This is scary. I’m sat here trying to piece together what happened in August, and I can’t come up with much. It’s unsettling and thinking about it, I had limited sun exposure this month. I wasn’t outside, I was inside mostly writing, editing, rewriting but not OUTSIDE. Was it chiefly because I wasn’t financially empowered? Maybe.

Still, there were some notable strides worth mentioning.

This man here is now a corporate diva. What I mean is: I am now EMPLOYED! It was a long, arduous journey; one filled with plenty of back-and-forth, especially over proper, appropriate remuneration. Finally, common ground was reached. I accept congratulations in different currencies and food deliveries. E-friend, you know how long I wanted this, and how God gave it to me. Bet you we’re just getting started, and we’re going to make the most of this opportunity.

There’s this thing my brain has been doing, especially when it comes to remembering my mum. Last month, I had conversations with friends about her, and every time I recount what happened, I’m immediately overrun by a grief my body almost can’t hold. It only happens when I’m asked about her directly. I’ve tried, intentionally, not to suppress these feelings about her passing. But unbeknownst to me, my brain has been quietly running from them anyway actively avoiding the weight of holding those emotions. I don’t know if that’s a good thing, or if one day it’ll all compound. It bothers me, because I’m usually someone who knows things.

Asake’s sounds were my favourite sound this month and guys with chiselled bodies were my favourite sights. I am actively trying to get mine chiselled too.

For September, baby, I want it to come easy for you. You’ve been holding it all together since January, this month, let it be light. Maybe take yourself out for ice cream. Appreciate yourself. You’re IT!

Tell me how August was for you? I am so keen to hear you.

Happy new month babes,

Till I talk to you next,

Stay yummy.

All of my love,

MartinBoo

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At the end of the day, babes, we are empty vessles filled with memories of love that happened, ones unrequited, ones missed and ones that could’ve happened.

These memories are the ones that hurt most and not absolute absence.

You should hear from me again before August ends. You should but must not.

Happy new month babes,

All my love,

MartinBoo

In John 11:21, Martha said to Jesus, “If you had been here, Lord, my brother would not have died.” A few verses later in 32, Mary says the exact same thing: “If you had been here, my brother would not have died.”

I knew someone had to have felt this slighted before me. In the Bible, even. Mary and Martha did.

So now I ask, “Lord, if you were here, would my mother have died?”

I expect no answer. But these verses have been sitting in my mind for a while now.

Like I promised, in last newsletter, this is the picture of I and my mum that I described. Such happiness. How do one recover?

I would want to tell you how June was, but really, there is nothing to tell. Same grief. Same joblessness. Same studying. Same crying. Nothing has changed. What scares me is the realization that I am now co-sharing my space with grief. I will carry it on my back every day. It has forced my mind open to something I have never experienced before.

I have experienced the loss of physical items. I have experienced unrequited love. I have experienced hate. I have experienced happiness, lust, love, anger, shame but not this.

I might even say I’ve built a fairly full profile across the emotional spectrum. But this – this thing I feel now –is new. Foreign, every single day.

I weigh 84kg. My friends argue it can’t possibly be all flesh, that it has to be bone density. I disagree. I’ve seen my backside, and it carries a couple of those kilos on its own. But as much as I weigh, I still worry whether my body can hold all of these new emotions without disintegrating. Vanishing. Fizzling out.

Like I said, nothing new happened in June. But let me tell you what’s coming in July.

In July, my mother will be buried.

The thought of it makes me happy and terribly sad in the same breath. Happy, because I get to see my mum. Sad, because it will be the last time I see the very first woman I fell and stayed in love with, for twenty-seven years. A baddie who taught me how to stay a baddie. A moving woman. An achiever.

I have sung at burial masses before. I started last year, as a way of carrying out my corporal work of mercy, “burying the dead.” Not once did I stop to imagine the storm of emotion the deceased’s loved ones were standing in. I’d say a Hail Mary for them and keep it moving. A year later, here I am, held hostage by the very thing I walked past.

I asked George, a friend, “Does the pain of losing a mother ever get lighter?”

He said, “Honestly, it won’t. Especially when you were close to her. You’ll cry uncontrollably. It never gets easy, and years from now, you’ll still think about her and miss her.”

Struck by how honest that was, I told him, “She could have given me ten more years. I could’ve been more matured to handle this.”

He said, “One can never be matured for grief, actually.”

So either way, I come out short.

“There’s no escaping this,” I said. “Lai lai,“ he replied.

Tufiakwa! Uwa ntoor!

In physics, we were taught that Brownian motion is the continuous, random, zigzag movement of microscopic particles suspended in a fluid. In July, I will be in Brownian motion. Untethered. I already know my being will not exist in any condensed state. I am trying to prepare myself, but I know genuinely that I will never be even half ready. That saddens me more than I expected. Phew!.

Still, I am grateful for my friends. They have been spectacular. Not a single day passes without someone checking in, sending opportunities, asking how preparations are going. They’ve been so sweet, trying their best to carry this grief alongside me. But grief, sadly, can’t really be shared that way. It’s a selfish emotion. It doesn’t like company. At first it sits on you heavily, and after that... well, I haven’t gotten there yet.

Let me let you in on something. I still ask and pray that God raises my mum like he did for Lazarus. I also ask that my mum comes to me in whatever way to say sorry to me. I don’t know if saying sorry will help but I just want her to say it to me. I know if wishes were horses, mine would be ridden to death by now.

This month, I really enjoyed Oba by Adekunle Gold and Forgiveness by Asake. Impeccable artistes, honestly. I remember dancing to both with Mfon, music on blast, the two of us reminiscing on the past and dreaming up the future.

Sights? Me. I am, currently, a sight for my own sore eyes.

What do I leave you with?

I want to be selfish and ask, what advise do you have for me? Are there ways to carry the grief of next month? Is there anything that could make it even a tiny bit more bearable? I’m willing to hear you out.

Please, friend, Pray for my mum and if you can as well, Pray for I and my family.

Happy new month, darling.

Nodukwa ofuma, asa.

Till I speak with you next,

Stay beautiful.

All my love,

MartinBoo

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At a certain time, my mum called to complain about something with her health. something the doctor had already explained. The issue was permanent now, and she still couldn’t understand it, or rather, couldn’t accept this permanence. I remember saying the words: “Mummy, this is our normal now. It is your normal now. This is the new normal. Let’s begin to adapt to it as soon as we can.”

Now, in the middle of the night, right when I am studying, I am confronted by heavy grief. It doesn’t tap on my shoulder. It climbs onto my chest and sits there, knees first, then full weight. I can’t breathe. Just tears, hot, stupid, endless tears that fall onto my laptop and blur the words until they mean nothing. This grief temporarily cripples me. I am yet to accept that my mum has left me. Totally abandoned her last child. How do you abandon a 27-year-old child like me? Mummy please?

I am 27. For 25 years of my life, I was with my mum and dad physically. My entire being, my essence, my decisions, my success, my growth, all of it hinged on them like a door on its hinges. Now the door has no frame. How do I begin to live life without my mum? I don’t know. I really don’t know.

My new normal is to waddle through life without her. To walk with a limp in my soul. A scar to my being. How privileged I was then when I spoke to her. How privileged. I didn’t know I was saying goodbye in advance. I didn’t know I was rehearsing for this.

Not all griefs are the same, dear friend. All deaths are the same because essentially, they involve the cessation of electrical activity in the body. But the grief? Absolutely not. In my opinion, those who had a loved one die in a catastrophic way will not experience grief like those whose family member died while asleep. Those who held the hands of their loved ones while they went through agonizing death will be met, in addition to grief, with trauma. And often, that trauma presents itself later almost at the exact moment when grief becomes bearable. Like a moulting butterfly, grief wears a new apron of trauma. And almost immediately, it starts choking you again.

