AND THE WINNER IS.......

The Red Vellvetts Team is pleased to announce the winner of the maiden edition of the RED VELVET WRITING CHALLENGE  is ANYAUWA; a brilliant piece written by Chijioke Oguno.

Chijioke Oguno: Winner Red Velvet Writing Challenge

Chijioke Lawrence Oguno  is a medical student  at the university of Abuja. He is a poet and writes short stories. He is a member of Kola Initiative and also writes for Kola magazine. He draws inspiration from life generally and is a huge fan of Chinua Achebe and Chimamanda Adichie.


Click here to read the winning story.

THE SIMPLER LIFE #AwakenYourLiteraryMind..............By Tolulope

He always walked amongst them, watching quietly, unseen, unnoticed and unheard shuffling along with chapped feet in leather hooves. And that's how it was going to remain until the day he heard the kids spell 'q-u-e-u-e' in their spelling game, under the almond tree. He couldn't -or- rather, he forgot to hold himself and blurted out 'Why would you spell the word that way when it would sound the same without the last four letters?' The kids would never forget the day they found out that Zumol can talk. Of course he could...

For him, nothing was quite as interesting as watching these people. They knew who they were and who they were going to be; his life was much simpler than that. His folks were warm in their manner of speaking and happy as can be but never spoke to him about his roots or ancestry even though they lived with nostalgia eating deep beneath the wrappers they draped casually across bare chests.  They longed for their previous home; a land distant and forgotten, a land where milk was butter and biscuit was bread. Two rivers ran through the hills of their land and met in an embrace right at the centre of the town where this couple first met.

Zumol desperately longed to hear the details first hand and there was nothing he did not do to find out. Oh, he probed so deeply and persistently, but they never responded... not even for once. After all, parents tell their kids something about where they came from. Yes, all parents do, except for this pair. But, you see, Zumol forgives easily and forgets even faster so he'd probe his parents as if yesterday did not just pass. One day, a passer-by asked him "When a messenger is deaf, what does he hear? Nothing". 

Then it hit him: His parents were deaf. What language then did they speak? All he knew was that they often communicated with him and he heard them. It couldn’t get simpler.Snorting loudly, he awoke and startled his parents with his childish neigh. You see, Zumol was a horse and the part where he spoke was only a dream.

NOT A SICKLED SOUL - #AwakenYourLiteraryMind.........By Yusuf

She always walked amongst them, watching quietly, unseen, unnoticed by her teachers, unnoticed by her classmates, sunk deep in a world of loneliness and silence which was hers alone.

When my sister, Mary, was a child – not too many years from today – she used to think she was the

same as other kids in the playground. She tried to run, jump, shout and clap at all the things other kids ran, jumped, shouted and clapped at. What she didn’t sense was that other kids didn’t make frequent visits to the doctor as she and mummy did. Stomach aches, frequent fevers, swollen legs, deep sores on her feet, the list went on and on and quickly thickened the size of her hospital file and emptied mum’s meager wage. It is only now that she is beginning to understand the meaning of those words – each piercing mummy’s heart as she sat wishing the words could mean something else or at least that dad were alive to share the burden with her – which fell out the doctor’s mouth. “Mary is has sickle cell anemia,” he said rather coldly.

All our lives haven’t been the same since that fateful day. It is said that a problem is half solved when you identify it. I doubt if it applies to Mary’s. We now have a name for what ails her and so she does not have to bear the thoughtless name people called her – Ogbanje - ọmọ ẹmi buburu! But Mary quickly learned that naming it only changed the way she was stigmatized. Now, the girls wouldn’t hang out with her. They boys wouldn’t speak to her although she heard that they frequently spoke about her and how strange they felt she looked. She was practically on her own.

But …

That isn’t all there is about Mary. Her insulted spirit is the strongest I know. She sparks up every day and makes you wonder what made you better than her. To Mary, today is a gift to enjoy, gyrate, and live. When the world shuts her out – as it often does – she goes deep inside and paints pictures full of love, joy, happiness, and tranquility. She once remarked to me when I asked why she was so upbeat, “I have sickled cells not a sickle soul!” Then it hit me. Don’t we, the “normal” ones, often think something is inherently wrong with the HIV patient, the leprous woman, the boy without sight, and the people we call imbeciles? If their unsolicited conditions can collectively be called sickled cells, by rejecting them aren’t we professing to have sickled souls?

