Evergreen Literature

Death was coming, and coming with its fluffy blood-stained spooky feather.

Wait.

That sound.

Was it an angry owl…or a baby crying from somewhere deep and wrong?

Listen again.

We entered Gajiram a little before 5 pm. The day was fading fast, and the sun blinked like a tired heart.

Jibril took a long silent look at me as he pushed the vehicle harder. One thing I never liked about Jibril was his fast-and-furious way of driving. He calls it "operational driving.." s**t.

As we approached Gadan Zara, the bridge notorious for ambushes, Jibril stepped fully on the accelerator. The vehicle responded like it, too, sensed the danger ahead. At that point, I was more afraid of an accident than an ambush. With no belt to hold me in place, I envisioned getting flung into the air in the event of an accident.

I exhaled in relief once we crossed Gadan Zara. But just a few meters ahead, the dreaded thing happened.

At first, it was the sharp clanking sound as bullets rained on our vehicles. It quickly grew into a full cacophony, a rhythm not of music, but of death whistling.

We had driven straight into an ambush. There was no choice but to fight back.

With a disabled vehicle and one of our men already injured, we fought on as they closed in on us.

Somehow, in the chaos, I got separated from my colleagues and found myself far from them. Till date, I can't explain how it happened.

Just as I was about to move, I saw a bike speeding toward me. I fired; the passenger fired back. With barely enough ammunition, I ran off the smooth road into the jagged farmland as they chased me.

It felt like running through a maze and I felt like I was a character in Temple Run.

Running with my weapon was difficult, but the will to live drove me. I felt few shots missed me and landed a few feet away, disrupting vegetation.

After a short distance, I circled a rocky rise and waited for them.

That day, my mind was made up.

Either I would take the two of them down, or I would fight until my last round.

But guess what?

It seems both of us were playing the careful card.

They fired at me from a distance, then turned back.

I heard the bike’s engine growl like an evil spirit as it roared into the distance.

But they didn't really leave.

The man with the gun stayed behind, watching my position. He stood there for more than fifteen minutes before he finally left with a cuss word.

After he left, I waited a few more minutes before stepping out. The moon had already taken over the day and each silhouettes remind me of a pending danger.

The jubilation started from the gate, then like an epidemic, it spreads into the camp.

"Kola has arrived.."

Sitting outside tonight, thinking about how close I’ve come to death, not once, not even three times, I realize I’ve survived only because a higher power has been guiding my steps and directing my moves.

I remember when I was first deployed to the North East. My mum told me, “Don’t steal from the dead or the vulnerable. Don’t take what doesn’t belong to you, so when we pray for you, it gets answered.”

I’ve seen riches enough to turn a man’s soul, but I’ve learned the price is far greater than any reward. I refuse to be the Achan whose greed doomed his people. Out here, the night whispers that death never forgets, and I wonder how many of us fail to profit from the spoils of war, and how many truly escape its grasp.

I don't even know what prompted this post, maybe because Facebook asked what's on my mind. Maybe.

- Kolawole Oludare Stephen

On April 1945 at Bergen-Belsen, Germany

When British troops entered Bergen-Belsen in April 1945, they were met with a scene of unimaginable despair barracks strewn with bodies, survivors drifting like shadows, and children too weak to stand without trembling. Among them, near the camp’s perimeter fence, lay a young boy, his thin frame curled protectively around his chest as if guarding something precious.

A medic gently opened the boy’s torn shirt and discovered a small piece of moldy bread pressed tightly against his ribs. The bread had been taken from the pocket of a nearby co**se, an act tragically common in the camp. Yet when asked why he had risked punishment or death to keep it, the boy’s answer stunned even the most hardened rescuers.

“It’s for my sister,” he said. “She’s sleeping. She hasn’t woken up.”

The soldiers realized then that his little sister had died two days earlier, her tiny body lying beneath a blanket in one of the barracks. Unaware of her passing, the boy had been saving the bread for her, believing that when liberation came, she would finally open her eyes. In the midst of starvation, suffering, and death, his final act had been one of love, a love so fierce that it allowed hope to persist even when hope itself had been stripped away.

