Congrats! It’s their ‘’BET ’’day


Which part of me being Muslim did you miss.

It IS glaring a picture….. the ‘’diff’’ in Missis (Mrs) and Miss

Like the sun stretches its eastern arm-

  To open the day with its lighted keys,

Each throw against gravity, leaves the dice Abyss.

As the scourge spreads, uncertainty remains a disease.

It’s not just a game-

Even a Casino don’t NO! Who she doesn’t know,

It welcomes all she sees!

As wide as you view it either from the west to the east

Or prank the line to beset what he came to cleanse

The details of his message and signs as tips

Would haunt the vilest and continue in the believer, ease.

He is the best among those HE had sent with peace

No doubt as through him the shackles of hell, HE frees

Even HIS ‘’Arsh’’ MAHMUD was what his name means.

The one worthy of Praise- ‘’Muhammad’’ it is.

   A warner from hell whose heat can freeze.

Eloquent in speech yet in confusion some elements insist

His birth was a miracle, the year the elephants desist

On Monday was his calling, on it his fasting increase.

Paved luminescent a path, without doubt of that or this,

Animals testify, even Jinns in faith increase.

Then why would you label him with what he commands should cease

   Even pigs respect nature, go learn obedience in Bees.

I preserve his name, i adore him not in sins,

I live him all day even though he is decease.

Wrong path I leave, phototropism you see in trees.

Migrate to his sunnah if surely him you want to please.

Leave the BET’s my dear…….Learn from his birth and change the gear.





What is this life if, full of care

We have no time to stand and stare

No time to stand beneath the boughs

And stare as long as sheep or cows

No time to see, when woods we pass

Where squirrels hide their nuts in grass

No time to see, in broad daylight,

Streams full of stars like skies at night

A poor life is this if, full of care,

We have no time to stand and stare.

                                                  by W.H Davies

The Beginning


In the beginning it was as nice as it was.

The lion afraid of the roar of the mice

With ions bending the fate of irons

The mind racing quickly in between do and don’t

Faces beaming its path with sorrow and starving it with joy

In the beginning was the zeal to be quenched

Nailing the coffin of hardwork  and determination to be conquered

What a sight to behold

Never imagined serpents this slow

In the beginning it came as a shame

The show of honesty riddled with the bullets of distrust

It didn’t seem low

The sky spread ready to be marched upon

Indeed, it was, In the beginning to think how dreams come true

Never minding the surges of the current

So misty and freezing a cold pain

Hurting the soles and hot on the soul

The feet couldn’t carry me near where I fit

I malignantly pursued the train of solitude

Labouring through the valleys, hills and mounts

At least in the beginning I thought I was ascending

Oh! So I new it was the beginning of a perilous end

In the beginning I cried

For  shoulder to cry upon

Not knowing I should shoulder my cry

In the beginning it seemed the opposite

Until on the path I crave, I built my site

In the beginning my mind shook,

My arms walked

And legs worked

But it worked……

In the beginning

I dream ……..

And I the beginning I dreamt…….

Allah’s Barakah in Disguise

A friend,to me once asked: “how is the north”?

The prompt reply, I said as expected:” it is hot”

Later I asked myself why can’t I say “Not”?

Maybe,I answered, thats what i’ve always thought.

Some situations in life always stay,Its never back and forth

Many times I know destiny we might have fought

Not knowing its a safe house, a security and yes..a fort

Keeping us warm,against Heat,Freeze and Rot

You wanted That,Buy This is what you Got

You cry out loud,not knowinh it can’t be bought

You dont want to know its even a Dot

In the Line connecting you to his mercy-you are just being wrought.

Take it or leave it, the black pudding in the pot

Your anger at fate, on you a load,in you a clot

You better you wear the fabric of obedience, piety,Submission, make humility the fourth

Say Alhamdulillah when you sneeze, cover when you cough…

Ashraf’ Scribbles….Using words to save the world

Eddie’s Diary (Episode 6 & 7)





So beautiful a night it was. The joy of getting to the promise land; where dreams come true. An Exodus without a guide, but a Prophesy that must come true. So mighty were the obstacles, but alas, the winner must definitely come through.

