. It wasn’t and will never be a noise making exercise.

Salam alaykum warahamatullah.

‘Lanre Bucknor is also known as Kofi and AbdulHameed. He writes mostly on his bed from Lagos and sometimes back, in Bida. He tweets via @lordrooz.

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Hello everyone. Its been a while on here. I apologize while hiding behind one finger, blaming it on the day job that has been a lot more demanding in the past seven month. Here’s a bit of poetry from my collection. This is to just whet your appetite while you anticipate something that will drop later this week. Your comments would go a long way. Bless…


Come in, take the space

Take the one on reserve for you

Custom made, tailored for you

I’ve been waiting for you


Come be my sunshine again

Dry my tears, tears from yesterday

Warm my wet body

Heat up my damp soul with passion


Come be the magic I need

The magic in my maddening moments

Come be the mystery I see

The mystery in my magic moments


Come be the nightingale that sings

Songs of redemption and inspiration

Whose lyrics and beat I ever remember

I await you, just come in

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So I picked up a newspaper on my way to the office. No, I don’t read papers but colleague does. As usual I read the headlines only and one struck my heart…he hadn’t quit.


I remembered the video instantly, Hon. Akinlade and Salau Alimi’s visit and the conversation with Bones. I remember how Bones cringed as the two men appeared.

“How are you, Bones?” Hon. Akinlade greeted and got a nod as response from Bones.

“I heard you are good”, Hon. Akinlade continued.

“It depends on what you are talking about”, Bones responded sharply. Some confidence he quickly gathered.

“Without mincing words, you heard what happened to my company”, He paused for a response, got none and continued. “Excavation is still ongoing with many people still buried alive”.

He betrayed emotions and a tear escaped which he quickly plucked away from the corner of his eyes. His moist eyes however shone brightly.

“My daughter could still be there, they haven’t found her body and Salau’s son-in-law’s” He pointed at Salau Alimi who bowed his head in a mixture of sadness and something close to guilt.

“I want retaliation, a painful one, for whoever did this”, he said with a force that carried as much fury and other negative emotions with it.

I felt for the man. He wanted retaliation on his enemy who was right behind him but his heart was driven to another, another who knew nothing.

Bones grabbed Hon. Akinlade by the left shoulder with his right hand and looked into his eyes.

“You will get what you want Honorable”.

I watched the promise he made to me fly away from under the tree where they were having the discussion.

Akinlade got the retaliation he wanted; only that it was not an absolute one. It was the beginning of a fresh war.

I sunk on the seat in my cubicle. How I managed to get there was a miracle.

“Dear Lord, I need a helper”


Boye finally called. God answers prayers!

“I miss you so much baby”

He sounded like he missed me truly.

“For how long do we intend to do this?”, I mused. We break and mend quite often.

“I’ve missed you too”

I could not help saying, almost tearfully.

Almost two weeks without him had been hell, not because he was not around or did not call but because if he had been around, I would not have gotten myself into Bone’s mess. I missed him because he was not there to tell me to tread softly.

Maybe what I needed was a strong man. A man that would command me and I won’t dare disobey…just maybe.

“I’m sorry I bothered you so much about the Masters, I gave it a thought and I concluded that I don’t have to force you to do anything. I’m sorry it caused friction between us”

He was talking in his coolest, calmest and most seductive voice. He actually was cooing, not talking. I smiled

“Baby, its fine. I missed you too, I missed you so bad”

“How come you didn’t call me to say that”

He knew how to whine like a baby. I made a mental note of how he would make his face at that moment: he would put and make that annoyingly seductive baby face. That always got my heart racing.

“So what’s been happening?”

“Bones!” I was going to say, then I remembered the hatred between both of them.

“I have been busy, work has been tiring.”

Work had not been tiring, my life had been! Helping Bones was tiring! Knowing that your life is in danger was tiring!

“Really? I got a call from Mr. Audu saying it seems you are a li-little under the weather”, He stammered on the ‘little’

My temper shot towards the sky. “How could he say that? Did I tell him that?”

“Baby, calm down. He said you look at people suspiciously and watch your back as you walk and avoid people and….baby, are you OK?” Maybe he was short of words.

“Don’t mind him, he is just being paranoid”, I said coolly.

Maybe it was true, maybe I was exaggerating, maybe I was actually the paranoid one looking at everybody like they knew what I got involved with and they could read the secret from me loud and clear by just looking into my face.

Boye cleared his throat from the other end and broke the silence, interrupting my thoughts.

“He suggested you go on vacation for two days at least. What do you think?”

“He did?” I sighed. Boye has a way with people, I was sure he it was who cajoled the man into accepting the vacation plan, something I hated so much. Maybe because I was used to fighting my way up instead of looking for short cuts. I knew I had not earned the vacation but it was fine.

I concluded with Boye on the vacation plan.

“Bones can look for another accomplice”, I made up my mind.



He looked at the beautiful petite lady blocking his exit and rolled his eyes.

“This is what I get for saving you? A stupid attitude?” He said irritably.

The petite lady was visibly shaken and blocked the door to prevent Bones from exiting.

“You claim that you saved me and you are keeping me here forever? That’s what you call help? Kidnap is what you call help? Answer me!” She tapped his chest, screaming at him.

“How many times will I tell you that you are here for a reason? Do you want to get yourself killed? You too answer me!” He wanted to slap her chest just the way she did but stopped midway when he noticed her terrified face.

“Just a few more days. Please, you will go home after the elections. That’s when it’s safe for you”, he said forcefully, with a bit of plea.

“No! I’m going today, I’m going now! If there is any place I will feel protected, its with my family!” She retorted, defiant.

“You are wrong, my lady. Those interested in your death are in your family. You….”

“Shut up liar! Not my family! Whosoever paid you to kidnap me will rot in jail when I’m out of here. You, and all your accomplices are jail birds already”

Bones laughed hysterically in a manner that sapped all the confidence she had mustered. “Jail birds? Maybe, just maybe. Did you read the paper I brought this morning?”


“Your own father paid me for that, young woman”

He watched as the fear written on her face was joined by confusion. She went quiet, colour draining from her face for some minutes. When she found her voice, she spoke.

“No! You are a liar!”

“I’m a bloody liar, yes. Na wetin I be be that. Just hold your peace ehn, we go find out who dey lie, who dey deceive and who the deceiver be. Your eye go clear“.

She was at a loss, all her defiance and boldness had melted away. Bones did not allow her regain composure before speaking again.

“Check the last drawer in the bedroom, I kept some CDs there. Pick them all and come be my guest.”

He made a face, twisting his lips in pity and pointed in the direction of the home theatre with his eyes.

As if remote controlled, she started towards the bedroom with a “No, please Lord…”

Her head was in all sorts of thoughts. She wondered which was worse: being kidnapped by a stranger or knowing that your stern father who taught you morals and religion is a criminal who was involved in several killings.

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