That elderly lady lost her shoes in the hustle to get in through the half door.

One dustbin for 1,500 people but even so, it's half full while the floor is full. Nigerians are filthy!

People standing and sitting on the stair cases between the seats.

I know! Believe me I know! Fashion week was a lifetime ago, so I shouldn't be talking about it now, but these designers need to be told yo!

I've recently learned that the Nigerian first language isn't English but pidjin English, so I shan't type this one in English, I shall type it out in pidjin because it's a little bit of a public service announcement.

Anytin u dey do in life, you first need to understand am wellie wellie. U na nid to kno what your neighbour is doing befo u com embarrass yourself pata pata. But eh, you kno, the kind of embarrassment you go embarrass yourself is a very special kind of embarrassment becos not every body go kno say u embarrass yourself. Like that time Wande Cole and Don Jazzy just dey cast demselves for twitter. Some pepo were team Wande and Some udder pepo were team jazzy but d pepo wey get sense knew dat dere was no winna. All na losa.

So, when som1 go to New York fashion Week to show apron, make u na no come back one month later and also show apron oh! Or when you see dat beta designer don dey release look book and pisho make u too release your own bcos if you dont it will look like say u don copy welly welly. At least if prada coms out yesterday and ur own comes out today everybodi go say dat imbe trend even if u see am and dob am shap shap. I kno say not every1 fit be superior dobberman like dat so make una try do am in one week if na dob u dey dob, but if u no dob, y u go wait tree monts b4 u sho ur own. Is it smat?

Also make u na no wetin everybodi in history don do b4 u come and say na 4 naija u don first make d little black dress. Pepo in Naija go just dey hail u, but when international journalist come and see as u don talk am, dem just go dey lafff pass goat and sheep and winches and wizad. Dey no go feature u 4 magazine oh. Make u no wetin inspire u as u dey design wetin u dey design bcos beta designer are writing dissertation oh! See as I don talk am finish. A word is enough for d... wais.

Happi Deis,
Afam

Hi. I'm back in Lagos now. Over the next week, I'll tell the lot of you about my Edo, Paramilitary camp experience. By now you should all know where Edo State is. It's in Nigeria, and Nigeria, is quite literally the arm pit of Africa. However, you mustn't hate us for it because the arm pit is quite an important part of the body.

I'm sorry. This is a little bit weird for me... It's been three weeks since I touched my laptop, and the keys feel weird beneath my longer than normal finger nails and I'm not happy with you. It's really only one of you, but that one famzer has soured my great come back (very unhappy, gross misconduct, inappropriate behaviour) . I was supposed to rejoice and weep and rejoice and weep and scream and shout and get stupidly drunk and not dance but now I'm sitting at my blogging table fuming. While I was away, I danced far too much. If I bust a move this week, I might die. I'm not joking. The Afam booty popping party is over, and it's just as well because with the way things were going chances are that I would have pulled a Lady Gaga. You know what I mean don't you? Well, a few months ago she was wheel chair bound because of synovitis, that's when your joints get really inflamed. I'm not wishing myself ill here, but my body was built for raving in dark places and closed off spaces, not theatrical displays of dizzying heights of energetic gyrating. I can't tell you when I'll komole (shake my butt all the way down to the floor) again, but it certainly won't be this month. I'm going to pass the rest of November sleeping, and eating, and begging Captain Reginald to forgive me for my long absence.

If you do not like my content, do yourself a favour and close the page. It's not that hard. There's no gossip on here. This isn't the site where you read rumours about yourself or look at pictures of people doing extravagantly stupid things. If I invite a guest blogger to blog for me respect him or her. It isn't that hard. I won't let any one of you kill a fledgling for your entertainment. I will not invite anyone to blog for me because of you. It's really for my jollyment. My first guest blogger, Ola, wasn't updating his blog enough so I had him write on mine to make sure that he wouldn't blog every other other week. So Ola, when you thought you were using me, I was really using you. He made my paramilitary camp stay a little less painful, and his review of that Justin Beiber song was legendary. I couldn't have done that. Or if I had done it, it wouldn't have been as good. If Ola would like it, his bread reviews can stay.