This story is a powerful reminder of the resilience of the human spirit, the enduring bonds of family, and the ways in which love can survive even in the darkest moments of human cruelty. Though the boy’s sister could not be saved, his devotion speaks to the depth of compassion and humanity that persists even amidst unimaginable suffering.

Remembering him ensures that the acts of courage, love, and memory in Bergen-Belsen are not forgotten. His story, like countless others from the Holocaust, reminds us of the fragility of life, the cost of hatred, and the enduring necessity to bear witness.

THE MAN WHO DEFENDED HIMSELF

(Federal High Court, Abuja. The courtroom is filled to capacity. Security men are everywhere. The atmosphere is tense — heavy with whispers, eyes, and fear. Cameras flash as the judge enters. A long silence fills the room.)

COURT CLERK:
All rise for His Lordship, Justice Ibrahim Musa presiding.

(Everyone rises. Justice Musa sits. The clerk nods. People sit back down, murmuring softly.)

JUSTICE MUSA:
This court is now in session. Case number FHC/ABJ/2034/2025 — Federal Republic of Nigeria versus Nnamdi Kanu.

(Pause. The camera flashes again. Nnamdi Kanu, dressed in white, stands up slowly. His eyes are burning — calm yet fierce. The entire courtroom watches him.)

JUSTICE MUSA:
Mr. Kanu, I understand you have chosen to dismiss your legal counsel and represent yourself.

NNAMDI KANU:
Yes, My Lord. I am defending myself because my lawyers are too afraid to mention names. They fear the truth. But I — I will say it live here in this courtroom, before this nation and before God.

(Gasps echo across the room. Journalists scribble quickly. A soldier shifts uneasily at the back.)

JUSTICE MUSA:
Mr. Kanu, this is a court of law, not a political podium. You will restrict yourself to legal arguments and facts related to your case.

NNAMDI KANU:
Facts? Then let us begin with facts, My Lord. The fact that Nigeria’s legal system has become a marketplace — where judgments are auctioned and justice is sold to the highest bidder. Should I start with the names?

(Murmurs spread across the courtroom. Justice Musa strikes the gavel.)

JUSTICE MUSA:
Order! This court will not tolerate—

NNAMDI KANU (interrupting):
Then Nigeria must not tolerate silence anymore! You cannot imprison truth, My Lord. It breaks the walls eventually.

(Outside the courtroom — Lagos. Oba Rilwan Akiolu sits in his palace, watching the court proceedings live on TV. Two chiefs sit beside him.)

OBA AKIOLU:
This boy is playing with fire, yet I see the fire consuming those who lit it. Nigeria is standing on gunpowder. If this court silences him, the explosion will not wait.

CHIEF 1:
Kabiyesi, he is too daring.

OBA AKIOLU:
Daring men are born when ordinary men are beaten too long. When truth becomes expensive, rebels become prophets. Mark my words — if they silence this man, the silence will speak louder than his voice ever could.

(He turns to his TV again.)

(Back in court. The atmosphere grows hotter. A few diplomats are present. Soldiers whisper. The press room is packed. Kanu stands again, holding a document.)

NNAMDI KANU:
My Lord, I stand here today not as a rebel, but as a witness of a nation’s hypocrisy. You want to try me for treason? Then try every man who has stolen from this country. Try every leader who swore an oath to serve and ended up serving only their pockets.

(He flips the paper open.)

NNAMDI KANU (continuing):
This document — marked confidential — was sent to my legal team before they ran away. It contains bank transfers from defense contractors under the supervision of General Buratai — names, dates, and ghost companies. Billions meant for military operations that ended in Dubai real estate.

(The courtroom bursts into chaos. The judge hits his gavel repeatedly.)

