Stop with all the Nigerian accent BS

God, I hate all these “Nigerian accent” things…there’s no such thing as a Nigerian accent for crying out loud! We don’t even speak the same native language or share the same ethnicity. You can’t tell me I sound like Musa, your Hausa neighbor, or Chika, your Igbo aunt. I don’t even sound like Iya Kasala, and we’re probably from the same state. Neither do I sound like the president of my country -_-

You can’t imitate a Nigerian accent, because it doesn’t exist. And you make people look stupid. ๐Ÿ˜‘ If you say try to imitate an accent from Nigeria, that’s fine- pick and choose, Fulani, Ibibio, Igbo, Oyo (even though they’re Yoruba, they still sound very distinct), your daddy from Ogbomosho (again, also Yoruba, but very distinct). Don’t just come here and be insinuating that we sound anything alike. Maybe if we had a common native language called ‘Nigerian’, we could have a ‘Nigerian’ accent. But we DO NOT. We all (mostly) speak English with accents derived from a mix of our native tongues, and education.

I understand there has to be some generalization cos everyone in the world speaks differently. It’s okay, generalize all Yoruba people. I still maintain that I don’t sound like daddy Ogbomosho though ๐Ÿ™„ Cool though. Yoruba people: We all add ‘h’ to the beginning of every word that starts with a vowel, and take away the ‘h’ from every actual h-word. And just fuck words up generally. H’am h’espetin ‘Arry Potta part 2 h’in d mail toe-marrow (I’m expecting Harry Potter 2 in the mail tomorrow). ๐Ÿ˜’ I don’t sound like that though do I? Asides the h’ocashuna (occasional) slip up. โ˜บ๏ธโ˜บ๏ธ

Anyway, point h’is (oops โ˜บ๏ธ): there is no such thing as a Nigerian accent. We don’t have a common native language that could commonly accent our English. So many native languages, so many great (and at times killer) versions of the English language, so many, ‘far too distinct to be generalized’ accents.

‘Ope you af h’enjoy diz pieze. โœŒ๐Ÿพ๏ธโœŒ๐Ÿพ

P.S: the only general rules that will probably apply are more in the area of mannerisms- open your mouth as wide as you can, always shout, always sound angry and aggressive, gesture intensely too. When laughing, slap your neighbor’s back really hard cos the laugh is just too much to handle, also, occasionally throw your arms, and legs around when laughing, and if possible take out the next person’s eye while at it. ๐Ÿ˜’

African Poets: Wole Soyinka

Abiku

In vain your bangles cast
Charmed circles at my feet;
I am Abiku, calling for the first
And the repeated time;

Must I weep for goats and cowries
For palm oil and the sprinkled ash?
Yams do not sprout in amulets
To earth Abiku’s limbs.

So when the snail is burnt in his shell
Whet the heated fragment, brand me
Deeply on the breast. You must know him
When Abiku calls again.

I am the squirrel teeth, cracked
The riddle of the palm. Remember
This, and dig me deeper still into
The god’s swollen foot.

Once and the repeated time, ageless
Though I puke. And when you pour
Libations, each finger points me near
The way I came, where

The ground is wet with mourning
White dew suckles flesh-birds
Evening befriends the spider, trapping
Flies in wind-froth;

Night, and Abiku sucks the oil
From lamps. Mothers! I’ll be the
Suppliant snake coiled on the doorstep
Yours the killing cry.

The ripest fruit was saddest;
Where I crept, the warmth was cloying.
In the silence of webs, Abiku moans, shaping
Mounds from the yolk.
– Wole Soyinka

Ilekedi…

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Three things I’ll remember about her
Three things I’ll never forget about this night
Three things I’ll forever ponder on
Three truths that I will never cease to grapple with

Her name was a mystery, like herself
Many have searched, albeit in vain, to find
Some say its the key to taming her
So she keeps it a secret; she locked that door and threw away the key

I didn’t ask for her name, I didn’t even think I would come so close
But she looked at me that night,
And opened up the deepest parts of my soul with those eyes
Upturning the dirt and ashes that had buried my secrets

