IN ALL YOUR GETTING; GET WISDOM!

I watched with sheer agony and horror at the video of a young beautiful "yellow sisi" making mockery of herself at the just concluded Miss Rivers Golden Jubilee beauty pagentry.

You see a contestant was asked a really basic question; "would you prefer an arranged marriage or marrying for love and why?", all hell broke loose right then, our beautifully clad sister couldn't construct proper sentences, she finally manage to utter something about how it's important to "arrange" your marriage before going into it and not marry out of love.

At that point I was seriously vexed like "really", I couldn't even bring myself to laugh at her sef for making such utterances. You see; I believe it all traces back to our value systems; I was born and grew up in Port Harcourt, it's a city where every skinny girl wants to be a model and win a beauty pageant.

why is this? it's because of the value the Rivers state has placed on such activity; there's always a pageantry going on in this state with mouth watering prizes to be won.

I strongly believe she pulled all stops to get to that stage but didn't realize they would even ask any questions. we have placed little a value on education and so much on beauty.
we fail to realize that beauty without WISDOM is nothing!

Out of the shadows

Lying wide awake tonight; I haven't done this in a while, perhaps just perhaps I have forgotten how to, but undaunted i decide I'll try anyways. So here's my little piece trying to make sense of it all.

I realize that I'm tired, the world doesn't seem all pink these days,mostly grey actually. Bruises, Cuts,Burns and Tears are the order of our today. Funny thing is most of the pain seem to come from loving wrong people in wronger ways.

Oh my precious! You need to believe that you are a gem, you have to know that you were created for something far bigger than what your today looks like. You weren't put here to end up bruised,broken,burnt.

Your mother's loving arms are ever open  to you till the day she dies, your father wouldn't join the world to scorn you for coming back home. there's so much more that awaits you if only you stay awoke and retrace those deadly steps.

I pray you come to understand that you have sold yourself short, that need in "wanting to be needed" that feeling that "you can never be enough on your own" are all victories for your captor. You need to come out of those shadows and walk straight home.

But until then I'm tired.

HAVE YOU COMPLAINED TODAY?

I’m tired; tired of waking up every morning to the voices of my ‘Ogogoro’ drinking neighbors arguing over who is a better politician between Wike and Amechi. Tired of Lai Mohammed’s lies. Tired of Niger Delta Avengers fighting environmental degradation by blowing up oil pipelines that further degrades the environment. Tired of paying thrice what I paid hitherto on transportation. Tired of Fulani Herdsmen raiding villages – (because, you know, the cows won’t feed themselves). Tired of buying “four seeds” of tomatoes for N800 (tomatoes are so scare now, they don’t even serve stew in the dream anymore, just white rice & yam) to cook a meal for my girlfriend who will eventually leave me. Tired of APC/PDP “e-footsoldiers” fighting every time and flooding my social media feeds. Tired of banks laying off more staff than they employ. Tired of hearing crappy music over the radio (every Jambite that fails the second attempt runs to the closest studio, smokes “weed” and makes noise over some beats, shoves it down our throats and calls it music); aren’t we all tired? We are. So then what do we do? Let’s all complain, whenever and wherever we can. I’m complaining right now, you should too.
The title of this piece may have misled you to think that this piece would be motivational or inspirational. It won’t. It’s not about statistics, verifiable or otherwise, nor is it about critical social commentary. I’m here to point fingers at you and blame you, for what? It’s all your fault!
In an era where content is the new crude; entrepreneurs and small/medium sized businesses are driving economies to development; youths are pioneering innovations and technologies in different global industries; green energy is rapidly gaining prominence; selfless leaders are creatively scheming to position their nations at the forefront of the global economy and power play; what stride could be more critical and contributory to the global economy for us than to complain and point fingers at the government. We should get creative about it. Let us hashtag it. Call-in to radio and TV shows. Gather at local newspaper stands and exchange words about the headlines. We must excel at this. We have to. The world must hear our complaints and they will.
Let everyman point fingers and blame the next man and everyone else but himself for his woes. Let us collectively points fingers and blame the government for our troubles, because, you know, the government is a completely different institution and authority from the people and is responsible for all our problems as a people. This has proven historically to be a very effective means of effecting positive change in the society. Let’s hold town hall meetings and forums to complain about how bad the government is, and how it’s responsible for all our problems; the more we complain, the closer we will be to our much needed positive results.
While we’re complaining about the government, let the government itself in turn complain about its predecessor; Let the self-vindictive government use all public relations tools at its disposal and propaganda to achieve this, after all, that is what it was voted-in to do. While the government complains about the problems created by its predecessor, let the caricature of an opposition (Hello Fayose) complain about the government complaining about them.
Don’t we all love mantras and slogans, because, you know, their use somehow translate into reality whatever concept of governance they’re meant to drive. Haven’t you heard that a child’s name affects his destiny? Industrialization! Diversification! Deregulation! Devaluation! Vision 20/20/20 (you can add more 20s)! Transformation Agenda! Change! I bet the next administration is somewhere cooking up a catchy mantra, one which we would eventually welcome with open arms, because, well, it’s a proven fact that the fire is better than the “frying-pan”.
Let us not as a people and individually make efforts and take conscious and practical steps to contribute positively to the wellbeing of the society. Let the youths not develop their minds to think creatively and infiltrate industries with their ingenuity, let them not learn lucrative skills and apply their efforts to innovation; let them instead complain about unemployment and whatever macroeconomic problem they can google and blame the government. Let us spend time and other valuable resources at our disposal to complain. After all, complaint is the new patriotism – and many wonder why the president is undergoing treatment for an ear infection.
Have we complained today about the epileptic power supply we’re experiencing and blamed Fashola for it? Have we complained today about the high cost and scarcity of petroleum products today and blamed Kachikwu for it? Have we complained about the surge in forex prices and blamed Emefiele for it? I have. If you have not, you’re not being patriotic, and that is not Nigerian. By all means, log into your social media accounts and complain about the system, blame somebody today. Why shouldn’t you? You can do a better job than anyone already there; you’re presently a better husband, a better wife, a better administrator, a better professional, a better student, a better businessman, a better politician, than your peers. Touche, you’re even more religious than your Imam and Pastor. You’re less hypocritical than your neighbor, who therefore is more qualified to criticize him and the government than your very humble righteous self.


