My 37 Year War With Satan: Biodun Rotimi

Please note that all the characters in this story are very real people, and I used their real names. However, do not judge them, as I have said in my website, no one is really responsible for their actions. Even I have had transgressions in my life, so as Jesus said “He who is without sin, let him/her cast the first stone”.

Looking back now I clearly see that my older brother Enitan and eldest cousin Niyi were the two primary people that satan used in the effort to dominate and control me ( I still have no idea why they would think that is possible, but arrogance like satan, now I understand it is a form of extreme stupidity ). The ultimate goal was to drag me into satans world where their supremacy over me would be permanent.

Part 1, before satan fully attacked.

My name is Biodun Rotimi, I am the third born son of Ola Rotimi who was a playwright and professor of Theatre Arts (university of ife/OAU and university of portharcout, Nigeria) and Hazel Mae Rotimi, a white American who was a trained singer and graphic artist. She also particularly loved pottery, making things with clay and many other kinds of arts and crafts. They met at Boston University, when my Dad went to the US on a fullbright scolarship, first to Yale for his bachelors and then to BU for his masters. I was born and raised in Nigeria and lived there until I was 22 years old (1990 ), except for one year (1980/81) when our whole family went with my dad to America (Iowa city) for his sabathical. To date I have spent more years in America than Nigeria. Most of my war with satan happened in America. I currently reside in Nigeria. I quit my job at Bank of America in Texas USA, immediately I found out the company had given a 500 million dollar loan to Elbit systems which makes military weapons for Israel. This was a couple months after Oct 7th and Israel was in the heat of their genocide against Palestinians.

Let me start from the very first significant thing I believe, looking back now, satan did in my life. It was around 1984, when I was 16 years old. At that age, the world was still very normal to me, meaning I knew nothing of satan and his activities in the world. I attributed things that were happening around me to human nature and natural events. Anyway, around that time, my elder brother Enitan, and my sister Oruene were in FGCPH a Government secondary school, along with me, and they joined a student christian group. They preached the gospel to me also, and I was so moved by it. I eventaully said the prayer one day, which they wrote in the tracts they used to give us. They had told me that once I say that prayer, something will come over me and I will be a new person. After I said the prayer, nothing at all happened. I still felt exactly the same, so I thought maybe I did not qualify or something. I moved on anyway, believing I had been born again, and started taking interest in christian things. In particular, there was a christian artist who was very popular among Nigerian christians in those days. Her name was Mary McKee and the Genesis. I really loved her songs, particularly from the “By the Rivers of Babylon” album. I remember I would sing to them often, while doing the dishes, along with the cassette player, and my voice matched hers very closely. Especially when I sang the song “Lord how did it feel”. The years rolled by and at some point, I had a very sexy teacher, I think in biology, who sometimes wore a somewhat transparent top and I could see the curvature of her breasts through them. I would frequently get a “hard on” in class and be hoping she does not call me to answer a question, because it was mandatory to stand up when answering questions. I was so moved by the thought of her breast curvature that I drew a small sillouette of it on the wall beside my bed. Because of these kinds of thoughts, I considered myself “Backslid” and no longer in good standing with God. 