Anyway, there are great things to come. Thanks for sticking with me while I was away. The numbers are still good, but I'll try to get them higher before the month is up.

Happy Days,
Afam

This is Ola's blog: http://olaisblogging.wordpress.com/

Also, I'll be sharing my stuff more aggressively now. It's just that when you believe in your stuff, you share it, and I don't think I've been doing that enough. Later doods. 

Ah shit gaddem. I'm in need of a vent. You see, last night, when I was sober chilling an insect flew into my eye. When these things happen you're meant to take a leisurely stroll to the bathroom/toilet and wash the offending creature from your soul windows but you must remember that there are no toilets here. It's been three weeks since I saw my face in a mirror. I can't. What can't i do you wonder? I can't ducking handle it!!! I'm trying to swear less because an aunt of mine asked me to but it's so bloody hard when stupid shit keeps happening to me. Anyway, as I didn't have access to a well lot toilet with a mirror I proceeded to claw both my contact lense and the creepy bastard from my eye with all the fervour of a self harming teenager. The long and short of it is I tore my cornea and now I've got pink eye. 

By and large (what an odd turn of phrase that is!), the normal thing to do is to introduce yourself to people the first time you meet them. Instead of doing this when I started guest blogging, I went straight in with probably the most bizarre thing I've ever written. I then followed that up by defaming my own character and admitting I am willing to cheat to win. So here I am, attempting to adhere to societal norms by introducing myself. Better late than never, eh?

Hi, I'm Ola, and I started blogging earlier this year, largely because I didn't have a job lined up after uni, and I was convinced blogging was a golden ticket of sorts (I still am). My family and friends persuaded me that my writing isn't 100% terrible, and for that reason I've continued blogging. That, and the fact that I still don't have a job. Hence, Afam's invitation to guest blog was one I could not turn down. He's done all the hard work to amass a huge readership, and I've just hopped on like some kind of parasite. So, consider this a public service, as I educate you on how to differentiate host (Afam) from parasite (Ola).

1. He is more open than I am: I tend to cover up any tidbit of truth in so many layers of hyperbole that sometimes my writing literally descends into a jumble of surreal and barely believable imagery, like one of those paintings you see of famous people re-imagined as Industrial Revolution era Pokemon.

2. I never write about anything remotely serious or topical: The closest I came to doing so was when I made brash and racist generalisations about a country with a population of over three hundred million. So if you are looking for well informed opinions and properly articulated viewpoints, you probably shouldn't read my posts. Indeed, a quick scan of my blog will confirm that I solely write about incredibly mundane things. 

I (Ola) have mentioned on my blog that I have friends, and sometimes we hang out (this is how I know we are friends, and not just people I've met). We've been to a comedy club in the past, and last week we went to a pub quiz. If I may say so myself, it was a pretty cool thing to do. Almost too cool. Me? At a pub quiz in trendy Hoxton? When did I become so edgy? All I need now is a full 'tache and beard combo and a name like 'Raine', and I may as well be running my own Hackey Sack and table tennis equipment boutique out of a converted Phones4U. 

Anyways, back to the matter at hand. People say it's the taking part, not the winning that counts. Those people have clearly never been to a pub quiz with a monetary prize whilst unemployed. We (the 'Hoxton Hussies') were definitely in it to win it. We felt we had a good chance of a top three finish, seeing as there were only 5 teams involved. We were a team of young, hip people with (probably) above average intelligence and good team spirit. Oh, and we planned to use our various mobile devices to cheat as much as we could. 

How did it go? Well. Have a look.

Hoxton Hussies (In it to win it)

On our way out, we were approached by a barman and I was absolutely convinced the jig was up. We would be banned from the pub and probably hoxton in general and I'd have no chance of opening my edgy boutique. I could pretty much feel the tears welling up. To my surprise and great relief however, he congratulated us as we promised to "definitely be back next week". We probably won't though - cheaters tend to be liars too.