Image Credit-Isetfiretotherain

THE OLD TELEVISION #AwakenYourLiteraryMind........By Raphael

“He always walked amongst them, watching quietly, unseen, unnoticed,” Amara said, trying to describe Nonso’s sudden uncanny behaviour the last time she saw him. Her body quivered, her voice unsteady and she occasionally used gestures to imprint her words in mind.

The old television was on when she stormed into my room unapologetic, uninvited. Kunfu Panda was playing and I laughed at Pow’s wanton silliness and exaggerated screams, ‘Awesome!’ in the face of danger. Nonso is my brother but it felt like Amara knew him better. Before he travelled to Portharcourt, for greener pasture, he spent most of his time with her. They sometimes cuddled on his bed, whisper to their ears and laugh at their silly jokes. I would excuse myself to the parlour and pout at the HD television hanging on the wall. 

“I dont like this television, it’s too clear and colourful,” I said when dad bought it to replace the old television. He planned to discard the old television but I protested we keep it in our room. I hardly believe anything I saw on the HD television. I preferred the old television, that gave a sharp contrast between a movie and NTA; when movies played on the VCD, the colours were bright but the moment NTA is flipped, the images blurs, and sometimes tiny black dots fill the screen. From tender age I learned to associate poor images to live broadcasts.

Our shared one-room was all Nonso and I had in common; beds placed side-by-side with the old television in-between. Nonso would lie down and face his wall and I would lie down and face mine. The only time we enjoyed flamboyant gist was when Super Eagles played; Nonso would lament how Enyeama punched a ball he was supposed to catch, how Mikel passed the ball to a defender instead of a striker, how Musa sometimes outrun the ball like a lorry without brakes. And when the images on the television blurs, “Oh Lord! What is wrong with this stupid television?” he would scream and smack the television by the side, several times and unsuccessful, most times.

“Let me try.” I would say and tap the television gently by the side. This worked mostly. I concluded it was the television’s subtle way of saying ‘am old, please cuddle me’. Nonso would muse when I did get it right.

I went to the kitchen to get a glass of orange juice for Amara. As I passed the television in the parlour, a female newscaster was serious reading something. The image was spotless. I assumed a Nigerian movie was showing cut-scene news to drive home a point and didn’t bother to pay attention, because of my vendetta for Nollywood’s amateur movies. Amara screamed. I abandoned everything I held, dashed to see what was wrong. “Pictures of Nonso and four others had been flashed on the screen,” she said. I turned to take a look, the television goes off.

Image credit- Linktech

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ANYAUWA; THE EYES OF THE GODS #AwakenYourLiteraryMind........By Chijioke

He always walked amongst them, watching quietly, unseen, unnoticed. He is the eyes of the gods, ever watchful, listening to every whisper. Some even say that he hears the thoughts of men. Anyauwa; is talked about only in the folk tales where he acts as an assurance of the gods staying true to their words. On that night, Anyauwa was watching when Uche  awakened his brother Ekwe for the late evening hunt. The night was quiet, only the hooting owl kept it awake. As they made it to the forest, the twitching of the dried bushes provided a continuous companion and the smiling moon made the path clear. Ekwe struggled to stay awake but Uche walked on and urged him to keep up with his pace.

As they got to where they laid their trap to catch òsa ( the squirrel), they saw neither the trap nor the òsa nor the enticing food they kept to draw the òsa into the cage.

"What happened here? Who stole our trap?" Uche asked, looking at Ekwe whose face was filled with confusion too . 

"Amadioha!!!" He exclaimed looking to the sky. "Who dares to steal from the poor?"

Just then, as if it were a sign, the sleeping night came alive with a piercing whistle coming from all directions.

Ekwe hid at the back of Uche as hefty men with a well padded chests emerged from the bush, armed with bows, arrows and machetes. They ignited the night with their torches.

Uche and Ekwe knew they were in trouble. As the men drew closer, Ekwe shouted "Mama o, help me"

"Silence, grab them" said their leader with a thick voice. "Now we can bury our king"

Anyauwa knew that his wings would have to fly faster if the boys were to be rescued. He flew back to the eye socket of the gods and awakened Amadioha whose thunder lighted the sky. The thunder travelled for miles as guided by Anyauwa.

