Buff Puff Puff

For Books and Buff Stuff.


Shit, I’m a Terrible Blogger.

Okay, a lot has happened and i need to give you all the updates. I’m trying my best to develop content here but it hasn’t been easy, especially for my stories or poems. The reason for that is some of the stories i write are accepted by some publications that require me not to post it anywhere else.😢

Another reason is the number of activities that I’m running right now and i need focus. For example: I’m writing my report for my Industrial Training attachment i just finished, i am also running a free healthcare project at an IDP camp on the 20th of August and I’m involved with the Goal Charity event happening on the 13th of August. Lord help me.

But it hasn’t all been work though, there’s been the fun parts too. I attended and will be attending some events soon that i can’t wait to share. 

Announcement: There will be a book reading of Chigozie Obioma’s The Fishermen at Salamander Cafe today, 7th August! There will also be open mic night at Abuja Literary Society Next Friday, 12th August at Sandralia hotel, Jabi and i think i will be performing. Be there!

I hate that i haven’t reviewed  The Fishermen, and the book reading is already here. I have it o, it’s just laziness. Also, i will be posting the review of Yejide Kilanko’s Daughter Who Walk This Path soon too.

So, yeah! Last month, i won a small competition at Storried where there was a prize money. It was very exciting because i actually forgot i sent in an entry. I will post the story next. It is a children’s story and that was what began my journey into the world of folktales and Akuko-Ifo. 

Yes, i have to address the Akuko-Ifo fans. Your girl is truly sorry. As i said, it hasn’t been easy. Akuko-Ifo seems like the simplest thing on here, but in fact it isn’t. I will still try to post every Friday though.

I really suck at blogging😢 but i have been having fun so far so i will continue.

Please show some love in the comment section! 


NEPA: The Nigerian Big Brother

For the past two weeks, there has been constant power supply in our house. No one has said a word about it, even though the oddity of it all can be seen from our widened eyes and deep sighs of relief when we wake up to light in the morning. When I ask, “Did they take light today,” all I get is an unintelligible sound or a small, “No.” There’s no further comment on how lucky we are that there’s still power, or on how NEPA is doing a swell job. We can’t risk it.

There’s no Nigerian that doesn’t share this mysterious feeling of reverence for the omnipresent NEPA because we all know that, the minute you say the wrong thing, these forces will take their light away. There has been that sheer moment when someone was about to say something negative about the irregular power supply and you said something like, “Don’t let them hear you and take the light, o!” before you could catch yourself. There has also been that moment when you shouted, “Up NEPA” when electricity came back on. Yes, because deep down you know that the forces can hear this and will add your house to their good books.

These forces are even so ‘bad-ass’ that their name has not changed for the past forty-four years, not even privatization agenda or series of name-changing could taint it.

However, this is not to praise how ‘good’ the power supply situation is in the country right now, or how ‘bad’ it is. I’m merely using this as a means to say all the things everyone in my house is so afraid to talk about, so as not to be put on the naughty list by the forces.

Reminiscing about the nineteen-year journey I’ve had with Nigerian power supply, I won’t say the journey has exactly been a good one.

When I was two or three years, a.k.a. the time when children start to ‘know something’, I recall power supply as total black out. Nada. For many days at a time.

We depended heavily on those popular white-wax candles with the red label. My family wasn’t so rich so we didn’t have fancy candle holders as some of my friends did in their own homes. This meant that the candles had to be mounted on the tiled floor or on tables. Lumps of melted wax on floors were a signature feature of this era, and in fact we depended on those lumps for the next candle-mounting. To further explain, having enough melted-wax lumps meant that you got a stronger mounting spot for your candle the next day. Continue reading

1 Comment

Abuja: My Visit to Mountain Village with Project Hope Alive

Hey buff readers! I’ve missed posting i swear! My biggest fan, my mother, thinks I’m depressed and called me this evening to query why she hadn’tseen a post up yet… *sigh*

So here i am, my puff puff people, promising to do a better job and trying to convince my mum that I’m not depressed!

As some of you guys know, i have been volunteering/helping out at some NGOs and some charity-based initiatives. This particular event was organized by a non profit NGO Project Hope Alive.

