Live In The Moment—Jeff Ugochukwu Emmanuel

He is huddled with his cronies the first time you see him at a shindig in Tandaale. You are about to descend into a seat when your friend starts to introduce the guys from across the table. There is something about the third guy that is profoundly different from the rest of his posse. Something acutely ethereal.

You freeze to take an inventory, stalling in a typical coquettish fashion, waiting for him to extend the first handshake, but alas, it is you who finally unfurls from your chrysalis. Something almost nondescript propels you to shoot your hand forward, shattering the intended frugality in that gesture. When his hand reaches into yours, it is soft like fluff. And for a moment, you are lost in the sensation. Your eyes catch his, but they come crashing down briefly, and for the first time since cradle, you shrink away under another’s gaze. You recall your hand promptly but It lacks the vim to retreat. You can feel yourself careening into somewhere unknown and distant.

The simple patterns cutting into his face are delicately superficial. When he smiles, just like he is doing now; it is as clear as burgundy and as neat as glass. A full white tablet dentition, lapped behind a sharply outlined cranberry lips; his crispy eyebrows arcing slightly down, imposing a distinct fanfare of genteel and clairvoyance. When his mouth moves to introduce himself, his voice nukes the stereotype box of what is particularly masculine or feminine, like something playing out of a tenor saxophone twining with a light basso. Your hand manages to peel from his. You nab yourself wishing you could lean in and kiss him.

He pours some brandy into your snifter. You are halfway into your drink when he asks you to dance with him. Your dance is awful. The request goads your heart against your chest. His touch is mollifying when his hand reaches into yours and interdigitates. It reminds you of Zihuatanejo and Sayulita—the way the water rolls to the coast every so often, making the undulating dunes straight, garbling every tiny little imperfection, bundling them back into a blind spot, and leaving in its wake a pristine seashore teeming with life. You are nestled together, moving lithely in the lead of his rhythm. Soon you are caught in a cauldron of bliss and tangible silence, cordoning off the plush music spooling in the background. You slant in nervously and kiss him, re-affirming the peerless awesomeness of God.

Regret comes pouring in. You recline and let your head droop, blushing. If you stay for another moment, you fear the expression sitting on your face will further give you away. That cannot happen. Women like you are too beautiful to woo men. The hunted cannot suddenly become the hunter. You apologise and excuse yourself to go to the rest room. A vertically challenged figure whizzes past but you don’t make him because you’re still reeling from that kiss.

You stop at the door, realising you don’t have the need for a rest room. Your mama’s words invade your thoughts: everyday is a precious gift to those who live it with their middle finger in the air, a festival of laughter for those who try to live in the moment. You spin around, nipping back the way you came, intent on spurting out exactly what you feel. The ground beneath rocks abruptly and tosses you in the near distance.

There is a wholesome darkness and silence only punctuated by flickering light bulbs and removed wails of pain and anguish. Your ears are tingling and everything seem to be happening from inside the back of your head. You scramble and manage to get on your feet, schlepping back. When you get to the ballroom, there is a bundle of mutilated bodies and debris.

This god of a man you had just kissed a moment ago is gone. Forever gone. You look at his dismembered body and see the face of God grinning right back. You realise, in that moment, that God indeed does have a bad sense of humour.

_______________________
Have a story for us? Or want to place ads on the page?
Reach us on our social media handles
Facebook | Bismarks Cave
Instagram | @bismarkscaveblog

Advertisements

Suffer Head Africans – by Eze Drizzy Jude

When I was a child, I thought women were fire resistant. Like, I didn’t believe fire could actually hurt women.

Don’t laugh at me yet, let me explain.
I used to see my grandma carry earthenware pots from the smouldering hearth with her bare hands without filching.
She’d carry them from her thatched kitchen all the way to her room where she’d tuck them safely under the bed; with a straight face.

It was such a marvel watching her do that. I thought she had some special super human powers. All of my father’s step mothers were the same. One of my older cousins in the village then expressly told me that any woman who couldn’t carry a pot of soup from the fire with her bare hands, isn’t a real woman.
Apparently, that was a thing for them over there. Wow! Grandma must have been a real bad-ass woman.
Now you understand my delusion.

Even today, our definitions of ‘a real woman’ hasn’t changed very much.
It may have digressed to ‘wife material’, but it’s still basically the same old shit.