Eddie couldn’t sleep under the canopy of the beautiful skies. His, was a gaze, fixed to the stars and wondering what really they are. Are they the picture depicted in destiny? ‘’And how do they say it?’’ he asked himself- he has a bright star. He was amazed how some shone and others dim their lights. So also he thought to himself, time and tide changes for man. It’s just a matter of time!  Long before the present moment, Dr Okonta, from whom he derived his epithet; Okonta, had explained with what would be conceivable to his loyal student cum servant cum son, how far the stars are to the earth. He tarried long before he could only suggest how long his breadth can take calling Faaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaar repeatedly to a number without limits. Eddie understood from the explanation that they are far beyond man’s reach, yet he wondered laboriously how their reflection illuminates the world. His resolve was simple: no matter how far he is, he would definitely let his little light shine and make a difference in this ephemeral world. ‘’How is it going to happen? I don’t know’’, he whispered to his mind.

Although the humming of the mosquitoes was not new a thing to him, his greatest shock and amazement however was the quaking that cut short his thought-full sleep. The voice of an Agbero who demanded for a lodging fee! Yes! He had slept in a well perfumed and aerated space. Perfumed with the aura of urine tinkled carelessly all around and the humidly aerated space with the decaying stench of human fecal matter. He definitely would have given in for a fight- as a commando he was, but the bass voice of the man from the bus came ringing in his head. ‘’Never prove too smart boy….Never look so dull’’. He succumbed and proceeded as instructed by the said Agbero to the address with him- now with no extra charges. ‘’Patience pays! Who knows he would be of tremendous help’’, he murmured.

Zachara had changed but a little. He still stands under four feet with his half empty front dentition. It is so gapped that he can’t say ‘’sisi’’, he would rather pronounce ‘’shishi’’. His pot belly, still a trademark peculiar to him but it’s so surprising how he could carry himself with speed and dexterity.  What surprisingly changed was the grandeur and splendor with which he carried himself. Indeed, he has become a big man just as they say. He had no fashion sense as regards colour combination. Everything that has the name cloth goes for him. Don’t be fooled… he can wear a round neck over a lace material trouser. He was such a ‘’nerd’’ then. But ‘’here is my man in polo and jeans…. Who says money no fit do everything’’, Eddie said smiling as he hugged his long lost friend whose excitement new no bounds when he saw him too.

‘’Eddie the Eddie! Eddie the Murphy! Eddie macaroni! Eddie the Heady Okonta!’’, said Zachara as he gushes about his friends august arrival. Astonishingly surprised was he as he offered a chair to the already blushing Eddie who was short of words. For his wit couldn’t match Zachara’s.

Eddie explained his plight over the bottle of coke he was served and sort his friend’s help whom he thought is surely a big man in Lagos. To his dismay, Zachara told him nothing but the truth as he isn’t a big man. He lives in a room apartment in one of the ghettos of lagos. He had but lied to John. He is just a manager in the big shop. ‘’The good news is……’’, he continued; ‘’ I am not yet married. We could share my room till you get settled and find your way’’.



Apart from the ghettos, bustles and the hustles that is characteristic of the normal Lagos life, this geographic entity would have been the best place to be on earth. Noisome, the atmosphere of most part might seem, yet her inhabitants are of one common goal- to make cool and calm money! ‘’Are they really making it? Or is success here just a mirage?’’ those thoughts rang through Eddie’s excitedly hopeful mind as he fights his way through the passage of the Brazilian design home popularly known as the face me face you to join the endless queue waiting impatiently at the bathroom door for their turn and raining curses on any person taking so long a time to come out.

If not for the want and/or need of money and the love of it, this would have been, among others a recreational spot for whosoever care to leave his or her mind bare for realities, facts and indeed fun; simultaneously. Here, issues are raised and argued; facts developed and negated, thoughts opposed and reviewed; belief affirmed and disavowed; values opposed and strengthened; taboos renewed and adjudged. In fact it is far beyond academic a setting, it is so edu-taining. Here, you forget your sorrows and look forward to the morrow- at the bathroom door. Here, we shouldn’t forget is the site of the dirtiest and lewdest of all fights; especially among women. Why? Because they wear nothing but a small wrapper tied across their chests. One of which Eddie happened to have experienced on his first day officially in Lagos.

