Davetula Konsult

Princess Nsikak Let me tell you the easiest and quickest way to make enemies in the cyber world. . . . I used to be close to this girl. She shared things with me. And because we were friends, I made her problems my own problems and made her fights mine. . . When she uploads a photo and someone comes to diss her. She will inbox me to help her reply the person. Being the ‪#‎formerMumu‬ that I was, like a superhero rushing to help humans, I will dash out and carry her fight. I'd insult the person back and she won't come out. She only stays in the shadow cheering me up and telling me how that person is this and that, but never on that thread. . . There are times I'd get a call from her to help her reply a person. Still feeling like a hero, I'd grab my phone and press my keypads like a mad woman. . . Thing is, sometimes I win and at other times I lose. One thing is certain, I don't see that person as an enemy. But that person sees me as one. And others

I met a cute guy sometime ago in the exam hall. I never knew he was a student in my department. Never saw him. According to him, he knows me well, sees me all the time and likes me but just didn't have that opportunity to make his move. . . It was love at first sight. Teeth, check. Smile, check. Lips, check. Height, check. Skin color, check. Spoken words, check. Nails, check. Hair, check. Body odor, check. . . I knew I wanted to be his friend at least. After exams that day, we fixed a date for evening. He came to my hostel and we hung out at the school canteen. . . We talked and talked and talked. I liked him. I wanted him. He was perfect. He traveled to PH and I to Lagos. So we talked on phone every day, all the time. We bonded like we have known ourselves for years, we even started talking marriage, not dating. Lmao! Then he asked me to be his girlfriend. I was excited. It was like he proposed to me. I screamed YES!!! . . Excited much, I told my ‪t

So, every girl you know is doing it and you think it cool. Besides, they have goodies to show for their philanderings . You have heard all the talks about aristos being bread-winners and you can even keep a normal relationship while you keep your married man boyfriend and that seems normal since you are having the best of both worlds. Do you consider the consequences? Why would you date a married man? We share  more experiences but in this edition,  a male, Efosa from  Benin writes about the married woman who loved him. Fred and I were room-mates in our days in the University of Benin. We were also course-mates and age-mates but were drawn apart by our family back-grounds. Fred was a rich boy while I came from humble beginnings. But what I lacked in wealth, I had in looks and intelligence. Fred was a party freak and hardly had time for academics. It became convenient for me to help copy his notes and do some of his assignments. In return, Fred helped with my finance and bought me

The noise must have woken many people up, for it was just few minutes after midnight.    I had just risen from my first round of sleep, and was still trying to gather my wits together and figure out what to do with the next three to four hours before I crawl into bed again.    The voices were very loud and clear and I knew that they were coming from my compound. They belonged to The Jones. They all seemed to be shouting and wailing at the same time, father, mother and children. Initially, I thought it was an armed robbery attack as Mrs Jones was wont to come home late every night, Even though she ran a little video shop on the same street. But when I finally got the gist of it, I wondered if it would not have been better if it were an armed robbery attack. Besides, there was hardly much difference between an armed robbery invasion of one’s residence and what had taken place. Mr. Jones had brought home his lover! But why would anyone bring a girlfriend to the place they share wit

Candida ENO has been a non-conformist all her life, so this eventful day, she waited patiently at the VIP lounge of the local airport, fuming at the unnecessary delay in her flight when she noticed this young chap in his late thirties saunter towards where she was. Eno is in her late fifties. Curiously, she glanced at the seemingly shy man as he perched on a seat next to her. The conversation was stilled at first until Eno let it drop that she had an engagement at the Port Harcourt branch of the motel she ran. He instantly became interested in what I had to say and was chatting away as if he'd just discovered his tongue,  Eno recalled. When we eventually boarded the plane, it was inevitable that we sat together. He was quite helpful really, with my suitcase and with making sure I was comfortable. When we arrived at Port Harcourt, he asked tentatively if he could be put up in any of the rooms in my motel as it was too late to secure any decent accommodation. I would be a foo