On Sunday 24th July, which was World Merit Day, i and the rest of the team members at Project Hope Alive visited a settlement in Abuja. It was a day of conscious awareness for the occupants at the mountain village in Abuja, as we set out to create awareness on the United Nations Sustainable Development Goals. Continue reading

Leave a comment

Akuko-Ifo: Episode II

NightSky_1A very, very long time ago, the land and the sky were friends. The sky even came down to visit the Land on most days.

The Land was the custodian of the rain and this made Land incredibly wealthy. The rains went upwards, and eventually downwards, so the earth was always green and beautiful. Land was very generous with her rain and so the earth flourished abundantly.

Of course, the Sky was very envious of the Land, because she hardly did anything. She was always dry and stagnant, and directly received the painful rays of the Sun.

The Sky’s envy increased when the Land and the Sun fell in love. Sky was outraged.

One day, Sun mysteriously disappeared.

Land looked high and low for her love, Sun, but did not find him. She was very sad. Because of this, she could not control the rain anymore, and the earth flooded a lot.

After searching all over the world for the Sun in vain, all the other elements decided to organize a burial for the Sun. They set a date and prepared the venue for the occasion.

Some days before the burial, the Sky came to visit Land to sympathize with her, and when she saw the flooded earth, she got an idea.

“It seems that you, Land, are not in the right frame of mind to be controlling the rains,” Sky began, “and you know that it is bad luck for it to rain during a burial…”

Land thought about this for a while before nodding her head sadly, “You are right my friend, I cannot control the rain in this state.” She told the Sky.

“Yes, so why don’t I hold the rains for you for a while, and after the burial, I will come and give it back to you.” Sky said.

Land clapped her hand happily as she said, “You are right!”

So, with grief blinding her, Land gave the rain to her friend, Sky, to hold for her briefly. Sky was overjoyed as she went back to her spot above, with the rains in her hand.

On the day of the burial, all the elements gathered to sympathize with the Land.

Everything ran smoothly until it began to rain heavily.

Everyone was confused, especially the Land.

She went to confront Sky, and soon realized that she had been betrayed by the Sky.

“Where is my rain, please give me back my rain!” the Land pleaded as she tried to grab the Sky.

All the elements, even the Wind, tried to reach the Sky, but none could reach.

The Sky shifted further and further away until she was so high that not even Land’s tallest trees could touch her.

“I will give you rain whenever I feel like it.” Sky said.

The Sky became very stingy with her rain and the Earth had to beg most times.

Sun kept disappearing for many days in a year, and whenever the elements tried to organize a burial, the Sky would wickedly release her rains.

On those days, it is said that all the elements join forces to help the Land retrieve her rain and even the leaves of the tall trees lunge forward towards the Sky.

If you doubt me, go and ask the Sky why she doesn’t visit the Land anymore.

This series is solely my intellectual work, unless otherwise stated. Unauthorized copying will be taken seriously. Of course, re-blogging is fine, but please message me if you plan on displaying them elsewhere. Thanks for understanding.

Don’t forget to leave a comment below, telling me what you think.  Don’t be a stranger!

Remain Buff!

1 Comment

My puff puff making Experience.

Hey Buff Readers!

It has indeed been a very busy week since i last posted. Okay, let me be honest, I’ve been very lazy. But that didn’t stop me from coming up with loads of content to post here. It’s just writing them that’s the problem.😩

So, during the Muslim holiday, Sallah, while y’all were in your house, i took out the time to make puff puff with my bestfriend Uwem. I did this, not only so i could derive joy (because, duh), i also wanted to update my buff fam💪 with a puff-puff post cause y’know… you’ve been dying for one. LOL.

If you’re on my snapchat, you’ve pretty much seen it all… so this is just a short play by play of how it all went down.

Here goes! Continue reading


Nightmare: A poem

Closed my eyes to dream last night

And i had a nightmare

I was sentenced to live in the human race
Where hatred for a human life is
Thicker than the blood that flows through all our veins

A race where a new hashtag means another life has been wiped out
Like erasers to a black marker
A race, with a place where the police is not your friend.
Live by the law, die by the law.

With tears gushing out my eyes like waters from a waterfall, i was
Forced to go through one sickening replay after another
Of the injustice that has swallowed up each continent.
Melanin judgements.