As children in Uniport, we were very adventurous. We loved to go to the bushes, river and areas that were being developed around the campus. One day, we went to the choba river area behind our house, and decided to swim from the side we were on, to an abandoned jetty on another side, and then back again. It was not planned, so I did not have swimming wear, and decided to swim in my baggy khaki trousers that were a little tighter at the ankles. We got to the abandoned jetty and started swimming back. The current was going in the direction of that abandoned jetty, so it was much easier swimming there than back. On the way back, my trousers had filled with water and was dragging me to some extent. Also the current was now against me and getting stronger, so it seemed the more I swam, the more tired I got and no progress was being made at all. I was just a little further than the half way point back, when my muscles were just not able to continue. I became very worried, as I saw the distance left to go, and given my state, it was obvious I would never make it. All the others had already made it back, it was only me left, still struggling. I knew it was all the water I was dragging in my trousers that caused this, but I was not wearing underwear that day, and did not want the shame of coming out of the water completely naked (especially due to the very small size of my dick), so I did not take it off. The thought came in my mind at the obvious knowledge that I was going to drown, that why would someone good like me drown, while someone like Ruby would go on living. A very horrible thought, and very much out of character for me. Ruby (a girl) was a good friend we had all grown up with, and I had no real issues with her, it's just that in that moment, I felt my life was more important. I was at the same time very ashamed of thinking such a thing, and today know it was the small percentage of satan which was in me then that did this. Knowing I would surely drown if I don’t get help, I shouted out to the people on shore, “HELP! I’M DROWNING. BRING THE LIFE VEST”. (We had taken a life vest with us mostly because we were fascinated by it, rather than because we thought we would need it, but here it became my only hope). I saw my brother Enitan frozen and looking in disbelief, and then I think he said “he is just joking… “. His very good friend Christopher Uguova had better judgement and could see I was serious. He quickly grabbed the life jacket. I was thinking he would jump in the river with it and swim toward me, but instead, he threw it, and it landed not too far from him. I first thought its not really a help, but saw that it was maybe midway between me and him. Realizing that the distance I have to go now is much shorter, I summoned up the strength that I did not have, just to make it there. I did make it, and felt so much relief hanging on to that life vest. I took my time, saving all my energy to get back to shore. When on shore, I was so weak and tired, I just lay down on the grass recovering. While I was there still feeling the intense fatigue, Enitan came over and started mocking - “I sabe swim, I sabe swim… look at you now”. I was repulsed by his behavior. I had just almost died, and this was his response. He did not even lift a finger to try to help me, and I may be wrong, but the expression on his face when he saw me potentially drowning was like he could not believe his luck.

My dad surprised us one day with a trip to a place called Obudu Cattle Ranch. It was a mountain resort in the cross river areal. A large expanse of land in the mountains of Obudu, where they had many different activities you could enjoy and places to stay (guest houses) while you are there. One of the activities was horse back riding. We went one morning for that, my brother Kole, my mother, and I think Enitan was there too. We were selecting horses, and one of them had a reputation for being wild. We decided I should take the wild one, as I had a reputation in the family as the one best able to handle such things. I was glad to take him. We rode without saddles, just sitting on the bare back of the horse. On the way going, it was maybe 7 mile trail, the horses were calm and just walked slowly. We were enjoying ourselves. On the way back, when we reached a point, maybe two miles from the stable, my horse got excited and began to gallop. I naturally sat up so my butt was not on his back anymore, but suspended ten inches or so above him. This way my body stayed steady despite the up and down motion of his back. He was really going fast now, and I was so high above the ground, it was obvious if I lost my balance and fell off, I would be paralyzed or dead. I remained calm and rode him like that all the way to the stable. Later the others joined us at the stable and were all remarking how I managed to stay on. It was a very interesting experience for me.

When I was in secondary school, in form five, which is the final year, my father finally agreed for me to go to boarding school ( I had been asking him since I was in form three, and he refused, saying I could only go in my final year ). While in boarding school, the dormitory I stayed was the smaller of two buildings. It was a one story building (no upstair), while the bigger building had three stories. In our dom, there were two places to take a bath. One was in a square courtyard in the middle of the building, and the other was outside the building, on any of the four sides. I already knew from experience in Iowa city, when bathing after wrestling practice, that my dick was probably the smallest of everyone. I was not really phased by that, as I had made the mental acceptance, and never felt it diminished my value as a human being. As such, I decided to be taking my baths outside, where mostly guys with the biggest dicks did. One day, my good friend Inemi Ben Ololo, told me that my dick was so small because I had not visited prostitutes. If I wanted it to be big, I should go to them. I found it funny and strange.  I really did not believe him because my understanding at the time is that it is impossible to grow a dick once you are past a certain age.  Either way, there was no way I would entertain the idea. The biggest reason then why I would not, is that Nigerian prostitutes in those days, were not pretty at all. Just a way for someone truly desparate to have sex, and I was certainly not in that category. One time I did something that Inemi found offensive somehow. I know myself well that I really did nothing wrong, but he just took offense too easily. Anyway, his way of taking revenge was one day, while I was bathing outside, he came and stood in front of me, looking right at my dick, and then sizing me up and down, while saying “it’s been a long time I’ve seen this boy bath. A long time…