Okezie Richmond

ANOTHER SATURDAY

By CHINWEIKE OKWU

Have you ever seen yourself
At the confluence of joy and despair?
Saturday's were sweet sad stories
I know it, I have been there
There I was dancing in the rain
You can't tell tears from raindrops
I have slept in impatience shoes
I too have paid my own dues in full
I sang a lonely song to the moonlight
I have listened to the music of mockery


For us who knew the latest weddings in town
We bought all the ashoebis and gowns
That was me catching flowers, I made a job of it
And time tossed me on its middle finger
And I still held my blood of innocence
The noose woven around the neck of luck is cut
I've cleared all the debris and dusted my heart
I've come to this rushing river to cast the coffins of the past
Today I have come into the full tide
This is the start of a task, a long journey

ANOTHER SATURDAY, I'll drown in my tears tonight
I'll bleed out my last drop of innocence
I shall say "I do" on the alter of light
I will never retire in this life long duty
In bold steps, I'm crossing new frontiers
The ring is my trophy of pride
I'll match with the dance of the glory
I've done it a thousand times in my dreams
The world must hear my own song
I must raise my light on the mountains

Welcome To November

Hi guys! Happy New month and many blessings!
So the year is drawing to an end and we really want us to exist this year in a Glitmusical way😀

Is there any Episode you have been looking out for? A topic you want discussed on here? Or just a simple message you want to pass across to help us serve you better and for the betterment of GLITMUS?

Please do no hesitate to leave in a comment about that in the comment box and we will hop right to it.
Love you!!

Relationship advice

I used to have a girlfriend who loved me with all she had. She loved me, this I knew. I used to think all a relationship needed to last was love. Our relationship started on a dreamy note and everything looked like a fairy tale. We used to text all the time, and while we were not texting we were on the phone talking.
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After a while I noticed I started becoming less willing to chat with her all the time... Not because I started loving her less or because I was seeing someone else, but because most times we had little or nothing important talking about, but we were just forcing the conversation. She wouldn't have none of this. She wanted us to text every single time I was online and when we weren't texting she would call. She would call about 4 times a day to say nothing in particular except that she just misses me and felt like hearing my voice.
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I got tired, I became less willing to talk to her because it was tiring. She was everywhere I turned. I started developing ways to avoid her. Whenever she called I would kick out in frustration before I pick it up, and sometimes I just ignore completely. Every time I tried to talk about it, she got paranoid and started assuming I wasn't appreciative of her love for her. At the end of the day I broke up with her. I broke up with her because I had lost every form of excitement and sparks that should come with a relationship. Breaking up with her broke her heart, I knew this.... But I didn't have any other choice.
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Now, I'm not alone on this. A lot of people have quitted relationships because of over attached partners. You may not understand this until it happens to you. It's a general rule, the more available a commodity is the less value it has. That your partner is online and not chatting with you at that moment doesn't mean he's cheating on you. It simply means he has nothing interesting or important to share with you at that time.

