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@eketiette

28 Dec 20

BREAKING NEWS!

Uforo, Kagiso and Zawadi invade the UK from three different sides.
Zawadi, an accomplished General, arrives at London first. She sticks the Kenyan flag at the top of Buckingham Palace and claims it for Kenya.

On behalf of Nigeria and South Africa, Uforo and Kagiso claim Wales and Scotland respectively and share Northern Ireland.

English is declared too local a language; Ibibio, Xhosa and Swahili are now taught in schools. Pudding is abolished, replaced by Afang, nyama choma and phutu

African archeologists storm England on an expedition. They locate the tomb of Queen Elizabeth I at Westminster and hire white locals to raid it. They cart away her remains, back to Africa and stick them in a museum. British folk now travel to go see it.

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@eketiette

27 Dec 20

https://twitter.com/ekeminithebody/status/1343123521199890440

This isn't his first time. He's not the first man to do this. Many women in Nigeria have terrible hotel stay experiences.
Male receptionists do proposition female guests and give out their room keys/numbers without permission to male guests who like them.

To protect yourself...

https://twitter.com/ekeminithebody/status/1343123521199890440

* Travel with a portable door jammer.

* Wedge the door handle with a chair.

* Check for Peeping Tom holes in the walls.

* Leave the key in the lock.

* Ask a male friend or colleague to act as your partner.

* Don't be amiable or hostile. Brusque is better.

* Sleep with your pepper spray or Swiss army knife.

* Lock the door when in the bathroom. Female guests have walked out of bathrooms to see men in their rooms.

*Report any unprofessionalism to management.

* Leave a detailed review online so other women can avoid such places.

Read 5 tweets

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@eketiette

16 Nov 20

"Yesterday night at about 7pm, I was riding when I saw a dead body. Or so I thought.

The body was still, in the middle of a residential area in Garki, Abuja. That’s not a regular sight, so I stopped. There where people around the body.

“The man just slumped,” someone told me.

They didn’t know what to do; whether to touch him or leave him.

“There's a hospital on this street,” I volunteered.

“Let’s get a doctor,” said another person.

“Na BP,” someone whispered.

But nobody seemed ready to listen to me. Then something happened.

The dead man came back to life.
Just barely. His breathing was shallow, uneven, almost nonexistent.

"He’s alive!" we shouted.

Then confusion set in with different suggestions.

“Let’s take him to the hospital.”
“Let’s move him across the road.”
“Bring water, let’s pour on him.”

Read 12 tweets

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@eketiette

13 Nov 20

On Project/Master's Thesis Defence in Nigerian Federal Universities - A thread:

"We had to pay hotel bills for the members of the panel. You could also offer sex, if your supervisor is the devil's apprentice. Transport money inclusive."
- Erdoo N.

"I decided I'd never have anything else to do with Nigerian universities, the day I saw people defending their masters dissertation presenting coolers of rice, garden eggs and crates of drinks to their supervisors. I legit thought someone was getting married."
- Bibian U.

"We we're told we'd pay 60k each, for both entertainment and logistics of external supervisor."
-Chiamaka O.

"We spent the night prior to my mother's defense at the University of Ilorin, cooking coolers of rice with assorted meat for the lecturers."
- Omekagu.

Read 15 tweets

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@eketiette

12 Nov 20

"Eketi, this is in response to your post about the worst breakup.

We started dating in secondary school. Everyone in our families knew we were in a relationship. We both came from a poor background, so, going higher institution was impossible.

After WAEC, I decided to work as a security guard and sponsor her through school with my salary. The plan was after she finished, she would work while I went to school.

Before she finished, she got pregnant. Since everyone knew it was mine, our families decided we should wait until after she finishes, before we got married.

She gave birth to a boy.

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@eketiette

24 Sep 20

I am fourteen.

My sister has just returned from her afterschool lesson. Her face is stormy as she dashes to her room, unwilling to respond to our greetings and customary question, “how did your lesson go today?”

Mama asks me to go see to her, ask what is the matter.

I find her lying face down on her bed, head buried in the pillow, quiet sobs shaking her shoulders.

My sister is reserved. She doesn’t speak unless she wants to; she’s always had a mind of her own. So, I know that nothing I say will make her tell me what’s wrong.

We will have to wait until she’s good and ready. So, I put my hand on her shoulder and tell her everything will be fine.

I say, “You can always tell me what’s bothering you, you hear?"

I get up and head for the door. My hand is stayed when I hear her whisper something.

Read 20 tweets

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