I see you..I see you..”.  I knew he was mocking the very small size of my dick, but felt nothing at all. I had 0 shame, and wondered why he could not see that. (BTW Inemi did have a VERY big dick, which I was never envious of. I only saw him as a good friend, and we were close in those days). There was a rough looking guy in the same area of the dormitory as me and Inemi. Inemi dubbed him “buffalo soldier”. He was taller and bigger and had marks all over his back and chest/stomach. It was cut marks, deliberately done for some tribal reason. He looked a bit scary. One day, something valuable of mine got stollen, and Inemi later informed me that it was buffalo soldier that took it. I was furious, and planned to take revenge for it. Buffalo soldier had some valuables in a suitcase on top of his locker box. I decided I would steal some of those valuables from him as revenge. Inemi was in on the plan with me, and one day, when they had locked the dom, with everyone outside, he and I returned alone and I climbed the locked gate and slid in behind it through a small opening at the top. Once inside the dom, I found my way to buffalo soldiers corner and opened his suitcase. There was a very cool blue jacket, and some expensive looking perfume. I took both, and made my way back out, through the same opening that is made in the gate at the top, if you push it a little.  I took the items home, and came back to school. The next day, I saw a small crowd gathered around buffalo soldiers corner, and buffalo soldier himself sitting on the bed facing the open suitcase, with his head in his hands. It was obvious he was devastated by the loss, and I was happy. Of course he never found out who took it. Some time not long after, I suddenly got a small growth on my chest. It was like a huge, very noticeable pimple. My friend Ema Apenu saw it and tried to burst it, but it only became bigger and worse. Eventually, I went to the doctor and he said it was some kind of cyst. He said the only way was to cut it open and remove the cyst. I agreed to do so, and he did the operation. While cutting, something was going wrong and the doctor was having a difficult time, to the point he started sweating, and a few drops of sweat landed on me. The Anastasia began to wear off, and his cutting began to become painful. Eventually, he completed and stitched it back closed. He showed me what he had removed from it. I went home expecting it to heal normally and there would be hardly a sign, but after a couple weeks, it seemed to have grown back even a little bigger than the problem before. I went to the doctor again, and he said it was a skin condition called Keloid. Keloid is where the skin heals by forming a big, hard mound in the area where the wound was. I had never heard of such a thing before, and really did not believe him. Later on, I got another wound from crashing a bit on a motorcycle, in my right arm, near the elbow. That wound also healed with a swelling and somewhat hardening of the tissue. I realized the doctor was right, and this condition, which I never had before ( I had had lots of wounds in my life until then, and they all healed perfectly ), was now my reality. I sorta got the thought that buffalo soldier had put juju (a black magic curse/spell) on me, to get this condition, in order to identify and punish the person who stole from him. Or maybe it was just karma. Funny thing, I wore that beautiful blue jacket a few times, and my father saw it and one day, I saw him wearing it proudly outside the crab ( the theatre he had built for the university ). I got a thought that he was proud of how I took revenge and handled the situation of being stolen from. He (my father) took over that jacket and continued to wear it many places.  Looking back, I regret that I took revenge without knowing for sure that it was indeed buffalo soldier that stole from me.  I only acted based on what Inemi told me, and had no evidence.  This was probably the only time I did take revenge, and though the appearance was that my dad was proud of what I did by wearing that jacket, I decided not to do such revenge again, especially not knowing for sure of the culprit.