I’d want to show you a recent picture I took with my mum, but my iPhone has spoiled and I do not have 50k lying somewhere to repair it. Best believe that when I get it repaired, I will show you my angel. It was her birthday celebration in Lagos in December 2024, I was hugging her tightly with my head resting on her breasts and all my teeth out. I will find it and show you.

Forgive me, babes. I am so undone. Like a spongy foam soaked in salt water, my heart is dense. It doesn’t bounce anymore. Even when I laugh loudly, truly loudly, the kind of laugh that used to come from my belly, it feels floated. Detached. As if the laugh is happening in a room next door and I am just hearing it through the wall. The happiness I feel now is momentarily and not deep-rooted. It is hinged on forgetting. And forgetting is a splinter I can’t remove. I am trying, man. I am definitely trying. My knuckles are white from trying.

Oh, May? What happened in May? I concluded my NYSC. That means I am back on the job market. Purr! I have basic competencies in business development and marketing. I have my CV and can share it for you to look at. Please recommend me for any of the above roles. Baby, I am a quick learner and a fast achiever. I promise I will not let you down.

Favorite sound? As I look up to the cross, quite teary for me, especially when it gets to the part of “I say goodbye to the evil world.” Please do listen to the song. As someone who doesn’t waste a bit to question God, surprisingly, I am not questioning Him. And I hate that. I hate that I am not angry enough. I should be able to ask Him questions but instead, my mouth is filled with reassuring verses that friends have been sharing with me. I am held strongly by the cold arms of grief. It spanks me, watches me cry, says sorry, and then goes ahead to spank me later. A cycle that I sometimes wonder if it will ever end.

Favorite sight? Any picture of my mum. Just one. I so much love that woman. I can’t explain it. I have never been in a relationship ever, so all my love, every drop of it has been channelled to my family and a few friends. Now, I am her last child. And damn. She left me like that? She left me? Does she know how badly I am hurting? How her absence makes my life flounder? Does she have any idea that I press my palms into my eyes until I see stars, just to stop the crying? That I talk to her phone number even though it will never ring again? That I have started hugging her yellow wrapper when no one is watching? This is so sad. How do I begin to do life without her? What is the way forward?

What of you? How was May? Any better? Talk to me, please. Tell me about a food you loved. A song you played on repeat. A stranger who was kind or unkind.

For June, I hope life eases a bit for you. That you smile more than you are sad. That you see life in colors. That you win. That you take breaks.

Happy new month babes,

Till we speak next time, jisikwa ike asa m.

All my love,

MartinBoo

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Yesterday, my world collapsed.

One of the strongest pillars of my life was ripped away. Not gently. Not gradually. Just… gone.

I lost my mum.

And now? Now the world is in grayscale. No colors. No love. No light. Just this heavy, suffocating bleakness that follows me into every room, every breath, every silence.

She was my home. And now I’m wandering.

So forgive me if I can’t find the words to be okay. I’m not.

But still, through the fog, through the wreckage,

Happy new month, babes.

Till I talk to you next,

Kwechiri

All of my love

MartinBoo

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I lack words for March. I do not have the right words. It has been one devastating piece of news after another from this country. The fuel hike has eaten deeper into Nigerians’ finances, with no concurrent increase in wages and salaries, and the bandit attacks as well in the far north and in our backyard. The tone-deafness of the Haves infuriates me all the more. This country takes far more than it gives. I remember a conversation I had with a colleague at the office. I was supposed to be done with school at 22 years, but at 27, I am still doing my NYSC. It simply doesn’t make sense. Now, as a pharmacist, I am scheming for extra gigs to at least buy shawarma without going into financial crisis. The patients! Those who barely eat have been saddled with chronic, life-threatening, or end-stage diseases. How are they surviving? What makes me different from these people? Thoughts like this have been occupying my mind lately.

How come I wasn’t born in a war-torn country? As an oppressed woman? Why am I not destitute? A serially raped, maimed girlfriend? Why am I not a sex worker? Why am I not a bricklayer paid a penny?

Who decides who gets the better end of the bargain? On what metrics do they decide this? Why do some get it so bad? There ought to be some explanation. I would have loved to go down the rabbit hole and find answers, but damn, I have no time anymore. Sad! I am growing into what I said I won’t be--an always busy adult.

Sorry for my rant, my friend.

March was bland. Colourless. Hueless. March tasted like the Jollof rice the woman at the office cafeteria cooks. Looks like jollof but tastes otherwise. It was filled with strife. In March, I was nursing my wounds from the many rejections I had received. I was exchanging strong words with bus drivers/conductors. I was trekking all the time to reduce my tfare. I was full of complaints, and hear me, I tried to find something to be happy about. I did find it, but it is always overshadowed by traumatizing news and feedback. In March, I was contemplating confronting people who commented on the shape of my ass or my mannerisms, or those who threatened to rape me or refused to help simply because I was effeminate.

In March, I was defeated. Beaten. Broken. Brought to my knees. Puffy red eyes from silent cries. I groaned a lot this month. Surprisingly, I have yet to question God. If it had been yesterday, I would have sat him down and expressly demanded an explanation. But that will be me speaking from a place of privilege. There are those grieving. Those in captivity. Those in grave suffering, and this makes me even more mad! God please!

So therefore, friend, I know that it ain’t rosy all the time. Heck, for a long while now, there has not been any rosy at all. I want to say, “Hold on,” but will that not be insensitive? So, I will lend you words someone said to me: “A moving man will surely meet his luck, and we are always rooting for you.”

Please, try again. I solemnly swear to try again this month of April. We are not asking for the whole bakery, Abba. What we seek is just enough bread for the day. So, friend, try again in April. I won’t say April will be better, but surely if you stay long enough at the barbing salon, you will get a haircut.

Pinky promise to try again?

Happy new month, babes.

Lest I forget, I will like to introduce you to Love letters that I love and I think you will love to read them. Victor Ugoo Njoku from Victor Writes, DELIGHT from DELIGHT and Seraphina.

This month, Asake saved me with his songs. All of them! All! His Red Bull Symphonic available on YouTube is an absolute masterpiece. Shouldn’t it be Symphony instead of Symphonic?

Till I write to you next, Kwechiri Asa (No gree)

All my love,

MartinBoo

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Last week, I caught myself in a mirror. I had a rare opportunity to watch myself walk in a mirror. Not just a glance, but a real, deliberate watch. I watched myself walk. Each step made my hips sway, gliding from left to right, left to right. It seemed like each side was trying to outdo the other, vying for the title of that girl. I watched, and my heart swelled with a giddy kind of joy. It was such a beautiful sight. I know one of these days, I’ll get the opportunity to watch it from the back. Till then, I’ll reserve my final judgment. But now, I finally understand some of the commotion that surrounded me in February.

Let’s start with my lips. The same lips everyone has, sure, but I’ve always taken mine a little more seriously. For years, I’ve been using Nivea and Vaseline lip balms. They kept my lips soft and made my whole look feel cohesive. But last month, I decided to try something new: the “Ushas Hydrating Lip Balm.” Baby, the moment I tried it, I had to text my friend Jennifer. I told her I might have found a gem. She immediately wanted to try it. I am never afraid to try something new. A new job, a new balm, a new place. I just don’t become satisfied.

You see, I’ve tried never to become. I want to always be becoming. I’ve always been a little wary of people who have attained and then just… stopped. Don’t you feel like there’s always more? And that’s why I want to tell you about another part of me. Something people just talk about all the time. Stay with me, babes.

If someone asked me to define a bunda, I wouldn’t search for words. I’d simply point at my behind. An ikebe. An eskelebe. A bootaayy! I’d stand and show them. For people like me, those of us who have weathered all kinds of verbal, physical, and emotional abuse about how we look, behave, and move, your eyes become trained. You learn to spot the perfect imperfections in God’s creations in one sight. A misaligned hip. Knocked knees. A bald. A cretin. The things the world calls flaws. You notice them instantly. But because you know the weight of being reduced to a single body part, you look past it. You focus on the beauty, which is always louder.

