Jaachi Writes

The Timeline of Agbada, Etibo and Babariga 1960 agbada and babariga etibo and babariga never had we a man in suit piloting the affairs of the nation 1966 khaki and berets swagger and muskets one takes down the other from one military junta to another 2015 since we didn't possess sense when electing another babariga can we have sense and at least get a suit wearing president in power? all preceding presidents wore no suits, because of beer guts and pot belly? 2019 this grand pa, though senile and rail thin is neither wearing suits nor brain than suits 2023 shouldn't we, at least, for tomorrow's sake elect a man on suit who wouldn't ganduje the treasuries in his babariga? maybe it's the suit that'll break the jinx #Pengician #SSA Enjoyed reading? Please leave a comment and share with friends. Thank you!  

May We Always Remember, by John Chizoba Vincent MAY WE ALWAYS REMEMBER The black cat came again. You know Grandpa told us last time that black cats especially, symbolize evil. When it came, it went towards the shrine. It looked at the tallest wooden goddess, then to the gods at the dark side of the shrine where grandpa usually sit and later to the oil on the wooden bowl. It dipped it's tongue into the bowl and licked the red oil. It looked back and returned to the back yard. I followed it gradually, then, I saw it stood tall and skinny; eyes flashed and terrible. I became afraid. I remembered grandma. I remembered she told us how a black cat appeared in their backyard before the death of her mother. I prayed that nothing happens to any of us.  I was timid. I ran inside and looked at grandpa who was lying on the wooden bed. He was fine. He was breathing fine, although not loud but he was very fine. He had fever in the morning and Chike got some herbs from Ubakala bush f...

Our School System Has Failed All Of Us, by John Chizoba Vincent  OUR SCHOOL SYSTEM HAS FAILED ALL OF US One of those places that our school system has failed us is that It never taught us how to manage our finance. Our financial intelligence is one of those things that our glamorous curriculum compilers had failed to include in our school syllabus. We were believed to be omniscient in financial matters. We have so many unemployed graduates out there under the scorching hands of the sun, they are desperately miserable because the school system never taught them how to manage their finance. They were never taught how to make ideas become ventures that could pay them in the nearest future when properly managed. They were never taught how to monetize their ideas to opportunity or rather how to identify money yielding opportunities. The school system failed to teach that idea rules the World and how to manage our Talent to prepare us for the future. Notwithstanding, the school system...

THE REALITY OF LIFE IS BEYOND THE FOUR WALLS OF SCHOOL If I have to start all over again, I will blame the government with it corrupts system of who-do-you-know before a graduate can get a good job for himself. I'll points my accusing hand towards the private organisations for demanding unreasonable years of experience from fresh graduates before they can be employed. I will blame all of them, yes, because I don't see the reason why they would demand ten years of experience from a person that just graduated yesterday! How would he gain that if not from somewhere? This is disheartening and frustrating to hear or see our graduates pass through this all day long. The demands are getting to serious, many are tired of waiting at home for their calls. Many graduates have committed suicide because of this. How could a country be this weak and frustrating? When is this nightmare going to end?  I will still blame the teachers that told us that great job opportunities await us i...

BORN-to-Obey (B.O.R.N.O)  Burn,  Open old wounds,  Rain careless bullets,  Never surrender territories,  Obliterate peace with violence This is the present state of B.O.R.N. O This should not be waved aside  when a lot of people die by the side.  This should not form a campaign song when a lot has prevented us getting along.  This should not be based on religion  when we have to equip our national Legion.  This should not be seen as a myth  when we are all feeling the gruesome heat.  BORNO is under fire and there are chants for political desires.  Peace is not a package from Santa,  but a collective responsibility sweeter than Fanta.  BORNO needs peace laden with fresh air and not the killings here and there.  BORNO is BORN-to-Obey  her future should be secured today or we wash away our future  as they dance and diffuse peace on belligerent aperture. Opia-Enwemuche Maxwell Onyemaechi He is a master...

WRITE ME A POEM (1) write me a poem about a two boys when a white boy stick out his tongue, in mock mimic to a black boy, the world stand aloof when a black boy chuckling, roll on the floor, because 'half baked bread' describes white boy, the world bring down the roof dummy, this is not about race! our green ocean is red and wild no one can sweep the tide away with a torn umbrella  write me a poem about Nigeria... #WriteMeAPoem #Pengician #SSA

POEM 355: NIGERIA on daily, you hurt me in ways like no one ever,  cutting me deep, right into my heart on a daily, you beat me up without lifting a hand, and, you shut me up when I cry on a daily, you crush my hope and tell the world I am a stale joke,  lazy mentally unstable and broke on a daily, you claim you're unaware,  to all the troubles you make me bear on a daily, you give me your love, just to rip it away: I am the climax of the dirty game you play I matter less, you win anyway on a daily, you treat me like trash & broken pieces- only good enough when's time to wrestle power - I, the worthless masses on a daily, you boldly look me in the eyes and feed me so many thrilling lies but soon you'd choke on every cruel word you say, for though I seem a little bit too spineless  to ever stand tall, I am no more senseless for though, in times before election, I'd rather feel pain than nothing at all, I've sharpened my ignorance with light and would expose your ...