The men were still marching the boys to their doom when Amadioha's thunder struck four of them. The others tried to flee but their feet were stuck to the ground as Amadioha took the form of a fiery tongue hanging on the air.

"Who dares harm my children?" His voice rang out. The men were trembling with fear, the leader could only mutter incoherent words.

"Ah ah our king is dead and we are here to get slaves that will accompany him to the grave as directed by IKUKU the gods of Agbaland."

" Let them go, and If you ever come into my land again, you will be burnt beyond any grave." Amadioha said.

Uche and Ekwe were set free and they took to their heels running faster than a gazelle. What they had seen tonight was beyond the tales of the tongue. Amadioha returned to its chambers and Anyauwa pulled away from the socket wandering around, watching, listening quietly, unseen, unnoticed.

image credit- Favim

PLASTIC #AwakenYourLiteraryMind ...........By Bomi

She always walked amongst them, watching quietly, unseen, unnoticed; as if the idea of her existence was inexistent.  She wanted to be accepted, she wanted someone to call her name, Bisi, to start a conversation, to talk about her hair and ask if she just had it made. Then that Thursday after classes, as she pretended to mind her own business, Kate, the popular girl with the large, round bottom and tissue paper augmented breasts, turned to her, smiled at her and said hi.

She paused. She blinked. She said hi twice.

‘I think you’re cool, come here, walk with us.’ Kate said. The other girls in Kate’s circle were beaming. Bisi was exhilarated.

‘Thank you. Thank you.’ She said.

She became popular, like them, plastic, like them. When Kate told her to skip classes, to join them in scaling the school fence, to go for a party, to have a little alcohol at the party, she did. When Joy, another plastic girl, told her to lock the bathroom door as Ifeoma took her bath, she did, and Ifeoma sat stuck in the bathroom for hours crying, begging for the door to be opened, the plastics laughed.

Then one Wednesday morning during breakfast, at the school dining hall, Ifeoluwa, the shy girl who had pimples all over her forehead and couldn’t see without her glasses, spilt orange juice over Kate’s new Neiman Marcus’ dress with the pink, satin sash and the word ‘excellent’ written on the chest region. Kate screamed. Ifeoluwa promised that she didn’t mean to, she didn’t see Kate coming, she wasn’t looking; she was sorry. She said she was sorry.

Later, Kate gathered all the plastics, they came up with an ingenious way to make Ifeoluwa pay for her stupidity; they would take her bag wherein she puts her notebooks. They would hide the bag where it would be impossible to find. She would not write for the rest of that day and maybe beyond.

Bisi was told to steal Ifeoluwa’s bag; she did. She and Joy and Remi hid it downstairs, next to the flowerbed at the back of the school. During Economics, Ifeoluwa’s asthma attack began and her inhaler was inside her bag. She searched frantically for the bag while trying her utmost to breathe in. Some of the students noticed and told the Economics teacher, ‘sir, something is wrong with Ife.’

The teacher figured it was asthma and joined in searching for the bag. ‘Who has Ife’s bag?’ He asked. The plastics looked at each other, Kate grinned, Joy grinned, Remi grinned, Bisi wanted to grin, too, she couldn’t. She wanted to get up, to go get the bag but Kate gave her a look.

Ifeoluwa was having a seizure now. Bisi ran downstairs next to the flowerbed and retrieved the bag, but when she got back, everyone was looking worried, the plastics were looking frightened, the Economics teacher was screaming at Ifeoluwa to wake up. 

image credit- Studio Bueno

MEET THE JUDGES!

So we successfully floated a competition and entries have been received! But a competition is never complete without judges, so we went head hunting. We have five judges on the panel, and we want you to meet them and to understand the thought process that informed our choices:

• We needed someone who is a very good writer and and is able to reason objectively regardless of preference for certain genres of creative writing. This is where Toritseju Onwubiko comes in. Toju is a quintessential architect, ace photographer and a writer. You can read from him at www.Confessionsofanartaddict.WordPress.com He has great passion for art and has a way with sarcasm that is infectious. ‎

• Editing goes beyond detecting typos. You could write a very good story that is badly edited and
  
  that would totally defeat your story. We wanted someone on the panel who is an excellent editor and has an uncanny ability to pay attention to details.Oluwaseun Stephen Oke is awesome at this. Seun is an erudite Legal Practitioner and a Chartered Secretary&Administrator, a poet and a writer. He is very dogged, focused and unassuming. 