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Give your partner some space. It's not compulsory you talk over the phone every day. Don't call her 5 times a day just to ask if she has eaten. Always give enough space to be missed. Understand your partner also have friends he needs to keep in touch with. If you are always available even when your partner doesn't need you, then he's not gonna miss you. Sometimes you need to make yourself just a little scarce for your partner to appreciate your presence.
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It takes more than love to hold a relationship.

Kenechukwu Victor.

ONCE UPON A STORY....

It was the middle of dry season. Which meant hot smoldering days and cool breezy nights. The kind of nights that are perfect for lying under the stars next to the one you love. This is where my story begins.

"I love you," he whispers in her ear after kissing her cheek. "I love you more," She whisper back with a smile. He stands and offers his hand to help her up. "Come on," he says with a warm gleam in his eyes.

She took his hand and they walked in the moonlight to the Nepa forsaken half bacha house. They had bills to pay. The young couple sat on a secondhand couch and studied some old newspapers with the aid of a dwarf candlestick. The man was lean from too many skipped meals. His wife rubbed the small bump of her belly and took slow, measured breaths. She didn’t want to worry the child before he even saw the world.  

“Three thousand this month?” She asked. At this rate, they’d stay in debt for twenty years. But what choice did they have?   

Her husband shrugged.

She put down the papers, stood and stretched. The kitchen held the promise of tea, but little else. Her hand trembled as she grasped the mug.

Around her, the apartment reflected the pains and joys of their new life. The few plates in the cabinet were clean and neatly stacked, but they were also chipped. The carpet in the living room was faded and thin, but creased in the patterns of a recent vacuuming, and the duvet in the bedroom were frayed at the edges, but they were also warm, hand-stitched and handed-down from two generations. The apartment smelled of cinnamon, and the window blinds were always open for sunlight, though the windows looked out on a gray, crumbling street.

She turned on the stovetop and sighed.

Warm hands touched her shoulders and rubbed in small, gentle circles. He had been a dancer once, and he still moved with a quiet grace that had caught her attention so many years ago. They had danced together, night after night, in clubs filled with winking lights and the sweat of the exuberant.

She missed that. She missed the care-free speed of twirls and shakes. She missed the stretch in her limbs and pulse of her heartbeat rhyming to the beat of the music. She began to hum and old tune, slow and soft, mournful but unyielding.

He planted a kiss on her temple and spun her slowly around to face him. He offered one hand and placed the other on her hip. She laid her head on his shoulder and continued to hum. They swayed together in the tiny kitchen.

She felt a soft thump in her belly. She stopped and snapped her head up. Her gaze met his, and she saw his smile. Pressed against her in the dance, he’d felt it too. The smile lifted the worry off his face. He looked, for the first time in weeks, like the shy stranger who’d asked her to dance—full of hope. And they sang "whether na one naira,whether na one million...baby you've got me" as tears rented her cheeks. Then again he whispers"I love you," in her ear after kissing her cheek. "I love you more," She whispered back with a smile. He nods his head and says with an even bigger smile, "Yes I am so sure."      


The lack of money did not mean lack of life, or love. They had no time left to be young, but they soon they would pass that gift onto another‎.

By CHINWEIKE DAVID OKWU(LYRICALPONTIFF)

A word for the wise

It's almost that time of the year again when all our brothers return home from "the abroad". Soon, they will come from all parts of the world- America, Europe, The Philippines, Malaysia, South Africa and even Sudan- to celebrate Christmas.

It doesn't matter where they come from, they will come with a black American accent. Even the ones that came from Sudan will come with pounds and dollars. Because the default currency for "the abroad" people is dollars. Abroad person that is spraying Cedis, is that one abroad person?

They will come to the village, and they will be at every ceremony spraying dollars and pounds. They will wear their starched laces and their original gold chains. I don't care the authentic quality of the chain, but as long as it is from 'the abroad', it is original. They will bag chieftancy titles that ends with "Ego".

They are the real MVPs. The Mr Steal-your-chic-and-convert-them-to-wife. They are always single looking for a wife at home. Yes, they are not bastards, they come back home to marry.

