Letters to Ogilvy (Notes on NYSC mummies, and jealousy)

How do I introduce Ogilvy to the lot of you. He was my best friend when I was at school, and this meant everything to me at the time. At the moment we enjoy, a comfortable, but slightly formal relationship which I quite like. There's duty and discipline in it. Our last conversation's below.
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Dear Afam,

How's your year of National Youth service going? I hope you're actually doing it, not slacking off, and bribing people to make up for your chronic episodes of "I can't be asked, so therefore, I cannot... I cannot... I cannot... I cannot actually be fucked to do this." One of the things you'll find as you age, is that sometimes, you're going to have to do things you don't actually want to do so that you can get to do the things you do want to do. I think that's enough hard bad man, I'm the baddest most sorted king pin twenty something year old out there talk because I really don't know what I'm doing with myself either. I'm sorted on paper, but do I feel sorted? I don't know. What's your address by the way?

Love,
Gil

Dear Gil,

It's going. It's as you thought, I have become infected with a chronic case of I cannot... I absolutely cannot... be arsed, so therefore, I cannot... I cannot... I absolutely cannot... string together a line of fucks to give about the entire year so far. Living in Lagos is like sipping a cup of apathy slowly, you can only watch as the fucks you give bleed out of you. Anyway, don't worry about me. I'll sort myself out, even if it does mean giving my NYSC mummy envelopes with Happy World Environment Day scribbled across them every month, but let's move on from that.

What do you want with my address? Behave yourself. Some stereotypes about Africa, and Nigeria are actually true. Do not send me anything in the post you blithering idiot, it shall never get here. Say whatever you want to say in an email, or record yourself on snapchat. I've been having nice long conversations with readers on snapchat. It's really quite remarkable. There's one reader who bugs me all the time. "Afam, when's the next blog coming out." "Afam, I'm bored. Entertain me." "Afam, send me the unfinished manuscript for that book you've been writing. " He's read everything! I like him. He's a good chap. His name's ND. You might know him.

Afam.

Dear Afam,

I hear you, but it's gone in one eye and out the other (that's because I read the email you see?). I demand that you furnish me with your address at once. And no, you are not allowed to compartmentalise this message and stow it in the deep recesses of your brain. If you wait a month before you reply me, I will create an instagram account called why we hate Afam. Everybody loves a little shade in life, and as far as I can see you've been denied your fair share.

I'm really pleased to hear that you've got a reader that you snapchat with. I'm even more pleased to hear that you talk to a reader that you do not know more often than you talk to me, your best friend. I'm only being bratty. I know we talk when it's time to talk, not one moment before, and certainly not a moment after. It's magic.

And... I've got news. I'm getting married.

Love,
Gil

Dear Gil,

GO AWAY.

Love,
Afam

Stupid Afam,

Don't be a jealous prick. Weren't you with someone a little while ago?

Gil.

Gil,

It ended.

Afam

ps.

Don't talk to me for a week.


Happy Days...
Jealous Afam..