• Now redvelvetts is a blogsite, and we aim to post five of these stories on the blog. We needed someone who is into the business of blogging, very objective, and knows what is blog-able! She is Ifeyinwa Obiechina founder of abjlivingabujaloving.blogspot.com, a blog that has reputation for churning out priceless resources on positive change for Nigeria. Iphie is a brilliant Legal practitioner and blogger. She recently headed an editorial team for the first ever publication of 'Fides'  a publication by the Catholic Youth Organisation of Nigeria, Holy Cross Catholic Church Gwarinpa 2 Parish. It is not just another magazine, it is a hit. She is firm proponent for positive change in Nigeria which should stem from every citizen's actions.

‎

• Redvelvetts is less than year old. It has active followership of over 10,000 visitors all over the
  
  world. We needed our fans to have a voice in this competition. We went for someone who has keenly followed our blog, gives objective feed back without bias and has been very supportive. He is Jeremiah Oyibo. Jeremiah is another brilliant Legal Practitioner, focus,firm believer in hard work, doing pretty well for himself and has zero tolerance for societal dysfunction, he would not just condemn but move to correct.

• And finally there is Adesuwa Ehinome Iluobe. She is an active contributor to Redvelvetts and abjlivingabujaloving.blogspot.com. She writes the LIFE AS SHE SEES IT column on Redvelvetts,which attracts some of the highest views on the blog. Adesuwa is the CEO of Seams Clothiers and has a passion for satirical fiction. She is also a Legal Practitioner.

So now you have met them.  Young, vibrant people committed to ensure that five top entries emerge for the next stage of the competition starting December 15, 2014. Goodluck to all those who have entered the competition and may the best man win!

HUMAN RIGHTS DAY? A MOCKERY!

MAY THE SOULS OF THE INNOCENT SOULS SLAIN REST IN PEACE!

So while we were busy marking the INTERNATIONAL HUMAN RIGHTS DAY yesterday some people's RIGHT TO LIFE were snatched from them forcefully and unexpectedly by a group of people that has decided that human lives mean nothing. That humanity means nothing .The news was so disturbing and kept haunting my mind. For me, it was simply a mockery of what we were marking. I felt as though the perpetrators carried out their act while laughing at us once again leaving their signature. BLOOD SHED.

A day without blood shed in Nigeria is no longer normal. Innocent people leave home hale and hearty to make a decent living, telling their children and loved ones that they will be back soon have to die for a day to be regarded as normal now. If a god were being appeased with these sacrifices, that god must be drunk by now with so much blood!

Things have spiralled out of control. Our leaders only "condemn these killings" while they go on their way to organise political rallies and wash their dirty linens in public through books and interviews. Is this how we fight the enemy? How and when will all this madness end? What shall we tell our children tomorrow?

They keep saying that the sponsors of these evil maniacs are in the government, can't they be fished out? All we have is Big talks and minimal actions while the lives of Nigerians are being played like pawns on a  drought board (Oh, chess is too classy) and we (Nigeria) have become STAGNANT .

Sigh....

I am tired of saying it is well with Nigeria but as it is, that is all i can say.One day i pray that God will bless us with truthful leaders that have good conscience. One day i pray that an end shall come.

GOD BLESS NIGERIA.

THE CHALLENGE!

THE RED VELVET WRITING CHALLENGE!

#AwakenYourLiteraryMind

ONE WINNER!

$100!

The objective of this challenge is to awaken our creative minds in terms of writing.   Instructions will be set out below and please you are advised to read and adhere to these instructions CAREFULLY as they will be part of the criteria for judging any entry submitted.

HOW TO ENTER FOR THE COMPETITION

1.      You MUST begin your story (fiction or non-fiction) with this opening line - "He/she always walked amongst them, watching quietly, unseen, unnoticed….”