That’s why a beggar can stop me and ask why I walk like a girl, telling me to straighten up. A short man can advise me to stop caring so much about my lips. A barren woman can demand to know where my penis has been. A priest can stop in his tracks to gossip about me. You face this kind of cruelty everywhere: On the pulpit, in the office, on the road, at choir practice, in the gym, and most recently, in the DMs. But then I go home, strip down to my Adamic suit, look at my behind in the mirror, and marvel. I shout Bundaaa! Oginidi! Only you, this one??? kaii!

So no, I don’t fret when new friendships fade. I know some people will have to explain to their old friends why they’re befriending an effeminate man, as if my existence questions their own. Like a friend told me long ago: “Martin, find your own tribe.” I say the same to you. My friends who have held me softly but firmly, I love how I experience such love from y’all.

Last month, my nephew turned one and baby, it was a party! I also get to watch my brother and his wife be parents in real time. I know they’re making a well thought faith-based parents. 1 year being an uncle and yaay, I’m pumped for year 2

Dearest friend. I know. You know. We’ve both seen those imperfections, and we know the hours you’ve spent trying to mask them. You got so distracted by the container that you forgot to fill it. And honestly? Polishing the container is the more demanding, exhausting work. You begin to live on caprices of those who don’t matter. People full of noise. Shallow brains that produce empty conversations. You forget to live. To become you. To laugh loudly. To dance naked. To profess love. To hug tightly. To be YOU! To be the person you’ve always wanted to be. Live, baby, Live!!

So here’s what I leave with you: You don’t deserve to rest. You need to rest. And in a world obsessed with final destinations, remember that you’re THAT PERSON. Don’t just become. Keep becoming. Keep experimenting. Acquire those tastes. Choose you!

You’re such a gorgeous human. I adore you.

Happy new month, Darling! Happy new week too.

Before I forget, I’ve started doing push-ups every morning. I’m trying to build these chests. Although I’m yet to get past 15, it’s one of the things I love forward to every morning. I also had a haircut and I do look ravishing.

Till next time,

All my love,

MartinBoo

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You will ask me how January went and I will begin with this story below of Fr. Tobias Okonkwo

“On a Saturday, lying on the floor of my room in lodge, I had the strong urge to start gyming. I made enquiries about the enrolment fee. I had the shoes but I didn’t have the clothes. I started calling all of my friends. That was when I called Fr. Tobias. I explained why I was calling him and why it is important that I get those wears. He said he doesn’t have any. The two he has; he uses them to play football. Saddened, I closed that chapter. On Tuesday, he led me to his car and handed me one out of the two football jerseys. Said my thank-yous and moved. This January, I wore that jersey and was washed anew with longing, for him, for his friendship. I remember when I was called that morning telling me he’s being killed. I absolutely don’t know why I am saying this but I have noticed that my heart is slowly getting compacted with bottled emotions like grief and loss and want and almost-me”

January wasn’t flavourful. I got a new shoe which made me buy new socks. I am happy when I look at my feet now. My sister-in-law gifted us a blender and I intend to work on new recipes. I cried a lot this month. Special thanks to friends that held me close as I heaved. I wish I had better things to say to you. Please pray for my priest friend, Tobias, that the lord will accept his soul.

Words I leave you with?

We’ve started babes. Keep those legs on the gas! Accelerate and move!

How was January? Talk to me, please.

Happy new month

Till I talk to you next,

All my love

MartinBoo

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Roberto Escobar and David Fisher wrote the 289-page book. Fisher, for the past three decades, has been writing about mafia hitmen and Nobel prize winners. This is my first time reading him. This book was first published in US under the title of “The accountant’s story” Here’s a summary.

In Colombia, in the city of Titirubu, lived the Escobar family. A father who was a cattle rancher and a mother who was a teacher, along with two boys (Roberto & Pablo) and a girl (Gloria), lived modestly. It was there that the Chusmeros, the Mobs, unsuccessfully tried to kill them, forcing the parents to send the boys to live with their grandmother in Medellin (City of everlasting spring), the second most populous city in Colombia. It was in the streets of Medellin that they were formed, and in that same street was where Pablo died. The two boys began their lives as delivery boys, using their bicycles. With wages earned, they attended their first nightclub and had their first blowjobs from the city’s prostitutes. Roberto went on to become electronics engineer and later studied accounting. He took his bicycle racing pro and represented Colombia in national and international competitions eventually growing to own stores where he sold bicycles as well as coach the national cycling team of Colombia. Pablo, on his own, was a political science student at the University of Antiochia. He was well-versed in global politics and literature and spoke multiple languages. Pablo had the intention of becoming a criminal lawyer and finally ending up in the corridors of politics. It was then that Roberto Gaviria, Pablo’s maternal grandfather, introduced him to the business of smuggling contraband into Colombia.

From smuggling tobacco and liquor with his grandfather, he joined one of the successful smuggling groups in Medellin, run by Rafael Puente, further expanding the importation of contraband goods. He worked in the contraband business for three years, rising to the top of the group and learning to open new smuggling routes. However, the business came to an abrupt end after the police burst. But for Pablo, this marked the end of the contraband business and the beginning of the life that would make him infamous. The idea of doing the cocaine business initially came from a man known as Cucaracho, who asked Pablo and his cousin, Gustavo Gaviria, to go to Peru for a business deal. It was in Peru that they were introduced to people who will sell cocaine paste, the base. On his first trip, Pablo bought a Kilo for $60, and once he confirmed his customers, he began his drug business, eventually recruiting his brother as his accountant.

Pablo’s cocaine business continued to grow, moving into new cities and countries. However, the Escobars’ family changed forever when Pablo decided to send his drugs into America. Before then, there had been a long-established marijuana business between Colombia and the USA, but not much market for cocaine, but that began to change when Americans began growing much of their own Marijuana and the marijuana business began to wither. Pablo seized this opportunity to flood America with his drugs. To Americans, there were no much difference between Marijuana and Cocaine except that Cocaine was more addictive. The first way he moved his drugs to America was through used airplane tires to Miami. He opened up other cities to his drugs, cities like Florida, Colorado, California, Texas, and New York became his market. Initially, Pablo was sending one shipment every week, and the profit for each kilogram was approximately $100,000. He was still earning almost $2million a week, but the American market was insatiable; the demand exceeded supply. He built multiple hidden laboratories where these pastes were being processed. Pablo constructed the largest and most advanced laboratory in a remote area on the Venezuelan border. He had scientists who kept coming up with new, undetectable ways cocaine could be transported. These scientists found out that cocaine could be chemically blended into products made of plastic, metals, and liquids, forming it into PVC pipe, religious statues, etc. They mixed cocaine with flowers, with soft-drinks, the cooks even soaked clothes like blue jeans in the liquid. Pablo employed different shipping methods, from used airplane tires to suitcases, boats, speedboats, ships, hollow-bottom shoes, wheelchairs, hollow walking sticks, and mules swallowing condoms of cocaine.

Pablo had everyone across multiple countries on his payroll. The police, the Army, the judges, the poor, the rich, the airport staff, pilots, aircrews, and anyone who was needed to ensure that the supply of the drugs were uninterrupted were paid handsomely. He had an unbroken flow of information and a network of trusted messengers—people involved in the transport of cocaine earned between $1000 and $500,000 per delivery. Over time, Pablo began transporting drugs for other people, charging as high as 35%. This led to the formation of the Medellin cartel, which was a loose structure of independent drug dealers with Pablo as its leader. Pablo meant business!

