Just Jay

Family first.
Team Marvel.
Data Analyst.
I love sarcasm.
An auto freak.
A Critic.
I write....sometimes.
Good music soothes me.

[Just Jay @RandieBee]

I'm a private person. I don't like giving out much details about myself but this time, I intend to use this twitter space as my diary to monitor my growth as well as link up with folks that have travelled this path before me or are currently embarking on a similar journey.

[Kelvin Novo @KelOnovo]

Still, marry first. Have first-hand experience. Live with a human being totally different from you. Manage conflict, disagreement. Have kids. Stay up all night.
Change pamper, get broke let your wife pay the bills to get back on your feet then we talk.

I’m going to 9 years in marriage, and as I am now, I still don’t have answers to half the takes on this app. That’s not me being humble. That’s the experience talking. Because it would humble you. Marriage will humble you.

I’ve watched people carry real issues in marriage issues beyond me. But here,you people will talk as if once it reaches their own door, they’ll handle it clean.

Marriage doesn’t make you right. It makes you slow to talk. The single man isn’t wrong because he’s single he’s loud because he’s never been humbled by the thing.

That’s why we say marry first. Not so you can win the argument. So you’ll respect how hard it is.

[Asanwa.sol @Chizitere_xyz]

The risk assessment in this "bear vs man" discourse is fundamentally broken, and watching women confidently choose the bear is peak internet delusion. Y'all will meet up with anonymous Tinder matches every weekend, leave clubs with strange men just because they drive a luxury car, go home with celebrities from backstage, and voluntarily date literal drug lords. You take massive, unchecked risks with strange men every single day. But drop you in a hypothetical forest, and suddenly a man is more dangerous than a 600lb apex predator just so you can win a gender war argument? The performative IQ is completely in the mud. Please rest.

[Just Jay @RandieBee]

I thought that was normal. Am I not normal?

[your babyy ❤️🦋 @Veryweirdgirl_]

People that can smell random things fascinate me so much. What do you mean you can smell cockroaches??? Apparently there are even people that can smell rain coming! Like what?? How did you get that super nose?

[Omoye✨🫶 @0moyeh]

Daughters that cannot differentiate between coma and comma needs education. Not a man.

[smv @slimvnsn]

My father never came to a single thing I invited him to.

Not my primary school graduation. Not my secondary school prize giving where I collected 3 awards and kept looking at the gate. Not my university matriculation. Not the ceremony when I got called to bar in 2012. I'd send him the date weeks in advance and he'd say I'll try and that was always the full sentence. I'll try. No follow up. No explanation after.

My mother would sit in his place and clap loud enough for 2 people.

I stopped inviting him after the bar call. Not from anger. Some people love you completely and still cannot show up and after a while you stop making them feel guilty about it.

He was not a bad man. I want to be clear about that.

He was a mechanic in Mushin for 35 years. Worked 6 days a week. Sent every one of us to school. Never raised his hand. Never left. The lights stayed on and the rent was paid and there was always food and he did all of it quietly without asking to be celebrated.

He just could not sit in a plastic chair and watch something.

I accepted that and moved on.

Last year I bought my first property. A flat in Ojodu. Took 9 years of saving and 2 years of paperwork and a lawyer who nearly finished me. When the keys finally came I sat in the empty flat on the floor for an hour just breathing.

I called my mother first. She screamed. My sister cried.

I didn't call my father.

3 days later he called me.

Said he heard about the flat from my mother. Said he wanted to come and see it.

I didn't know what to do with that so I just said okay. Gave him the address. Figured he'd say I'll try and we'd never speak of it again.

He showed up on Saturday at 9am.

Stood at the door in his good agbada. The one he only wears for serious things. Holding a small nylon bag.

I let him in and he walked through every room without speaking. Not quickly. Slowly. Like he was counting something. He checked the pipes under the kitchen sink. Knocked on the walls. Opened and closed the windows twice each. Looked at the ceiling in every room the way only a man who has fixed things his whole life looks at ceilings.

Then he came and stood in the sitting room and looked at me.

Said the pipework is good. Said the windows seal properly. Said whoever built this knew what they were doing.

I nodded.

Long silence.

Then he opened the nylon bag.

Inside was a small framed photo. Me at maybe 7 years old sitting on the bonnet of an old car in his workshop. Grinning. Both legs swinging. He's standing beside me with his hand on my shoulder looking at something outside the frame. I remember that day. I had gone to the workshop after school and he let me sit there while he worked and gave me a Fanta and put a Michael Jackson cassette on the small radio.

I didn't know anyone had taken a photo.

He said he kept it on his workshop table for 22 years. Said he wanted me to have something for the new place.

