It was first the sticker that got my attention. Like a bad word said at family supper, the stick figure decal stuck out with its subversive picture, of two adults having at it in public. And then I saw the car.
There’s a naked woman on the cover of Fela’s Yellow Fever. The young sylphlike creature, staring defiantly at you, shows off her pointy gifts, which are, as nearly the rest of her body, actually burnt yellow. I wonder what the artist behind the painting was thinking.
Please, by a show of hands, let’s know how many of us fell under the spellbinding sway of The Social Network, that speedy-dialogued film that Aaron Sorkin made in 2010. Remember it? It was about the founding of Facebook.
She said, five days after the event, that her left ear still bled.
Last Wednesday, Falz the Bahd Guy, aka Folarin Falana, roared at the government. He was live on Instagram. Hair dyed pink. Beard. Black T-shirt. Brisk.
Before he died in 2009, the King of Pop Michael Jackson owned at least 10,000 books. No kidding. Ten thousand books. Why? How can one man possibly read 10,000 books in one lifetime? This was apart from newspapers and magazines, emails, SMS, song lyrics. Plus, Michael Jackson was no ordinary man.
When somebody famous dies, Twitter and Facebook go crazy with philosophy. “This Life.” “What a life.” “Life is short.”
One time, when I was younger, Sola, a neighbour, told me about two of our other neighbours who might be sleeping together. Sola and I were teenagers — 13 or 14 at the time. “No way!” I said, my eyes like bulbs.
Ordinarily, the masses root for the underdog. Scientists have said this is because, deep inside, we all take pleasure in the misfortune of others. They call this phenomenon Schadenfreude. This is why you prefer to see David destroy Goliath. But what happens when the masses root for the big guy instead? When you lick your lips and rub your palms at the prospect of freakishly huge Goliath obliterating that poor little shepherd boy David? That doesn’t sound or feel just, does it? Yet it’s what seems to be happening right now with the singer Blackface.
When the letter speaking ill of the dead and bearing the name and signature of former president Olusegun Obasanjo materialised on social media last weekend, the question was, Is this fake? But while we raked the internet for evidence, we also knew that, despite the scandalising content of the letter, it wouldn’t be out of place for it to have actually been penned by OBJ himself.
In the past 15 years as a writer and consultant, I’ve worked with a number of private university graduates. The best ones are from Covenant and Babcock. Enterprising, entrepreneurial, high capacity to think fast, creative. You know what their schools have in common? They are owned by churches. Churches, especially the successful ones with tens of thousands of members, seem to be unable to spare any expense as they build their facilities and hire faculty.
When the euphoric effect of coffee hits, it won’t be out of place for the drinker to feel that the beverage is a hard drug. All hard drugs are controlled, if not absolutely delegalised. Which is why coffee used to be illegal in several countries, including Saudi Arabia. In Constantinople, the government used to flog drinkers and execute anyone caught with it.