When I was still in form five in boarding school (FGCPH), my cousin Olumide had just matriculated his basic program at Uniport. He and his friends decided to have a celebration at a hotel in Portharcourt called Erijoy Hotels. I jumped the school wall along with my friend Edward Kobani and maybe one or two other guys. We were at the party and everything was going well, having a good time. At one point, I was standing by myself not far from the dance floor, and one of the caterers ( a man ) came over to me and started some friendly conversation. We chatted a bit and he went away. As the night went on, he came over again and started saying how he likes me very much. He continued “you know it’s not every time that a man should love a woman, sometimes, a man can love another man”. I was confused, not knowing how to respond.  I guess I may have heard about gay people before, but it was something no one ever talked about in Nigeria, and as far as I was concerned at the time, it did not exist there, so I was really surprised. He later told me of his dream of owning his own restaurant business, and how I could join him, he will take care of me. I found a way to tell him I only love women like that I was not interested in men really. He went back to his duties, but would pass by me once in a while, smiling and amiable. It was now maybe 3 am in the morning and there was some comotion going on outside. The music stopped, but I was still inside, and heard people outside like they were fighting. As I made my way outside, I saw the same man, in trauma. Apparently ( I heard later ) he got in a fight with the DJ, and the DJ beat him real good, and took his music equipment and left the scene. Lots of people were outside the walls of the hotel, but quite a few were still inside, including me. The man saw me and locked the gate, then made a bee line toward me. His arms were bloody, and he started to wipe the blood on me, saying “you are not going anywhere today. You are not going anywhere”. I was seriously concerned. My friend Edward was just outside the walls, watching the situation. I noticed the walls on the left side of me had a design where it had crests with some sort of peak, and then goes down in an arch and up again to the next crest. The lowest part of the arch was reachable from my judgement, so it seemed my only hope at that time. I inched closer to one of the low arches ( maybe about my shoulder in height ), and in one move, I cleared it, putting only one hand on the top of the arch. Maybe it was two, I can’t remember, but the point is - my legs/feet never touched the wall. They wisked over, one after the other. Later my friend Edward said “Biodun used windmill to clear the wall” ( windmill is the breakdance move, was my specialty in those days ). It was my only encounter with an agressive gay person in Nigeria. ( except for one guy, who never said anything about gay, but liked to sit very close to me in the classroom seat, he would push up beside me while I was sitting, smiling a lot. It was very frustrating, and I hated him. I eventually stopped him from doing that ).

There were five minor miracles that happened along my journey. Minor miracles is a term my mother coined for her enterprise, after she quit her job, and decided to become independent ( much later in our lives, maybe a year before she was diagnosed with cancer in 1998 ).  Here is the first one, I will indicate the next two, as they unfold in the story. In my final/boarding house year of secondary school, we used to gather in front of the dinning hall, hundreds of us, waiting for the gate to be open so we can enter to eat. It was always a mad rush, and it was just so much fun to me in those days, all the different ways people used to get ahead so they could eat the most and best dish. I thought one day, in the spirit of fun, I would try my own style, which was to climb the side wall and sit on top there, close to the gate, which was a double sided gate that swung open to the outside. When the gate was opened, I would then grab the bar above it, and swing right in, ahead of everyone else. Not because I was desparate or hungry, but only because the whole thing was fun to me. When the time came, and they opened the gate, it first swung open towards us, so I felt this was the opportunity. I grabbed the top part that doesn’t move, and was about to swing in, when the force of the people trying to enter, forced the gate back closed. My thumb was caught between the top that doesn’t move, and the top of the part of the gate itself, that was now closed forcefully. It was like a powerful shear, that I was certain would cut my thumb off completely. Nobody seemed to notice, as they were all fighting to get in. I was horrified, thinking I had just lost my thumb, when the gate swung open again with the force of the people trying to open it to get in. I immediately pulled my hand and thumb free, and looked at it. To my great delight, my thumb was still there, with just a small wound on the side. It thrubbed for a while, but then was fine. I just thanked my lucky stars with all my heart. I never tried any such stunt again.

The years rolled by and sometime in 1987, one particular day I was listening to a cassette tape we had, and “Careless Whisper” by George Michael began to play and I was awed by how nice his voice sounded. I immediately thought to myself “men if I could sing like that, I would get some really pretty girls”. At the time, my normal singing voice was not good at all, when I sang alone, but when singing with the cassatte/radio, it sounded great, and so I began to sing to the radio a lot. I mean up to 5 or 7 hours a day, for no other reason than I enjoyed it so much. I really believed the way my voice was is the way it would be forever, but strangely, within 4 weeks or so, I noticed it began to change. First I got a sore throat and after it went, my voice sounded a little different, and started getting better and better, and I said to myself, wow! if this goes on, I will soon be able to sing alone without the radio/cassette, and it would sound great, and so I began to consciously develop my voice. My mother was a trained singer, and I found a book in her room called “training the singing voice”. I read it and saw how the author described the changes that happen to the voice when you begin to train it. The vibration goes from around your adams apple to your nose area, and the circumfrence of your throat goes from wider in the adams apple area to wider in the nasal area. This concurred with what seemed to be happening to me physically in my voice area. I was definitely getting ringing in my nose area, where it used to be in my adams apple area, and more widening of my throat in the nasal area. I’m not sure exactly how long but certainly within a year, my voice was so good, I could sing without a accompanying professional singer performance. There was a new popular singer back then, called Anita Baker, and my voice sounded exactly like hers, but maybe a little better ( yes I am a guy, but my voice at the time sounded very much like a natural woman ). One day I was alone in the house and singing an Anita Baker song in the shower. One of our friends ( Michelle Prest ) came in the house and heard me and said “Biodun, is that you?” I answered “yes”. He was surprised and said “I think say na cassette dey play”. I completely agreed with him in my mind, because I could hear how I sounded. Anyway, this went on for another year or so. Because my voice sounded good enough in stand alone mode, I began to take long walks too, just to sing to myself. After maybe one and a half years, suddenly one day my voice was gone. I would sing to the radio, but all there was was like an empty shell of a voice. I was confused, but then just thought naturally it would come back again, and it did. After maybe 2 weeks, it was back almost 100%, but then again in another 3 weeks or so, it was gone again. I thought again it would come back, but this time it never did. Just an empty shell of a voice. I did not enjoy singing again very much because of how it felt and sounded.