2.      Your story MUST be between 300- 500 words. Do not EXCEED the 500 word limit.

3.      It MUST have a title of your choice and the hash tag above, both at the top

4.      Your entry MUST be written in MS WORD FORMAT (no pdf files please) and attached to an email stating your full names, phone number and the number of words you have written.

5.      Your entry MUST be submitted via email –redvelvettsofficial@gmail.com OR redvelvettsofficial@yahoo.co.uk on or before Sunday, 7^th December 2014

6.      The writers of the TOP 5 entries chosen for the competition will be informed and will be expected to do the following to enable them win :

v  Get their friends/public and family to view and read their entry

v  Get their friends/public to comment on their entry saying they are voting for it to win

7.      The entry with the highest views and comments/votes will emerge as the winner of the grand prize - $100 or its equivalent on or before 24^th of December 2014.

8.      Direct further enquires to :

·         ELLA- nwandoella@gmail.com OR +447535883660

·         ADESUWA – adesuwailuobe@gmail.com OR +2349094302026

PLEASE NOTE THAT THE COMPETITION ITSELF BETWEEN THE 5 SELECTED ENTRIES WILL BE FOR 7 DAYS STARTING FROM THE DAY THEY ARE POSTED ON THE BLOG. 

LIFE AS SHE SEES IT- FOR HER .....by Adesuwa

"Heyyy!" He hugged her and lifted her off the ground. He didn't let her go "I have missed you".

"Same here" she murmured. While his hands lingered around her..her eyes rolled behind him,Your squashing my tummy!

"You look so beautiful and have added weight at interesting places" he winked

She smiled. "Come in"

"So how are your parents? How is Odion? I hope she is still not angry with me o?"

"They are fine..she is not"

He was just so happy to see her. Today was the day they had started dating five years ago. He was excited.

He watched her as she stood by the window...He felt blessed to have her. " 'Khere.." she was faraway and flinched when he moved close to hold her waist. she leaned into him and sighed. "Are you okay?"

"Yes I am..do I look otherwise?"

"You arenot here..please share"

"Time flies...I am remembering all we have been through"

He hugged her and smiled "it's been beautiful despite our challenges you know.." Then he drew back and went one knee, bringing out a ring... same one she chose one day while they surfed the net ...

"Marry me...Marry me because it has become evident that I cannot do without you..please say yes and let me get this off my chest  " he had asked her a year ago. She wasn't ready.

Were those tears he felt in his eyes...Akhere started crying and joined him on the floor "yes!!!". They clung to each other and cried.

They stayed the way for a while "'Khere, it looks like it would rain soon do you have clothes outside? " the curtains were billowing and the room suddenly felt chilly.

"Yes!" she got up and dashed out.

When he was sure she had gone, He jumped up and dived on the bed . Happiness was an understatement as to how he really felt. Akhere would be his wife!

He grinned and grabbed one of the pillows, as he did he felt something like paper. He set aside the pillow to look at it...and froze.

It was a marriage certificate between Akhere Omorodion and Kunle Adegbite, dated five days back. He saw an envelope and opening it, he saw pictures.

He threw the pictures and certificate on the bed and scrambled up...hugging himself, he realised he was shaking.

"Hey! Sorry I took time..The rain has..." she first saw the pictures and then the certificate. She let out a small cry and rushed towards him.."it's not what you think!"

He stepped away from her.

Tears streamed from her eyes.. "Frank am sorry.." It was not her fault. Her mother would not hear of her marrying Frank. In her opinion Kunle was a better choice. Kunle was based in America, he had money and he was respectful. Herself and Frank were classmates, he had just started working.

She subconsciously rubbed her stomach and then sat down. Kunle visited last two months. She couldn't help the fact that he is was quite handsome and did make her feel like she had butterflies in her stomach.  

She never meant to hurt Frank..but she couldn't bring herself to tell him all this while. She did her best to avoid him and kept up the story that she was still at Ibadan. She loved Frank still and didn't want him to leave her.

"I am sorry...we can work something out..please. I tried to tell you.."

"When?"

"It has not been an easy phase...and Mum wouldn't let me be because she didn't want me to start showing..."

"Showing?.."

She immediately held her mouth

"Showing what?!"