Three things Iโ€™ll remember about her

The way she swayed her hips,
lost in her own designed ecstasy
The beads that adorned her waist,
sculpting her frame, undulating with her dance
The way she looked transformed
from mere mortal to revered deity

Three things Iโ€™ll never forget about that night

The way she looked at me, with eyes so beautiful,
yet rid with the sadness of a generation
The way the room faded away when she moved
as if it were just her and I locked in a battle of wills
The way her beads drew me in to her
holding me captive to her every twist, every turn

Three things Iโ€™ll forever ponder on

Why she singled me out, plain old me
instead of the usual patrons falling over each other for her
Why her movement, body, and soul spelled a sorrow
unlike any Iโ€™ve known; the kind that comes from fear
Why her beads danced around her waist
as if in a dirge, mourning a loss

Three truths Iโ€™ll forever grapple with

She was me, she became me, she is me
like a distant memory, foggy and dreamy,
of a past that was mine, a life I once lived
She was trapped; hiding in constant fear
I was trapped; hiding in constant fear
of who I was, who I was becoming
She held a secret, a certain power, and mystical force
in those beautiful beads that were my undoing
and in those beautiful eyes that told a thousand storiesโ€ฆ


*Ilekedi: traditional beads worn around the waist by women for beautification or ritualistic purposes. Common in the African society.

African Poets: Dennis Osadebay

Who buys my thoughts

Who buys my thoughts

Buys not a cup of honey

That sweetens every taste;

He buys the throb,

Of Young Africa’s soul,

The soul of teeming millions,

Hungry, naked, sick,

Yearning, pleading, waiting.

Who buys my thoughts

Buys not some false pretence

Of oracles and tin gods;

He buys the thoughts

Projected by the mass

Of restless youths who are born

Into deep and clashing cultures,

Sorting, questioning, watching.

Who buys my thoughts

Buys the spirit of the age,

The unquenching fire that smoulders

And smoulders in every living heart

That’s true and noble or suffering;

It burns all o’er the earth,

Destroying, chastening, cleansing.

– Dennis Osadebay

“Afrocality”: A Nigerian Expression

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Image: Ross, Denise. FELA! Dec. 6, 2010. Web. Apr. 20, 2015

I am an African
I am an African woman

Ile Ife, apoti ese Olodumare, and the cradle of civilization

I love my skin
I love my African skin
I love my dark, African skin
I love my hair
I love my thick, comb-breaking hair ๐Ÿ˜‚

I love my accent
I love my thick, very African accent
I love language
I love my beautiful African language

โ€œOrisa bii iya, ko si layeโ€

I love my parents!
Oh yesss! My “too African for their own good” parents ๐Ÿ˜‚๐Ÿ˜‚
Yes, the parents who whooped my sorry behind with no mercy ๐Ÿ˜‚๐Ÿ˜‚
The struggle of every African child

Oooh I love my names
I love my perfect African names
Oluwatoyin, Omolajipe, Adetoun, Mojisola, Temitope, Ikuomola

FELA! The abami eda himself, who taught me to revel in,
And celebrate my Africanness

I love my dance
I love my fire African dance
I love my music
I love that sensuous tune your hips unconsciously sway to
Yes, that Afro-beat, that original Afro-jam

I love my African heritage
I love my African way
I love my African culture
I love my African food
I love my African attire

Ibadan; the ancient city
Eko Ile; home of the greats

I love my Africanized English
I love my Africanness
I love that the first thing you notice about me is my Africanness
Because before anything else, I am first and foremost an African woman


Ile Ife– An ancient town in Southwestern Nigeria
Apoti Ese Olodumare– Translation: Godโ€™s footstool
Orisa bii iya, ko si laye– Translation: There is no deity in existence that can be compared to a mother
Fela– Nigerian musical legend, and political activist
Abami Eda– Strange/mysterious creature
Ibadan– An ancient city in Southwestern Nigeria
Eko Ile– An indigenous name for Lagos, a state in Southwestern Nigeria, and the commercial capital of the country.