The same way these drugs left Medellin was the same way the cash came in, physical cash! This now fell under the jurisdiction of the accountant, Roberto, to launder this money. In addition to investing in companies, putting it in real estates and allowing it flow through the money systems of countries like Panama, Pablo bought magnificent art including paintings by Picasso, Dali, Botero. This cash eventually grew beyond what he could handle alone, and he had to employ a few accountants. To launder the money, he did this through real estate business, shady business deals, and opened multiple accounts under false names. It got so bad that they had to start hiding cash in caletas (openings in the walls of houses), in tables and chairs, underground, and even in beds. All of these were done in numerous locations and across multiple cities, causing them to lose track of their whereabouts. Robert claimed that they lost 10% of the proceeds due to decay caused by damp walls. Everyone, especially the poor, loved Pablo; he took care of every genuine plea for assistance. He even created an office tasked with verifying the genuineness of the pleas and funding them accordingly. Pablo built multiple stadiums for Colombia and also sponsored sport competitions. Pablo’s cocaine business was so highly successful that at every time, Pablo and Roberto had $500,000 cash on them. With this much liquidity, they went to bed with the government. They sponsored politicians via hot money (a term used when politicians collect money from drug dealers). Things turned sour when Pablo announced his intention to become president of Colombia. It was that declaration that sent him to war with the Colombian & US government, America delta force, FBI, DEA, Army, coast guards, customs and rival cartel, Cali. Everyone wanted Pablo, dead or alive. A bounty of $10million bounty on Pablo and Roberto. The manhunt for Pablo just begun officially.

The USA had intercepted multiple cocaine shipments into the country, and all fingers pointed towards Pablo. America has already started feeling the havoc cocaine addiction was having on its population. Pablo at this time had erected processes and structures that ensured that even in his absence, drugs were still being moved globally and cash came in. 80% of cocaine shipped into US were controlled by the Medellin cartel The US mounted pressure on Colombia on arresting drug dealers and extraditing them to USA to face charges. However, Pable strongly opposed this. Eventually, the Colombian government signed the extradition treaty. The US in unison with Colombian government placed a bounty on Pablo’s head, coordinating with all law enforcement agencies. Even rival cartels were in on the chase. Drug dealers who were extradited faced an international judge, and Pablo didn’t like the way they were treated. Even in all of these, Pablo fought back. Colombian judges were slain, government structures were scorched, scores of soldiers and police officers were killed. Colombians weren’t left out. This also added extra pressure on the Colombian government to rescind the extradition treaty as Pablo was ready to surrender.

Pablo surrendered and built his own prison called “The Cathedral,” where he was meant to serve his punishment. The police and the Army heavily guarded the cathedral to prevent Pablo from being killed by enemies and members of the rival cartels. However, with extra pressure from the US and rival gangs, the Colombian government reinstated the extradition treaty. Pablo, through his network of informants, got wind of this and escaped from the cathedral, staying on the run ever since. Eventually, on the rooftop of a house in Medellin, Pablo was gunned down. In the official report, the government claimed to have shot him three times, in his back, n his leg and above his right ear. However, Roberto believed that Pablo stuck to what he believed that he will never be killed by the government or extradited to US. Seeing that he was surrounded, he put a gun to his head and killed himself. Roberto was arrested and sentenced to prison. Years later, he was served a letter bomb of imprisonment, which gravely affected his sight. However, even with the death of Pablo, the cocaine business was thriving and booming.

Roberto Escobar claimed that even though Pablo introduced the rest of the world to cocaine, he never did cocaine. Even though Pablo engineered this violence, he never killed anyone personally but gave orders to have people killed. Roberto extolled his brother’s ability to stay calm even in situations that should have had him freaking out, and this helped them escape at close points of capture.

Ultimately, this book is essential but not definitive. It is less a complete history and more a crucial piece of the puzzle—the view from the inner sanctum (a brother). For me, its most significant value lies in its cold, logistical explanation of an empire built on addiction, which feels more revealing than any moral condemnation. It illustrates how corruption is systematized, how violence becomes a business expense, and how a man can be a monster to the world and a hero to his neighbourhood, all at the same time.

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By the time this letter gets to you, I’ll be in church throwing it down like it’s hot. I might be doing that clothed in choir robe or not. However, I am glad this will hit your inbox, carrying my most cherished thoughts.

For 12 months, you have been riding with me. I have written you and you have responded in so many ways. This warms my heart that you read me, interact with me and e-love me via these letters. I thank you. What we’ve built here, I hold deep. Trust me on that. Now, shall we dive in?

It was on the 3^rd of February that I resigned as a community pharmacist with no clear career pathway. Earlier that day, my boss had crossed a line, said and done something egregious, it felt unpardonable. So, I took my bags, the 200k he’d days before, said my goodbyes to my colleagues and left. Right then, I vowed not to return to community pharmacy for at least a year. NYSC was quite approaching. I started shooting my shots, sending emails, probing my contact list for a new job. A new experience. Even, anything away from the pharma industry. Shot far and wide, high and low and landed myself at a pharmaceutical industry, not as a pharmacist but in the business development and marketing department. As an NYSC corper, my salary took a brutal cut. Damn, brutal. But the learning curve? Jesus, I love it. New experiences, new language, new people, new stressors. I don’t know what the future holds, but I’m leaning into it, expectant.

This year, books were my escape portal. I read everything from fiction to autobiographies, developing a special liking for queer narratives. Through these books, I lived in distant cultures and walked in others’ shoes. I must thank Sopuru and Robert, who sent money for some of these books, a gift I don’t take lightly. I also had the joy of reading pre-released work from my friends Nnamdi and Fred. To read your friend’s soul before the world sees it? That’s a higher language of love, one I’m grateful to speak.

Of love, relationships and friendships, I have been the most fortunate. Friendships saved me this year. It was their warm gentle but firm grip that took me through this year. Most importantly I watched friends metamorphose: starting ventures, getting married, leaving toxic spaces, getting promotions, and loving me in newer, deeper ways. I prayed for times like this. Times where I will have my own clan. I asked the lord to help me curate kind people as friends. I too left some friendships because growth sometimes means shedding. I lost a friend as well; Rev. Fr. Tobias Okonkwo. There are many things I’ll remember him for but one is the kindness he treated me with. I miss him. I miss him so much. On love and relationships, not so lucky but I dared. For 365 days, I was prepared to love and be loved. I made 4 propositions this year but bad timing. Either they just left one or they entered one. I didn’t make any proposition last year and doing that this year? It is a level up. I was also on dating apps hunting for love. I will be deleting my accounts by end of today. There were instances of what I thought was love was indeed not it. Again, thanks to my friends for demystifying that, reminding me that I am better and deserve better. For now? I don close shop abegg. I no dey find again.

My God and my family have been a guiding light. I feel that God understands me and treats me with that level of understanding. He ropes me in with acts of love and kindness and in instances where my faith wavered, he sent signs to fasten me. The love he showed me and my family this year was incredible. I became an uncle! Clock thattttt! It was God!! He has kept all of my immediate family alive till this moment. God bless God abegg. My brothers and sister; the Odogwus and sugar daddies I have. They have supported different ventures and dreams I have. They have sung with me in joy and sat in sadness with me. My parents whom I have been blessed with their advises especially when difficult decisions have to be made. I do not take these things lightly. They are, like I said, gifts from God. In a special way, I will honour the blessed virgin Mary who interceded for us. She likes me, I see it. Her virginal mantle, ever soft to be with me. Ese o!

So, 2026, what’s the plan? In 2025, I for 100 rejections. I went ahead to exceed that number. My rule was simple: see an opportunity, apply, keep moving. See someone interesting? Walk up, disarm them with a compliment, start a conversation. In 2026, I’m upping the pressure. The goal is 200 rejections. Oh, I also intend on learning a new language. Then, probably learn how to swim and dance. Well, that’s dependent on my finances. I might gym… but I am comfortable with rotundness of my ass and the flat belly I got. The chests? Errmmm…We’ll decide. What of you babes?

What words do I leave you with? You started 2025 strong; I went you to end easy. For 365 days, you had your foot on the throttle. I want you, for a day or even a week, to hit the brakes. Rest a bit. Unclench your jaws. Exercise those smiling facial muscles. Fill your lungs with deep, clean air. 2026 offers us a new slate, a clean one. Don’t start tired; start prepared, babes. You’ve done your best this year. Take all your flowers now. ALL OF THEM! I AM PROUD OF YOU BABY. I AM.