I held that frame and stood very still.

He said he knew he missed things. Said he was not good at the sitting and watching. That crowds made something in him go wrong in a way he never knew how to explain.

Then he said the flat was good and he was proud and he asked if there was anything in the kitchen because he hadn't eaten.

I laughed.

Made him eggs and bread while he sat at my kitchen table in his good agbada like he owned the place.

We ate and he told me about a car he was working on. I told him about a case that was giving me trouble. Normal conversation. The kind we should have been having for years.

He left at 1pm. At the door he gripped my shoulder the same way he did in that photo.

Didn't say anything.

Didn't need to.

The photo is on my sitting room wall now. First thing I hung in the whole flat.

Some fathers cannot sit in the plastic chair.

But mine drove to Ojodu in his good agbada on a Saturday morning with a 22 year old photograph in a nylon bag.

That was his standing ovation.

I just didn't know to look for it in that shape.

[Sarkin Mota @SarkinMota_AMF]

With me you can spread the balance for up to 4 years ! That’s a whole tenure 😉 and the car would also come with maintenance while you repay, comprehensive insurance and registration

[𝕾𝖎𝖗 𝕮𝖍𝖗𝖎𝖘 @eagleseyeinc]

i know you don’t know why, so i will explain the theatrics behind this for you

while growing up, i had a friend who refused to use a case, he said it ruined the design so one day his phone slipped out of his hand in slow mo, we both watched it hit the ground like a scene from an indian movie 😭

his screen cracked instantly but he picked it up, looked at it for a second… and just laughed. he didn’t fix it for months, that’s when i realized it wasn’t about the phone. .. some people don’t move through life trying to avoid damage, they move like they’ve already accepted it.

so rocking a caseless phone means your comfortable with risk or you’ve just accepted that damage is part of the experience, some people want protection but others want to feel everything even if it comes with consequences...

[owopet @Owopet_]

One of the cleaners at my former place of work, always with his Earpiece listening to music while he cleans, i greet everyone at the office like we're pals, hand shake and a "guy hug", eveyone, at the end of most months , i go around giving some of the cleaners 2k each or 1k depending on how much of my salary I've spent before e enter, including the security guys too, i do this because i know how much they earn, and i can tell you its not enough to survive in Lagos, Fast forward to about 6 years later, i had left the organization and i was part of a committee organizing an event for some executives for a retreat at a very nice resort here in Lagos, i never met the manager in person , but we spoke on the phone e few times and i was on the call most of the times with the concierge team. The day we brought the team, the concierge personel was introducing eveyone to the team, and a tall fine gentle man walked in and she said "oh here's our Manager, before i could even open my hand for a handshake, he screamed my name, hugged carried me off my feet, i was still trying to figure out who he was, and he said its me( called his name) , i couldn't believe it , he was the same cleaner guy at my former place of work, now a whole manager?!!!. I hugged him and carried him this time , i was super excited. Apparently while he was a cleaner he was also finishing at National open university, he told how he's always looking forward to the 2k from me every month.😁 . To cut the long story short, i got 70% discount on everything i did, the room, the food i paid almost nothing. 😁. God can lift anyone from anywhere, never look down on anyone , i treat eveyone with same respect.

[Oṣóyínká 🪔 @sledge_baba]

@OgeDichiVic This is the exact moment I've been waiting for, why did you think I included the exact year it happened? 🍻😂

[Tha-Tall-Griff'n @dj_bowkeyz]

@OurFavOnlineDoc It also looks like the head of a dog and Nigeria sits around the throat. When the dog eats a bone, it chokes the throat. That’s why the suffering is chocking us all. 🤡

[STUNNER @Cr7Godbrand]

RIP to the man whose work challenged a common lie and assumption about women being forced into the porn industry.

his creation proves that, when given the choice and opportunity, many women will choose to enter the prostitution industry voluntarily…Despite having no barriers to

education or voting, and in many cases enjoying more rights and privileges than men And they are mostly supported by other women who frame these choices as “freedom” and “sexual liberation.”

[Sir Dickson @Wizarab10]

This is not decency. This is performative stupidity. What I cannot get is why you’re even performing to be stupid.

If a crime is committed, investigate the matter, get evidence, hear from the other party, address the crime, hold the accused accountable where he is found to be guilty, hold the accuser accountable where she is found to be making false allegations, and fight for justice. If everytime a rape offence is alleged to have been committed, the only thing in your head is to call all men rapists, then you’re a fool. You do not credit men when a man does something positive, but you want men to take fault when a man commits a wrong. You do not fault women for the crime committed by a woman. But you’re always quick to glorify women for the good done by one woman.