First and foremost, you must have a husband.
If you don’t have a husband, please don’t speak in public. Your opinion doesn’t count. Marriage is the only thing that gives a woman sense or an opinion.
Seriously are you even a woman without a man?
Ugwû nwanyi bu di ya.

Cooking.
Because ‘The way to a man’s heart is through his stomach’. (This makes absolutely no sense to me, but it’s what our elders say so it must be right).
You get extra points of you can pound yam. Even if a machine is invented that helps people pound yam, please endeavour not to use it.
Try grinding your pepper the old fashion way too; with grinding stone. Inugo?

Washing.
I mean hand washing o!
Not all these baby girls that use washing machine. They’re not real women.

Cleaning.
Mbok, use your hands to scrub and local broom to sweep. Don’t go and be wasting your husband’s money on vacuum cleaners.

Child birth (especially to male offspring).
Woman that gives birth to only women is that one a woman?
If you can’t give birth at all, you’re as good as a man with a vagina.

Submissiveness.
The man is always the head and you’re the neck. Never dispute that.
You get more points if you remain in an abusive marriage.
And more extra points of ‘real womanness’ if your husband doesn’t have sense and his self esteem is the same size as his scrotum sack.

Be a god fearing woman.
This one doesn’t make sense to me too.
But I know it involves staying with and praying for a philandering husband because god hates divorce. It also involves watching War Room and some other religious bullshit that I couldn’t be bothered about.

Giving birth like the Hebrew women.
LOL (this one never ceases to amuse me).
It doesn’t matter if there are complications and you’re at risk of loosing your life and that of your baby. CS is not your portion in Jesus name!
No real woman gives birth through CS.
Apparently African marriages and life in general is designed for women to just go and suffer and die. So my dear women, suck it up and be ‘real women’.

Your grand mothers carried hot smouldering pots of soup with their bare hands and you’re here complaining on top ordinary slap and nwantinti cheating. Tueh!
Oh Africa, suffering is our pride.
I’ll keep saying it; The African woman is the strongest breed of humans on earth.

_______________________
Have a story for us? Or want to place ads on the page?
Reach us on our social media handles
Facebook | Bismarks Cave
Instagram | @bismarkscaveblog

FACE OF THE CAVE FOR THE WEEK (Appreciation of Beauty and Excellence)

I am presenting to you this week’s finest faces. They are Sonia and Frank!


Name: Sonia Ihuoma


State: Abia
Field: Public Relations/Real Estate


Likes: Loyalty, travelling, laughing, watching youtube, perfumes, hair styling.


Dislikes: Nepa, body odour, blatant lies, People who are too serious.


Favourite Quote: “If you do what you’ve always done, you’ll get what you’ve always gotten.” – Anthony Robbins


Name: Frank Xavier Ifesinachi


State: Enugu
Field: Measurement and Evaluation.


Likes: Honest people


Dislikes: People who are too holy to be realistic.


Favourite Quote: “If you cannot do great things, do small things in a great way.”

_________________________
Quote For The Week
“A good plan violently executed now is better than a perfect plan executed next week.” – George S. Patton

To qualify for the next Face of the cave series
*Have your profile be a clear face shot.
*Give a brief description of yourself and please make sure to include your likes, dislikes and hobbies.
*Submit them to the chatterbox team within four days from now via bbm pin- 2898fd68 or inbox Bismark Ekenedilichukwu Benson on Facebook.

Cheers to the new Face of the cave!

Share your thoughts on this week’s faces in the comment box.
We’d also love for you to stay in touch with us! The best way to keep up to date is to subscribe to Bismark’s Cave. You can do this by tapping the ‘follow’ option.
_______________________
Have a story for us? Or want to place ads on the page?
Reach us on our social media handles
Facebook | Bismarks Cave
Instagram | @bismarkscaveblog

A Night With Seun Kuti & Egypt 80 – by Eleanya Ndukwe

During his sold out US tour, Seun Kuti’s Los Angeles stop drew in a massive crowd at ‘The Novo’, downtown Los Angeles.
People of all races came to witness this iconic, high energy live performer, who has basically become the closest thing to his legendary dad – Fela, do what he knows how to do best.

The epic show opened with a DJ serenading the audience with a couple of Naija jams. You bet the excitement seeing caucasian attendees dancing to Davido’s “Fall” or Wizkid’s “Ojuelegba”
A member of Seun’s band took up from there, delivering great acoustic songs which waltzed into acapella-like renditions that pretty much provided all that was needed to wet everyone’s appetite.
Much later, the same band member introduced the rest of the ‘Egypt 80’ band members to the stage, before the phenomenal Seun was finally introduced with a rapturous welcome to the stage.
And the main show began!

