Beauty Is In The Eyes Of The Beholder

You walk into Beauty Is In The Eyes Of The Beholder Salon down the Road with high hopes and aspirations of a harvest of compliments all week long. It is Saturday and your upkeep day. After walking a few kilometres, you happen on to the salon because it is the only one that has a generator. A group of girls mill around the front. They are all busy. But you know salons always have space to take one more. You appraise quickly and see Madam in a corner. You know her because she is different. Her hair is well done and she is smiling. You smile back, hoping she has time for you. But someone shows up from behind before you have a chance to speak. The first thing you notice is her bad hair.

Twitter Hall

I tried to write a short illustration of what happens on Twitter using Whizy, Teman and Blaze as major characters. They are birds, mind you and they tweet constantly. I hope you'll read it and give me your thoughts.

The Politics of the Nigerian Blog Awards

While on my blog rounds one morning three weeks ago, I got a message on Facebook from a fellow nominee that Feisty Pen had received 7 blog nominations at the Nigerian Blog Awards. The tone of that message set the pace for my perceptions towards the ensuing campaign.

Nigerian Blog Awards 2011



I am very grateful. This is a very special award because it is what I am about. Thank you.

Creative Planker Award; In the Lagos Flood

Planking; [verb] To lie down flat with arms to the side mimicking a wooden plank and usually in unusual locations. Activity not completed until picture posted on the internet and friends ooh and aah or hiss! (Feistionary)

All month long, it has clogged my news feeds; Twitter and Facebook (follow me on Twitter if you aren’t @chocberry). I’ve seen all sorts of pictures.

Like Funke Akindele’s suliaish pose

What I would do if I was deployed to Borno or Bauchi

Find out what Berry would do if she were deployed as a youth corper to these regions.

The Lagos Hawker; An Ode to Smelly Armpits

I am hungry. I’m in traffic on my way back from work. The cars crawl; every car has to brake at a certain water puddle in front. Causes a chain reaction. Traffic stretches for miles. My thoughts on traffic mechanics are interrupted by noises from my stomach. Then I sight him. He is carrying a carton of Gala. UAC’s Gala is faded glory but I will make do. I stretch out my hand and signal to him.