Everything is absolutely right with countering with “not all men.” Nobody should be taking responsibility for the crime committed by another. If you’re too performative with your outrage, talk to the men in your family to stop raping women. Why are you leaving them and talking to men on social media?

Most boys lost their virginity to adult women. You don’t see them blaming all women for child rape. We didn’t see you telling women to stop raping boys. Please get the fvck out with this stupid performance. You do not care about rape or victims. Just gender based agenda and performance against men.

Okay, “All men.” What exactly has that solved? 🤡🤡

[$ilva 💸 @TheSilvapr]

When Asherkine does giveaways for women, you don’t come and thank me for it.
When Tunde Ednut gives random women money, you don’t appreciate me for it.
When a man opens a business for his girlfriend or surprises her with something big, nobody says “well done to all men.”

But when some foolish men go and misbehave in Ozoro, Delta State, suddenly you remember my gender and want me to take responsibility for it.

Good men do kind, thoughtful, and generous things for women every day, and only those individuals get praised, not “all men.” But the moment one man or a group of men do something wrong or evil, it somehow becomes a burden all men are expected to carry.

How does that even make sense?

At some point, we need to be honest, praise should be individual, and blame should also be individual. Stop generalizing when it’s convenient and selective when it’s not.

Because this double standard? It’s not just unfair, it’s exhausting.

[Sir Dickson @Wizarab10]

As you want to identify as rapist by force, stop cosplaying women and start playing rapist.

[Just Jay @RandieBee]

Never seen where a forfeited game went into extra time

[Ab. @Abiodun0x]

The moment they walked away, they forfeited the game.

[𝒢𝒾𝓁𝒷ℯ𝓇𝓉 @AbakpaJob]

People singing happy birthday to you feels like a real life unskippable ad

[Null @Vhoyde]

Toxic women measure love by how much they're allowed to inconvenience you.

[. @Fimiye]

If you're proud of your Dad. Retweet this.

[Just Jay @RandieBee]

@FindingKan @Wizarab10 They get paid per backshot.

[Ebuka 📸 @theonlyebuka]

See, the funny thing is… the day I met my partner did not look like destiny at all.

It looked like premium suffering.

It was one of those classic Victoria Island evenings. Long day at my regular 9 to 5. My laptop had dealt with me. My boss had added small seasoning. Even the office AC was blowing like it was also tired of this country.

Meanwhile, salary had entered my account that very morning.

By 10am… the money had already disappeared like a view once picture on WhatsApp
Debt repayment, Transport Budget, Small savings. One or two “let me just quickly…” decisions.

Suddenly my account balance was looking at me like:

“Hope you have learned your lesson?”

So I packed my bag and stepped into VI traffic with one clear mission in life:

Enter bus.
Reach house.
Avoid financial heartbreak.

That was when I saw the danfo.

One slightly tired looking bus, leaning small to the left like life had shown it pepper. The conductor was already outside shouting the destination with unnecessary confidence.

“Costain! Costain! One thousand! One thousand! Wole pelu change e ooo”

My people…

One thousand? 😮😩

For a route that normally costs five hundred on a good and God fearing day.

I just stood there for two seconds to process the wickedness.

But hunger and home training said, “Brother, you will enter this bus.”

So I adjusted my bag, tightened my grip on my slippers that I had already changed into before leaving the office, and began the determined Lagos fast walk of survival.

That was when I noticed… I was not alone.

Somebody beside me matched my pace exactly.

Same urgency. Same silent refusal to miss this bus cos we were sure the next bus won’t be cheaper than 1000naira.

We reached the bus almost at the same time.

And that was when I properly saw her.

Ah.

Fine.

Not the noisy, “look at me” kind of fine.

Calm fine.

Soft fine.

And she was adorably stubby, the kind of height that makes you immediately start behaving responsible for no reason.

Even in VI stress, she still looked put together. Meanwhile I was there looking like someone who had just escaped group project trauma.

There was that brief Lagos moment.

You know the one.

Two strangers. One bus. Limited seats. Shared desperation.

I did small gentleman move.

“You can enter.”

She smiled.

“My brother, please enter. Abeg.” One bros from behind blurted out

At that point I knew…

This was not ordinary evening.

Inside the hot danfo, with conductor still shouting like he was auctioning land, we started talking.

One small complaint about Lagos.

One small laugh about the ₦1000 transport robbery.

Next thing, conversation was flowing like we had pending history.

And honestly…

From there, the story continued.

Or at least… that is the story I have carefully rehearsed.

Because as I am typing this…

I am still inside my house, no light, heat wan finish me.

Single.

With full script ready.

Just waiting for the female lead to enter the bus. 🚶🏽‍♂️😂