We lived on uniport campus and I had a very good friend (no name given), and in those days we used to do what we call “deal”. For instance we would canvas the the neigbourhoods looking for unguarded fire extinguishers, which we would steal, and then sell to get some money. Not that we really needed money but it was so much fun. My friend told us about mecury, that it is what they use to make money. They would go through a process of putting the paper cut in the size of Naira in some bowl and then add a liquid with the mecury to make the money legit. He told us mecury can be found in the electricity generators they had on compus, so we made a plan to go get some mecury. This would be the biggest “deal” we had done so far. The day came and we went to the generator in Choba park, just me and my friend. We breached the fence surrounding the generator and stood inside in front of the generator, which was buzzing loudly with electrical power. My friend lost his nerve and began to shake with fear. He was holding the big screwdriver we took to release the mecury. On seeing him compromised by fear, it made me very angry and I grabed the screwdriver from him and lashed at the glass case containing the mecury with all my might. The glass cracked on the first strike, so I immediately struck again even harder. The container broke a large hole and started pouring the mecury. My friend quickly took the large can we brought and started collecting the mecury. As it was pouring into the can he said “we’re rich!…. we’re rich!”. We filled the can completely and left. We parted ways with him taking the can of mecury with the idea he would sell it to the people who would process it and use it to make money. Nothing came of it, and my friend kept giving some excuse what happened to the mecury. We felt we had been duped and they had cut us out of the profit from selling the mecury. At some point my older brother Enitan, while we were talking to someone about the situation, mentioned “Biodun has something in the pipeline for <his name here>”. Meaning I had plans for revenge. I had no such plans but said nothing. I had a feeling he was just boosting my ego, like “Biodun is not someone to be messed with”. In those days my motto was “vengance is mine saith the lord”. I always kept such things up to God. Most importantly, I had no real evidence he was lying to us as I never saw them spending or having any extra money, so the jury was still out on that case. That is why it made so much sense to leave it to God, because he would know for sure. Sometime after that, <his name here> suddenly went mad. First they told me he was at the campus gate directing unseen birds in the air. Later I saw him around one of the girls hostel we called block B, and we sat on a car and I was trying to talk to him, but everything he was saying was completely incomprehensible. I had no idea how to react to this, because I liked him very much. He was maybe my closest friend at the time and I felt a deep sense of loss mixed with confusion. Something was telling me this may be because of what he did concerning the mecury, but I was not happy at all if that was the case. Looking back now, I’d bet it was satan, trying to make me take revenge based on the anger I felt at being duped.

One day we were in our living room listening to a Bob Marley album. The song “me and them” was playing and at some point, he sang the lyrics “but now its too late, you see men has lost their faith.. eating up all the flesh from all Jah..”. It resonated with me, as I now felt some guilt about eating animals. I did nothing at the time, but kept in the back of my mind, someday I will make an effort to stop doing that.