I was burdened with a world filled with Poverty, oppression and looming wars
Murder, injustice and Prison bars
Even for our voices.
The corrupt being investigated by the corrupt.

I, wonder.
What sort of race is this? 
When will this
nightmare end?

I closed my eyes to dream
And i had a nightmare
With a start, I WOKE this morning
I am still human.


Akuko-Ifo: Episode I

Hey Buff people!

I am so happy to be announcing my series of African stories that i titled Akuko-Ifo. They are a set of discontinuous stories that would be told like folktales.

One of my earliest memories is sitting in our NEPA- deprived sitting room and listening to my mum tell me stories that opened up my imaginations and allowed me to dream.

Akuko-Ifo is an igbo word for story or fairy tale.

They will include songs, poems and comedy. Most of them will have moral lessons embedded in them, just like the ancient art, but some might just be for your entertainment alone.

I am really excited; i’ve written four already.

Here goes!

A long, long time ago, when dogs didn’t bark and men carried babies, there was a tortoise named Mbe.


Mbe, the tortoise, was a very successful palm wine tapper. Not only was he a good tapper, he was also a great climber. He could climb the tallest palm trees in the world in order to get his sweet, sweet wine. The fame of his wines spread across all the kingdoms and even the dead yearned for a taste. His wines were so sweet and strong; they could bring down even the fattest elephant.

All of the animals were jealous of Mbe because no one could climb as high as he could without falling.

But there was something that they did not like about Mbe; he did not know how to keep his mouth shut.

Whenever he climbed a tree, he was able to see across the whole village and even tell what the animals were doing. Then, he would sing about the things he saw, from the top of the tree, so that all the villagers would hear. With a loud voice, he would sing:

Nzuzo o, Nzuzo

Nkita the dog is eating his own faeces o, Nzuzo

Agu the lion is feasting on grass o, Nzuzo

Ewu the goat has stolen some yams o, Nzuzo

I can see where Bussu the cat is keeping her faeces o, Nzuzo

Nzuzo o, Nzuzo.

None of the animals could tell Mbe to stop because no one wanted to get on his bad side; they all wanted his sweet palm wine. So they endured this for a long time.

One day, Mbe came across a very tall palm tree. The tree was so tall, its top was in the clouds and could not be seen.

“If I climb this tree, I will be able to see the secrets of the whole world and even heaven,” Mbe said to himself.

So, Mbe began to climb and climb and climb. It took him many days.

Finally, he reached the top.

He was right! He could see across the world!

Then, he began to sing with a very loud voice so the whole world could hear:

Nzuzo o, Nzuzo

I can see the world o, Nzuzo

The world is round o, Nzuzo

Nzuzo o, Nzuzo.

All the animals gathered at the foot of the tree in amazement and waited for Mbe to come down.

Then, Mbe poked his head into the clouds so that he could see the secrets of Heaven too.

All the strong majestic birds were present there, working with Chi to produce rain for the coming rainy season.

This was the biggest secret in the Animal kingdom because no one knew how the rains came.

Mbe observed them for a while before he started to sing:

Nzuzo o, Nzuzo

I know how rain is formed o, Nzuzo

Just before Mbe could finish his song, all the strong birds rushed to him and pushed him down the tree.

Mbe fell from the tall palm tree to the ground with a great thud.


All the other animals walked away, clucking their tongues and shaking their heads, because Mbe had finally gotten what was coming to him.

Besides, he did not bring down any palm wine.

Mbe, the tortoise, never climbed any tree again.

If you doubt me, go and ask the tortoise how he got his cracked shell.

This series is solely my intellectual work, unless otherwise stated. Unauthorized copying will taken seriously. Of course, reblogging is fine, but please message me if you plan on displaying them elsewhere. Thanks for understanding. 🙂

1 Comment

A Roland For An Oliver

A sunny day in 1953, a woman and her six-year-old son strolled towards their house, after a long day’s trade at the Ekwulobia market. A loud audacious voice made a few people stop and turn, including the Woman. It was Timothy, the village’s fore spokesperson, who had only just gotten a scholarship to study Political Science at the University of Ibadan. He was the only son of Efuru, the late famous Wine tapper, and had been a favorite since he was a baby. His father did his best to send him to the primary education in their town but died before Timothy could finish. When the village saw the great feats he accomplished at primary school, they contributed some money to send him to secondary school in Lagos.

