Douglas, David and Debosayo

Day 2

Think of three people in your life. Give your character the hair and laugh of person 1, the face and bedroom of person 2, and the wardrobe and mannerisms of person 3. This is your new protagonist. Feel free to give him or her any other characteristics you’d like. Give us an idea of who your character is by describing only the first 60 seconds of the character’s day.


Dodade’s first minute in the day is always met with the same routine.

You see, he is a poet – But not the good kind. He’s the kind of poet who calls himself a ‘creative’ and in the same breath uses it as an excuse to be lazy. He is the kind of poet that also does not understand his poems – he is constantly saved by people’s assumption that all poems are intricate and not for the simple. He is the kind of poet that rather prefers to solve mathematics but has put himself out there as a poet and cannot see how his poetish identity can survive an interdisciplinary confession. He is the kind of poet who always Googles ‘what rhymes with_____?’ . He is the kind of poet who has a poetic feel to his  voice, so his verse readings always go well. He is also the kind of poet who feels threatened by the development of Spoken Word artists. ‘Real depth. The world is becoming ready for real depth‘ he always mutters to himself. He is a fake deep poet.


Here’s how his first 60 seconds everyday go:

Dodade rolls off his bed and kneels down. His mouth aches from all the talking in his sleep. Now he must talk to his God. He catches himself dozing off on his knees so he discards prayer and rolls back onto his bed. But now he can’t sleep and he feels too guilty to pray so he picks his phone and opens his Twitter. He closes it back almost immediately, sits up and wears his sports shoes. He must lose this non-existent fat. His eyes wander across his room but he cannot see anything because the lights are still off. He gropes in the dark and finds his way to the bathroom, switches on the light and looks into the mirror – he thinks ‘Yup. I still have intense eyes. Girls love that.‘ He scratches his goatee and raises a brow. ‘What to do with this crazy over-African hair of mine’ he thinks. He applies conditioner all over the hair to soften it and wears a nylon shower cap. No one must see him do this, he thinks to himself. He walks back to his room and starts to stretch in the dark. With every joint that pops he thinks ‘I have nothing to wear today. All my cloths are gray and uninteresting. I should call my sister to help with my wardrobe.’ He then tries to focus his mind on drafting a poem as he stretches. Today the only thing that comes to his mind is:


Even my name sounds like the sound of the day. 

Day disguising as night for pay 

That makes no sense if I may say

But then my name is Dodade 

And in everybody’s mind, all my poems just slay’


Then he bursts into the most mischievous laughter.



Thank you Douglas (person 1), David Rotimi (person 2) and Debosayo (person 3) for unknowingly being my muses. Continue to stay up there on my Whatsapp, OK? 



This work is purely fiction and any similarities to these three persons is their sheer luck 



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