Iya Moji as she is being fondly called would have been a beauty among bevies when she was in her late teens. Known by all as a charming but loquacious housewife, her faithfulness to her husband wasn’t debatable but one would wonder how she ended up with a drunk. A fact attested to by many, is that she has been an advocate of teetotalism. It was on account that she had once been in a quandary about what to serve his hubby’s friends who believed strongly that being a teetotaler is losing the salt embedded in life. When confronted with the dangers associated with taking excessivce alcohol, they reply profanely that drunkards and non drunkards are to die at one point in their life- either young or old.

Her courting days with Jide; Baba Moji had been one seasoned with scandals and repudiation. Theirs can be termed the Lagos version of Romeo and Juliet!

She is the only daughter of a rich man who preached and waged war against her eventual matrimony with Jide. But drunk with love and affection, she ran away from the prison of advice and taunts to the warmth of love and affection the latter she found in immense measure with Jide. In short, she got pregnant for the cab driver in the one room rented apartment and the father had no choice but to give in to the choice of his beloved but stubborn daughter.

The union had from time to time hit the rocks but it, after each storm session come back miraculously to more amorous glue.

As usual, it started little. Little Moji; the seven year old dance queen of the district had innocently asked her father what the night’s menu would be. ‘’Daddy! Fufu agaaaaaaaain…?’’ That struck the cord of annoyance in the heart of the rather hardworking father who despite the heavy traffic of Lagos manages to take home a thousand and a half home. This can only be possible if all things went well with motor park fee, Police settlement, conductor charges and off course, Mama Nkechi’s beer. He couldn’t bear seeing his capability as a father and husband go unappreciated. This resulted into a yell on the poor girl. ‘’Yes! Fufu it is. And yes! The menu hasn’t changed’’ he retorted. This reply enraged the wife and before you know it, a hot argument ensued and as expected it degenerated into a full-blown fight. Iya Moji as usual was beaten inside out and later exhibited the test for starch-blue black.

Co-tenants viz-a-viz spectators who always watch out for the next bout in their usual manner ran to her aid despite the queue at the bathroom with the victim raining heavy curses on the father of her children; that Eddie heard was a normal thing and that she didn’t mean it.

After half an hour of waiting, Eddie found himself on his way to work- Zachara’s shop, as an attendant and accountant.

What he is to face, he didn’t know. Expectation? He was oblivious. Hope? he can’t say, for they say Lagos is a city of miracles.

The World at Last became Dumb




Thump the drum, for Trump has triumphed

An exemplary incendiary withstanding all storms

Unabashedly demagogue for they say he talks without reason

Now it became clear he is now the man of the season


Across all borders, he’s known- a rabble-rouser

His mission was clear; to defeat the Democrat’s poser

And yes! He has distinguished skirts from trousers

It takes a man to be charged a BILL and still remain HILARY (ious)


Now comes the time Nigerians stick to the REPUBLIC if we CAN

America though isn’t paradise, Dangote made it where I am

All I wish for is ease for us wherever we are

For either we like it or not, the world is in Trump’s era


A TRUMPet again for the whole Ummah,

Never was America in history nice to beard or the Musimah

The dream has always remained the same, you can also infer

Despite the odds, Islam keeps getting stronger.


Glad tidings to that someone, a total stranger

Who neither wanes in faith, from fitnah always capper

Tribulations; the prophet said; never makes him sadder

In ease, thanks were his waters

And in trials; his patience never taper.


For together we can be great again!