He had become their pride and joy, destined for great things. The woman was a good friend to Timothy’s mother; she recalled how his mother labored at the farm, day and night, for meager yams and measly corn she would trade for Timothy’s primary school fees. She also knew the joy that his mother felt when Timothy had gotten the university scholarship. Ever since he was a child, he always had strong opinions and spoke big grammar that nobody understood which was why no one was surprised when he came back to town and started organizing political rallies.

He was having one of his usual demonstrations at the market square and had a larger crowd than usual on this particular day. He stood comfortably on the wooden platform shouting some words that the Woman couldn’t care less about, but still she stood, listening from a distance. A few people in the crowd held placards of convicting but poorly written messages that read: NO MORE KWEEN, WE WANT INDEPENDENCE, and WHITE PIPUL MUST GO etc.

Some of the red-capped chiefs stood behind Timothy, with their yellowed singlets and threadbare wrappers, smiling proudly at the son of the soil. The eldest man in the village, Mazi Amadi, was also present with his wife, Ekutus, which made the Woman wonder how important the rally was. This old man was almost eighty years and he walked with a stick because of his bent back. Everyone in the village called him Npa, which meant Father. He was a wise man that everyone went to when they needed advice and he would always say the old Igbo proverb first before anything else, “What an old man can see sitting down, the young men cannot see from the tallest mountain.” His first wife died during childbirth many years back leaving behind no child. He married a second wife soon after and she had seven children who were all mostly grown. Mazi Amadi had been a catechist in his young age and knew a little English. Children came to him when they wanted to hear stories of his travels and English adventures. He was also somewhat wise when it came to English politics. The Woman realized that Mazi Amadi was at the gathering because the elders wanted the villagers to take the rallies more seriously.

The Woman moved closer, pulling her son along with her. Timothy’s voice reverberated through the crowd, “We want to live in an independent nation; where our sons and daughters can lead us. We were here before they came and claimed our soil as theirs. They have helped, yes, but they have overstayed their welcome. Let them go back to their civilized country and rule themselves. We are tired! Are you not tired?!” He shouted, shaking his hands vigorously as if to impart some of his exasperation on the crowd. “Yes, we are tired!” The crowd shouted back. The air was buzzing with a strange energy and the Woman couldn’t help but shout “We are tired,” with them when Timothy asked again. Goosebumps appeared all over her skin as she imagined the greatness that awaited Timothy. She hoped to God that her three sons would have such courage to voice their opinions.

Sweat trickled down her back and her face; she released the edge of her wrapper and wiped her face with it. Timothy continued with his speech, “Aren’t you tired of being robbed of your resources so that they can fund their businesses and industries while we suffer here? Are you not tired of being just an annex for them to exert their power on when they feel like?” Most of the villagers didn’t understand what he said but they still murmured, “We are tired” during the speech. The Woman had a feeling that Timothy found it hard to speak coherently in his native tongue so he spoke in English, but the kind of energy he talked with made the crowd to become more and more pepped. Soon, people were pumping their fists in the air, shouting “Independence!” Timothy spoke up again, “This has gone on for far too long and we can’t just keep quiet anymore.” He paused to wipe his face with a small material.

Just then, an engine revved behind them and Police officers stormed into the square shouting “God save the queen! Everybody lie dan!” The officers rounded the people up and soon, everyone was flat on their faces, quivering. The overzealous and enthusiastic officers in rumpled khaki shirt and shorts with dirty brown sandals, that waved their guns all over the place, were Nigerian; even Igbo.

Their inspector was a blond white man with neat, ironed khaki trousers and shiny black boots. He walked around for a while and then shouted, “Who is the chief speaker here?” He spoke Igbo, probably to impress the villagers, even though his British accent was still clear and he didn’t get the pronunciations right. The Woman heard murmurs but no one spoke up for a while. The sun was burning her back and the hot red sand was searing her face.

