Monday, February 15, 2016
WHITE PLACES BOOK LAUNCH... EVENT REPORT.
Thursday, February 4, 2016
WHITE PLACES (SME PROMOTION)
As a result of my flare for creativity and entrepreneurship, the following under listed services have been collated by me, Merit Gogo-fyneface to support youthful entrepreneurship WITHOUT CHARGES FROM ANY PARTICIPANT..
ATTEND WHITE PLACES BOOK LAUNCH PARTY AND GET 10% OFF ANY OF THE LISTED SERVICES.
TAG TEN BOOK LOVERS VIA TWITTER USING #WHITEPLACES #MERITGOGO HASHTAGS TO QUALIFY FOR A DRAW AT THE EVENT.
13TH FEB.2016
EVERGREEN EVENTHALL 149B SANNI ABACHA ROAD, GRA PHASE 3 PORT HARCOURT NIGERIA.
VALID TILL 12:00PM 13TH FEB.2016
Wednesday, February 3, 2016
WHITE PLACES BOOK LAUNCH.
Here is to all readers, WHITE PLACES is set to be released on the 13th day of February, 2016 at the Evergreen Event Hall, 149b Sanni Abacha Road, G. R.A phase 3, Port Harcourt, Nigeria.The event commences at 10:00am prompt.
Come along with your book loving friends and family, interact with the author, Merit Gogo-fyneface, watch her play, Area Boy, find skilled entrepreneurs around you via our SME promotion,Share a coke with us and get your books signed.
Enquiries: 08179463583
Come along with your book loving friends and family, interact with the author, Merit Gogo-fyneface, watch her play, Area Boy, find skilled entrepreneurs around you via our SME promotion,Share a coke with us and get your books signed.
Enquiries: 08179463583
Thursday, December 24, 2015
NOT COMING HOME
Tufia!
The resounding exclamation of an ordinary man
heading from misery to a harder measure of anguish
to purchase the nations highly priced fluids
they had missed him, missed this struggling man
it was the season when blood smelt like honey
paused daily routines, to secure the nations highly priced fluid
then they beckoned
sent a careless boy
placed him ahead of his ancient cab
the means by which he ate
back to sender!
came the loud words as he sent his own fluid
thick and white against the shirt of the nonchalant boy
he hoped it penetrated the cotton fabrics
he hoped the evil men back home could see
he was not coming home
A peaceful living he had missed, chasing naira notes desperately on a Christmas eve
by the precious blood of Jesus he had missed the careless boy
the evil men had failed on both sides
as his rickety thing obeyed his bare feet against the brake pads
and the boy safe on the other lane
not coming home
Tuesday, November 24, 2015
HOW THE 'RIGHT THING' LANDED ME IN HOT PEPPERSOUP.
Local Government Inspector: Gogo, how are you?
Me: I’m fine sir.
Local Government Inspector: Your name is all over the secretariat.” The girl who wants to teach them their job.”
Me: Sorry sir, I don’t know about that. I only stated facts.
Local Government Inspector: You will survive. These things happen.
This was sometime in July, in the beautiful State of Osun where having perfect braids goes for less than a thousand naira, transport fare to some destinations costs as low as thirty naira. I would write about the handful of insane persons loitering on a better day.
This is how the ‘right thing’ landed me in hot pepper soup. I ate undiluted peppersoup for two months. That is not why I have picked up my pen today. I write on behalf of over six NYSC corps members who are currently eating their share and would do that for the next five months which elapses in March 2016.
I and about six corps members made an application to the NYSC as directed to formally request a leave since we had to be unavoidably absent in my case, a month and two weeks. A right thinking man would expect that what follows an application is either a notification of acceptance or rejection. Instead we were all summoned to the state secretariat Omo-west, Osogbo.
Thursday morning, the staffers were having a customary morning devotion after which a lengthy meeting which was concluded at 1pm. First corps member went into the conference room and proceeded with the news that the Disciplinary Committee of the NYSC had granted her application for leave. The second corps member proceeded with the same news and nothing different for the third. Then it was my turn. I entered the large conference room with old photo frames of past state coordinators and about six staffers of the NYSC facing me. I was also granted leave and was asked to write the NYSC on my return just like the others.