I never listened to Seun’s music before, and i didn’t know the words to most songs, but seeing this icon play with passion and the excitement everywhere got me partying it up with people of diverse race and colours (Africans, Asians, Americans) at the upper chamber (which was times four of the regular ticket).

The high point of his set list was this poignant song which he dedicated to the memory of his father – Fela, and the Los Angeles populace, “For taking my father in and providing him a platform for his performance”, Seun mentioned. I don’t recall the exact year, so this is off the record, I can’t remember the title either, but it was aimed at paying homage to Fela’s legacy.

It’s worth mentioning that even though Seun is an established artiste in his own right, his performance was akin to Fela’s in terms of knowledge of the musical instruments, stamina to perform long hours without wearing thin, his charismatic charm and also, his ability to pass across his message and engage with his audience.

It was about 2 hours of intensive performance, with beautiful choreographed African traditional dances; keeping all those in attendance on their feet as their bodies swiftly moved to the rhythm of Afro beats supplied by Seun Kuti and Egypt 80 (His father’s band which he has taken up and led to tours across the world).
Seun is a vocal proponent of pan-Africanism which he says is the endorsement of “black ability” and not the replacement of white supremacy with black supremacy
He however believes, through the speech he gave before the performance of his highly received “African Dream” that imperialism and Elitist manifestation is united at the top and must be fought against by those who remain conscious of the human spirit.

Another high point was when he rounded up his performance with his legendary salute of “two fists thrown into thin air, his tattooed back to the rapturous voices of the wowed audience” amidst repeated chants of “More! More!! More!!!” filling the air as the show ended with great energy. He wrapped it up with sincere thanks to those in attendance, “You guys always bring me back every six weeks!” he screamed on-stage.

At the end of the show, I must confess that Seun was excellent.
Filling up an arena that big, the massive out pour of love demonstrated by an audience who belted his songs along with him – it just goes to show that he is widely loved.

_______________________
Have a story for us? Or want to place ads on the page?
Reach us on our social media handles
Facebook | Bismarks Cave
Instagram | @bismarkscaveblog

Toads for Breakfast! – by Francis Aquaticus

At about the age of seven, when i’d come back home from school, it was my pleasure to go and visit my cousin who hated going to school. We’d go into people’s farms plucking ears of corn and hunting for birds with our catapults and traps. This very day was however different, as we decided to observe a particular well filled with dirty water. It had attracted us because of the noise we heard. A noise which wasn’t strange to my cousin who had already begun ‘harvesting’ what I later came to call frog. Though we went home with a few ‘frogs’ it wasn’t until evening he had called me to have a taste of it. I did, but with an hesitation. You know what? It tasted nice!

Now, it has been years of my seeing a frog around, not to mention eating it. Luck did in fact come my way, when recently, at night I would hear the cries of this same creature, this ‘frog’. Because of my curiosity this time around, I had to go into studying to know if these creatures are poisonous or not. This is what I found out:

That “Poison dart frogs are well known for their brightly coloured skin. The bright colours warn potential predators of their toxicity” and that “they get the deadly chemical called lipophilic alkaloid from consuming a poisonous food in the rainforest.”

So when I did ‘harvest’ these amphibians eventually (as the pictures attest), I came to the conclusion that since I am not in a rainforest, they cannot be called or known as “poisonous frogs,” but toads.

Albeit, the cane toad, which is native to the Americans is quite poisonous and used as a biological pest control. Like the one in my bucket, it is eaten after the careful removal of the skin and parotoid glands. When properly prepared, the meat of the toad is considered healthy and as a source of omega-3 fatty acids.

Refreshingly, I think what I did ‘harvest’ eventually at night, is called the common toad. It does look like the cane toad, though all non-poisonous toads eaten by humans act like the asiatic toad.

I had also discovered that “the Asiatic toad plays an important role in traditional Oriental medicine. An extract of the toxins secreted by the toad, known as toad venom or chan-su , has long been touted for its medicinal properties. In addition, dried toad skins have been prescribed as remedies for dropsy and other ailments. More recently, Western medical science has also taken an interest in the toad. In 1998, an antimicrobial peptide was extracted from the toad, and patented.”