She was mute.

"Answer me!!!" he was mad

"I am pregnant...for him" she was looking at her palms.. like she wa reading from bit. "That's what mum hinged on to ensure that we got married" she got up and knelt before him "please...let's talk about this as we have always.."

His head reeled with so many thoughts... raw pain was all he felt. Hands clenched, and still shaking, he  stepped back staggering. He looked lost, turning around he rushed for the door and let himself out of her house.

"Frank please don't go!" Akhere called after him.

He didn't answer her...even the rain didn't jolt him from the shock.

Image source: imgarcade

WHY ARE WE LIKE THIS EH?!......by Ella

Naturally, we humans like to shift blames, accuse and criticise the next available “scapegoat” of the same things we do. In Nigeria blame shifting and criticism is a happy trend.  We love and enjoy blaming everyone else for our problems while forgetting that we are bigger culprits. I guess because it’s safer. A lot of us (the regular man on the street) who for example, criticise the government’s corruption are deep in the game too. Going back home recently opened my eyes to a lot of things which I will highlight briefly to drive you where I am headed.  These things have been there long before now but this time around they struck me a different cord in me.

SCENARIO 1

I was driving through the Berger round-about when the traffic warden raised a hand to stop those on my side from moving. Of course this was to allow motorists on the other side move. Now, I was driving behind a lady and was already slowing down but she was obviously bent on beating the traffic. Fortunately and unfortunately for her, the traffic warden saw her plan and promptly blocked her way and motioned to a police officer standing close by to get to the lady’s car. As the police officer approached, the lady was reaching to what looked like a bag at the back seat and brought out two naira notes (probably #1000). On getting to the car, the police officer spoke to the lady then after a short laugh, walked away. She didn’t take the money.

My concern is this - the lady driver was about to violate traffic rule but was obviously not bothered about what will be done to her because she knew she could 'settle' the officer even before she was approached! i watched this and began to question myself – “Are we (Nigerians) that bad now? Is everything now all about money? No one cares about laws and rules anymore?” From all indications –the offender holding the money ready to offer it to the officer and the officer sharing a laugh with the offender and waving her off –apparently yes! 

SCENARIO 2

I walked into a bank to make a transaction. From the 'security personnel' (because honestly I don’t think they know what exactly they should be checking for) who swiped his electronic gadget (if it works) over me to the ones who man the gates, I got comments of “Aunty anything for your boy?” “Anything for the weekend?” Boy? Huh??? Looking at the person saying this, it’s obvious he is way older than me and I should be the one calling him “uncle” if I had to. I smiled and walked away. I came back the next day and lo! He wasn’t so friendly anymore. Aha! He remembered me- the stingy lady who refused to dash him money!

I laughed but it actually got me thinking. Isn’t this all part of the corruption we keep accusing 'big men' of? Asking to be tipped especially when you are being paid for the service you just rendered screams CORRUPTION to me!

You begged God for this Job (whatever the job is), you swore that you will never do this or that again if God ever gave you this job and now you have it, you think the pay isn’t good enough. It is okay to want extra but not at the expense of others. The security man asking me for money does not know if I have just gone into banking hall to send my last cash to my ailing father. We simply don’t care so long as we are on the receiving end.

Maybe we do not realise that Corruption stems from greed and lack of contentment. The sole reason politicians and public servants steal pubic funds is greed! They have enough but want to acquire more even for unborn children. This is the same way I look at a “security man” who thinks it’s his right to demand and be dashed money because he opened the door or gate for you! No difference.  Just as sin is sin, whether you lied, stole or killed, so is corruption. There is really nothing as small corruption. It is our tiny bad and selfish actions that make a huge mountain of CORRUPTION.

The scenarios painted above may not be a big deal to somebody but it definitely shows how the minds of people in the society at large works while we keep throwing stones at the people we think are committing “bigger sins”. It reminds me of the adulterous woman who the Pharisees wanted to stone to death because she had sinned forgetting that they themselves were not without sin too.

Our government and politicians are corrupt, agreed.  What are you doing about it? Fuelling it by adding your own quota of corruption? (Stealing the little you can from your place of work or bribing people so you can have your way) Doing nothing and merely talking?  Please don’t ask for the government to change if you haven’t changed yourself. Ever heard the saying – remove the log in your own eye before removing the speck in your neighbour’s eye?

