#WordsofWednesday · Art · Drama · Life · Poetry · Uncategorized

My Story

My Story


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You’ll only regret it when I get heartbroken 


Story by Harrysong aka. Mr Songz

20131225_132445” I grew up watching that television btw… OGTV and Channels… Sighhhh the struggle!”



Rubbing my belly as I had just consumed a ton of carbs with my rice

And don’t forget my plantain

After church every Sunday

I remember running around the compound

Nails and tetanus marred pierced feet

Scarred from playing soccer without cleats

It was the life



Arriving at my grandpa’s compound in the village was both exciting an nerve wrecking. It meant bangers(knockout), great food and sleeping on a mat”

I remember those long drives to the village

Stuck in the heat and traffic

Pacified with Gala and Fan Yogurt

Strawberry flavored

The Christmas rice was one we savored

I remember playing with the cow before they killed it

Shared to the community members

I felt proud to be from a family like that



“Believe it or not but I grew up in this room. Sometimes even slept on a mat. The coolest thing about this room, every item in that picture is older than I am.”

I remember when I used to attend primary school

With Okin biscuits in my bag

And wafers as a backup

They usually crushed in my bag

Just like my dreams when my crush completely ignored me


And then it was break time

I forgot it all

Hanging off the monkey bars with no fears at all



“President of Ikenne on Twitter was not by accident. I went to Mayflower for 8 years. Primary and part of Secondary. The things I learned about life here have helped shape me.”

Remember those pointless excursions

To the post office

When I never got any mail

Or to the airport

All the schools went through that same plane

But if you missed that trip

Your life was never the same

We joked about teachers

Picked on each other

Fought for our brothers

Stole boys from our sisters

It was growing up



“Church with my grandparents was like the biggest struggle. Anglican folk, I hail thee…”

Fights over bread at the dining

To miming

At social nights

Wanting to contain my hard on with all my might

While I tried to grind on her like I was sly

But the trouble I entered


It wasn’t worth it

I remember “The Walkman”

Or initially saving up money to go to Silverbird

We began to find ourselves

Realizing we had all out lives to mold ourselves

Danfo drivers

Okada riders

Allen Avenue partners

Mothers cheating with vulcanizers

It was all there

And slowly Mr Bigg’s faded

It was barely even there



I remember my first grown foray into the market

Duped into buying Nike’s

Aba made

The logo actually said Puma

Yet I paid double to that “bruha”


From roll ons to dudu osun soaps





Great escapes

From the hands of agberos

No matter the city

They were ever present

But we got street smart

As we navigated through Walter Carrington Crescent

We battled no light


Price hikes

School strikes

Abacha died

Obasanjo cried

Obahiagbon lit our entire night

But we came through



“Do I have to state how much greatness is in this one picture? Some of it might even be the equivalent of someone’s bride price. Lmaooo I kid o. Or maybe not 👀👀”

Remember Tales by the Moonlight

You watch Super Story

Until you were crossed and your life became an episode


I remember that carefree kid

Singing Trybemen’s

Not a care for the squares

Or the Bizzy Bodies

I miss that guy

I complained about that time

But here am I fairly adjusted


Taking a moment to slow down

Turning around

To go and fight the boli lady (Boli= roasted plantain. Basically food for the gods.)

She gave me boli but there is no groundnut in my hand

Ojuelegba wole pelu change e (Those going to Ojuelegba, hop into the bus with the denominations because the bus driver might not have change for you)

Remembering my childhood mehn

Mi o le change e! ( I can’t/won’t swap it for anything else!)



I had written this piece last week as I pondered about my story of who I am and how I became this way. I thought about the different places I’ve lived in, schools I went to. People I met. All of it contributed to who I am today.

It led me to thinking about privilege and the gift we have to “dream”. For many of us, we come from families that even if they didn’t have the resources, they gave us the opportunity to dream and for some, that is more than enough. A lot of kids I work with in the mental health field today are not privileged to dream.

This is piece touched on a little bit of my experiences. Born in America and raised mostly in Nigeria, I was privileged to get the best of both worlds. The street, graft and craft from Nigeria and the confidence to hone and harness it all here in America. It has been interesting to say the least.

I thank my parents and grandparents that raised me for my childhood. They gave me the platform for where I am today. I thank my mom for forcing me to read as a kid; you guys are directly benefitting from that.

Thinking about my story, I thought about how I actually started writing. It was because I liked a girl named A.O in high school. Arts class. Her Twitter handle has “cranberry” in it. I really liked this girl and was willing to do anything for her. I wrote about her extensively and then she curved me. Chai!

It’s okay tho, I dished it right back to her years later as the curve came full circle. But most importantly, you all have her to thank because the feeling I got from that “heartbreak” sparked me to start writing at a young age and here we are. Now she wants me write about her again… Ummmm say it with me!!! What The Heck Man!!! LOL

I never expected to be a writer but 16,000+ views later. I want to thank you all for being so supportive and putting up with my cliffhangers and surprises. I APPRECIATE YOU ALL.

Today, is my Nigeria’s 54th birthday and I feel happy, I fell grateful and I feel fulfilled. LMAOOOO Deadest!

But I want that to motivate us. We are 54 but there is so much work to be done. Yes, many of us have been through struggles growing up but we have become fairly adjusted. It is our job to give back. Write a positive story into a kid in need’s life. Do not be selfish with the great story your parents, friends and country contributed to.

Remember the songs you grew up with, the first cars you rode in, the first time you had Gala or a Christmas where Nepa didn’t take light.

Today, I challenge you to review your story in a more light hearted sense and challenge yourself to write a great story for someone else. It is your #What The Heck Man duty.


“You ALL know you ate one of these at least once if you grew up in Nigeria. Don’t lie or rat meat will be in your next Gala!”

I want to thank Nigeria for being the amazing place that it is. Even with all its flaws, it is a strong country that is dear to my heart and I hope to one day create a great story for some other children out there.


Ladies and Gentlemen, talk to me. Tell me about some of your experiences. Share something you could relate to. And remember to give something back to better the next generation.

Happy 54th birthday Nigeria! I wish you all the best and so much more.

And to all my #WhatTheHeckMan family., I do this for y’all everyday. Thank you for validating me and making me feel grounded and important doing this. YOU ARE ALL AMAZING!

Till the next time you read from me, Blurred 4 on Saturday,

Stay Up!


The End

Follow @adewus4real

Thank you for reading and commenting. You are highly appreciated. 

Lookout for part 4 of Blurred; this Saturday.

© 2014 #WhatTheHeckMan