As I had prepared this toad meticulously and eaten it with all consciousness, I would ipso facto think about the weirdest names I would begin to bear apart from “toad eater”. For unfortunately, in 21st Nigeria, a lot of myths and traditions still ‘move’ about with un-scratched influences.

Personally, I do admire folks outside and within, who erect rat farms, cockroach farms, snail farms, grasshopper farms, pig farms, cricket farms, bee farms, and rabbit farms, etc. For despite many bias and prejudices, it has taken more than courage for such individuals to love what they do. After all, that meat, fish or vegetable you eat in your house today is another’s cultural taboo!

You can watch the video “how to prepare a toad” by David Francis-Aquaticus here or on YouTube with same title.

Bon appetitè

_______________________
Have a story for us? Or want to place ads on the page?
Reach us on our social media handles
Facebook | Bismarks Cave
Instagram | @bismarkscaveblog

FACE OF THE CAVE FOR THE WEEK (Appreciation of Beauty and Excellence)

After a long, one week wait, I’m delighted to present this week’s faces. They are stunners! I also find their personalities interesting… in an exciting way.


Name: Ajiba Sandra
State: Anambra


Field: Journalism


Likes: Reading/writing


Dislikes: Laziness
Favourite Quote: “Don’t watch the clock, do what it does”


Contact: Sandra Ajiba |Facebook


Name: Beck Cleaning
State: Cross River


Field: Psychology


Likes: Football and Music


Dislikes: Gossips and lies
Favourite Quote: “You can plan a pretty picnic but you can’t predict the weather”


Contact: Beck Cleaning |Facebook

_________________________
Quote For The Week
“When you reach the end of your rope, tie a knot in it and hang on.” – Franklin D. Roosevelt

To qualify for the next Face of the cave series
*Have your profile be a clear face shot.
*Give a brief description of yourself and please make sure to include your likes, dislikes and hobbies.
*Submit them to the chatterbox team within four days from now via bbm pin- 2898fd68 or inbox Bismark Ekenedilichukwu Benson on Facebook.

Cheers to the new Face of the cave!

Share your thoughts on this week’s faces in the comment box.
We’d also love for you to stay in touch with us! The best way to keep up to date is to subscribe to Bismark’s Cave. You can do this by tapping the ‘follow’ option.
_______________________
Have a story for us? Or want to place ads on the page?
Reach us on our social media handles
Facebook | Bismarks Cave
Instagram | @bismarkscaveblog

I BROKE FREE – by Matthew Blaise

I felt first class type of love today, it awakened from beneath my stomach straight to my head, I felt relaxed being amidst people that truly loved me for who I truly am.

For over years I have been battling with my self-confidence as a human and an effeminate guy at that with curvy waist and big ass, so many times my supposed friends had called me names, and one of which was “impotent dude”.
my teacher in school once hissed and spat at me just because I wasn’t too masculine like other guys.
I started seeing myself as an abnormal creature and creepy one at that, to add to it my nose was quite deformed, very big and I never liked it.

It got to a point my sister started calling me names un-knowing to her She was hurting me.
I remember a friend once asked me “Matthew can you ever marry?”, and another one in school, my senior called me a “faggot” in front of his classroom.
Never for once was I ever comfortable in my real self, thoughts of surgery to correct myself sets in, and I actually started saving for surgery.

Life wasn’t so easy especially with my low self esteem, which my family really planted in me, every time my brother would always walk up to me and call me “woman wrapper” or “your nose be like container”. Not knowing they were building a boy that would cling to the closet for years.
Yes ever since I have been a confused human, I write things on Facebook but not really settled with myself. but everything ended yesterday.

I was taking a stroll in church, almost at my destination when some guys started murmuring and gossiping about me, guys way older than me.
I just turned my back, I took my hands up to them and shouted, “yes, him dey do like girl and him like am like that”, I turned my face right again and made my ass shake at them.
I was so scared after that but the next minute, everything varnished and I felt freedom from the shackles of low esteem I have tied myself to for years.

Today, I shared my story with some adorable people, they were all Happy. They gave me reasons to appreciate myself.
Most times you think others are your problem. No, they are not.
You are your problem and if you are not ready to break free those chains will still clip you tight.

Today I want you to show them that thing that makes them feel uncomfortable around you.
Your real self.
See, your happiness comes first before any idiot.
It is your life.
Live it baby.
It is one.
Let God do the judging.
_______________________
Have a story for us? Or want to place ads on the page?
Reach us on our social media handles
Facebook | Bismarks Cave
Instagram | @bismarkscaveblog