JUSTICE MUSA:
Order! Mr. Kanu, you are out of line! This is contempt—

NNAMDI KANU:
Contempt? I have contempt for lies, not for law. The law is pure, but your courts are dirty. You say I’m out of line, yet the whole system is a crooked line pretending to be straight!

(The judge is silent. His hands tremble slightly. The Attorney-General leans to whisper to a government official at the back.)

NNAMDI KANU (pointing at the AG):
Don’t whisper, sir. Speak loud! Did your ministry not approve the contracts for the same soldiers who disappeared civilians? Did your government not appoint judges through political loyalty instead of integrity? You know it. I know it. Nigeria knows it.

(The courtroom becomes pin-drop silent.)

NNAMDI KANU (lowering his tone):
When I’m done with Nigeria in this court case, then I can die in peace. Because it’s better to die speaking truth than to live crawling under deceit.

(Gasps. Someone faints. A police officer runs to the back.)

(Flashback scene — a dim office in Abuja. Two lawyers, Kanu’s former attorneys, are seen arguing.)

LAWYER 1:
We can’t continue this. The moment he insists on mentioning those names, we are done.

LAWYER 2:
He doesn’t care anymore. He said, “If truth kills me, at least I’ll die clean.”

LAWYER 1:
Do you realize how many people will go down if he opens his mouth in court? This is not just about him — it’s about the whole system!

LAWYER 2:
Then maybe the whole system needs to fall.

(The lights fade as a heavy silence lingers.)

(Court resumes after a short recess. Outside, protesters gather with placards. “JUSTICE OR NOTHING!” “LET KANU SPEAK!” “NIGERIA NEEDS CLEANSING!”)

(In court, Kanu sits alone, flipping through his papers. The judge enters again.)

JUSTICE MUSA:
Mr. Kanu, this court will allow you to continue, but you must understand the implications of your words.

NNAMDI KANU:
I understand perfectly, My Lord. I have nothing more to lose.

(He stands up and begins pacing.)

NNAMDI KANU:
Let us talk about the judiciary — the broken spine of this nation. Judges who take phone calls from governors before rulings. Lawyers who charge millions to bribe registrars. Police officers who alter case files overnight. We have become a theatre of deception, where justice is a script written by power.

(He points toward the press corner.)

NNAMDI KANU:
And the media — your microphones are owned by those you should expose! You praise corruption with polished English, and you call it journalism.

(Some journalists look down in shame.)

NNAMDI KANU (raising his voice):
Tell me, My Lord, how can a man defend himself in a country that has no conscience?

(Silence. Justice Musa removes his glasses, sighing deeply.)

JUSTICE MUSA:
Mr. Kanu, you speak boldly, but this is a court of law—

NNAMDI KANU (interrupting):
And law dies when truth is afraid!

(He slams his hand on the table. The courtroom jolts.)

NNAMDI KANU (continuing):
When they killed unarmed protesters, you called it maintaining peace. When they looted billions, you called it politics. When I speak truth, you call it treason. Then who should fear the law — the liar or the truthful man?

(People in the courtroom begin to clap before the judge silences them again.)

(Nighttime. The courtroom is empty except for Justice Musa, sitting alone in thought. His clerk enters.)

COURT CLERK:
My Lord, the press is outside waiting for a statement.

JUSTICE MUSA:
Let them wait. What can I say? The boy has spoken what many of us think but dare not utter.

COURT CLERK:
Then what happens tomorrow?

JUSTICE MUSA:
Tomorrow? Tomorrow, Nigeria will wake up pretending nothing happened. That’s what we do best.

(He stands and looks toward the window, watching protesters chanting outside.)

JUSTICE MUSA (softly):
But maybe, just maybe, a storm has begun.

(Lagos — Oba Akiolu addresses a secret meeting of traditional rulers.)

OBA AKIOLU:
Gentlemen, the courtroom is now the battleground of Nigeria’s conscience. If this man falls, justice falls with him. Let the government know — the day truth becomes a crime, the throne itself is in danger.

OBA OF IJEBU:
Kabiyesi, they will not listen. They are afraid of him.