I have no regrets whatsoever. Should I? Please comment below to explain how I am morally bankrupt and not at all edgy.

As I write this I'm in Okada, Edo state. I'm in a camp doing some paramilitary service as part of my year of national service. The blogging app I'm using hasn't got spell check so you'll have to make do with my typos. The internet here isn't that great either, so most of the time I can't be arsed to reply that message or reply that email or blog about that press release that you sent. About press releases, don't send them. I'm not interested in that event you held for your staff in that village. If it's got nothing to do with charity and it's got nothing to do with me, then don't bother. To get even a smidgen of reception I've got to stand underneath an almond tree with my phone held at eye level. I'll do it for the blog, or for that conversation with mama and papa Afam, or for that conversation with BFG or the soho sister or gbaddy or imoteda but I won't do it for some company that doesn't really care about me.

Like a master baker advising an apprentice,  Afam  suggested I (Ola) review Justin Bieber’s latest musical offering. I am neither a baker nor a music writer, but I thought I’d give this a go anyway. Life is too short* for overthinking. So, without much ado or any thought, here is my review of ‘Hold Tight’.  


But first, let me explain the (admittedly tenuous) analogy in the first sentence.  Afam  asked me to guest blog, a request which I didn’t think twice about  accepting. In fact, I’m not even sure I thought once, because I had literally no idea what I would write about. That night, I dreamt (dreamed?) I blogged about bread**, and the next morning, an  idea was born.  Never one to turn down an idea that isn’t 100% awful, I decided to take on the  bread  idea  and attempt  the first in what is bound to be a long line of 'bread reviews'. 




The opening few seconds  of 'Hold Tight'  are pleasant enough. For a brief moment, I find myself pleasantly transported to the 90s R&B scene due to the song's stop-start beat. This feeling is immediately replaced by what can only be described as audio-revulsion, as Bieber wishes a mystery girl "happy birthday". That's a pretty stale move if you ask me. The whole birthday thing is played out; it may have been fresh back in 2003 when you could find Fiddy 'In Da Club', but by the end of 2009, the whole world was well aware of (and bored by) Jeremih's buttery pleas for celebratory intimacy. I know fashion is cyclical, but I don't think this trend needs to be brought out of the oven just yet.  


Anyways, I digress. 


The song rolls on, and JB implores this mystery girl whose "lips won't let him go" (freaky) not to let his kind words go to her head - you see, she is "the best he's ever had". In one fell swoop, he manages to come across as half-baked and overcooked at the same time, which is pretty impressive. While this doughy piece of lyricism is sinking in, he progresses by comparing kissing to food storage as he rhymes zip-lock with lip-lock. What crumby lyrics. From this point on, it's pretty much 'repeat ad nauseam' until the end. All in all, 'Hold Tight' comes across as a hurriedly whisked together mixture of lazily sourced ingredients.  


This is vital, because Bieber doesn't seem to appreciate that making music is exactly like baking bread (true story). If you get the ingredients the tiniest bit wrong, the end result tends to be awful. He's gone heavy on the cheese with 'Hold Tight', and the result is gag reflex inducing.  Sorry JB, but this effort gets one out of five loaves.  


P.s. Not sure if you can tell, but I really am not a fan of Bieber's. His face is smug, like those artisan breads in boutique bakeries that silently judge you from atop their high shelves as you purchase Asda's smart price.  


P.p.s I feel a bit bad for this scathing review. JB is going through a lot and doesn't knead all this loaving.  


*Lies. It is the longest thing you do. 
**Yes, bread. Not a typo.

Is this 'bread review' feature ever going to take off? Is Afam ever going to let me guest blog again after this? Please let me know your thoughts below!

