Debbienho !

Christianity is weird. There, it’s out. And I don’t mean the Sunday ritual of going to church, because we know that stuff is nothing more than a display. I’m not talking religion either. That is rigid, full of rules and has absolutely no joy in it. I’m talking living with Jesus Christ at the center of your life. That one is a little strange. The point of Christianity is to follow Jesus. Following Jesus means turning from my selfish ways and taking up my cross (Matthew 16:24). Following Jesus means refusing to be conformed to this world, and instead being transformed by the renewal of my mind (Romans 12:2). Following Jesus means letting go the reins of my life and trusting God to lead me where He wants. Sounds technical, doesn’t it? Let’s break it down: If I follow Jesus, I serve Him. He is my master. Everything He tells me to do, I do! That’s…scary, isn’t it? Yes. It is. I’m born with free will. A mind of my own. So, okay, I’ve accepted Christ. Still I know what c

So I got bored and drew Jolie. From Wanted . I figured if I couldn’t replicate her train stunt I might as well still keep some memory of her. So there. (Ignore the outline of clothes in the white parts.) (Ignore the 60s look the picture has.) (Ignore the picture.) P.S. A gun was supposed to appear. It didn’t. I got lazy and stopped after doing the hair. Don’t judge me. Or…maybe judge me, if you want. Anas is coming. 

Cain liked his younger brother. He really did. Seriously. Abel was so…different. He was so innocent, too innocent for this world, Cain reckoned. He looked at the world through rose-coloured lenses, saw beauty where there was none, thought there was good in everyone. He didn’t believe in vengeance, no matter how petty it was, like hitting back when someone punched him. To him people needed to be loved, and forgiven, not given a black eye for a black eye. Seriously . Who thought like that? Cain shook his head, giving his hands the temporary job of playing with the waistband of his garment. Right now Abel must’ve been gliding on air for all the joy he radiated, excited and chattering and talking some gibberish he must have considered boy-talk. Seriously . Abel had to be living in some eternal paradise of the mind. Too bad it was all gonna end. Soon. Because, much as he liked his younger brother, Cain could not quench the hate he had started to feel for Abel since the sacr

The English Premier League starts again today. Yay. Oh, well. After waiting for it most impatiently (since June, when the Golden State Warriors broke a forty year jinx to win the NBA trophy against the all-LeBron Cavaliers, and there was no other league I got to follow), it’s come back and I don’t feel as much excitement as loads of people I’ve come across. Not that I blame the league, though. There are times I’ve felt such extreme hunger for such a long time that when I finally got my eyes—and hands—on some food, I had no appetite to deal with it. I’m positive I’ll catch the fever soon enough. I mean, there is so much to look forward to, considering this year’s pre-season drama. (Congrats, Wenger. You are proof that every dog has its day.) I do try to remain neutral, though. Try, because I still sympathize with Manchester United and Chelsea, having supported them both in the past (and simultaneously at one time, even), one boasting my face of Gillette Juan Mata, and the

I just watched a weird advert. Two ads, actually. The first was an ad for ‘water’ that is supposed to solve all problems. No, not the regular water problem of thirst, but specific annoyances, of people owing you money and refusing to pay, and other possibilities within that region. It looks like what you do is write your problem on paper, dribble some of the water on the folded paper, give it a few days, and your problem will be solved. The person that owes you will pay. That person telling lies against you will stop. This magic water comes in a box with a picture of a cross on one side and another of a ‘man of God,’ and ‘Jesus’ was mentioned a number of times, so I figure it’s supposed to be Christian. Another had to follow it. It was another ‘man of God,’ this time advertising his church, his powers. In essence, he was a bundle of miracles. He could solve every known problem on earth. Want a promotion? He’s your guy. And, he cures AIDS which has been given you by the enemy.

So, I recently saw a local music video that completely burned the line between daring and porno. It was, to put things mildly, rather raunchy, with women’s gyrating rear ends, sexual gestures, partial nudity. Of course, on instinct, I wondered out loud why the media was keeping itself busy portraying women as sex objects, and why women would allow it. Thankfully, before I could launch into a full rant a number of possible answers showed themselves. Uno. Perhaps the women did not do this on purpose. Perhaps they were drugged. They must not have been lucid. All those wildly vibrating, barely clothed bodies and glazed eyes could be blamed on some ecstasy someone put in their drinks when they weren’t looking, a joint they didn’t know they were smoking. Dos. Could be it was absolutely necessary. It’s typical, happens every day in movies. Girl needs money for sick mom and or exam registration. Struggling musician offers her a deal that may disrespect her dignity, but is sure to

Dear Television Networks, But, why? I’m not an avid television watcher, not since telenovelas claimed the airwaves such that we the disinterested few are left with close to nothing to watch. But there are times I can’t evade watching TV, like when I’m forced to be a part of the family tradition of sitting in the living room and commenting on the politicians’ antics you tell us on the news. To be fair, you give me something new to be sad about, if only for a few minutes. So is it wrong that I’d think you’d return the favour by at least making sure your news comes out flawless? Instead, what do I get for my troubles? Huge language errors. I understand it may not be a big at all deal to some of you—‘ooh, the people will overlook that, no one notices these things!’—, but personally, seeing spelling and grammar errors in a news package—or any package, in fact—is equivalent to being jabbed in the eye by a very small but very real jackknife. And even you’ll admit that that’s not

He spied his table. To his left, Basic Stats. Right, Mass Communication. Centre, oh, African Studies. Mchew. Small journalist wey he dey wan chop.   Tso . Even Anas and Nana Aba all couldn’t have done all this. And he didn’t want to think of all the Freud analogies he still had to appreciate… Double   mchew . He unzipped his bag, pulled out a phone. Around him stood shelves and shelves of books centuries old, or hours old, works of great dreamers and thinkers and lunatics alike, a reader’s heaven, a student’s prison. Scores of UG wannabe grads, and visitors who thought Balme Library a spectacular word of art and ageless, timeless, collection of ideas—or had just downright lost their way, or marriages, and thought the Balme a soother in its silent predictable monotony—stood or sat or walked around. He shrugged. Let them. He was going to relax. And he stuck the pin in the phone’s hole, and plugged the headset on. Time for inspiration. * Eish. She was fl