POEM 293: THIS IS NOT A POEM Someday, when again I satire political events around the Niger area I'll write a poem on Baba Adamawa featuring Dede Anambra. In this poem of mine, which shall be written in due time, shall be words that mean a thing, two things and many other things. I shall scribble about an Atikulate Obituary where all divides shall lie in state, in a faux cemetery: Her rite foul place. I promise, there'll be no play on wards in this future poem of mine. And if you hold me by my words, friend, the blame wouldn't be mine. This is not a poem #365DaysOfPoetry #Pengician #SSA Enjoyed reading? Please leave a comment and sharing with friends. Thank you!

POEM 278: OGBUOHA ONE! Behold your king, Ogbuoha one! Crowned with the colour of blood He whose head mocks the crown with policies that impoverishes. Behold your king, Ogbuoha one! Clutching the sacred ofor He who desecrates the throne and makes, a pebble, the rock of Aso. Behold your king, Ogbuoha one! Clad in the colour of blood He who silenced the Voice of us with a thousand reptilians - Afara. Behold your king, Ogbuoha one! Adorned in cosmetic smiles He who mocks the rest of us with a spectacle of illusions. Behold your king, Ogbuoha one! Behold your king! Igbo kwenu! He comes with myth and gory! Oburu ma anyi kwenu. #365DaysOfPoetry #Pengician #SSA Enjoyed reading? Please leave a comment and sharing with friends. Thank you! 

POEM 270: GRIM LAND Crawled walls today with the intent of stumbling on some 'Hail Naija' pieces of poetry, extolling with words brights and beautiful, the exotic future that await Africa's wounded giant. Alas, my eyes were blessed with a hail of sour words sprawling on broken walls and craving for succor in the lyrics of Majek Fashek's 'Redemption Song'. The land is grim. #365DaysOfPoetry #Pengician #SSA Enjoyed reading? Please leave a comment and sharing with friends. Thank you! 

For Naija, any which way na way, but unto sey we no wan loss, we kukuma carry waka sidan for house. Who waka epp?  - Stefn Sylvester Anaytonwu WHICH WAY? E don tey wey I de pray make Jah show me the way; But e be like say Jah compass no de behave. I no go shock sef if boys don move am enter Agege. Test the thing sharply hail am that other way. In Nigeria everybody even pikin has to know the way, Everybody wey you meet go talk say all way na way. I enter bank say make I withdraw my change; I jam queue wey take small thing pass my eye gauge, As I de think my life for queue de wait my turn, Two men like that just enter sharply collect their coins; People hala but the sharp guys no even budge, The important thing is that their pockets have bulged. Toh, all of us know say all way na way. My editor guy carry im lappy de go work; I been tell am the night before say im dreads no work, My guy ignore me and to his utter shock, SARS stop am the next day ask am im handwork; As baba shape mouth...

POEM 246: DESOLATE if you were wind, you'd be the zephyr of the sea, from the throbbing tide washed onshore if you were a light, you'd be a lone star in the night sky, sneaking out to twinkle upon my skin, whilst moonlight baptize us with twilight’s rhapsody. if you were better days, you'd be sweet tears of sun, bleeding hope rays on the dark parts of our days but you're just a fluttering shadow, growing old, a rusty church bell chiming in a city of skulls, a fistful of lost grips of lifelines a pyre of martyrs in a valley of blights, a burning cold icing beneath the sea, and lingering longing leaning on air. #365DaysOfPoetry #Pengician #SSA Enjoyed reading? Commenting is now easy.  I introduced Facebook Comment feature. Please help my blog grow by leaving a comment and sharing with friends. Thank you!

POEM 223: WELCOME TO THE FUTURE how do you sleep at night when you know you're living a lie? how do you walk through the day when you know you're haunted by demons invisible? you don't like what you see but what can you do? you step into the future with hopes of a better tomorrow but so far so fast the future is another wrap of sorrow. you settle down by the roadside and singsong to your stomach's rumble silently praying the man with a smile will drop a note, neat or crumbled you stretch out trembling fingers but he looks the other way chuckling into the phone night falls as fast as your hopes you crawl into a dark corner and with trembling fingers wipe the tears in your eyes you visited the future but you don't want to be there you're sitting by the side of your bed — pieces of rags — ready to sleep now but you'll have no sweet dreams you'll be haunted by ghosts in the future and be mocked by demons of the past yet you shut your teary eyes say a pray...