When I was in my fouth year in Uniport, we had to do the second of two phases of Industrial Training required by the Engineering degree. In the first phase, which I did in third year, I was posted to Shell Petroleum Development Company in Portharcourt. ( My father swung that one, through a friend he had that was in a high position in the company ). In this second phase, I ended up working for Agip Oil Company, which was Italian owned. I was stationed in a location not far from Portharcourt, called Ebocha, along with my very good friend Tonye Princewill. I normally came back to our home in Uniport ocassionally, when there was a little time, and then went back to Ebocha. One of those times I was going back to Ebocha, and hailed a taxi on the East-West road junction. It was a Peageot 504 Station Wagon, which has front row seats ( driver/passenger ), back seats, and a third row you could get to by raising a rear seat to enter into the third row. There was only one space left in that third row, so I got in, sitting in the middle between two people. I had my walkman with me, playing music and once I was situated, put the headphones on as we started to move. I believe it was Anita Baker playing, and with the headphones fully on, I became oblivious to the people around me and started singing along with it. Not all the song, but after a small part, I realized I may be actually louder than I thought in the car, and disturbing, so I kind of controlled myself not to sing out loud anymore, though I could see some cheerful reactions in the car.

I shared the same hostel room in Ebocha with Tonye, and again, when we were just hanging out in the room, nothing doing, I put my walkman on again and started singing Anita Baker again. I was standing up singing, and he was lying on his bed, and after a minute or so, he put his fingers in his ears like blocking them. I kept on singing, knowing he was not really offended, and was thinking he probably liked it a little. I knew then that my voice was not good as it used to be, but theres a certain magic, when I put the headphones on, and I cannot hear my own voice. I become oblivious to how terrible I may sound. There was another day we (Tonye and I) were walking from one part of Ebocha, back to the hostels, distance is about one third mile walk. Along the way, I just started singing a Whitney Houston song ( I’m pretty sure it was “saving all my love” ). When I finished, he applauded, and my voice was not even near what it was at its peak, but just acceptable.

Friendships were not toxic at all in those days. There was no judgement, no satan, just good friends, enjoying each others company. No hint whatsoever that anyone thought they were better than others, except from my cousin Olumide, always projected he was better and more intelligent than everyone else. And most of all, the only one who knew the way to get girls. Everyone else to him was a “slack man”, especially you appeared to really like the girl. That was abomination to him. Charm the girl with raps, get her to sleep with you then dump her, was a real mans way, they ( he and somewhat like minded friends ) would call such a person a “sharp man”. I mostly ignored or humored him, but was disgusted with his behaviour. Even my father chastised him once about his arrogance and called him a “spec of insignificance”. He was kind of happy or proud about that.  I know for sure he had some personal vendetta against women, like they had hurt him in the past and he had to hurt them back as much as possible. Of course he loved sex very much, so that had to be part of the deal.  Another habit he had ( also with some like minded friends ) was to call certain types of girls BM, which means “Bush Meat”. Any girl who did not seem sophisticated would fit that bill, or maybe not pretty enough. One day, he even called my sister Oruene a BM. In those days, Oruene was nowhere near as bad as she became in America, and I was really angry with Olumide for daring to say that, but kept it inside.  At that time, his negativity worked in one way, which is that, any girl who fell for him, lost a little bit of value in my eyes.  Women who cannot tell the real thing from a fake, is what I thought, but today, I know better.  It was most likely granted by satan, in an attempt to influence me.  Years later, when we were in America, we were in a store of sorts, and I came across a bottle of beer with the label “Arrogant Bastard Ale”. The picture on the label was of a deamon type looking person, that somewhat resembled him. I was so excited, I grabbed the bottle and went to him. “ I’m buying this beer for you, look, that is you!”. I handed him the bottle, he looked at it and was serious. Not a reaction I expected, because I really thought it was funny that someone knew of his type so well to actually make a beer with that label and sell it. I took it from him and went to pay for it. I took it home with us and kept pestering him to drink it. He never smiled or laughed and definitely did not even come near the bottle. After a day or two it was clear he wouldn’t drink it, so I drank it myself.

I was somewhat foolish in my youth, and did some risky things without feeling any sense of danger. In particular, I had sex many times with two different girls, without using a condom. I know full well today, God prevented them from getting pregnant. I think I even saw one of them - the first one, move her hips upward while lying down, as if trying to get the sperm to go to her ovaries. In those days, concerning girls, my interest was weighted more on the side of sex, but certainly if any of the girls I was really attracted to had accepted my advances, I would have loved to have a steady girlfriend. The only girls that seemed interested were at a level of beauty I felt I would be settling for, and I did not want to settle. The two girls I mentioned, I felt were not really what I was looking for in a steady relationship. I was still a virgin when I met the first one (Uloma or Ufoma), and she pretty much chased me down, and because I was so curious about sex, I let it happen. The second girl (Ada), I liked very much, but was looking more for like a "friends with benefits" situation. When I told her this, she got mad and left, and never came back. We had already had sex many times by then ( without condom ). I never wanted to stop being with her, but I was explaining something to her one day and said the words "when two people are having a sexual relationship..." she cut me off at that point, saying "so that is what this is?" I tried to explain further, but she just left, and I didn't bother to pursue her.