As the fireworks go off, congratulations and welcome to 2026. You’re here. You’ll win. You’ll live.

Please write back. I want to read you, too.

With this, I say Happy New Year, Happy New Month.

Till I write you again, Ka atọ a baara gị ụba. Isee! (May this year treat you so much better, Amen)

All my love,
MartinBoo.

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My friend,

We didn’t die! Congratulations! Because this November was a trial by fire. OMOEUX!!!

This month, as I predicted, was all about survival, not action. I was buried under an avalanche of deadlines—not five or six, but twenty or thirty. I felt myself teetering on the edge of sanity. Kilode! Ogini!.

There wasn’t a single day I didn’t complain to God. My nightly prayer was a simple, desperate plea for peace of mind. Even in bed, I was haunted by unfinished tasks, my brain scheming, kept awake by the relentless pressure from these deadlines. One night, the weight of it all broke me, and I cried myself to sleep. How I met every single deadline remains a divine mystery. It was no surprise, then, that I eventually fell ill. My body forced a shutdown, and for a few days, all I did was sleep and rest. My God, it was that bad, babes. Even on my birthday, I was hunched over my laptop, working.

What stood out for me this month was the requiem mass I sang. A 26-year-old boy was lying in that casket, lifeless. I sang sorrowful songs, prayed for the family that God grant them the fortitude to bear the loss. It is just something that can only be experienced. I am 26. That was my age mate lying in that casket as I sang that the angels ferry his soul to the world beyond. Damn! Quick reality check. It further compounded what I felt and questioned all these stress.

Then, on the 30^th of November, I danced like David danced, even more. My cloth just didn’t go off. I knew what my eyes saw this month and how I met all of these deadlines. I didn’t handle them with grace. It was a dirty tussle. Jeez!

I offer no apologies for the lack of color in this letter. Life is not perpetually rosy. Instead, I offer you this counsel, forged in the struggle: Do it. Do it mad, do it angry, do it unsure. Just do it. You will be happy you did, if you survive. You have tried, baby. You have.

To my friends and family, my anchor to this, I love you deep. Thank you so much.

What words do I leave you with? Do it! Do it mad, angry, unsure. Just do it! You will be happy you did, if you survive. You have tried baby. You have. Take my e-hug.

Best sight was any congratulatory emails. Best sound was anything that came from the lips of Simisola (the gospel singer o).

Happy new month babes,

You’ll most likely hear from me before the year ends; we’ve got to come up with a plan for December.

Till I speak with you next,

All my love

Martin Boo.

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Please pray for me.

I can’t lie to you and say that the body I inhabit isn’t frail and weak. Tired. Starved. Needy. Greedy. Tumultuous.

October had me fighting for every aspect of my life. There were multiple things going on at the same time. All of which demanded outright my undiluted attention. Heavy hefty projects. Fun fact, I wheeled all of my selves into this upheaval. To make matters worse, work on my table hasn’t thinned down. Baby, don’t get me wrong, I do not want to be an ingrate, I prayed fervently for this job, this role, this space, these people. I prayed for the stress, the worries, all of it. However, I didn’t factor in that this city will continually happen to me since I dwell in it. Well, let’s hope I survive all of these because one thing I know, government or no government, Ichakaike must survive!!!

Did I in fact step outside in October? Absolutely not. I had lots of work to do that I uninstalled Instagram. An app that adds colour amidst gossip to my life. Where I get to see beautiful ladies and nice-looking men. Where I build castles in the air on the kind of life I want and the air I prefer to breathe. The manner of people I would want to kiss and fondle. The clothes, my God, the clothes. The fashion, the pizzazz, the shenanigans. I left this e-life and was buried deep writing stories, editing fables, hosting meetings, attending meetings. Woken up not by a human touch but by the jarring sound of an unfriendly alarm. Day in, day out, colour became a distant sight for me. It might interest you to know that I installed Instagram today. There is a high possibility it will slow my pace, till I get that feeling, I won’t uninstall it till my birthday.

The streets of social media are agog with two appalling deaths amidst the gruesome lives being taken in this country. A handsome young man was lured by men who threw him off a two-storey building. It is sad really how you do not accept someone’s sexual orientation but go out of your way to make sure to kill them. Unverified news says that he suffered a spinal cord injury before giving up the ghost. Killed just because of his sexuality Sad! Just sad!#justiceforHillary

As that wasn’t enough, a 13-year-old girl was raped by her uncle and his son. T-h-i-r-t-e-e-n y-e-a-r-s!!! Raped on multiple counts by her uncle and his son. She went on to suffer from vesicovaginal fistula (a hole that forms between the bladder and the vagina, leading to the continuous leakage of urine). How horrible, how inhumane, how unjustifiable. The uncle went on to live a normal life as a lecturer while the son became a musician, a failed one. However, a child has died. How do you live after being raped multiple times in that arms of those you should feel safe with? It is unpardonable, to cut short the life of a promising young man and that of a 13-year-old girl. #justiceforOchanya.

There were really scanty pockets of happiness this month and blandness all through. Now, I understand that ‘tis the season I entered, so I am not fazed. I wasn’t fazed when on the church stairs this woman asked that I stopped behaving/walking like a girl. I still wasn’t fazed when I opened my dirty mouth to remind her of her stature and why arthritis might unalive her soon but the holy spirit clutched my pearls and I kept mum. It is really hard explaining that this isn’t something I can switch on and off. It is just who I am. The moment I put one foot ahead of the other to move from point A to point B, my hips will sway and my soft bum bum (purr) will jiggle. That when I open my mouth to talk, my voice isn’t deep and although I have broad shoulders, I still speak with my hands. I guess that’s the pain of cohabiting earth with fellow humans.

Special shoutout to my family who has kept me sane. The bants, jabs, and check-ins are part of the reason I still wake up and choose life. This same October, my sister opened a physical store where she sells footwear made specially with much love. Every stitch is guided with much thoughtfulness and the polishing applied with carefulness. Most importantly, I am happy for her going into this. An entrepreneurial bad beech! I STAN!! My friends, My friends. Kisses, to the both cheeks. Thank you for making me laugh when you can, to give a shoulder to lan and a brain to pick on. Let’s I forget, Ubiam na apiapu m ajo mmuo.

It is important I say it. Invite me to your company’s end of year party. I want to come and shedibalabala. I want my balabala to bolobolo. Be rest assured that i will turn up in right clothes, attitude and charisma. I said it here first.

Babes, I must have babbled a lot. I am not sorry. Are there words I leave you with? Yes. Please step outside more, take in more air, unclench your jaw muscles and release your tongue from the roof of your mouth. We made it to November babes. It isn’t easy. I applaud you. I praise you for that. You are winning!

Favourite sound? “Good times” by Asa and Cavemen. Wonderful sound! You should play it. Favourite sight? Emails that congratulate me.

Happy new month, babes!

Till we speak next,

Remain beautiful.

All my love.

MartinBoo.

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Lest I forget, my wedding will be happening soon. Invites will come your way. Martin weds his phone technician.

Please advise me, should I marry him first or get pregnant for him? I need answers cos what should I call this one?

Like I complained in last month’s love letter on my phone issues and the frequent trips to the phone technician and how the bills eat deep into my finances, I had another phone repair this month. Suddenly, my phone went from 87% percent on Monday to 0%. I plugged it and went for lunch, coming back, the phone was still at 1% and still refused to charge. This warranted that I had to take an emergency trip to computer village for repairs. I got there, the phone technician asked that I come in and then took a look at the phone. As that was happening, I told the blessed virgin Mary that all I had in my account was 40k for this repair. That she should help me touch his heart to at least take 39k so I can have 1k tfare home. He said that my battery and charging port weren’t held fast by a bolt or something of that sort and that was what he did. Meekly, I asked him how much as I was opening my app to show him what I have. I don’t want to haggle price because if I do, words won’t be the only thing coming out of my mouth, it will be mixed with wails and convulsive cries. He said “Don’t worry, this is free”. I asked him “Sir, you say wetin, sir” and he repeated the same thing. I fell on my knees and began to thank him. This same issue he charged 37k the first time is what he is doing free now? Cried on my way home chiefly because of the intensity Abba in heaven loves me and the extra favours his mother intercedes for me. Having said that, do you think I should get pregnant for him first and then marry him or vice versa? Whelppp!!! Adigom confusedddd!! o ti ru mi loju!!!