OBA AKIOLU:
Then let them fear! It is time they taste the fear they have fed this nation.

(He turns to his chiefs.)

OBA AKIOLU (continuing):
Tell Abuja — Oba Rilwan Akiolu has warned. A nation that buries truth is already digging its own grave.

(Court resumes for the final day. The air is electric. Supporters sing softly outside. Soldiers stand tense. Kanu walks in slowly, calm, resolved.)

NNAMDI KANU:
My Lord, I do not seek acquittal. I seek awakening. If speaking truth is a crime, then I plead guilty with joy.

(He pauses, looking around the courtroom.)

NNAMDI KANU (continuing):
I have seen men sell their conscience for power. I have seen courts twist truth for money. I have seen politicians hide under religion and tribe to divide the poor. But let the world record this day — that a man stood up, alone, and spoke what a nation refused to hear.

(He drops his papers on the table. Silence fills the room.)

NNAMDI KANU:
When I’m done with Nigeria, then I can die in peace.

(He looks directly at the judge.)

NNAMDI KANU:
But My Lord, remember this — when truth becomes treason, then freedom is already dead.

(He sits. The judge covers his face with his hands. The courtroom erupts — some weeping, others chanting his name. Soldiers try to calm the crowd. The sound fades into echoes.)

EPILOGUE

(Narrator’s voice over a dimly lit courtroom.)

NARRATOR:
That day, Nigeria trembled — not because of war, but because one man spoke without permission. The files he mentioned vanished days later. The headlines were censored. Yet whispers continued, from Abuja to Lagos, from palaces to streets.

Oba Akiolu’s warning spread like fire: “A nation that silences truth prepares its own funeral.”

The court never gave its final verdict. But in the hearts of millions, the judgment was already sealed — the system was guilty.

And though the man who defended himself sat behind bars, his words escaped every wall.

(Lights fade. Silence. Then — the sound of a crowd chanting from afar: “TRUTH WILL NOT DIE!”)

CURTAIN

Sam Adeoye

Thomas went to school dressed as Superman.

His teacher asked "Why are you wearing that?! You're not allowed to wear that to school."

He replied, “Because Superman is my uncle."

The teacher explained that Superman wasn't real, but Thomas insisted that he was.

Later, at school pick-up, the teacher approached Thomas' mum and said,

"We don't encourage our kids to tell lies and you shouldn't either. Your son's been telling everyone his uncle is Superman."

"Oh!" she replied with a smile, "He's not lying. It's true."

Here is little Thomas with his uncle... Henry Cavill.

BETRAYED

Kamsi froze the moment she broke into the room. Her heart sank. Her shoulders sagged, letting the heavy black bag slide down to the floor with a thud, spilling tomatoes, ogirishi, amarantus and onions. The sight in front of her was terrible.

"Oh my God!" she yelped. "Frank!" there was an edge of surprise in her scream. "I can't believe this. I need a pinch right now. I must be dreaming." She began to saunter and spin around.

Frank pulled away from the person he was with in the bed. He dragged himself up to his feet, the remains of his energy drowning in the softness of the squashy foam. When he was out of the bed, the face that remained sent a stinging shock down kamsi's spine. Her jaw almost dropped to the marble floor. "Haaa... Ijeoma! Oh my God, what's happening here?" her eyes began to mist and she pulled the red clip holding her new braids together. The action sent every single strands flying. The back of her throat suddenly caught an unforgiving dryness.

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Do you know that the word RATEL is derived from the HONEY BADGER, a small animal notorious for being the most aggressive creature on earth even surpassing lions?

HONEY BADGERS, known as ratels, are small but fierce mammals known for their toughness, fearlessness, and aggressive nature habitats across Africa.
Here's a more detailed look at their characteristics:

PHYSICAL CHARACTERISTICS:

BODY: Honey badgers have exceptional thick skin build for strength and stamina rather than speed, muscular legs and broad shoulders.