One day, I went to my moms room, to see her about something, and on her bedside drawer/night stand, I saw a Michael Jackson cassette. Thriller album. I was surprised, because she never played or listened to popular or mordern music. She was always into Nigerian traditional songs, spirituals or old American folk music. I asked her, “why do you have a Michael Jackson cassette, it’s not like you?”. She said she had heard he was the best male falsetto in the world, so she wanted to check it out. I was kind of elated at the revelation she may like modern music too. I also thought in my mind - she doesn’t know her own son has a better female sounding voice than Michael Jackson. I think she had an idea though, because in those days, when I would be singing loudly in my room to the radio, she would hear me and come over to my room, very excited. On her way over, she would be saying out loud, “Michael….  Michael…”. I knew she was refering to Michael Jackson, and was very impressed how much I sounded like him. She would enter my room, and I would just continue singing while she stood there, looking at me with a happy smile. After a few moments, she would turn around and leave me to continue singing.

In 1990, I graduated University of Portharcout with a Bachelors in Electrical Engineering. My grade was a pass, which is below third class. I was very happy with that and just wanted to move on. I knew it was not reflective of my ability at all, and did not care. I always knew I would have no problem in life, and in fact be very successful. In my very early years I was always the top three in class, but that changed mysteriuosly in secondry school form four, which is tenth grade in American schooling system. I began to come almost last in class, and this continued maybe till I got my Bachelors. It never really changed my happiness. So I came to America in November of 1990, and arrived New York City, to live with my brother and sister in Staten Island. My family and my cousins family where always *very* close. We always enjoyed each others company very much and were so giddy with happiness whenever we visited each other. When I arrived in America though, things had changed. The most senior (Niyi) had kind of abandoned the others giving them an image like they are “neer do wells”, so it was him and his wife and children against his brother (Niji), my brother (Enitan) and my sister (Oruene). I was living with the three, but Niyi would call me specifically some times and arranged a day when I could come visit him in New Jersey. The day I arrived in New Jersey, Niyis wife (Angela) picked me up at the train/bus station. I was so excited to meet her, and started chatting happily. Next thing I know, she started asking of my plans. I told her I would be applying to colleges to do a masters. She said “what if that doesn’t happen, then what?” I was surprised. What kind of thinking is this? Anyway, I started to come up with possible contingencies, and at everything she would say again “what if that doesn’t happen, then what?. I had never encountered such a situation in my life before, someone seems so stupid they have to have a plan for every single contingency to the ends of the earth. It was not only the questions, but the aggressive tone she was using. This is someone she has just met for the first time, how can she consider that I am an idiot that doesn’t know how to move about my life? I immediately realized I was talking to a fool, and stopped talking to her. It was very sad to me because I had great expections of the friends and new family members I would meet in America. I knew I would never be seeking out her company in the future. This was my first encounter with what today I call a “satan idiot” that I figured was just an American phenomenon. When we got to where Niyi was, I mentioned nothing of this to him. Nothing significant happened for the next year, but I applied to many universities to do a masters in Computer Engineering, and got rejected by all, but City College of New York. I think I was visiting an old friend of ours called Gloria Hart ( now changed her name to Dele Husbands ), and she suggested I apply to City College which was just a few blocks from where she lived then. I took her advice and to my surprise, they accepted me. They did not have Computer Engineering, so I “settled” for Computer Science. To this day I believe God did that change for me, because it turns out Computer Science was so much better for my life, not to say it had so much more job opportunities. I also realize now that it was definitely the hand of God that allowed me to be admitted to the Masters program because my Bachelors performance was so bad. If there was no God, there is no way any university would have accepted me. Amen. I did not think about it then, because at that time the idea of God and satan were still somewhat unreal to me, unless to say I always had a belief things would work out great for me in this life. It had always been that way for me.