You have a boyfriend who is just a civil servant. Fresh young man who is just starting life. You think you love him until your mother tells you about Emeka, the "abroad guy" that just landed in town. She reminds you about how you both used to be really close friends before he left to 'the abroad' when you were just 3 months old. Mama tells you he wants to marry you. You take a look at Emeka and you see the glory of the Lord shining around him. You admire his British-American accent and his fresh money. You think about your boyfriend- mtchew, who "young man with Dreams" epp? You suddenly start hearing the voice of the Lord telling you that Emeka the abroad guy is the right one for you. You suddenly realize that at 23 you are no longer getting any younger and you can't wait for a graduate who is just starting life.

Emeka spoils you while he is in the village. You both keep in touch as he leaves for "the abroad". You don't see him again but you still talk on phone. You are now both engaged and you are happy, you are dating a guy in Indonesia with an American accent.

Two years pass, you've seen Emeka only once. Because body no be wood, you have a side boo in your town who lubricates the engine when the oga is not around. But you are still engaged. You are getting impatient. You were 23 two years ago but now you are 35, or you feel 35. You nag, whine, write three different please-hide-my-Identity messages to "Dear Amanda". Sacrifice 2 goats as burnt offering to the Fadalurd above. After some months, your prayer is answered. He fixes a wedding date but cannot attend the wedding because of work. So you just do the wedding with his enlarged picture anyway. That picture he was wearing a suit, that one. That's the one you kiss when it's time to "kiss the bride".

After three months, no Emeka. You realize you are now a western union wife. Another series of Dear Amanda messages, burnt offerings and pastor visits, God finally touches Emeka's heart to come home. He comes home for a few months to get you pregnant and go back. When he goes back, the real Lord - not my "Fadalurd" - decides to remember you this time and release you from your misery. You somehow realize that Emeka has two beautiful children with his abroad wife of 10 years now. Your eyes will now clear.

You finally wake up, after 300 posts cursing Emeka and other men specifically, you decide to join the Association of Online Feminists of Nigeria. Dear sister, Kolewerk. You are not a feminist, you are just an aggrieved mega idiot who hates men, and that is not feminism.

Christmas is coming, if you like, follow abroad husband and go.

Culled from: Victor Daniel (facebook)

NOT ON A SUNDAY

Out of her bed she jerked. The alarm sounded just in time. She lets a yawn and thanks the Lord, for his grace to serve her another day. She has her bath and settles in front of the mirror. With her paintbrush she carefully outlines the beauty of God's creation. She gets a dress she has specially prepared, the type that makes her look like a queen- Specifically reserved for special events.

Glamour- check. Grace- check.

She steps out like a queen going on a tour. She turns left and right, looking for a neighbour to judge for not going to church. She steps in the church and catches the vibe. Her voice is loudest and she dances with an extra excitement. She's consumed by the passion of the worship and the holiness of His presence.

The priest climbs the pulpit and begins to preach. His sermons pierces directly into her heart. It takes her back to a day before, when she sweated under the thrusts of a man. When she moaned in pleasure as the rock-hard erection hit her cervix. When she moaned in the name of God as her climax took her to a realm of unparalleled ecstasy. Consumed with guilt, she becomes sober. She sinks in benediction and feels a tear drop. After service, she thanks God for absolution as she walks out of church, more sober than she came.


In the evening her phone bleeps. A message from the same guy she sweated under the previous days. He says "hey hun, will you be free tonight?". She thinks for a while and replies-

"Today is Sunday, let's see about tomorrow night".

BY KENECHUKWU VICTOR

Episode 1- by Joe-Onyema Onyinyechi

"My God would judge you" was what he
said as he grabbed my bag that hot
afternoon.
"And He would judge you too" I replied
while trying unsuccesfully to dislodge my
bag from his grip. Mehn! This guy had an
iron fist.
" Wicked gurl,today your stubborness and
heartlessness don jam one chance".
I boldly gave him my dirtiest look and
hissed. But in my mind, i was thinking,
'wat is wrong with this guy ehn? holding
my bag like this in a busy street?'.
Passersby kept giving us curious
glances,but nobody stopped to help. Aww
mehn! What should i do?How do i wriggle
out of this mess? Which kyn human be
this? Supposing i make good use of my
teeth? I wondered. As these thoughts
crossed my mind, I looked at the guy. He
was well-built and had longer legs than i
did. So, if i should bite him and run
away,he would probably catch up with me
and give me the beating of my life. He
might even remove my incissors.
" If you want to leave here with your bag
today, you had better do as i say".
" I will not do it, lemme see what you can
do" was my hasty and stubborn

reply,but
in my mind, I was like ''. I prayed all
the kinds of prayers i knew in my mind.
But begging and doing what he wants
would be the last thing I would do.
How did i get into this mess in the first
place?