September saw my friends winning and my heart is so full. My brother was inducted as a knight of the Catholic Church. Yasss! My friend, Nnamdee, was called to the largest bar in Africa. What’s better than having a friend? A learned friend! Purr! Stella took a giant step towards one of her initiatives. I have listened to her describe this initiative and the zeal is palpable. I am proud of her. There are more big wins brewing in my circle, news I can’t break yet but know that when they drop, I will be a proud mother hen.

I attended a birthday hangout organized by my friend, Ekomobong, and I didn’t spare a beat to remind him how blessed and privileged I am to experience his kindness. So soothing and healing, brittle like it would break but hard as a stone. I have maintained that one of the qualities I look out for in friends and a partner is the innate quality of being kind. You can’t build it. If it didn’t dey, it didn’t dey. In many ways, I was also washed over by waves of kindness from my family, Ben, Jerry, David, Felix, Daniel, Gabriel, Fred, Oma, Nnamdee, Derin, Archibong, Dami. Quality people!

On a personal note, I was thinking about the goal I set in the beginning of this year about getting 100 rejections. Truthfully, I forgot about it. But in the quiet hum of life, I’ve surpassed that number, with more still pending. You know what, I was and I am becoming. I am moulting at a snail’s pace but I am moulting regardless. I hope that you don’t give up on you yet. You need only one door! Just a door. Keep trying, Inugo? Motigbo?

I have written couple of words this month from reports to essays to manuscripts to proposals and phew, I am maxed out of words for you this month but one thing I want you to note this October is, GATHER YOUR COINS! OBLEE IS LESS THAN 2 MONTHS AWAYYY!!

As you move fluidly this month, be rest assured that I will have you in my private prayers and offer your intentions at the holy mass. I yearn to see/read you win! I desire it as much as I desire a can of Maltina.

Favourite sights were chiselled bodies! My gaaawdddddd!! People dey o! Favourite sound is praise worship by Adazion. And yes, I still owe you the review of the Otedola’s new book. It’s coming!

Happy new month, darling.

Till I text you next, stay beautiful.

All my love,

MartinBoo

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The devil we know comes in various forms. Some say it takes the shape of an animal, a human, a Dangote truck, a lewd lecturer, a lover, a friend with benefit, a partner, a bank, a government, a gym bro/babe. It chameleonizes to suit the occasion in order to viciously attack you. However, there is one which I discovered new. The devil also comes in the form of an iPhone 11Promax. This month, this phone has gulped down my finances, it has bitten a larger chunk of what I slave for every day. Started when the charging point stopped working and to repair that, it cost me 37k. Two weeks later, it fell and refused to come on and to work on that, it took an additional 15k. Now, it heats up real fast and lags. This is not nice. This is outrageous. This is DEVILISH. What ever is wrong with this phone, I command you to stopppp! In the biggest name of Jesus😭

Getting that out of the way, August gave me a hot seat and I sat on it throughout. I started 3 important projects simultaneously which will run till June 2026. This crazy. This is just absolute bonkers.

1. Project A is to set up a google business profile for a minimum of 100 small and medium enterprises which will give their business a whole lot of visibility. Also, this will help get away my shyness and ability to not only engage elites but road side sellers who meet my immediate needs.

2. Project B is access to HIV drugs for key population. My interest in HIV/AIDS is ensuring access to preventive and treatment services for key population chiefly Men who have sex with Men (MSM) and transgender individuals. I shared my thoughts with an acquaintance and he has given me a road map. I am still fleshing that out. Babes, I might be a founder soon. Sope purr!!!

3. Project C will be discussed in due time as I am not mentally ready to share it with the rest of the world. Note that in all these, I have a career I am actively trying to build in business development and marketing. Some days, it gets so overwhelming incapacitating that I break down into tears. I know myself; the projects will be completed but a lot of tears will be shed along the way. Lucky to have the best set of friends and the God that strengthens my shoulders.

And yet this August showered me with unmerited love from family and friends. Love comes in different ways, like when I ask for urgent data from my sister and she sends it immediately. It is the various times my brother has taken and picked me up from work saving me 1800 worth of daily transport or when my brother sent me financial support. It is when my manager commends me on an assignment welldone. It is the times Nnamdi allowed me vent and cry to him when it gets so much. It is lots of time Ben had sent me cute encouragement texts. It is when Doris says the most uplifting thing or when Mfon goes out of his way to get things done for me. It is when Brian sent me a whole set of skincare set cos he noticed that my skin was loosing lustre. It is when Sopuru got the F.O’s new book. It is when I call my parents and complain and they give me the adrenaline boost. What did I leave out? Brian sent me a skincare set! Did you see that? Expensive skincare productssssss. Sopulu bought me Femi Otedola’s new book at Roving Heights. I got emotional when I entered Roving heights. The last time I was there was in March. My purchasing power has been reduced drastically. These people and more that I didn’t list out kept pulling on delicate strings in my heart. I love them! I don’t miss a beat to tell them. Love y’all babes!

I would have said that August wasn’t nice to me but with what I have on my plate and the support from God, friends and family, I definitely won. I did that. I fucking did that!!! I took responsorial psalm at mass this August too. Here’s a snippet👇🤭

I have decided to start dropping book reviews whenever I am done reading them. This will start with Femi’s new book. I am almost done with that. You will get an email from me soonest, babes! I badly need an owambe. I have the clothes, I possess the beauty, I have the poise and class. Invite meeeee!

My favourite sight was just Lagos in its crudeness and its imperfections that I loathe. I took some naked pictures and I definitely love the body God bequeathe on me (try that sometime). My favourite sound is this song by Davido which starts by oma lelelele or something like that. Help?

How was August? Talk to me.

My words to you, you’re a star! I hope you know that and take pride in that. Last month, I asked you to try again but this month, I implore you to breatheeee! Take a moment and take in some air! I am rooting for you today and forever.

Happy new month babes,

Till I write to you again, stay Kajad!

All my love,

MartinBoo

Remember when I hinted in previous love letters that I am looking for a career switch from a traditional pharmaceutical role to something else? I got cold feet along the way. I wasn’t so sure that the world outside pharmacy will fit me. I was anxious but I went ahead to send cold emails to a minimum of 100 companies in Lagos, Nigeria. If they had an email, bet they would have read from me. I was asking for a research intern role chiefly because I am a researcher. Along the line, marketing piqued my interest and I added that, same as branding. I just kept adding them to my basket. I told myself that I will take my NYSC service year to test the waters. This means I will have to intensify my efforts. I poked all of my contacts including family. Luckily, I was posted to Fidson Healthcare PLC which is the largest indigenous pharmaceutical industry in Nigeria and has the largest manufacturing plant in Africa. I was posted to the Business development and Marketing division. You have connected the dots? Exactly.

Three weeks into the job, I’m drunk on the learning curve. I am realising that there is a whole lot to learn. I am excited about all of that. I wake up giddy like a woman well-loved the night before. However, I was in a financial mess in July. Immediately I left Camp, I was on the next available flight to Kano for a conference and baby, the tickets sunk their teeth into my finances. They took it all. I came back and had no T-fare to work. Terrible times. I haggled bus prices with conductors to the point of almost being beat up. I couldn’t even be outside. It was luxury. Chukwu Jukwa!!!!

I am now evaluating and analysing the world of Lagos 9-5ers. On their way to work, they are on suits matched with crocs. I was bewildered at first but later realized that the corporate footwear is in the office. There seems to an unspoken understanding amongst them where they don’t give a damn what you wear on your way to work and back from work. Gush! I love this ceetyyyyy!!!

