We Shit Gold

GP came under the guise of a waste management company who’d come to rid us of our faeces. Of course we had local companies who could do this and in fact, did the job pretty well. Most people were amused and some asked questions but they just dismissed it after a while; if the Americans wanted to pack African shit, they were welcome to it. Not us though; we were suspicious right from the beginning, just as we had been trained to be.
It did not take us long to discover what they were really here for. We found out that the American company, GP, was actually Gold Poopers. That was our first clue. We tried to obtain more information but we were stalled by the ogas at the top. It became obvious that our government had some sort of secret deal with the expatriates. The SSS worked for the government but some of us were ready to oppose an irresponsible leadership, not openly of course.

One night, about two months after our investigation was brought to a halt, my boss called. Mr Laoye was one of the most honest men I’d ever known and he was a highly efficient SSS official, one of the very best. He informed me that we would continue with our investigation. By the end of that week, he had two other guys and a lady on the team. These teammates of mine were also in the SSS but I had never met them. We even had to use fake names to address each other. Within a few weeks, we found out the reason we had foreign companies cleaning up our poo. It was as shocking as it was amusing. Scientists had found trace amounts of gold and other precious metals in human waste and had now invented a commercially feasible means to extract it. They could extract up to $13million worth of precious metals from the faeces of 1 million Nigerians. They did the extraction in hidden laboratories, exported the gold to their country and left us with the shit. Nigeria, apparently, wasn’t the only country this was happening. We wondered if even the government knew everything. We had uncovered their secret but then, what next?

Today, we commence operation WAGS (We Are Gold Shitters). Our mission as spies is to learn the ways in which this extraction is done so it can be replicated by HAYAT LABS, Nigeria’s foremost bio firm. They are the ones funding this operation. While Mr Laoye believed this was the best way he could help his country, I’m just in for the money and well, maybe a little gold.

Photo credit: threedonia.com


Bulls & Balls

So I’ve been off constant blogging for about four months now (since I left NYSC camp). Why? Maybe I’ve been lazy. Oh well…I’m back now and I dare to imagine that you missed me. What have I been up to? Quite a bit actually and I intend to drop bits of that in time. 

Meanwhile, I made a new friend that’s all shades of crazy and understandably misunderstood. He wrote this dear little story which he has refused to put on his blog. But since whatever I post doesn’t have to be Nobel Prize worthy, I’ve posted it here and given it a title. A very apt title I might add. 

I must have laughed for at least five minutes non-stop the first time I read this story. And just so you know, the Korede in the story is not “really” me.


I got back from class with a piercing headache. It was as if my head was under Nazi occupation. It hurt really bad. I called Korede to get distracted. She picked on the fourth ring.

“Hey Lieutenant.” I said, once she picked.

“General!” She yelled. Korede always had this fascination with the military. She once told me she almost signed up for the army. Somehow, I wan’t surprised. I did see her twist Emeka Big Head’s arm. Emeka Big Head was the bully in the neighbourhood and he was twice her size.

The first day we met she introduced herself as General Azeez and insisted I only addressed her by that self-given hypothetical military rank. I liked teasing her though, so I called her everything other than General which only got me into trouble. “Why are you calling me? Over.”

“I have a headache. I feel like there’s a rock band in my head.” I said.

“Wow. That’s awesome. And why are you not saying over? Over!” She said.

“Can you come over?” I asked.

“Yea, sure. You’re still not saying over. Over!” she scolded.

“I did say over. I said can you come over?”

“Very funny. Over!”

“See you soon Colonel.” I said.

“General!” she yelled. And began this familiar rant I had become used to. It involved a vivid description of dire consequences for me the next time I called her anything other than General. She once threatened to decapitate me and have a donkey pee down my throat. She was my friend and I knew she wouldn’t hurt me, but I was still a little terrified of her so I was careful when and how I joked with her.


“Do you have a headache or are you depressed?” she said once she came into the house.

“I have a freaking head..” she didn’t let me finish.

“Dude, you can’t be depressed. You have to get out there and what’s that saying? Grab the bull by the …” She sounded genuinely unsure, but of course she wasn’t. “By the …. By the … Damn it. I forgot that saying.”

I contemplated ignoring her as this was what she did a lot of the time. But, against my better judgement, I answered her.

“By the horn?” I said, knowing I was going to regret it.

“By the balls!” She said, almost yelling. “Thank you. Grab the bull by the balls.”

I was not surprised. Korede was crazy. She set her own rules and made her own laws in her own little Korede-verse. She did not conform to any standardized fashion of doing things. “I ain’t got time for that.” She’d often say.

“You have to grab the bull by the balls.” She continued. “You cannot not grab the bull by the balls.” I zoned out at this point silently cursing her and willing her to stop.

“Dude,” she continued. “there are people right now in different places around the world incapacitated, incarcerated, “

I wasn’t listening to her. I had had enough of her randomness. I tried everything I had ever read and heard about mind control, but it was futile. So, I drifted away.

“excavated, adjudicated,” She continued, this time a little louder. I could sense some deliberateness in her voice. “segregated, congregated, communicated, pontificated, vituperated, prevar.. “

“What?” I opened my eyes.

“Thank you. I finally have your attention. Like i was saying, there are people right now in different parts of the world unable to grab the bull by the balls, and you have the opportunity to grab the bull by the balls and you refuse to grab the bull by the balls? You have to grab the bull by the balls. You cannot not grab the bull by the balls.”

“Please stop saying balls.” I pleaded. I felt defiled. I felt desecrated. Not that I’m laying claim to divinity or anything like that, but my ears, I like to believe, are a sanctuary.

I don’t think I had ever heard the word “balls” in this inappropriate context that many times in one day. Somehow, it felt very unnerving for me and also the poor, hypothetical bull. I felt that at least one of us was violated.

“What?” She asked. “Why? What are you talking about? There’s nothing wrong with balls. Balls are adorable.”

“Just…. Never mind.” I sighed. There was no fixing her. I wanted to tell her that it was both idiomatically incorrect and mentally disturbing as well as physically impossible, ethically inappropriate, and, to the best of my knowledge, historically unprecedented by any one belonging to the human race to grab a bull, even a hypothetical bull, by the balls, but I thought better of it. She processed information in reverse. Telling her will only spur her on.

Visit Akbar’s blog: southofnormality.wordpress.com

Shorties #35

They rapped at your window
That sweet “tap” “tap”
That came at precise intervals

Made your insides flip sweetly

They don’t rap at your window anymore
You don’t even remember
They don’t remember either

Something has died like it never lived