She wished the police hadn’t come. Timothy was still so young and the future of his generation; also, the future of their village. He could be charged with treason and be killed. She had warned Timothy’s family about the dangers of this his political interest, but no one listened. The Woman was now sure that all the money, labor and sweat of the whole village for Timothy would go to waste.

Someone finally stood up. “Is me sah!” The croaky voice said in shaky English. The Woman peered from beneath her arm and saw that it was Mazi Amadi. The fib was not nearly plausible but no one said a word wither ward. It seemed the Igbo Policemen knew the gist of the matter and decided to keep shut too because they quickly bundled the old man into the vehicle.

The rest of the villagers got up slowly while Ekutus screamed “Mba Mba, No, No!” and ran after the speeding rover. Timothy looked dumbfounded as his mother led him away. As everyone else departed in their various directions, they heaved their shoulders up and down in disapproval, hissed and sighed deeply, clucked their tongues or shouted, “Hei!” at intervals.

The Woman dusted the sand off her son’s body, retied her wrapper and continued her stroll towards her small family home.

Hope you enjoyed my story, thanks for reading!

Oh and before i forget…. Food for thought:


Art by Okechukwu Ofili from Ofilispeaks.com

Have a buff day! :*


Abuja: Book Reading at Thought Pyramid Art Gallery

Hey puff puffs!
Hope you guys have had an amazing week because mine has been stressful. I’ve been so tired, i think I’ve been walking around sleeping in my head. Can you believe I’m even working tomorrow, Saturday?!

Anyway, this post has been a long time coming because the event actually happened last week (my birthday week, and might i add that that was an amazing week), but i was waiting on the pictures.
So, Othuke Ominiabohs, the author of Odufa, read my review and invited me to his book reading (Yes he did, even though i would have gone anyway LOL)
He is sooo nice! Like, reaaaally nice! But more of that later.

Thought Pyramid Art Gallery is located at No 18 Libreville Crescent off Aminu Kano way, Wuse II Abuja.
The place was so fancy, it made me nervous.
First, the sculptures outside (I really wish i had pictures of everything): i initially thought they were human beings sitting outside. But they were just scultures of everything, ranging from animals to humans to abstracts.
Then, the elegant restaurant at the corner with the bright lights, you can’t miss it.
I should add that the Art Gallery works mostly in conjunction with Embassies so that night, the German Embassy held the stage. There was a ‘showing’ of a movie. The movie was titled Pitter Patter Goes My Heart. It was, of course, in German. I’ve heard that Foreign movies with subtitles are boring, especially those fancy ones. Well, this one was funny and weird. It was also a short movie so maybe that’s why i didn’t notice LOL (45 minutes max).

Before the showing and the reading (I never used to use these words as nouns before), i met up with Othuke and we chatted for a short while, which was cool.

Then, we all went to sit to watch the movie.
After the movie, there was a brief introduction and then Othuke started reading key points in the book. It helped that i had read the book before because listening to some of the scenes being read out made me smile.

My short moment of bliss ended because of the Time constraint.
You can see some of the art, thankfully.
There was a brief session of questions which brought up very interesting topics.
Othuke was being very diplomatic with the questions LOL

When he was asked how much of the book was actually fiction, he said that there’s no fiction that’s 100% fiction.
When he was asked whether he thought that his book supports parental interference in marriage, he said he’d leave that for the reader to decide.
There were many others.
Honestly, i thought his answers made the interaction more fun because everyone seemed to be having a great time and more questions kept flowing in.

There were literary critics too! Forgot to mention. And a lot of people who seemed “book-y” like me.

Book Signing Time!

Here’s Roland, who’s just the best, trying to get Othuke to sign my book.
And i said, Othuke is soo nice, he gave me an extra copy and signed that too!
He wrote, “Adaobi, thank you for being my number one fan. Ohms.”
He was also impressed with the review, ha!

The second copy (revised edition) is sooo up for grabs! 😉

Well, that pretty much wraps it up. I wish i had more pictures for you guys.
Photo credit: @4eyedmonk for most of the pictures

I know y’all are waiting on a puff puff post. But Soon!
Have a lovely weekend, puff puffs! 😘✌

Also, i wanted to congratulate Tokoni Olobio, one of my buff readers, on His Graduation today! Also, Congrats to everyone from the Prestige Set! Soar!

Remain Buff!