This is where the trouble began. On my return, I wrote as directed, notifying the NYSC and made an application for lifting the embargo placed on my allowance as the committee had directed. Nothing was done, instead I was summoned again.
I arrived the secretariat on the scheduled day and I realized I was the only corps member summoned this time because the rest were of a different batch. when I was called in, I stood before them with the photocopied documents showing that I had never missed my clearance espescially as a result of the ongoing election in the country which compelled the organization to suspend monthly clearance for one month and I had sought the permission of the NYSC before I embarked on the journey.
Series of questioning began and I stated precisely the exact dates and contents of my application even when they vainly attempted to play on my intelligence. The last straw that broke the camel’s back was when the lady in charge of the disciplinary committee said, “You made an application to travel. How many months were you away?”
“A month and two weeks madam,” I voiced politely yet firmly.
“Okay, you owe the NYSC some days of service.”
I stood there, speechless. My service year was to be extended by the same panel members who had granted me leave.
“Are you listening to me?” she asked.
“Yes madam,” I responded.
“sorry madam but I made an application, I do not understand why my service year is being extended.”I said, after she exhausted the procedures I had to undergo.
“That is the problem with lawyers, they are never humble. Have you ever seen a humble lawyer?” she rhetorically asked her committee members. Long story short, my service year was extended and when I received my extension letter I realized my penalty had been doubled because I had questioned the basis for my extension.
I headed out, landed at a popular restaurant at Okefia, Osogbo and I ordered an anger quelling meal before heading back to my primitive place of primary assignment.
One morning, an old friend who had served in Osun and was abreast of the whole situation rang me up and insisted I find the contact of the head of the disciplinary committee and apologize to her.
I flew out of my bed walking the length and breadth of my room because Tope had said,
“Merit, just apologize you know Yoruba people like respect.”
“Tope, respect! Someone will have to shoot me first before I give an undeserving apology for a simple question I raised and even after shooting me I am not going anywhere, I yelled. I will serve my extension. I’m being penalized for doing the right thing, fine!”
This is the kind of honesty that lands one in hot pepper soup in a country where there are ghost corps members who would only show up on the POP day when discharge certificates are to be given.
Everything that has a beginning surely has an end. Sixty-six days elapsed and I was handed my discharge certificate. I had added some flesh, learnt fashion designing and infact did a lot of writing.
While I am awaiting the pleasant surprises of life 'after eating my very hot peppe soup' the other corps members are presently undergoing extension for five months which would elapse in March 2016. In my opinion this is totally unfair and
all I see is victimization of those who used the ‘front door’ when there are a good number of persons who would do the reverse and get away with it. What is the import? Where is the rational in claiming efficiency and relaxing undeserving penalties on a ridiculous justification of instilling discipline on a law abiding citizen? I am sure some would go through this with a resolve not to do anything right, avoid the ‘front door’ and that is how corruption eats in mypeople.
Me: I’m fine sir.
Local Government Inspector: Your name is all over the secretariat.” The girl who wants to teach them their job.”
Me: Sorry sir, I don’t know about that. I only stated facts.
Local Government Inspector: You will survive. These things happen.
This was sometime in July, in the beautiful State of Osun where having perfect braids goes for less than a thousand naira, transport fare to some destinations costs as low as thirty naira. I would write about the handful of insane persons loitering on a better day.
This is how the ‘right thing’ landed me in hot pepper soup. I ate undiluted peppersoup for two months. That is not why I have picked up my pen today. I write on behalf of over six NYSC corps members who are currently eating their share and would do that for the next five months which elapses in March 2016.
I and about six corps members made an application to the NYSC as directed to formally request a leave since we had to be unavoidably absent in my case, a month and two weeks. A right thinking man would expect that what follows an application is either a notification of acceptance or rejection. Instead we were all summoned to the state secretariat Omo-west, Osogbo.