July was filled with a lot of movement. A lot here and there. A lot of financial humpty-dumpty moments. A lot of Chukwu bikozian moments but we survived nevertheless.

One of the favorite things I did in July was reading pieces from my friends; Nnamdi and Fred as well as emails from Adekunle Gold. I would have shared some snippets of it but I cherish it so much and would want them to do that instead. It is a deep act of love when someone writes something personal and asks me to read it before it goes live. It is just something deep, it isn’t superficial.

My favourite sights were beautiful fair women and sound has to be Focus by Ayra Star and Iwoloba by all gospel artitses that have remixed it.

For August baby, I implore you to try more. As cliché as this might sound, Please try!

Till I talk to you next time, remain sweet.

Happy new month babes

All my love,

Martin Boo

(Coportae baddie) Sope purrrr

Dearest gentle reader,

Phew! I have a whole lot to say to you. I’ll try my best to be concise.

June started on a pensive note. Someone I love deeply underwent surgery. I was so anxious, even questioning myself as her personal pharmacist, how did I let things progress to this stage? But of course, I’m not a medical doctor, and there was no way I could have known. Thankfully, by God’s grace, the surgery went well, and she’s recuperating beautifully.

Then came NYSC. The posting process was a lot, but luckily, I was deployed to my state of choice, Lagos. I’m officially a Lagos babe!

NYSC LAGOS CAMP EXPERIENCE

I had high expectations for camp not for the facilities (lol) but for the sheer number of people I’d meet. Arguably, this would be the last time I’d be immersed in such a massive crowd. I was eager to encounter the good, the bad, and the ugly. My family dropped me off, and the stress began immediately from name registration to vitals check, state codes, bank accounts, hostel allocation, and the camp clinic. Maneuvering through it all was herculean but hey, I survived.

Acquaintances

I didn’t make any friends in camp. The term “friend” is a strong word for me which I honor well. However, I made acquaintances which I hope will blossom through sheer efforts of both parties.

Three days in, I called my friend Nnamdi, lamenting how scary it was that I hadn’t connected with anyone. Then, fate intervened, I met Princewill. That opened the door to others: Temmy, Shina, Ajibade, Tope, Vee, Faith, and many more whose names I don’t know but whose company I enjoyed.

Love in Camp

Love in camp is intense. Strong like a fake Arabian oud. It hits you, overwhelms you immediately, steals away your sense of reasoning. Soonest, you’re saying untruthful words, spending ruthlessly, locking hands and making after camp plans. It was a delight to be a spectator to myriads of such display in camp. Boys with girls, girls with boys, having stealth conversations, laughing and out-performing Romeo and Juliet. There might be scattered genuine connections and I wish everyone well or not.

Quarrels and Squabbles.

Tyler Perry in one of his Madea movies said “You gotta stay ready, so you don’t gotta get ready” I took that to heart. Armed with sharp comebacks and Yoruba phrases, I was prepared. Bobrisky said “If you bring rubbish to my side, I’ll show you rubbish” and did I do that? Absolutely! I remember when I and another lady were rushing towards the DJ during of the night competitions, I don’t recall pushing her but she hit me real hard in retaliation . I looked at her, she said that I pushed her. I was like okay. Next she said “Oya say sorry”, at a lightening speed I retorted “Shon shiere” which means “are you crazy” and I left quickly. Another, unprovoked said if I spoil her phone, I’ll pay for it. I didn’t understand. Where? How? When? I asked her, how much is the iPhone sef that she’s making noise. She was taken aback and replied that she don’t have money. Without waiting for her to end the statement, I said “Clearly”. However, I averted as much squabble as much as possible but if a snake refuses to bite, it will be used to tie firewoods.

Competitions

My readers, you’ve known me and the aesthetics that interests me. The beauty I talk about and the physique I possess, the baddies i roll with and the baddie that I am. My skin that looks edible and the face-card that never declines, the scent and the clean haircut I’ve maintained all these years.

In three weeks, these strongholds were pulled down. Surprisingly, these strongholds were built on sinking ground. I’m sunburnt and my voice is coarse.

I was appointed my platoon’s parade commander and this involved digging deep into my voice box to bring out a commandeering voice. Instead of MartinBoo, I’m now known as Parade commander. I was selected to be part of those that will wear the Eyo Masquerade. At first, I thought it was a joke but they were serious. Dead serious. I obliged and did that. They almost wanted to make me represent my platoon for Mr Macho Competition. If I didn’t stamp my feet in defiance, I would have been trending.

Now, I’m suffering from aesthetics-identity crises . goooooodsssss of ourrr landddddd, helllpppp.

Generally, I wasn’t sure of how my stay will be especially being in the midst of strangers who are men! It gave me PTSD of secondary school living. I rather went under the radar. However, I couldn’t hide for so long. This always happens all the time. I remember one time, a girl asked me if she could press by bum cos it looks soft. This was after she enquired if I was in a relationship. This is why I like Lagos, the unbridled audacity! Whether I agreed or not is something I won’t discuss.

In all honesty, I’m happy this camp came to an end. I had treated malaria like 3 times, my voice is cracked and I’m running on low sleep.

NYSC IYANA-IPAJA Camp was that gurlll!

Words I leave you with?

Baby, choose you anytime, anywhere and anyday.

So my friend, how did June go?

My sound was Gaddem by Rybeena&Shoday.

Happy new month babes!

Till I write to you next,

All my love,

Martin boo

By the time this letter gets to you by midnight, I must have been knocked out by the triple strength of P-Alaxin(Antimalarial) with a tiredness so deep that opening my eyelids feels like lifting dumbbells. What I wouldn’t want to admit is that this is the second time I’m treating malaria this month. It has slowed me down, especially in the projects I’m running. Still, that isn’t the highlight of May or was it?

In a masterful stroke, I resigned from my job. This happened on the 2nd of May, 2025. I should have left earlier, but I didn’t and I still don’t know why. What I miss the most are the clients: educated, cheerful, full of bright smiles, always smelling nice, and often indulging me in my spontaneous dancing sprees. My colleagues—Sarah, Sultan, Madam Comfort, and Victoria were an absolute delight to work with. It was truly an honor to share that space with them.

Being a community pharmacist exposed me to a wide range of people one of the most fascinating parts of the pharmacy world. But for now, I don’t want to return to community pharmacy. My friend, this is me telling you that I’m open and actively looking for work in any industry, regardless of the pay. I’m currently learning digital marketing through Google, and I hope to build a career as a marketer.

This month, I was outside more. I attended two Owambes, both in Lagos. The first was on Lagos Island on the invite of my friend, Ire, and let me tell you something: Lagos baddies remain the undisputed GOATs of beauty and finesse. I’ve been around baddies, but never in my life have I been this surrounded. Corseted dresses, glowing cleavages, tone-perfect makeup, accessories on point, iPhones flashing, phonetics floating in the air, my God, all was on point. And yes, like I knew I should, I came correct, looking like one myself. The second Owambe was on the last day of May. A friend I’m currently working with got married to her heartthrob, and I got to reconnect with old friends. That wedding was soaked in nostalgia. And like you rightly guessed, I pulled up korreckt!

I took my gym journey seriously. I went four times a week, working with a trainer. My focus? My chest, obviously. Like I’ve said before, I love well-fitted muscles, and I’ve decided to get one myself. My chest is really taking its time showing up though. I know, it’s only been a month, but still… Incase you missed it, when I’m done sculpting this body, nakedness will be the order of the day. Kam bịakwa.

I went on two dates. One was horrible. The other? A book date. I’ve always been averse to Shakespeare, but my date made me read a passage from Julius Caesar, and suddenly, I’m itching to read all his works. I also visited a friend. Friendships feed my soul, and when I get to spend time with my people, my heart is filled to the brim. I made peppery gizdodo sauce (among other delicacies), and we ate, laughed, laughed again, and danced. Is there any moment more perfect than that? This month, I read just one novel: Blackass by A. Igoni Barrett. Imagine waking up as a white-skinned Nigerian except for your ass. What would you do? That’s the world the book explores, and I loved it.

