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The High Table

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The Friday Chief Aribisala died was like every other Friday. We returned from school a little after 2pm and began playing an outdoor game of our choice, we usually started with Suwe and then Police and thief, if time permitted us we played Boju boju – the African equivalent of hide and seek. My playmates were the sons of my father’s best friends, Awe and Chief. Bodunde was Awe’s only son after birthing five girls in an attempt to find an heir to his thriving cocoa business, Sanya was Chief Aribisala’s third son but he was the only one of Chief Aribisala’s sons within my age bracket. My father had known his two friends his whole lifetime, right from his childhood days in Otan Aiyebaju, a small village that lived in the shadow of the more illustrious Ire town in Osun State.
            Traditionally, my friends and I had grown used to looking forward to Fridays, particularly because it was the day that began our fathers’ weekend-long drinking binge. We would play at a distance within earshot of the high table.  The high table was where my father and his friends made merry over bottles of 33 Export beer while discussing Nigeria’s politics. Chief usually did most of the talking, he had ventured into politics after making money from his crude oil business. He was well versed in Nigeria’s political scene, he had lost a councillorship election and he planned to contest in the forthcoming gubernatorial elections. Awe always countered Chief’s views, he was a staunch believer in democracy and he always refused to believe that the dirty tricks Nigerian politicians played could interfere in the democratic process, he believed in true democracy. My father was the mediator on most days, eagerly listening to both sides and occasionally inputting his own views. We pretended to be busy with our outdoor games whenever they gathered at the high table but we often re-enacted their actions over the empty bottles of 33 Export that they had filled their bellies with. Each child acting the way his father would. I would occasionally speak, while Bodunde would quote the forefathers of sociology trying to earmark his point. Sanya would laugh, a robust laughter of mockery, the same way his father would and he would pretend to tell a tale of when a certain influential politician told him how things were run in the country.
            It was that same robust laughter that rent the air carelessly when my father strolled into our red-earth filled compound that Friday. Sanya had cheated his way into winning the game of Suwe and he was being very snide about it. Maybe it was nature’s way of compensating him for the unbearable news that awaited him. Nothing seemed amiss when my father walked in, the reckless chickens still swept across the red-earth stealthily looking for ways to feast on my mother’s crop - the unlucky ones ended up in my mother’s pot- the high table was immediately littered with bottles of 33 Export beer but there was no Awe today or Chief Aribisala, my father did not utter any words either, he just sat there nursing empty bottles of 33 Export beer, and immediately he came to the realisation that the bottles were empty, he would call on my sister to fetch another. It was a seamless process. Once he yelled “Yetunde”, she knew what was required of her. It was not until the rise of the stars that my father told of the evil that befell Chief Aribisala, he had been murdered on his way to work. Theirs was a friendship I had not seen nothing like, it was a friendship that was strengthened through youthful adventures in the rivers of Otan, through uncountable bottles of 33 Export beer and through salient discussions that left one craving for intellectual affluence.
            When I was 21 and just fresh out of the university, I sat with my father as we shared bottles of 33 Export beer on a glass table in our sitting room and I asked him why the high table – a washed-out round plastic table balanced on hollow wood and supported by a few stones- was special. My father said “The high table was never special, son. It was the camaraderie of friendship, nursed with a common love for beer” he nudged his bottle of 33 Export beer at me “that made it special. It was nothing but a rickety table that should have been disposed a long time ago. Son, all my life I have had only four friends”
                                    “Awe, Chief, my mother and who?” I queried.
            “This beer, my son.” He nudged at his bottle of 33 Export beer for the second time that stormy Tuesday night “On the day that chief left this evil world, I felt grief like I had never felt before. It felt as if it had been my brother that was shot, and I could not express myself but this beer stood by me alongside Awe, and your mother. This beer did not ask questions, it felt as if it understood loss, it understood the thickets of friendship. On the day that you graduated, this beer was there once again, sharing that joy with me, helping me express it”
            I laughed a little “How can a mere bottle of beer do these things you speak of?”
“You would never understand until you sit at your high table with friends whom you have shared a lifetime with”
            These are the words that echo in my head as Sanya’s robust laughter brings me back to reality. Bodunde stands to his feet and raises a glass of 33 Export beer to our friendship and also to my father whom we lowered into the ground less than an hour ago.
                        “To Papa Yomi, for a life worthy of celebration and to our own high table as it earmarks a never ending friendship”
                        “To the high table” we chorused.
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The Tales of Our Ibadan Kim Kardashian

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We all admit that sex is a major factor in relationships these days, I mean if we’re being honest it really is a major factor between relationships that concern people of separate genders. And the prevalent question here is: How much of sex is enough? How much about sex did your parents teach you? What really is the going rate for sex these days? Is sex, overrated? If you say yes, we may revert to the statement if whether or not you’re doing it right.


Today’s story is about a sexcapade that is now all too famous and in case you haven’t heard or you are not “woke” enough, it’s about Opeyemi’s Sex tape. It’s safe to assume we all have sex or at least a vast of us are sexually active, or why else do you think there is an “Abstain from Sex” billboard in front of Idia. Now that that has been established, does the public really need to know about your sexual adventures?