TEETH: They have large skulls with robust teeth, capable of crushing bones and tortoise.

FEARLESSNESS: Honey badgers are renowned for their fearless and aggressive nature, often taking on animals much larger than themselves

RESOURCEFULNESS: They are highly adaptable and resourceful, using their intelligence and problem-solving skills to find food and survive in various environments.

VOCAL: They can be surprisingly vocal, using yelps and barks to communicate and dreads large animals.

RESILIENCE: They have a high tolerance for pain and are known to be resistant to snake venom and bee stings.

The little warrior.

I stumbled on my wife's phone and this guy sent her his manhóod. She thanked the guy for it. Then follôwed by many video cálls she had with the guy. The guy then said, "I wont forget your weeeèt Pvvssy. She laughed(emoji) and said, "I feel like fvvcking you.

She forgot to delète the chats, and I saw it. When I confronted her she said that, the guy had lîcccked her before but they didnt do anything. That she didn't chè-at on me.

I'd seen cháts before of: "I hope your husband is not around." She would say, "yes. Then they would begin to exchange cháts of how they miss themselves, and kîssing emojis and exchange cálls.

Sometimes last year, a woman forwarded my wife's chats with her husband and said she wanted to post them on Facebôok but discovered that I am a responsible man, and I bègged her not to do that. She told me to warn my wife and beg her to leave her husband alone. In the chat, you will see where the man said, "I cant fórget the love we made. You will see where the man says, "my diîick is standing send me pic to view." My wife would say, "why not travel na, come down." The man would say, "I want to see you." My wife would say, " where and when?" etc..

I bègged the woman and she promised she would not post it. I confronted my wife, she started crying and swèaring as usual. Then she later said she has had s # # # with the man only 3 times, two times before our marriage and only once after our marriage.

I always forgive her because I love her so much. And I wouldn't want her to be dis.gráced. And she's really a great person. My family love her so much and revere her.

I opened a business for her last year. I do pay her monthly salary too, and provide monthly upkeep for our kids. I also buy food items in the house, and also give her cooking allowance

As we entered this year, we agreed to love ourselves more. But can you believe that I stumbled on horrible cháts again on her phone? I don't know what else to do, I don't want my kids to suffer, and I love my wife so much. Please what should I do?

Opadijo

THE FISHERMAN AND THE SKYFATHER
(a tribute to fatherhood )
A father’s Day Tale from the Creeks
by
Linda Somiari-Stewart
in the voice of Kombare, Keeper of the Tide-Songs.

In time before timepieces , when the tide carried secrets instead of plastic, there was a village called Opu-Toru-Piri,nestled in the belly of the Delta where the Lufafa River split into seven winding tongues.

The people of this village were born with salt in their blood and paddle-strokes in their hearts.

They spoke to the spirits with drums and fetched fish with prayers.

In this famed village of fishermen lived a young man named Biebuma- sharp-eyed, hot-blooded, and full of questions.

His father, AyibaTonye, was once the most respected fisherman on the Lufafa River.

His canoe, Ebiegberi, had once sliced through the waters like a blade of light.

His nets returned with fish so fat, you could hear the fat sing while melting on the kitchen altar.

But time, as it does even to crocodiles, bent AyibaTonye’s back.

It drained the fire from his bones.

His boat groaned with every journey.

His nets came up empty.

His hands, once sure, trembled like leaves in Harmattan.

Biebuma watched in silence.

Then in anger.

“You say the river blessed you,” he spat one night,
“but all I see is a weak old man who sits in the dark, clinging to ghosts of old conquests, past glories “

AyibaTonye did not raise his voice.

He only looked into the boy’s eyes and said:

“The day you understand the cost of keeping a household afloat,
you will speak with softer lips.”

Biebuma turned away.

That night, when even the moon slept
and only the fireflies kept watch,
he paddled silently into the outer river
and called upon Opu-ama-so—the Skyfather, the Spirit of winds. The father of the firmament, whose voice shakes palm trees and whose eyes see the beginning and the end.