So, next time you want to accuse/blame/criticize the Government, President Jonathan or Babangida for syphoning all of Nigeria’s money and for the downfall of the country, ask yourself if you are ENTIRELY free of guilt!

ELLA.

Image courtsey of vanguard

FOR THE LOVE OF JOLLOF RICE!! ..... by ELLA

So Jamie Oliver decided to make a "twisted version" of Jollof Rice? WHAT???!!! Hmmn!  All these international celebrity chefs tho! (Rolling my eyes) Apparently he posted his quirky recipe sometime in June which went unnoticed but furious comments began appearing on the Jamie website last week and has attracted over 4,500 comments. What he didn't know was that no one messes around with the Black man's food and goes scot free! He never esperedit! lol.

To say that he murdered our darling Jollof Rice is an understatement o. No exaggeration here. Traditionally, as we know, Jollof Rice is made with just tomatoes, pepper and spices abi?

what a normal regular Jollof Rice looks like....err...not sure of that leaf tho..lol

 But Jamie’s version included whole vegetables such as “on the vine” cherry tomatoes, onions, bell peppers and scotch bonnet. It went on to advise readers to use coriander, parsley, and a slice of lemon.

Errr....Lemon? Parsley? Huh? EXCUSE ME??!!!

JAMIE'S VERSION: THIS CAN'T BE JOLLOF RICE! NO!!!

Since i saw this a few days ago, i have been unsure what/how to feel. At first i thought it was hilarious but later i began to see the annoying side of it. I can completely relate with Africans who are protesting. MotleyMusings wrote on the issue and i agree with all she said. Why do these people feel they have a right to change anything about us eh? Sigh…They have succeeded in changing our dressing, imposed their language on us, forced us into the jet age, made us too conscious of our bodies (hence the increase in implants & liposuction) and now our food?? NO! Yes i love Jollof Rice that much. Ask Motley and she will tell you that Jollof Rice is one of the seven wonders of Africa. lol. I agree o! Especially the party Jollof Rice that has that amazing-life changing-burnt-smoky-firewood taste!

More annoying is even the way a spokesman for Jamie Oliver said: “Obviously there was no intention to offend anyone which is why the recipe printed on the Jamie Magazine website is described as 'Jamie's twist' on Jollof rice.” Eh?!! I am offended o! Twist ko! Twist ni!  Don’t they realise that this word "twist" is infuriating?  Didn't he read about how the same Jollof Rice also caused a stir last year when a big British supermarket Tesco was forced to remove its Jollof Rice recipe from its website after Twitter users branded it inauthentic? He should have known better not to mess around with our scared-sunday-wedding-owanbe-every child's favourite-Jollof rice all in the name of twisting it!

On a more serious note, the good thing that seems to have come come out of this whole incident is the fact that:

·         First, Jollof rice has become internationally famous. Even the hashtag #JOLLOFGATE has been created on twitter too. (seems hashtags are now the new means of drawing the world's attention to any problem including Jollof Rice twisting!) Now the world knows Jollof Rice and will learn to respect it!

·         Second, this has shown that food is another factor besides football that can give nearly a whole continent one voice. I was amazed to see that even my East African brethren that are not into Jollof Rice like those of us in West Africa ,Nigeria especially  (Ghana please park well! our cold war over the ownership of Jollof is still on...lol) spoke up against this so called  recipe (if we can call it that!) this shows that we are very sensitive when it comes to our food.  Some of the comments on his blog showed that some people were ready to maim him for this “ATROCITY” yes! that is how important Jollof Rice is to us!

So next time, Please, DON'T TOUCH!

ELLA...xoxo.

Image Sources- Jamie Oliver, SPB food

MY FATHER, MY FRIEND, MY HERO...

You meant the world to me...and much more!

I came home (to Nigeria) after I was told the shocking news of Dad’s sudden death hoping that it was a wicked April fool’s joke being played on me in September. But alas! It was sadly true.  It still feels like a sick nightmare which I am yet to wake up from.