Candida ˜MOST times, lying with my husband watching him sleep on his back, beer belly rising and falling with each snore, he doesn't look appetizing in the least -especially with his treble chin and bald head. I am starting to find him repulsive… Melisa looked so forlorn as she told me about the state of her marriage that I had to laugh. She wasn't mused. I reminded her they're  just married 12 years and it was a bit early for her to start being resentful, especially when she has two adorable kids and a well heeled husband who gave her and the children virtually everything they wanted. But what about meaningful sex, aunty C? Seun was fit and energetic when we got married with a body to die for. Now he's  flabby and unattractive. His weight had more than doubled,  the only thing that hasn't  changed is his personality. He's  still kind and loving with a good sense of humor. Trouble is, I just don't fancy him any more. I want rippling muscles – not rip

SYLVIA admitted that her parent's marriage and the stoic way her mummy yielded her position as the first wife to a much younger and ambitious woman prepared her for the way she handled her relationship with men. Her story:When a man suddenly discovered he's scaled the ladder of success faster than he'd envisaged, what does he do when he gets to the top? Chuck his frumpy wife for a more sophisticated model, that's s what! And it happened to my mother – a stark illiterate, my father too couldn't  read or write. But he was a fairly successful cocoa farmer and although we weren't exactly rolling on the laps of luxury, we were the envy of our small town; talk about a big fish in a very small pond indeed!  We at least had the benefit of a good education. My father had been on the war-path with the leadership of the local Pentecostal church we attended. He disagreed with the procedure used for raising money and how the money was spent. Things finally got to a hea

FOR the first time in months, since she left home, Fausat was able to call on a visit. She was like a stranger in the house she couldn't wait to shake the dust off so many months ago. Her parents were their relaxed selves, her siblings were all over the place, laughing, kidding and fighting good naturedly with the occasional admonition from their mum. There's food in the kitchen, her mother reminded her and she nodded. She had never known the kitchen to be bare. The housemaid gave a squeal of joy when she saw her. She actually threw herself at her; what she hadn't done since she came to the house a couple of years ago. She was almost moved to tears. Fausat put a brave face on it. She kidded with everybody whilst the maid rustled up something for her to eat. When she eventually locked the door of the toilet against the happy domesticated scene she'd always taken for granted, she wept silently. What madness possessed her to leave the comfort of her home for that ho

Ugoji Egbujo “Banish  the social media, dismantle the internet and confiscate their mobile phones. Isolate them, put out their lights and shut in these trouble makers and there will be peace.” “All in favour say aye”   If we hesitate, with this senate, the ayes will have it. The biggest threat to the perpetuation of the enslavement of the poor majority in Nigeria by the political class   is the social media. protest: Uzere youths protesting at Shell Petroleum Development Company facility in United. So the senators are not mad after all. If there is a tool with a potential to break   the sort of bondage that poverty , corruption and ethno- religious acrimony, acting in concert, have instituted in Nigeria   it is the social media. Senators are sleepless not because of high infant mortality rate but because the ordinary people can now get back at them.   They want that audacity curbed or   cured. The shield of murkiness, secrecy and deceit is now penetrable.   Their arroganc

Some couple of years back, Hector, a fifty-one year-old businessman and a colleague took up his daily paper at the breakfast table and gave an involuntary yelp when he got to the obituaries. For, staring him in the face was the picture of a lover he saw only the week before. “My wife wanted to know what the matter was when she heard my scream,” said Hector later “but I told her I’d read just a nasty report in the papers and she left it at that. Later that day, after I’d established that she was really dead and would be buried the next day, I had a talk with my wife. I had to explain to her why it was that important for me to attend Bose’s (that’s the lady’s name) funeral. She was a girl I was madly in love with, who swore she loved me more than she loved her husband. I’m sure my wife agreed that I should go because now that she was dead, she was no competition. I wouldn’t have told her if there was no chance of the story getting back to her ‘well-meaning’ busy-body friends!