In May, I was broke but I was happier. I spoke almost daily with my friend Nnamdee. He helped me get through the mental trauma from my last workplace. He may not know it yet, but once I become president of Nigeria, he’ll be my vice. My brother and his wife made me a fashionable uncle. In periods like this, I am grateful for my immediate family who has given me a safety net to lay on till I get back on my feet. God has been good to us. A friend took that picture below with my phone and my goodness, I love it.

For June, my friend, I hope the pressure eases for you. That your mornings are easier and your to-do list is lighter. That you halt, take a sip of water, lubricate, and then continue. I hope you don’t look back but when you do, may it be to appreciate the journey so far. I hope you do tiny things, known only to your heart, that make it giddy and bouncy. Most importantly, I hope you get through it alive.

My favorite sights this month were all the baddies I had the pleasure of seeing. And my favorite sounds? Anything made by Osadebe.

Happy new month, babes.

Till I talk to you next,
All my love,
MartinBoo

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.I intend to say a lot to you this month, my friend, to share my highs and lowsbut I don’t quite know how to word them. They might come across as rambling. This month ushered in the second quarter of 2025, and it feels like just yesterday I stood on the choir stand, singing sonorously at the Cross Overnight Mass. And now… we are already 120 days into the year?

What are the metrics by which one becomes a judge? Is it when they disobey God, like Lucifer? What if they aren’t Christians? Is the concept of good or bad determined by personal perspective? For instance: when an employer verbally or physically abuses an employee; or when a sex worker is gang-raped; or when someone smokes, drinks, engages in same-sex relationships, or intentionally kills another person… I am trying to grapple with that concept. Who is a good person and who is a bad one? The good person doesn’t have any bad in him? No yin to his yang? The bad person hasn’t done any good? What’s the quantity or quality of an act that makes you either a good or bad person? Will a good person perpetually remain good and vice versa? Hopefully, you’ll offer some insight, dear friend

I got Roberto this month. It was a last-minute buy. I originally just wanted to replace the keypad, fix the fan, and work on the hard drive do a whole lot of things, really. But alas, I went home with Roberto. He’s sleek, efficient, and easy to use.

Today, in an international meeting, a participant shared that in Iran and Jordan, it’s believed that if you stand under the rain and make a wish, it will come true. I laughed heartily but was also struck by how joy resides in the littlest things like dancing in the rain.

One of my favorite humans, Nnamdee, told me something I’ll let you in on: Audacity. This is the only life we have. There’s so much noise out there that it’s beginning to affect our output. So I ask where has your audacity gone? What happened? These people you consider before you take action do we really matter?

Surprisingly, I love Hey Jago by Poco Lee ft. Shoday and Rahman Jago. “Hey Jago, what’s poppin Jago” is my favorite line. Beautiful people are always a delectable sight to behold.

How was your April? I want to read about it.

I genuinely hope I’ll have something to say to you next time. But for now, happy new month, darling.

Till I write to you again,

All of my love,

MartinBoo

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March was indeed that gurllll. Damn! How did we get here? Opened my eyes, and it’s the end of the month.

This month, I was lost in the world of applications and rejections. I was almost constantly stuck at my laptop. These applications required me to think deep and hard. The questions were tough and demanded long-ass essays. However, they can never keep a bad beech daawnnn!!

Outside? I wasn’t outside that much. I didn’t go to the gym either. I didn’t get any invites. I didn’t ask for any. I read two books this month, and I’m glad I loved them.

Friendships? I ended one, painfully. I hate to go into details, but I lost a friend, and I pray that wherever he is, the good Lord guides and directs his path. On a sunny note, I made a new friend. Babes, if you know me, you know I don’t use that word carelessly, so when I said that, believe me—it was that. We met at a conference and struck up a conversation that ping-ponged from personal lives to politics, pharmacy practice to AI, and finances. The crude honesty was bewildering. Such honesty with a stranger? Unbelievable. I mean, this happening few weeks after I ended one is scary right??

Interacting with humans on the internet? Exhausting. One time, I shared a picture online. In the comments, a friend called me big head. I saw it and laughed. Then another individual, a man (a friend of the commenter), jumped in and reprimanded him. I was shocked. How is it that people, especially men, feel the need to gauge each other’s emotions? To decide what should be said, to whom, how, and to what degree? This isn’t right. This shouldn’t be right. It shouldn’t exist. It shouldn’t have existed. How can men dictate how their fellow men express emotions or speak to one another? It’s simply exhausting, infuriating, at the very least. Suddenly, everyone is in a race to out-masculine one another. Free, yet caged.

One of the sourest interactions this month? A client walked in, and while I was attending to him, he said, “Stop smiling. Your smile is like a woman’s.” I was taken aback. I’ve had words thrown at me—heavy ones—but never has anyone out rightly demanded that I stop smiling. Crazy. Crazy work!

April? I’ve decided to take care of my nails properly. To hug ten seconds longer. To express emotions in ways new to me. To not only tell those I love that I love them deeply but to show it in action. To be more intentional in chasing my dreams, even when they seem to elude me.

My best song was Rora by Reekado Banks. Favorite sights were acceptance emails which rarely came in.

Talk to me—how was March? Your favorite sights & sounds?

Words I leave you with? It is always an honor to see your eyes reading through my emails month after month. I know that you’re fighting your demons and baybay, I hope you slay them!

Till we text next, stay safe, my darling. Stay alive. Stay free.

Happy new month.

All my love,

MartinBoo.

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This love letter began with total honesty, a space for me to lay bare how my February went. My dear friend, February didn’t treat me like it knew me. As I type this, I am currently ill and on medication. I don’t know whether it’s what I think or something else entirely. I don’t have much to say, so let’s call this a quickie.

Once again, I find myself on the prowl for a new career. I need a career change—expeditiously! The satisfaction I once got from being a community pharmacist has begun to dwindle. At first, I thought it would be a slow burnout, something I’d have time to figure out. But color me surprised when it burned out faster than I expected. I need to switch to a new field, and I am pulling every string, every trick in my arsenal, to make that happen. It hasn’t happened yet, and the waiting makes my days feel sour.

There wasn’t much to celebrate. My only wins were waking up each day and being loved fiercely by my family and friends. Maybe I’m ungrateful, an unappreciative brat, a spoiled chap—whatever adjective fits—but I need a win, and I need it soon.

This month saw my highest number of job applications yet. Every “no” was hard to send out. No positive replies so far, just a deafening radio silence. It’s suffocating. I have a couple of projects going on simultaneously—some I’m directly involved in, others indirectly—but still, the air feels heavy with uncertainty.

Financially, I was a sinking Titanic, struggling to stay afloat, just trying to meet the daily needs of my bougie self. I went to the gym a few times until my funds ran almost dry. But there’s something about being surrounded by all that testosterone and the pseudo-kinship among members that felt good. I might go back again. LOL. Valentine’s Day didn’t have much action—except that I gave a bar of chocolate to three delivery riders. Small joys, I guess.

Yet, in the midst of it all, there were pockets of happiness I thank God for—being an uncle for the first time (and I pledge to be a fashionable one at that!), watching my friend become a medical officer, celebrating another friend who wrote their final law school exams, dancing at my cousin’s wedding, making dance videos with my colleagues, and moving freely to songs that made my heart lighter.

As you read this, I don’t want your pity or sympathy. I just want you to see my month for what it was. If there are ways you can help, I’ll appreciate it. If not, just stew with me in this silence.

Words I leave you with? Babes! Live a little. Dance with your hips swaying. Smile like you mean it. Kiss with passion. Love fiercely.

How did February go for you? I’m genuinely interested in reading from you.

Happy new month, my love. Let’s hope March is kinder.

Till then, All of my love,

MartinBoo

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