POEM 218: CONFUSION i. everywhere in wazobia people are fighting for freedom wresting p o w e r from the rulers of the kingdom blaming others for their own faults north say it's the south south say it's the north how can we win this fight by throwing tantrums at everything trivia? ii. everywhere in this clime people are fighting for wisdom no one knows what is right no one knows what is wrong you uphold the wrong kind of right I uphold the right kind of wrong how can we win this fight against sour laws by trading blames for peanuts? iii. in every heart are raging wars against boring norms and silly laws right says it's wrong left never feels right parents say it's us religion says it's lust we say it's everyone how can we erase these lies we've come so far so fast to embrace? when shall we take chill pills and blame no one when our interests collide and beliefs run into a wall? iv. everywhere is a dark space of chaos everyone is a masterpiece of confusion...

The Curve And Colors Of Hate When the evening news had broken Father spoke with a tone of pain and anger “Nigeria is a whore,” And my mother agreed Painting sensual scenes giving you pleasure of what looks like a garden that hides a landmine. And how trying to walk through it becomes slippery A journey asking for crimson libations, full of fractures and ‘Had I knowns’ while you looked over the fence for greener  pastures Her sighs spoke of a menu full of thrills but you are served double horrors She, Nigeria, abhors you later on when it relinquishes you of value, Truly, she is an old ‘Whore’ My Father picked it from there, “Nigeria gets hard as rock” Wants of men despised Sullen moods recorded in poems, speeches, and events, snubbed For as long as it makes sultry suplex’s on a comfortable ring – Nigeria is satisfied “Son, Nigeria is you, your mum and I” Guilty to a fault Pained by happenings that come with fire and brimstone Let loose from bellies that should hold  patriotis...

POEM 201: APC The real APC We do not defect. Our carpets are landmarks No leg can cross its path. We're legit, not looters Even sin hate us! We all are speakers. We own words. Lay ambush on us and we'll walk right through you with spoken words. Why so blue? We are the sky. When you lose your white green to red patches on Jos hills just look up to us. You can call us gods. Why open palms? Demanding for bribe? No! We're beckoning on our bride, your senses, come let's save the land! How long shall bonded broomsticks take us for a ride? Y'all witches? What are we saying? We too wonder why. Why do politicians make APC vain? We are the real APC we do not defect. Our words might be just poetry but we speak not in vain. Our word is our bond We don't run the mace. We are the real APC Aba Poetry Club The other na fake! Go get your PVC and some pint of sense. -------------------------------------------- Photo credit: Porient ART & Media #365DaysOfPoetry #AbaPoetryClub ...

THE EXPORT I actually didn't know what Old Prof wanted from me. He helped me, fine. I know, but I hadn’t asked him to bundle me into his sentiments. On several attempts, he couldn’t allow me say a single word while we had conversation in front of a glowing fire, that stroke of the night. Like a cantankerous woman, he dominated the conversation as though I knew nothing— as he told his own version of the Biafra War: how the Nigerian soldiers mangled and subjugated the East to perpetual annihilation. While in the midst of our conversation, I’d thought he was talkative, because of the load of experiences he had garnered over the years. I knew, knowledge makes one loud or mad— or, there is this explosiveness in the head of knowledgeable people, just like an energy trying to escape from an enclosed container, that’s how they’d always want to say all they have in the head. However, if too much knowledge wasn’t the reason Old Prof had been loud and talkative, then, old age should probably ...

POEM 198: Acrostic for Rachel Red patches on stone walls Actuating an electric switch Cracking through defenses High raised to fence off unity Etched in our tender hearts at birth Love survives like red patches on stone walls #365DaysOfPoetry #Pengician #SSA Enjoyed reading? Please help my blog grow by leaving a comment and sharing with friends.  Thank you!

HOW DO YOU DEFINE GENOCIDE?  With your father's skull rolling on the  ground bitterly as you watched blood  dripping down from his nose & the  enemy made you blasphemed against  his name, how do you define genocide?  Is it from the Bible or from the Koran?  Is it from the Jos killing or the Lagos fire?  Is it from the eyes of an atheist who says there is no God?  Or from the lies they told us everyday? How do you spell genocide without having  tears stream down from your eyes?  These are the tablets my country made:  a tablet of blood and cracked sorrows, a tablet that carries dead bodies to the  ground without the knowledge of the ground; a tablet that represents names of darkness,  like the telescope of an evil crusader,  Like the elephant wills against the sun,  Jos wasn't just just to every soul that died to become groaning dust on its land.  The songs of those who died still strike a forbidden ...

POEM 175: AREFENOHA  Since time began,  so goes the tale that has no end,  from amalgamation to the independent times,  History swears to repeat herself  Up north, down south to set boundaries.  Left west, right east, weapons harnessed,  one against the other to stir  the pot of sour soup again,  and belch in disgustion  how Arewa, Afenifere and Ohaneze  set at liberty ideologies that divide than gather  the colossal hope of Nigeria,  which lies in a heart of fear,  in the hands of a senile grandpa,  served as diner to Arefenoha,  while the masses writhe in hunger.  #365DaysOfPoetry  #Pengician  #SSA