As I sat thinking of writing this tribute I thought –How can I say a few words that will do justice to a man as great as him? Honestly, this is the hardest thing I have had to do in my entire life because I know him to be a man so full of life. I believe my real tribute to dad will be the actions of my life –becoming a testament of the love and lessons he instilled in me!

Growing up, every child thought his or her father can do anything. But as I got older, I realised that in my dad’s case it was true. Everyone close to me knows that I always say that my dad was one of the most intelligent and smart men I have ever come across. Not because he was my father but because it is the truth.

As though to confirm my belief, while I went to work in Kebbi State, I met a colleague of his at the NYSC camp Kebbi who said to me “Your father is one of the finest minds in the scheme” I never forgot those words and it made me even more proud to mention his name anywhere.

I realised early enough that my dad was very talented and gifted especially in the area of administration and organisation. Thus, it was never a surprise to us at home that he kept record of everything in separate files down to the TV and refrigerators. He was that meticulous!

Dad was also one of the most hardworking men I knew. He had a knack for keeping to time.  Even though he was a civil servant and could afford to go to work late as he got up the ladder, he didn’t. He promptly has his coffee and eggs at 7am -7.15am and left for work at 7.30am. As a State Co-ordinator, it was no different. To him “Hard work never kills so there is never a good excuse for failure” He often told me that he believed that things should be done properly even if others are not doing it right. “That is the only way to stand out” he would say to me.

Dad was very versatile in many areas –politics, history, football and even law. There was literally no topic he couldn’t discuss intelligently. This was constantly a challenge to me because I always wanted to impress him when we had our discussions on politics and law. I always sought his opinion for most of my academic work even at masters’ level and incorporated most of his ideas in my writing.

His love for books was simply out of this world! Dad was never tired of buying or reading books. Not just books in his field (Public Administration) but books in almost any field you can imagine. I studied international human rights law which is nowhere close to his field but he always had books from his collection to lend to me. His passion for books made me love them too even as a child.

Dad was a wonderful writer as well. A perfectionist in writing. He had such an impressive vocabulary that made me proud. If you wanted anything put into words or written on paper, Dad was the man for it anytime. This gift rubbed off on me and each time someone tells me I am a good writer, I laugh and tell them they need to meet my dad.

As a family man, he always wanted the best for his children and gave us the best especially when it had to do with education. Very recently, he sold and made me buy the idea of pursuing a PhD in my field. I fought this idea and said I was tired of schooling. He simply asked me a question that changed my mind “What then is your edge over your peers if you stop at this level?” Oh! Dad was such a lover of knowledge, he didn’t believe in limitations and always wanted to know more! That is why despite his busy schedule he found time to enrol for a PhD programme which he had almost concluded before his untimely departure.

I could go on and on about my dad but in simple terms, he was simply one of a kind and a man clearly in a class of his own. The things I will miss (and already) miss about him may seem insignificant to you but they mean so much to me.

I will miss his unique laughter that made me smile…

I will miss seeing him drink coffee with his tiny teacup every morning and evening …

I will miss him checking out my car when I hear a funny sound in it…

I will miss him scolding me for not checking the water and oil level in my car…

I will miss him calling the NEPA technicians for the compound when the transformer gets faulty…

I will miss running home early to avoid getting his lecture on being a responsible young lady…

I will miss us talking or arguing about the Nigerian government and politics…

I will miss watching and analysing the news with him…

I will miss teasing him about eating rice and stew everyday…

I will miss watching the twins run around with him…

I will miss twisting his arms (literally) to collect more money from him….

Above all, I will miss him calling me “My friend” or “Gigi”…..People probably thought it was weird but I loved it and made me feel special.

Daddy, I loved you more than I can put into words. So many things I want to tell you. So many questions I want to ask God. But I believe He knows best. You will forever live in our hearts and will never be forgotten. I promise to tell the twins about you when they are old enough to understand. I promise to be there for mum and the boys. I promise to make you proud.

Till we meet again at the feet of Jesus….GOODNIGHT DADDY.

FAREWELL.

Barrister Emmanuela Nwabundo Enweonwu

(Daughter)

N.B- There will be a service of songs on Friday, 17th of October at our residence in Abuja by 5pm

The burial will take place on Friday, 24th of October at my home town Onitsha. 

contact me on 07037279082 or facebook or BBM for more details