Hello. This is Afam. I don't know why Ola didn't put up a link of his blog. But I suppose it's good that I get to sweep in like Don Quixote and save the day. Ola blogs here http://olaisblogging.wordpress.com/ 

On the 31st of October, the very very terrible day when all manner of super natural creatures come out to play with us mere mortal, I, Afam, the rambling madman, saw a Mammy water, or a mami wata, or a Mammy of the water. I generally prefer to call it a mammy water. I blogged about it here: http://www.theramblingsofamadman-afam.com/2013/10/the-time-i-met-mammy-water.html

That's me and the dogs. The t-shirt's from Topman, the belts a crafty one from Peru, the jeans are diesel ones and the sandals/ slippers are from All Saints. I'm also wearing Rayban Wayfarers but you can't really see them here... pity. I'll upload some more pictures later.

It seemed fascinated with its footprints in the sand. It was just standing there, staring at nothing. My guess was that it didn't find Asap Rocky, so it came back to our Lagosian shores to ask some more questions. I hollered at it, because we were already mates. I make friends easily. All I need is 10 minutes with you and we shall be besties.

It looked perplexed and I briefly entertained the thought that it didn't remember me, but I batted it aside. I'm Afam. I'm nothing if not memorable. If you meet me, you shall never forget it.

It really didn't recognise me. It looked like it was about to strike me down or something. I looked around me for the dogs, but they'd fled. My dogs are self serving cowards. They only bark when the prospect of harm is zero.

Then quite suddenly, with no warning at all, it said, "Wassap dawg!" It was rather doodish for a mammy water. And its ta tas were even smaller than I remembered. I was pleased that it recognised me because I didn't want to be ravaged. My body is a Temple wonderland

It was so pleased to see me, that it went straight into a Usain Bolt inspired pose but this might have been a part of its mating dance.

Then it leapt into the air and there was this "peeew" sound. Yeah, the one you hear when someone slashes a light saber or fires a laser.

Everything wen black for a little bit. I woke up in my garden. It was looking at me intently. I checked myself quickly to see if it had taken advantage of my magic induced slumber. Thankfully, I was just as chaste as I was when I met it. I do not think that this mammy is the sort of mammy you want as a notch on your belt.

That's it there, among the ficus trees. I didn't know what to make of it really. It was like waking up to see a rabid dog raping you with its eyes. i was a bit confused about how it was that I woke up in my garden and how it was that the Mammy knew where I live. But I suppose Mammy Waters learn stalking 101 in school.

It darted towards me but I jumped back. It was coming on too strongly. I didn't think I was ready. Plus I still didn't know if it had a gender. Anyway you look at it, it's a man in a skirt. Or a very ugly chick in a skirt. I think it's about a 3 on the hotness scale.

The shock on my face didn't deter it from shaking its ass in front of me though. It wasn't a good ass shaker as far as ass shakers go. It only performed a side to side shaking motion and not the decidedly sexier back and backer twerking motion that's so in right now.

When it was finished it looked at me and said, "How about we take this to your bedroom?" I was dumbfounded. It took my silence for acquiesence

It took a step forward, and pressed its suit further saying, "I'll give you some Afternoon delight so good, that you'll be sure to meet your demise shortly after."

I let it down lightly. Anyone who knows anything about afternoon delight knows that you don't do it when your grandma who's got dementia's in the next room. If she hears a second coming, she might think it's the second coming, and that will never end well. She took it well. She said peace out, and strode towards the beach. I followed her out because I wanted to make sure that she went out, and stayed out. I can't have a Mammy in my garden, Captain Reginald will get jealous.

It magicked a scarf unto her back as it walked towards the water. As she walked she said, "Are you sure you don't want to give it a go? It'll be glorious." I was sure, so I let it go.

It magicked its scarf away, and trudged on towards the water with the deliberateness of the recently disappointed. I felt bad, but it isn't my fault that I'm pedantic.

Happy Days,
Afam

This concludes the Mammy of the water water series. It was an exercise in frivolity. I enjoyed it. I hope you did too.

I call posts like these emergency blog posts because I literally did not see them coming. Well, I mostly never see my blogposts coming but this one is more surprising than most. Just now, and I mean just now, my mum, Mama Afam sent me an email that said this.