Ikoro Iyineleda
4 min readFeb 2, 2024


This morning, just after I had purchased my breakfast of bread and butter, one of those that give me absolutely no regard in the accursed land of Ibadan, walked up to me with a request for money with which to buy breakfast also.

He was dressed well (in jeans, slippers, and a tee-shirt) although he obviously was one of the indigenes/residents of the land that obviously have not seen the four walls of a tertiary institution — and that therefore envy me to a ridiculous extent, all because I happen to be a university graduate, with two post-graduate diplomas as well.

I told him I was actually also in need of help. I didn’t tell him I cry to The LORD for my own help. Where I seek help from is absolutely none of his business. And I gave him no money.

The ridicule and the derision I face, once men like him are gathered together, knows no boundaries. I have suffered from that derision for over twenty years, as of today — to the extent where most of them know me either as “this one” or even as “this thing.” And here now is this imbecile that, from the looks of him, is one of those that deride — with royal finesse asking me for money for his breakfast!

Even this very afternoon, to give another example of the derision, as I was going to Alegongo-Akobo to feed my dogs, a woman dropped off the Keke Marwa that I took — only for her to say in Yoruba, as she handed over her transport fare,

“Can this one be useful for anything?”

She spoke with that usual two-talking of the residents and the natives of Ibadan, that had me recognise what she said at least two seconds after she had said it. So I didn’t have the time to give her a piece of my mind before the Keke Marwa began to move.

And it’s not just the ridicule and the derision. For me to have my clothes, my shoes, my words, and my writings — even my very prayers! — plundered of me by touts like this young man now begging me for breakfast! For me to be stalked out of everything that has to do with my privacy and my personal space! That’s enough for me to say a firm “no!” to every request from him and from those like unto him. That’s enough for me to rejoice over the bomb blast that occured in the Bodija environs of Ibadan — if the reports in the news are true.

That indigenes and residents of that accursed land of Ibadan can walk up to me and ask me (even in Yoruba!) for money, I mean! this evil denizens are really full of themselves!

Already, these shameless beggars are bent on believing that the writings of mine that I place on the internet (or even hardcopy versions that they come across) are not mine but someone else’s. They’re so bent on deceiving themselves that I have anything to do with their obvious imbecility, that they keep on ignoring the As that I earned in both English Language and English Literature during my SSCE examinations (A1, in English Literature) and the highest grades that I earned during the Test of Proficiency in English Language that is used to gain admission into the University of Ibadan’s post-graduate programmes. Rather, they keep on claiming I can never write anything in English that perfect.

Well, imbecile, you can take even this piece in particular to Professor Wole Soyinka and tell him you believe he wrote it for me. Mayhaps he then will eventually find a word better than moron and imbecile for you and the likes of you. I on my own part have not been able to find that word yet.

You keep on calling me “this one” or even “this thing,” like you’ve been wont to ever since over a decade or so ago. And see me rejoice over every downfall of yours.

Keep on plundering of me my property. Keep on raping me with thy filthy natives and indigenes. And see me pray that blood flows copiously in every nook and cranny of your land.

If you like, keep on believing my prayers can never be answered. So you can now walk up to me and beg me for money! Even in clothes that make it evident that you definitely are not suffering!

You all keep on being accursed. And damned as well. I have absolutely nothing to do with you, and I’m expecting even yet another bomb blast in your accursed land soon. By The Grace of my Creator. In The Name of The LORD.

Ikoro Iyineleda

writer, intellectual, chartered accountant - in view, consultant psychiatrist - in view, professor in Psychiatry - in the making.