Thursday morning, the staffers were having a customary morning devotion after which a lengthy meeting which was concluded at 1pm. First corps member went into the conference room and proceeded with the news that the Disciplinary Committee of the NYSC had granted her application for leave. The second corps member proceeded with the same news and nothing different for the third. Then it was my turn. I entered the large conference room with old photo frames of past state coordinators and about six staffers of the NYSC facing me. I was also granted leave and was asked to write the NYSC on my return just like the others.
This is where the trouble began. On my return, I wrote as directed, notifying the NYSC and made an application for lifting the embargo placed on my allowance as the committee had directed. Nothing was done, instead I was summoned again.
I arrived the secretariat on the scheduled day and I realized I was the only corps member summoned this time because the rest were of a different batch. when I was called in, I stood before them with the photocopied documents showing that I had never missed my clearance espescially as a result of the ongoing election in the country which compelled the organization to suspend monthly clearance for one month and I had sought the permission of the NYSC before I embarked on the journey.
Series of questioning began and I stated precisely the exact dates and contents of my application even when they vainly attempted to play on my intelligence. The last straw that broke the camel’s back was when the lady in charge of the disciplinary committee said, “You made an application to travel. How many months were you away?”
“A month and two weeks madam,” I voiced politely yet firmly.
“Okay, you owe the NYSC some days of service.”
I stood there, speechless. My service year was to be extended by the same panel members who had granted me leave.
“Are you listening to me?” she asked.
“Yes madam,” I responded.
“sorry madam but I made an application, I do not understand why my service year is being extended.”I said, after she exhausted the procedures I had to undergo.
“That is the problem with lawyers, they are never humble. Have you ever seen a humble lawyer?” she rhetorically asked her committee members. Long story short, my service year was extended and when I received my extension letter I realized my penalty had been doubled because I had questioned the basis for my extension.
I headed out, landed at a popular restaurant at Okefia, Osogbo and I ordered an anger quelling meal before heading back to my primitive place of primary assignment.
One morning, an old friend who had served in Osun and was abreast of the whole situation rang me up and insisted I find the contact of the head of the disciplinary committee and apologize to her.
I flew out of my bed walking the length and breadth of my room because Tope had said,
“Merit, just apologize you know Yoruba people like respect.”
“Tope, respect! Someone will have to shoot me first before I give an undeserving apology for a simple question I raised and even after shooting me I am not going anywhere, I yelled. I will serve my extension. I’m being penalized for doing the right thing, fine!”
This is the kind of honesty that lands one in hot pepper soup in a country where there are ghost corps members who would only show up on the POP day when discharge certificates are to be given.
Everything that has a beginning surely has an end. Sixty-six days elapsed and I was handed my discharge certificate. I had added some flesh, learnt fashion designing and infact did a lot of writing.
While I am awaiting the pleasant surprises of life 'after eating my very hot peppe soup' the other corps members are presently undergoing extension for five months which would elapse in March 2016. In my opinion this is totally unfair and
all I see is victimization of those who used the ‘front door’ when there are a good number of persons who would do the reverse and get away with it. What is the import? Where is the rational in claiming efficiency and relaxing undeserving penalties on a ridiculous justification of instilling discipline on a law abiding citizen? I am sure some would go through this with a resolve not to do anything right, avoid the ‘front door’ and that is how corruption eats in mypeople.
Thursday, October 8, 2015
AREA BOY
Kalaine is
dead. This sorrow shall never end. Light-skinned, beady eyed, devoid of
feminine curvatures - Kalaine had made her way that afternoon to my house,
amidst the intense sun hiding behind the only storey - building in sight. I do
not know what Kalaine, a chorister had seen in an atheist; without a living
generation and with a hope of survival that was always born at ungodly hours
when I and the other boys broke into luxurious apartments. The kind we craved;
stealing their peace and sometimes privacy when we interrupted the premature
passions of our victims.
“Chukwuneye…”
she had called, with a familiar softness, she had called me the way it melted
my heart then she asked for some money to purchase some drugs to quell a
headache.
“It’s just a headache it would go down,” I said, holding her palms, avoiding her round eyes; which could defeat my selfish resolve, lay bare this falsehood and destroy my plans with Catharine.
