In my Instagram bio, I described myself as ‘writer, blogger, sadist’.
I have not always been proud of being a sadist. In 2012, I was horrified when someone called me a sadist. In 2013, I argued fervently against it. In 2014, I was indifferent. Since the turn of this year, I have embraced it, and have been wearing it like an armour, punctuating most of my sentences with ‘We sadists don’t, we sadists do this, do that etc’. Although someone once asked me in a viewing centre how much being a sadist had put in my account. People laughed at me for ninety minutes but I’m not discouraged.
My rise to the zenith of sadism had, in no mean way, given me undiluted joy, and amazed me fearfully. So I began to study the art of sadism. I studied great sadists like Kafka, Woolf and Okadigbo. I studied ordinary sadists as well.
And here, I have drawn out ten items that is set to convict you in the Sadist Prohibition Protection Act of 1992 as Amended (when!). Let’s go. You are your own judge.
- If You Chew Chewing Stick.
I am not saying that everyone who brushes with chewing stick is a sadist, no. My father chews stick, occasionally, he’s no sadist. My grandma chews stick every blessed day, she’s no sadist. But my father was born in 1940-something, and my grandmother was fished out of the 1920s. You get the picture? Why should you, born in this era, brush your teeth with timber?
Toothpaste kills the gum, toothpaste causes – Sharrap! No excuse for you. The only wood allowed to enter your mouth is toothpick, sugarcane and ‘cucumber’. If you chew stick, you are a terrible somebody.
- If You Don’t Dance In Church.
This is the height of sadistic-ness, going before God with a long face. It is even worse if you dance in clubs on Friday nights but never in the house of God. One of my guys would complain, ‘Their sound system no good…if to say here na Calabar…’ This guy is a regional sadist.
Some claim they are shy, but they dance in their rooms to Wizkid and Flavour. Faithless sadist. Didn’t the word of God (citation needed) say that in all your getting, get boldness?
Some only dance with their heads, as though their coconut is the only apparatus they are grateful for. Semi-sadists.
Me, I dance in church. I sit in the back so it helps.
- If You Switch Off Your Phone At Night.
You come home from work terribly tired. You managed to pour garri in hot water and turned with pestle, and ate with your one-week old soup. Then you belched and went to bed. But before you drew the sheet, you picked up your phone and switched it off. You didn’t wish to be disturbed, you had been out all day saving humanity from alien invasion and must now enjoy your rest to the fullest.
You know what, you are evil, selfish and dangerous! Hasn’t it occurred to you that there could be an emergency, somewhere, and your presence or word could make a world of difference, even save a life? Is your sleep more important than that woman in labour and whose husband needs your keke-napep to the hospital? This is no 2008, people rarely do free night calls without prior warning. Wrong numbers are a possibility of one in a million.
You must switch off your phone, you insist because you are no doctor, midwife, pastor, parent or politician; you don’t even own a bicycle tyre. Now I get it. You are no sadist, you are irrelevant. Apologies for the botheration. Please switch off your rubber-bound Nokia 1100 and enjoy your slumber, wake up tomorrow, drink your soaked garri and go to your workplace at the construction site where you carry concrete on bald head up the fourth floor. Sadist!
- If you look at the mirror and your reflection looks away.
- If You Kick Animals Around.
Every normal person should hate snakes and other animals with dangerous swag and plot against their wellness. But kicking innocent animals at every opportunity you get, not so fair. I know Nollywood makes village witches out of cats; some dogs are ill-tempered and most goats are thieves. But most of the ones you get close enough to hit are really harmless (if not cute). You mustn’t like them, but you can live and let’s live.
I used to live in a compound where I terrorized a neighbour’s dog. Whenever I returned home in the afternoon and saw the poor thing resting in the shed of our veranda, I usually kicked it into the blinding sun. Why should human beings be sweating out in the sun and a dog (an ordinary beast o) would be in the cool? Tah! Kick. Kick!
Perhaps, you don’t kick animals, but you beam a vulpine grin when people like me are on the prowl. Same thing, you sadist.
- If You Don’t Watch Nollywood. I believe this is self-explanatory.
- No Item seven. This is no naming ceremony or a funeral. Were you actually thinking of having your afternoon food here? Sorry to disappoint, this is a blog!
- If You Don’t Play With Children.
I am not saying you hate children. No, no, no, no, no. It’s just that you are very busy, so, so busy. You import oil (palm oil, what else?) from Ikot Ekpene to Mariri. You are never at home. When you are not in your warehouse loading your capital oil, you are in Dangote Cement where you work eighteen hours a day. You usually come home tired and duly cemented. Or, you are a student, writing your project (actually copying, modifying, pasting and turning people’s projects into yours); you don’t want distractions. You are damn busy, mehn. More so, the kids in your neighbourhood are dirty (plus rude) etc. Does that make you a sadist? Er… Let’s say you are a hard working sadist or/and a hygiene-conscientious sadist.
You are still a sadist.
- If You Hate Been Tagged on Facebook.
Nothing drives some folks crazy like been tagged on Facebook. They have come out to post federal warnings. Hey, fellas, don’t tag me otherwise I will block the hell out of you (who cares?) bla, bla, bla. I can understand with them. Some people are heartless. They tag you so relentlessly, as though you guys are running a joint Facebook account, most of the time on useless posts. Twitter mentions can be trying but it is paradise to compare with Facebook tag where you receive notifications when dim-witted teenagers begin a conversation about post UTME on the tagged post! Sigh. It is terrible, terrible. But it’s bearable, isn’t it? It’s social media and what is social media without a little shit?
But you just CAN’T allow it.
Of course, dear, you are a sadist.
- If You Don’t Comment on Blog Posts.
Nigerians have killed a million careers in writing. A bright boy would come out, bubbling with creativity, and publish a great post. Three days later, you see a heartless LEAVE A COMMENT, succeeded by a heartbreaking NO COMMENT. Sigh. The blogosphere is full of abandoned blogs and unfinished blogging, and sadists are solely responsible for this. Why will you read a brilliant, awesome, funny, educating post and not say anything in the comment section? Why, WHY!
No time bro. Commenting is not just my thing. Your blog is not comment-friendly. Network is bad. Etc. Fifty shades of sadists. And creativity balloons are punctured, hundreds per second.
Sweetheart, please temper sadness with comments.
Written by Kingsley Okechukwu, @Oke4chukwu