Or is that Kim Kardashian has sort of become a role model to these girls, that they believe if they follow exactly in her shoes, they would be as famous? Or are they forgetting that the basis of Kim’s popularity was an attractive face and body?

Anyway, before we move to further analyze the details of the sextape, here’s a little backdrop story (this is purely out of our own imagination by the way). Ope met a boy, who was decently attractive, had his own place outside school, they agreed to meet up and have sex. And after several trysts, Ope consented to allowing the boy film their sex, and if you are beginning to ponder why she would agree to such a thing, it’s the same reason why people snap nude pictures, people love to watch themselves, people adore themselves.

Anyway, in the heat of the moment, while the guy’s rock hard member is plummeting through Ope’s vagina rapidly in a postion often associated to a dog, she agrees to show her face while letting her moans rent the air and then shortly after, the poorly recorded sextape ends.

There are so many questions befalling me and I hope you answer a few: Did she think this will make her popular? Or do girls just generally like sextapes? Did she forget that the SDC bells are chiming ever so loudly now? Or did she just want to make the next UI Critics top 10 casted hoes in UI?

What really is the going price for sex these days? One pack of Jay’s chicken and chips? And for the guys, would you look forward to having sex with Ope now that her tape is out?

For those wondering where they can find the tape, kindly message us personally.
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ANGEL, LUCY and THE BAHD GUY

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Last week we promised to get back to our old ways and we are here to deliver. Yesterday, the 7th of March 2017, 5 people and several more had SDC hearings that resulted in several outcomes ranging from reprimands to full on expulsion and we are here to relay the backdrop story behind the SDC rampage especially at this time when several false stories are being peddled.


We all heard of the alleged rape case that happened last year, and for the freshmen amidst us, yes, something of such happened in UI and for stallites who didn’t know of the happenings, we decided not to report it because we had insufficient details. Although that was not the primary reason for the 276 SDC cases, we had the Zik-Idia dinner debacle, the famous MOTE protest amongst many others but today, we shall focus on the alleged rape case in the Only Living Hall and run through one of the Zik-Idia dinner case. We shall try our utmost best to be serious about this as matters of such are not to be treated with levity. The rape case is a complicated one so we are going to personalise it so you can try and understand it better.

Imagine you had a girlfriend, got it? Now let’s call her Angel. Now Angel has a friend/roommate, Lucy, (short for Lucifer maybe). Now Lucy, being the pure evil genius that she is, causes a rift between you and Angel. Desperate you, hot-tempered and in the mood for some revenge decides to set Lucy up with your friend, Gabriel obviously without Lucy's consent. If she was at least getting some, she wouldn’t have time to intrude between you and Angel. Little did you know!

Gabriel and Lucy hit it off, and after going back and forth with Whatsapp Messages and some other outings (we are not sure how it went down), they decide to hook up, I mean literally hook up. PS: Gabriel is not a UI student. What better place for Gabriel and Lucy to have their pre-arranged meet than the room of the guy that introduced them? 

So they meet up in your room, and then when all is set and Lucy is stripped to her delicates. 

Oh you dirty dirty girl, Lucifer! Gabriel, out of his innocence and perhaps naiveté decides to call you to inform you that Lucy is ready for action and she’s in your room, and then he steps out to get prepared, if you know what I mean
Now remember how you had a personal vendetta against Lucy? And what better time to exert revenge than when Lucy is vulnerable? So you sneak in and take pictures of Lucy
for no particular reason except that you’re occasionally stupid and make irrational decisions. Lucy picks up her clothes after exchange of words, sprints out and runs to Abefele telling them that you and your friend, Gabriel wanted to rape her (or raped her). This were the events that led to the preliminary hearing of the case giving SDC a free Nollywood movie.  

The sentences were given yesterday and You were rusticated (not you, You…LOL), your girlfriend, Angel was rusticated for setting up her ‘friend’ Lucy for rape (how that was concluded beats us too) and your roommate who was in the room who claims he was watching a movie with ear plugs was also rusticated (sighs). And Lucy? Well, God made hell for some people but she’s still a Uite who left the hearing with smiles.

PS: There’s still the story of our boy aka The bahd guy (we are really back to old ways) who initially got rusticated for four semesters for his “supposed” participation in the Zik-Idia dinner crisis which happened last two sessions. He was told if he was remorseful and apologetic his rustication would be reduced to two semesters like most of the others that his behaviour hasn’t shown any remorse since the beginning of the hearing and he is expected to pack his things from Zik with immediate effect whichever way he decides to plead.


 When he was asked to speak he decided to intellectually contest this decision first addressing the VC, ‘Dear Mr VC you didn’t even give me a room in Zik, you have no proof that I was part of the guys that invaded Idia and for the extra semesters you’ve given me I’m going to sue you’. 


(A lot has been added to what he supposedly said as it passes one mouth to another so we are going to leave it like that)

Long story short he got expelled totally (rusticated), and now he threatens to sue the authorities. Lool. Don’t laugh too much yet, there’s more to this story than we’re letting off but this is a story for another day.
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HIYA! WE ARE BACK!!