“It’s just a headache it would go down,” I said, holding her palms, avoiding her round eyes; which could defeat my selfish resolve, lay bare this falsehood and destroy my plans with Catharine.
After a
careful inspection around the vicinity of our next target. It was obvious
nothing good could proceed from an operation in a well secured house especially with an electric fence.
We would
relax over some bottles of beer in a nearby bar and Catharine’s figure would
torment my existence for all the minutes I spent there as she served cold
drinks. The last time she had asked for money for 'pomade' and tonight, I do
not know.
“I would get some from Doctor on my way out,”Kalaine said. She promised to see me tomorrow as she left my half empty room, made of wooden walls, rusted zincs and a bare cemented floor. I felt some relief even though I knew I would pay Doctor after my next operation. He sold cheap drugs, he had no education but hardship had compelled him into his choice of trade. I was an area boy, infact a thief, we knew the illegal water manufacturers in the next compound. It was a silent consensus that existed - not to destroy anyone’s means of livelihood not even Doctor’s wife who made tasty stew from rotten tomatoes and sold them in distant streets in an old wheel barrow.
“I would get some from Doctor on my way out,”Kalaine said. She promised to see me tomorrow as she left my half empty room, made of wooden walls, rusted zincs and a bare cemented floor. I felt some relief even though I knew I would pay Doctor after my next operation. He sold cheap drugs, he had no education but hardship had compelled him into his choice of trade. I was an area boy, infact a thief, we knew the illegal water manufacturers in the next compound. It was a silent consensus that existed - not to destroy anyone’s means of livelihood not even Doctor’s wife who made tasty stew from rotten tomatoes and sold them in distant streets in an old wheel barrow.
The night came slowly and events had unfolded
just as I had thought. I cursed silently as Catharine moistened her finger tips
with her saliva, counting the only money I was worth, now her remuneration. I
blamed my foolishness on the callousness of life that had stricken me with
penury and made uncertain my good intentions for Kalaine.
A hungry man
had no right judgment; what was good or evil did not matter. That was my fate,
dropping out of the university had added more suffering to my living born
without a silver spoon awakened in a world that had swallowed mother after my
first cry as a result of malnutrition.
As I looked around the house we would invade
at dusk, I laughed at the foolish man who had sparingly secured broken bottles
on the rim of the fence. I and my boys would defeat his intelligence without
ample effort, I thought as I headed for Rumuokoro Motor Park deliberately
bumping into an unsuspecting passenger. I made away with his wallet and was
disappointed realizing that risk had only secured a two hundred naira note.
Poor man! He was desperate to get on that bus and when he is half way gone he
would remember the dividends of carelessness while I chewed on spiced meat.
I hurried to
the neighbouring street, my usual meeting point with Kalaine on Fridays on her
way from church, waiting patiently to see her before setting out with the boys
– kalaine was not attractive but it had to be love I felt for the woman who
brought me good luck, such that I had never been caught, handcuffed and
paraded like a criminal. I wore a striped white shirt and a faded
jean, hoping I had looked like a decent man.
Women in love hardly looked beyond the surface they bought even the
dumbest lies half the time and to Kalaine. I was a plumber. I waited
impatiently beside a small barbing salon but Kalaine did not show up. I
resolved to wander around her neighbourhood perhaps she would spot me from
Dumez’s unfenced house – her uncle. I was stunned when all that hit my eye was
a wailing crowd. Kalaine was dead. I felt like strangling Dumez when he
repeatedly convinced the crowd that he had a strong premonition of something
bad occurring when he would hardly ever see to Kalaine’s welfare, making her my
responsibility.
I ran home and
I was sure I was going to kill Doctor for the fake drug he had sold to Kalaine.
It was a bloody fight that had ended after serious persuasion from neighbours.
That night I
wailed in grief, I wanted to pray the way Kalaine had thought me but I feared
that Kalaine would appear in the last clothing I had seen her in - a flower
patterned dress and strike me with a deafening slap so I sat there mute, without a reason for living.
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