“Skyfather!” Biebuma cried, standing in his canoe.

“I am the son of a broken man. It is shameful.
Grant me the strength he never gave me!”

The river stilled. The stars blinked once.

Then came the Skyfather’s reply, low and vast:
“You ask for strength.

But do you know the shape of sacrifice?
Here, carry this little burden for one tide.”

A calabash rose from the river, sealed with threads of lightning and marked with ancestral art, than it looked.

Skyfather warned:
“Do not spill even one drop.”
Biebuma took it, laughing.

What weight could break the arms of a youth
who paddled against the tides?

He paddled home and carried the calabash on his shoulder.

But as he walked the narrow footpath to his father’s compound,the calabash grew heavier.
It whispered. It wept.

It spoke in the voices of many distraught of fathers.

His arms ached. His legs trembled.
The trees watched in silence. He staggered and fell!

The calabash shattered into several pieces.
From it poured a v***r of visions - not water, not smoke, but a v***r of remembrances.

As the v***r rose skyward, Biebuma saw his father - young, fierce, strong;
trading his only canoe to pay for Biebuma’s medicine during the Great Fever.

Selling the sacred necklace from his grandmother to buy books for Biebuma.

Wrestling the river god Owoi-Tuburu at midnight, so Biebuma would not drown during his naming rites by the river.

And finally;

AyibaTonye declining an invitation the Council of Elders feast just to stay home and sing his son to sleep so his wife could rest.

Biebuma fell on his face on the footpath, breathless.

“I did not know,” he whispered.
The Skyfather’s voice returned, gentle now- like rain on old roofs:
“Fathers do not always explain.
Some carry the world in silence.
Some love with backs bent, not with words spoken but with their stoic presence ”

Biebuma became a changed man.

When he got home he didn’t find his father in their house .

He found him at the riverbank,mending a net with cracked fingers.

His father did not look up.

But when Biebuma knelt, AyibaTonye’s hands paused just for a moment. Then he smiled.
From that day forward ,Biebuma fished with the soul of his father in his heart.

His nets filled not only with fish, but with understanding.

He built a new canoe for AyibaTonye but the old man never used it.

He only smiled and said,
“The river gives…
when the son learns to paddle with both arms.”

And the griots still say today in the creeks of Lufafa:
“To know the weight of a present father’s love,
you must carry what he carried…
and listen for the silence he bore.

Anna Maria Von Stockhausen
Sad Tale of the Final Witch

The co**se of Anna Maria Von Stockhausen was bound to prevent her from rising from the dead. She was accused of being a witch and a vampire during the Middle Ages, in the time of the Black Plague.

It is said that she returned from the dead six times. First, she was hanged—only to claw her way out of the grave. The townspeople captured her in a nearby village and quickly drowned her in a lake, tying her to a plank. Her lifeless body was retrieved multiple times from the water and reburied, only for the grave to be found empty two days later.

They say her decomposing body was seen moving around her old home, dripping with worms, dirt, and water. She was dragged out again, a stake driven through her heart, and buried once more.

A guard was posted at her grave, and it seemed she was finally gone. But when the guard didn’t return to the village for four days, a local priest went looking and found his rotting co**se near the post, his throat torn out and chewed.

Anna had vanished again.

She was finally tracked and captured near the edge of town. A furious crowd burned her at the stake, tying her to a scarecrow in a cornfield. But a sudden storm extinguished the flames, burning only her lower half.

The tale caught the attention of a vampire hunter and religious fanatic. He approached this tormented woman, witnessed the storm, and said, “God must have other plans for you.” Unlike the others, he bowed and asked: “Woman, why won’t you go to your death?” A shrill, raspy voice answered — she had cursed the villagers for accusing her.

Anna begged to be buried elsewhere, far from where the villagers kept laying her to rest. It was a simple request, but she warned that if they didn’t honor it, she would keep returning… and no man or force could stop her from spilling the blood of everyone in the village.

