Carrot Orange

Welcome to the second post of the day. Yes, Posts shall be up TWICE daily. at Noon and 4pm, so keep abreast or just subscribe to get posts in your mail.

Our next article is mostly a spoof of @Otoxic’s post on TNC which you can read here Our story basically tells of the struggles of a man with a queer tag or something like that..

Welcome ladies and Gentlemen…



So you want to know about me. You want me to tell you about myself.


Why would you name a child Carrot? Carrot o! As in the vegetable! You sef imagine this scenario.

“Hello baby girl, my name is Carrot.”

That’s the kind of thing that happens when while you were being born, your father was busy at his favourite joint shouting:

“Barman, bring another round of Squadi*!”

Eight girls, no boy…can do that to a man. Why did he get my mum pregnant again then, you ask. Well, like every drinker says, “one more round for the road.”

You cannot believe the names I’ve had to live through.

“Carrot love.”

“Sweet Carrot.”

“Carrot my darling”


“Almost Albino”

And the absolute worst

“Carro carro!”

I may hate the name, but it’s very dear to me. It would be to you too if it was the last word your mother ever spoke.


“Your father dey mad! See your head like grinding stone wey dem use thruway. Idiot”

Not what David said as he took down Goliath, but he wasn’t facing the school bully using rotten agbalumo*.

I could only stand so much ridicule without growing thick skin and then giving them my own in return. When you’re really small for your age with a “wonderful” name, you learn to develop your other assets. A sharp mouth, killer aim and amazingly quick feet were my allies while growing up. Drunk dad, no mum, eight girls…can do that to a boy.


Everything has its pros and cons, quick feet can also get you into trouble.

“Heyss! Na you be Carrot abi? So na because of you all those boys dey use us laugh abi?”

“Make una leave the poor boy alone jo. Na im fault sey una no sabi run. Shame no even catch una sey junior boy dey dust una. Tueh!”

Thankfully the Orange House seniors had my back because of the number of medals I got for them on a steady basis. The other benefit including a daily supply of Mirinda from Aunty Taibat’s shop.

You’d think with my fame, I would have girls at my beck and call, abi? For where?

“Sandra, how far now, come and escort me to the canteen to buy snacks”

“See Carrot o! Make I escort you go canteen? Pschew!”

My fortune changed when Salamo entered the school.


She was Aunty Taibat’s second daughter and her name was Wura, but because she was an escaped albino, like me, the nickname everybody knew her by was Salamo. She was so fine in my eyes, I couldn’t bring myself to call her that.  Salmon sounded nicer.

I remember the first time I called her that, she laughed and asked me with that little voice of hers that I loved

“You’re making fun of me o, which one is Salmon”

I told her it was a special kind of fish eaten by rich people.

“So I’m now a fish abi.”

We both laughed about it; after all we were in love. Or so I thought.


“Nonsense! Stupid girl! Can you see yourself now? Ehn? SHAME!!!!! You better follow me.”

It was a Friday, the day we all looked forward to because we were served Jollof Rice in the lunch hall. Nobody expected to hear those words shouted from outside, or to see Aunty Taibat  burst into the room with Salmon in tow. Before I knew it, they were both at my table with Aunty Taibat glaring down at me, smoke practically spewing forth from her ears and nostrils.

“Is this the one? Ehn?! Oo le dahun abi? Abi you think I didn’t see two of you doing kurukere up and down the school abi?”

Salmon shook her head and I released the breath I didn’t know I was holding. They then moved to the senior table where Salmon pointed at one of the seniors. I don’t think anybody expected that Aunty Taibat would lift him the way she did. Men, it was like we were watching WWE. Screaming between slapping and punching him:

“So you’re the one that have make my Wura pregnant abi? Iwo lo fun loyun? O ti rogo leni.”

So much for our love.

Moin Moin

University was an entirely different kettle of fish, or shall I say pot of soup. You see, I was tired of being the small and cute Carrot. I wanted to be a man.  Wouldn’t you be tired if people were always asking you:

“Ahn ahn, is your school on midterm?”

Is it fair? So I made up my mind to do all things necessary to make sure I grew. My eating became legendary. Reigning champion of the inter hall eating competition 4 years in a row. My record of 30 wraps of Moin Moin has not been equalled not to talk of being surpassed.


I felt NYSC was a waste of my time. I mean, my three sisters who hadn’t bothered were more successful than the others who had slaved under the sun and in the rain for our nation. But despite my misgivings, I went anyway. Fortunately, I met Sophia; beautiful with an amazing voice and slightly taller than me. For the first time in my life, when I introduced myself she smiled and said

“That’s a rather exotic name. Who gave it to you?”

My mother’s story struck a chord with her, having lost her own dad when she was five, she understood. Sparks flew, the chemistry was real, and we were in love. Service year went by in a flash; more beautiful memories than dark ones.

After service year, I was lucky enough to get a job with an oil servicing company; she got hired by a PR firm. Six months later, we got married. I will never forget our wedding night. After we got back to the hotel andshe finally unzipped my pants, all she could say was

“What is this Carrot?”


Have you voted for us at The Nigerian Blog Awards, Please click here to cast your vote for The Sarcastic Center in “Best Humor blog” and “Best Collaborative/Group Blog” Thanks


22 thoughts on “Carrot Orange

  1. LOOOOOL! What in heaven’s name did I spend 5 minutes reading?

    This is funny and tard bit short too.

    More details. But I liked it. ^_^



Do drop a bar...#NoSoap

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s