But that is what happens when an otherwise good venture is hijacked by a people dedicated to feeding fat on ignorance and vulnerability. So, when Prince Aderopo eagerly goes for the whiteman’s education, the freedom knowledge gives is tainted by the sexual exploitation a Reverend Father subjects him to. If he must become human again, he must be cleansed. So, just as his forefathers would have done, a girl must die for each of the number of years he was abused; in a land where all young girls must remain virgin till wedding night, they must die at the point of deflowering. That is how the multiplier effect of exploitation ruins generation after generation. Ask the Almajiris, victims of a feudal system that keeps many poor so the few rich can feed and manipulate them. Don’t ask them, because they do not even know. But the Ogoni people know, the many youths whose money-making time coincides with electioneering know and like it or not, Boko Haram insurgents now know. Just listen very

I do not consider myself anything but pure African. I am not, and will never be an African-American or African-British or any other diluted blend of African for that matter. I am from West Africa. I am Nigerian and I am proud of my country. I am proudly from Nigeria – a nation of sane minds ruled by retards! In 2015, after reading a very popular but obnoxious article credited to Mr. Donald Trump – a top candidate for President of the United States in the forthcoming 2016 presidential elections describing Africans in the most deprecating lights, my blood boiled over a 100 degrees and I simply felt nothing but raw angst against the republican loudmouth. Mr. Trump had described Africans as “very lazy” people who only know of “lamenting how they are discriminated”, yet “steal from their own people”, but truly “need to be recolonized for another 100 years” for the basic reason that “they know nothing about leadership and self-governance”. When you come across such statements directed

BUKKY was busy giving the big bedroom a long overdue clean. She was running the vacuum cleaner over her husband’s side of the bed when the flex caught the corner of a partially opened drawer. It had been loose for months and Mati, her husband, hadn’t come round to fixing it yet. As she crouched to free the flex, something shoved amongst the odds- and-ends in the drawer caught her eye. A long brown envelope of the type school reports came in. Whose report could this be? She opened the envelope and saw the surname was her husband’s, but the first name was none of their five children. She went on: “I slumped on the bed and stared at the piece of paper. Suddenly, realization dawned – Mati had another child! In spite of the fact that I’d ignored one or two of his indiscretions, the result of my husband’s affairs now stared me in the face. The report was from a private secondary school. The child, a girl, now in her teens, had been born just after we had our second child! Way back when I

By Bunmi Sofola Here— a sexologist gives you five of them:  The Image Guy: He’s got the flash jeep, spends a fortune on his clothes and only likes to be seen at the ‘in’ places. His girlfriend will be chosen for the very same reason— you’re there simply to make him look good. The Adrenaline Junkie: If he’s addicted to the rush excitement, not only will you spend all your time watching from the side lines waiting for him to return from his latest adventure, there’s the pressure of constantly delivering his kicks in the bedroom, knowing if you don’t, he’ll just get his thrill from sex on the side. Bitter Boys: Between men who bad-mouth all their exes—you’ll be the one that he is badmouthing to the next girl. It means he’s taken zero responsibility for his contribution to problems and will blame you for everything too. Mr Over Confident: If he never, ever seems to get nervous around you, it could mean that he is not emotionally invested. A tell tale give away; standard, one-a

We met at a wedding of mutual friends: an outdoor mishmash of English and Scottish, traditional and unique. After the ceremony you asked me the way to the portable toilets and I took you to the appropriate field myself. We discovered en route that we had both brought the same dish to add to the wedding buffet. This sparked a friendly rivalry that drew a dotted line between us for the remainder of the day. Later, I would triumphantly show you a photo proving that while only one of my lemon possets was left, a pile of yours still sat on the table, next to some crumbling carrot cake and some shortbread. I’m not sure how long we talked, interspersed as the day was with dancing and speeches and other people. I certainly didn’t learn much about your life and I wonder now why I didn’t ask more about your job or your student days or what music you love. I just remember that you seemed open and kind and that you made me laugh. I don’t even recall what we were discussing when a sudden, r