Eddie’s Diary (part 5)


The chick in the purple top, high waist skirt and flat heel Akube footy definitely knows how to dress. Her resplendent beauty speaks a lot of the treasure she has spent on herself for her somewhat two and a half decade. The way she coils and turns on the metal seat covered with a little bit of comfy foam would inform the onlooker she isn’t easy sitting on such for so long. The Aura of her perfume was sure enough the reason flies couldn’t get to her despite the stench of spoilt banana peel that have rented the whole space. Although she is a snob, her fair complexion couldn’t make you want nothing more than talk to her. Then, there is this sweet mother of two. The older of the pair being nothing less than three years old. Her long hairs might have been enough a speculation that she is Fulani, but her tongue betrayed such- she speaks Yoruba like ‘’mad’’. Her brother however has been a whiner for more than an hour. He enjoys nothing more than fondling her mother’s milk factory. Any attempt to rob him of his fundamental ‘’baby’’ right has always ended in what can be called ‘’civil right action’’- a drastic revolution that involves all civilians present. The mother has been graciously patient to bear the ‘’protests’’ but the deep bass voice of the man sitting at the front corner brings his disturbing shrill voice to a halt. This man has been the Google and the CNN of the bulk. It is as if all information passes through him before they get to the news papers. Had Uncle Kola had known, he would have remained mute when he entered into the bus. For in Nigeria today, if you want to get everybody involved in your discussion, just start with……’’ we no know wetin this buhari government de do sef ?’’ The next outpourings be sure isn’t going to be yours. This was exactly what Uncle kola did that became more than he can chew.

Eddie sat quietly for most part of the seven hour journey. He has never left his town for a city as big as Lagos. The only tale he heard was from John, their area brother who went wretched and came back influential. He was told that Lagos is the home of the wise and the smart. Home of the brave, wealthy and home of the paid. It’s also home of the homeless, the hurt, the deceived. Home of disasters that leave families in need. Some say it is even the home of hatred and the home of greed. So cursed a city that whatever you earn never leave its shore. Ironically, whatever you do therein remains blessed.

His only hope of survival was a childhood friend; Zachara, whom John had met. Zachara had been a funny creature right from childhood. In everything he did, there is always a grotesque touch of his ingenuity. He is the only one that can take Garri with Carrot, Eba and moi moi. He alone had made a combination of Yam flour (elubo) and Semolina flour. His intention that day was to make Amala, but he later found out the yam flour would not suffice his dabbling. His decision was apt and quick- ‘’no be flour dem both be? Abeg make I add semo jare’’. Indeed, the result was so amphoteric; a mixture of black and white.

Worthy of note was when he and Eddie gate crashed on a birthday party. Luckily for them, food, snacks and drinks were in abundance that they ate more than their satisfaction. No doubt, Zachara was a glutton, but he was also known for his intelligence and brilliance. On seeing the free flow of food, he begged Eddie to assist in packing some of the left over, uneaten doughnuts home; a proposal to which Eddie obliged with the thought of giving out some of the loot. On getting home, Zachara decided otherwise, and kept the more than a dozen doughnuts in his possession. Without much ado, the doughs were not finished that fateful day, but because of his greediness, he decided to warm the doughnut the following day. This, his mum couldn’t believe until she saw him warm it on the third day herself.
Eddie couldn’t believe his ears when he was told this awkward friend of his now occupy a two bedroom flat and owns a big variety store in one of the busiest streets of Lagos. ‘’Surely’’, Eddie thought, ‘’God is in Lagos’’.

On getting to the outskirts, few minutes to Lagos, it had already gone dark. With the nightmare of his encounter with the thieves still left in him, Eddie became uneasy and persistently asked the driver how long it was for them to get to their destination. This was rather to the amusement of the 18 legal occupant of the Toyota Hiace bus and the small kids therein- the Fulani girl inclusive who had been fond of Eddie all along.  He couldn’t help but narrate his experience to them to which they all advised he never should try such a thing in Lagos, except he wishes to die soon. The man with the Bass voice had told him categorically: ‘’my son, to survive in Lagos means proving not too smart and not too dull’’.

Ido motor park was the drop off point which was different from the Oshodi motor park on Eddie’s address. He had slept off when they got there. He had no option other than to sleep at the park. He was however welcomed by the ever supportive ‘’Agbero’’ boys (Street urchins) and the melodious voices of the ‘’Anopheles family’’ band (mosquito).