Niyi did something that surprised me around the time I was still staying with my brother, sister and his brother Niji. One day he called on the phone and when I answered, the first thing he started shouting was "FREELOADER...  FREELOADER...". He was throwing in a serious insult in the form of a joke, and I was surprised because he was never that way in Nigeria. We were never that way. To even think someone staying with you while you are trying to get on your feet is in anyway a freeloader. It makes no sense at all, and just showed how much America had twisted his mind in a bad way, sowing seeds of a western Philosophy. A cold place that doesn't care for brothers and sisters. Sad, and there is no way to see it as a joke. He threw in a few other attempts to put me down or disgrace me in form of jokes later on my journey - for example, I will tell the one about when he tried to pull my shorts down in public later. He loves the form of joking to do his shit.

While staying with Enitan, Oruene and Niji in Staten Island (78 Lockman Ave), my first year in America, my Dad had given me his computer to give to Enitan to fix. I gave it to him and the computer just stayed on a shelf for ages. Enitan never found time to take it to a computer repair. I was not happy about it at all, but instead of confronting him, I decided to take it to the computer guy myself. I also considered that Enitan was a working man and did not have so much time to do so, and since I was pretty much free without a job, it makes sense that I take it. The only issue was I was so new I did not know my way around, but I took the chance anyway. The computer guy fixed the laptop which we returned to my dad. One day at the Lockman Ave apartment, we were all discussing about white people ( I certainly did not bring up the topic ). Complaining really about their behaviour and I agreed with a few of the points that were made. I had also noticed how white people seemed to behave toward non whites, but at one point Enitan now said “they have little dicks”. It took me by surprise, like why say such a thing. First off, doesn’t he know I have a small dick myself? Second, why would you measure a person by the size of his dick? It seemed like a very low level way of thinking or critisizing a people. A little later my sister Oruene called me one day and said she had saved some money so I can get on my feet in America. She gave me $500, and then said to me “but you must pay it back. Don’t think I’m like Enitan that would give you free money and you will not pay back”. I was shocked. We never acted like this toward each other in Nigeria. When she told me this, I had already spent $20 from the money, so I quickly asked Enitan for $20 to pay her back the complete $500, as such a situation with Oruene was horribly abhorrent to me. He gave me the $20 and I immediately gave Oruene back the $500. She started crying like I had hurt her somehow. On another occasion, my sisters job was having an office party and she could bring someone along, so she took me. I was very excited especially to meet some pretty girls there. In those days, I had just come from Nigeria, and in Nigeria, we never wear deodorant. I was very used to going natural and loved it. On our way back from the party, my sister began to express her complete dissapointment with me, how I embarrassed her by stinking up the whole place. I was completely shocked at her treatment of me and very very angry inside, but I said nothing. I couldn’t wait to be on my feet so I can just live by myself without this kind of uncompassionate behaviour. The way I saw it, a stinking character is a lot worse than stinking armpits. And I didn’t think I smelled that bad. Between this and the $500 situation, I really did not like her anymore. I later got in the mode of wearing deodorant when I went out, but to this day, I don’t really like it. I’m back in Nigeria and now sometimes when I go out, I go natural and never notice any bad odor. Quite a lot of people in Nigeria still don’t use it and I like that a lot. I feel so much freer here ( I also don’t like to wear a watch or neck chains of any sort. I feel a tiny bit imprisoned by them, and just love total freedom. Just clothes ( of course I love them ), and slippers).

Another day in Staten Island, I went down Lockman ave and around the corner, where there was a basketball court. I began to play by myself. After a short while, a group of black boys from the projects close by arrived. One of my hopes when coming to America was to meet and make good friends with black people in america. The image I had was painted by movies/shows by Eddie Murphy, Richard Prior, Bill Corsby, and of course all the music and videos. They began to play with me and they were very rough and uncaring. I never got the ball and they were insulting me a lot, how I could not play at all. One of them in particular was just extremely mean. when they were done he took my ball and they all began to leave. He was still talking very aggressively and one of his friends bagan to plead with him to give the ball back to me. Eventually, when they were quite far away, he threw it in my direction. It was a rude awakening to the reality of black people behaviour in USA. I know many are good, but I had no idea many are this bad.  Maybe a week or two later, I went to the same place, hoping those guys will not show again. This time a group of latino guys came, and started playing with me, and the energy was totally different. They were complimenting me every time I took a shot, even if I missed. Always kept me in the loop and game, I was so happy playing with them. I learned that your best friends may not be of your race or family, but rather people of similar spirit.

Please click this link for part 1b