So, they did as she asked — and the rest is history..... Folktales!

Jaguars

One of the largest cat species. With a speed of 80km/h.

Unlike some of the big cats that will never eat grass or some kind of flesh—for jaguar. They can eat ANYTHING, including grass.

They love waters. They stay in there than on land. Perfect swimmer than a crocodile.

They are one of the few big cats that can see even in the darkest of the nights.

Mistaken most times for leopards and can Roar like a Lion.

One almost unbelievable fact is—They have the strongest jaw muscles of all of the big cats. Their bite force is around 1,500 pounds per square inch, which is about double that of a tiger! Not even a Lion or any animal among the big cats can bite as hard as Jaguars.

SON: "Daddy, may I ask you a question?"
DAD: "Yeah sure, what is it?"
SON: "Daddy, how much do you make an hour?"
DAD: "That's none of your business. Why do you ask such a thing?"
SON: "I just want to know. Please tell me, how much do you make an hour?"
DAD: "If you must know, I make $100 an hour."
SON: "Oh! (With his head down).
SON: "Daddy, may I please borrow $50?"
The father was furious.
DAD: "If the only reason you asked that is so you can borrow some money to buy a silly toy or some other nonsense, then you march yourself straight to your room and go to bed. Think about why you are being so selfish. I work hard everyday for such this childish behavior."

The little boy quietly went to his room and shut the door.
The man sat down and started to get even angrier about the little boy's questions. How dare he ask such questions only to get some money?
After about an hour or so, the man had calmed down, and started to think:
Maybe there was something he really needed to buy with that $ 50 and he really didn't ask for money very often. The man went to the door of the little boy's room and opened the door.

DAD: "Are you asleep, son?"

SON: "No daddy, I'm awake".
DAD: "I've been thinking, maybe I was too hard on you earlier. It's been a long day and I took out my aggravation on you. Here's the $50 you asked for."

The little boy sat straight up, smiling.
SON: "Oh, thank you daddy!"
Then, reaching under his pillow he pulled out some crumpled up bills. The man saw that the boy already had money, started to get angry again. The little boy slowly counted out his money, and then looked up at his father.

DAD: "Why do you want more money if you already have some?"

SON: "Because I didn't have enough, but now I do.

"Daddy, I have $100 now. Can I buy an hour of your time? Please come home early tomorrow. I would like to have dinner with you."
The father was crushed. He put his arms around his little son, and he begged for his forgiveness. It's just a short reminder to all of you working so hard in life. We should not let time slip through our fingers without having spent some time with those who really matter to us, those close to our hearts. Do remember to share that $100 worth of your time with someone you love? If we die tomorrow, the company that we are working for could easily replace us in a matter of days. But the family and friends we leave behind will feel the loss for the rest of their lives. And come to think of it, we pour ourselves more into work than to our family.

Some things are more important.

𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗪𝗔𝗜𝗧𝗘𝗥: 𝙈𝙔 𝙍𝙀𝙑𝙄𝙀𝙒

If Nollywood has taught us anything, it’s that we’re not just here for the stories—we’re here for the sheer audacity of it all. The Waiter, Ayo Makun’s latest attempt to blend comedy and action, feels like an extended inside joke where the punchline is “Warri!” and everyone’s just debating if it’s hilarious or heartbreakingly absurd. You’d think after the Merry Men franchise graciously exited stage left, AY would come back with something fresh. Instead, we’re served a chaotic buffet of plot holes, characters who seem like accidental extras, and unresolved storylines hanging in the air like forgotten harmattan clothes on a line.

Let’s break this down before emotions carry us away. Enter Akpos (who else but AY himself?), a fearless Warri waiter-slash-action-hero somehow caught up in a terrorist saga at a posh hotel. The terrorists, led by Tonye Bright (Bucci Franklin), storm the venue demanding a modest cough 300 billion naira—funds apparently siphoned from the national budget meant for poverty alleviation. The Robin Hood energy is real… until Nollywood does what it does best and makes even that look suspicious.