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Hi there! It’s been a long semester break, and now that school is finally in session, we at UIStoriesThatTouch are back and we’re back with a bang!! For the freshmen amidst us, UIStoriesThatTouch is a platform set out to bring you the most touching stories within the UI community and to UITes far and wide, with a tinge of comedy and the occasional sarcasm of course. You could send your stories to our mail uistoriesthattouch@yahoo.com or the contact us on the blog.




This just concluded semester was a tough one for us at UIStoriesThatTouch particularly because we lost one of our own to the cold hands of death, my girlfriend left me because I didn’t buy her the economic recession that people were talking about and I tried leaving the country, but apparently you’re not allowed to sneak into airplanes through someone’s travelling bag.

Anyway, like we said this semester we’re back with a bang and here’s just an overview of what to expect; we’re dropping locations and dates and times for all the important fresher’s welcome for our thirsty ‘staleites’and paedophilic finalist, we’re exposing the cagey princesses in Queens Hall, the mummy’s boys in Mellanby, the proud Kuti boys, the snitching girls in Awo, the pretentious Idia girls, uncultured Zik boys, and the overeager Indy boys. Oh we didn’t forget Tedder, y’all are not just important, you’ll find out why in subsequent posts. For now, relax and take a trip down memory lane with our previous posts, and wait till next week Wednesday or who knows, there might be a surprise post on the girl that got her hand cut on St Anne’s road or the runs girl who got pregnant and is having a hard time figuring out who the father is. This semester is full of surprises from us at UISTT.

Till then, tell a friend to tell another about UIStoriesThatTouch, especially that fresher I met at Social Science that wanted to take a bike to CBN.
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TRIBUTE TO ONE OF OUR OWN

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A friend's death is never easy
Its pain demands to be felt
We may run to get away from it
We return panting, asking ourselves questions




Listen to a tribute from L.P Alani below. His question embodies the grief of Timi's friends:

SoundCloud:
http://bit.ly/2kwmQlN

Download:
https://drive.google.com/open?id=0B42xDxnpx3UTTGFVSXhPVzB0YXc

RIP TIMI! REAL NIGGAS DON'T DIE!
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OIL CRISIS

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Hey guys, 
We (UISTT) apologise for being MIA for a couple weeks we’ve been busy with school and you guys have not been sending your stories to our email too uistoriesthattouch@yahoo.com or to the contact us below. Anyways, how was your exam? Old things are passed away.


A common tradition as vacation comes close by is that everyone tries to finish the remaining foodstuff he/she has before going home either this or attend as many parties as you can in the short while that is left, today we’ll be addressing the former.



Opening my wardrobe, I looked at what I had left; a quarter custard container of rice, basically 6 cups of rice and half carton of indomie. I have to finish all this before I go home, I thought to myself and the laughed at how easy this will be with no roommates to share it with, they had all gone home.
I was out navigating the constringing roads of Agbowo by 6:30pm, ensuring I was not seen by fellowship members or ensnared by girls, as I was “home alone”, it’d be tempting to invite one over but the mission was to get tomatoes and pepper and I was bound to not be  deterred. I got them eventually from a roadside vendor after collecting one random girl’s number, (sorry unhealthy habit).

I observed the normal rituals on getting back to my fortress, washing the pepper and then blending with The Weeknd’s Starboy blasting in the background. I was about to get to cooking in the kitchen (no roommates around so I converted one corner into a kitchen,) when I realised the groundnut oil I had was too small for the pepper I had blended.

I initiated the ultimate search for groundnut oil or palm oil, anyone would do at this time. Went to my neighbours room first and the first thing he did was laugh “The scarcest things right now are toothpaste and oil”, like I didn’t know this already.
Not letting that discourage me I went from one room to another knocking every door on my floor in search of oil but to no avail. So I go to the floor above me and repeat the same process and got the same result, though Iended up cockblocking one guy as I walked in to images that would scar me for a while especially because I knew the girl involved, I think it’s needless to speak of what I saw. This pepper cannot waste so I decided to go to the floor below me and the same process yielded the same result, no cockblocking here though just mainly hopeless boys gaming on their laptops and one heartbroken one that was singing along to Sam Smith.

Disappointed by this I decided to lay down and think, finally I got a brilliant idea; one of my roommates must definitely have oil in his wardrobe so I decided to break-in and search (not so honourable I know, but desperate times). Breaking in was easy but I didn’t want to scatter the place (that’s lesson 1 in stealing 101, if only our leaders adhere to this) so I decide to lock the wardrobe, I could not find any oil in plain sight.

 Immediately after this, I got the best idea of the night; I had the anointing oil my mum gave me in 100l, the one she used to baptise me and protect me from bad friends and “witches” on my first day of school, (I’m in 400l now though). I opened the bottle of miracles and let it flow onto the pan and watched it convert pepper into a dope ass stew. After eating the rice and Indomie, I moved to return the bottle of anointing oil but then I saw EXP:231115.  Please help me cry, I don’t know what to do. It’s only been two days though and nothing has happened as at yet.

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