From the jump, the film feels like two separate movies awkwardly duct-taped together. Tonye’s intro as an army captain ambushed in a gripping action scene shows promise, but before you can appreciate it, we’re whisked to Akpos, who’s busy beating up one-chance armed robbers in a fight sequence that screams, “Fast & Furious presents: Warri Drift.” He defeats the baddies, a car explodes (because why not?), and Akpos strolls into work like he didn’t just survive a Michael Bay audition. By now, you’re either strapping in for this absurd ride or actively texting, “Omo, this movie no balance.”

Here’s where things get murky. A comedy-thriller typically pits an unsuspecting hero against a formidable villain, right? Wrong. In The Waiter, Akpos and Tonye might as well exist on different planets. Their interactions are so insignificant that you could erase Akpos entirely, and Tonye’s Robin Hood-inspired escapades would remain unbothered. Tonye’s motives—shaky but present—at least attempt depth. Akpos, however, is just out here screaming “Warri no dey carry last!” while uppercutting nameless henchmen. He’s like the friend who turns every group hangout into a wrestling match: amusing at first, but soon exhausting.

The supporting cast doesn’t fare much better. Deyemi Okanlawon’s Femi, the hotel’s head of security, seems more lost than Lagos traffic at rush hour, roaming aimlessly instead of—oh, I don’t know—reviewing surveillance footage? Kunle Remi, on the other hand, is the unexpected MVP, delivering comedy gold in a performance that makes you wonder why the film didn’t just lean fully into satire. Bucci Franklin gives his all as Tonye, crafting a cold and calculated antagonist. But the script, as generous as Nigerian politicians during campaign season, abandons him midway, leaving his character to navigate the chaos alone.

And then there’s the plot—or rather, the chaotic mashup of subplots. Akpos’ inexplicable superhero antics, Tonye’s questionable terrorism motives, random celebrity cameos (yes, Dino Melaye and Nasboi are in here), and romance scenes that feel lifted from Titanic all collide in a haphazard mix that’s more confusing than a Danfo conductor giving change. It’s as though the director, Toka McBaror, wanted to make every genre in one film but ended up succeeding at none. The action scenes lack purpose, the comedy misses more than it hits, and the unresolved storylines leave you wondering if the production ran out of fuel—or just vibes.

And oh, the ending. If you’re expecting closure, forget it. Questions abound: Why does Akpos never really face off against Tonye? Why are some characters in romantic bliss while chaos reigns? And most importantly, was this film more interested in celebrity cameos than storytelling?

To be fair, The Waiter isn’t all bad. Tonye’s introduction hints at a thrilling possibility, and Kunle Remi is an absolute riot—proof Nollywood comedy still has gems. But these rare highlights are buried under the film’s indecision. Is it about Akpos or Tonye? Comedy or thriller? Even the title is misleading. The Waiter? Nah, this should’ve been called The Cameo Chronicles or Explosion Unlimited.

If you’re in search of logic or depth, The Waiter will leave you stranded like a Lagosian in Lekki floodwaters. But if you’re here for cars exploding for no reason, Warri boys defying Newton’s laws, and terrorists delivering TED Talk-worthy monologues, grab your popcorn. Just don’t expect to leave with anything but confusion and memes.

Side Musings
- Let’s be honest, this could’ve been titled The Terrorist and no one would blink.
- Does Akpos think CCTV cameras are allergic to him? Man’s out here wrestling people like he’s auditioning for WrestleMania.
- Kunle Remi, sir, we need you in a sitcom ASAP. Don’t deny us this joy.
- Regina Daniels’ cameo was cute, but AY better hope Ned Nwoko doesn’t “address the nation.”
- Tonye Bright: A Robin Hood we neither wanted nor deserved, but hey, at least he tried.

Final thoughts? The Waiter is the Nollywood cocktail you didn’t ask for—part action, part comedy, part “what in the world is this?” Sip at your own risk.

Rating: 2/5