Valentine’s Heat Poem by Modou Lamin Age-Almusaf Sowe

Today feels different… soft and new,

My heart beats fast because of you.

A love so fresh, yet burning deep,

The kind of love I want to keep.

Your name is honey on my tongue,

A song my soul has always sung.

And now this day, so warm, so bright,

I crave your arms tonight, with might.

I dream of kisses, slow and sweet,

Your lips… my favorite kind of heat.

A gentle fire, a tender thrill,

That makes my restless heart go still.

I want your hugs, so close, so tight,

To hold you long through Valentine’s night.

Your body near, your breath on mine,

Like love’s own sip of sacred wine.

You tempt my heart, you calm my soul,

You make my broken pieces whole.

And in your eyes, I clearly see

The love you give so endlessly.

So take my hand, my love, my dove,

This day was made for us… for love.

Because today, I swear it’s true—

I feel adored… when I’m with you.

Happy Valentine’s Day 2026, my sweet desire,

My kiss, my warmth, my heart’s soft fire.

😌❤️

BE MY VALENTINE!

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The Infancy of African Technology and The Advent of Smart Glasses

 

In the past three decades, mobile communications humanely evolved from being intermittent, sluggish, and one-directional to being profuse, instantaneous, and participatory.
What I called a ‘Mental Digital Shift’ has transfigured how we study, work, mingle, and make decisions globally. Information is a prostitute of communication; its offspring is technology. Let me masturbate to satisfaction with a click on the internet before I jerk off sperms into this essay. 

The only thing which is yet to be a human right is public sex. Why? If lying, deformation, blackmailing, and nudity are the children of technology, how should we call her wife? A whore or a promiscuous digital world, isn’t it? Having read more of American Paul Beatty recently, my writings became too blunt and extraterrestrial; why should we call a dog a pet when it is actually called a bitch or a dog? That’s an epiphany and a bit tenebrous, but in fact, a verisimilitude. A fickle must not be termed an imbroglio. In America, the word ‘bitch’ isn’t offensive, but why is it offensive in writing and in African societies? That’s the first step to perceiving how we consume information publicly.

As a result, fraying into the annals of communication, aliens have been walking on the planet from time immemorial. Just in a little bit of conundrum, the word iPhone is not ‘i’-phone; it is actually ‘Eye-Phone.’ In simple terms, when the land is unsafe to walk in, the sea becomes safer for traveling. Let’s travel back in time: pornography, leaked sex videos, and viral news all used to stop inside the bedroom over the past three decades. How did they forcefully enter the public domain?

With the introduction of the iPhone 17, the world of technology is beyond ordinary smart watches, iPhones, and Android phones. Twenty years from now or thereabout, kids will be using smart glasses phones to expectantly remember how out-fashioned their ancestors were. Smart glasses are the new face of global technology. In information technology, beyond 2030 is the era of a Mental Digital Shift (MDS); a period in information technology, science, and innovation where everything depends on a simple blink.

Over the past three decades (roughly from the mid-1990s to the 2020s), information has undertaken a dramatic alteration, largely driven by the evolution of portable communications. In the mid-1990s, when technology was an infant, information was safeguarded with dignity and caution. The infancy of African technology can be attributed to the Era of Kings and Kingdoms—times when the skin of the goat had been beaten traditionally to convey messages. Horns were blown loudly to gather people at the king’s palace or village square. West Africans used musical instruments to create a quick communication system during emergencies and disasters throughout the precolonial era. As someone who spent most of his life growing up in African countries, I can vividly remember when telecommunication was a sperm in the person of telephone booths that exhaustively swallowed coins to make calls.

In those days, especially with the arrival of telephone booths in Africa, people walked miles and kilometres to make phone calls to loved ones afar. Our ancestors queued the whole day in large numbers to access ordinary telephone booths. While they might be very rare in sight these days, I had once advised the National Museum of The Gambia to just keep one telephone booth at the museum for generations yet unborn.

From telephone booths, technology took the form of a fetus in the womb of telephone lines. People first had access to calls in Africa through home-based telephone lines. In The Gambia, places like Banjul and Brikama used to have numbers starting with 448 or simply 442, followed by four or five other digits to make phone calls to various homes and offices. With time, telephone lines were quickly replaced by the first portable mobile phones in the form of Nokia 3310, Nokia 11-100, Siemens Mobile, Motorola, etc. In the early 2000s, Android phones started experiencing an exacerbated competition with the introduction of iPhones. The latter became dominant in modern-time technology from Apple Watches to iPhones. But in ancient Africa, musical instruments were an integral part of society, conveying messages over long distances due to their ability to mimic the tonal patterns of spoken languages. Drumming patterns conveyed information swiftly across vast distances, much faster than human messengers on foot.

These civilizations influenced the founding of precolonial empires, such as the Ghana, Mali, Songhai, Asante, Hausa, and Wolof empires, that further led to the emergence of more advanced civilizations. The "talking drums,” among the Wolof Tama, Mandinka Junjung, or Tabala, as Prof. Ousman Mamakey Bojang at the University of The Gambia puts it, were perfect for long-distance communication since they could produce tonal sounds that were very effective for conveying complicated messages.

As a result, trade routes were also developed between West and North Africa, such as the Taghaza-Timbuktu, or Western route, the Ghadames-Air, or Central route, and the Fezzan-Kawar, or Eastern route. They created distinctive traditional communication methods that were essential in spreading information to communities all over West Africa, in disaster warnings, mitigation strategies, and other significant societal news.

To swiftly relay information across the community, town criers were deployed in mobilizing resources to enhance the participation of able-bodied men and women to communicate effectively. Africans should start rebranding the drums, gongs, trumpets, animal horns, elephant tusks, flutes, brass or metal horns, and so forth, which were among the musical instruments used for communication. No single researcher will deny that information was mostly accessed through newspapers, first-time computers, radio, and TVs from the 1990s to the early 2000s to date. But technology by then was an infant because mobile phones were purposely for voice calls and text messages. Access to the internet by then was very intermittent and in the form of limited (dial-up connections). Fast-forward to the 2020s–2025, mobile phones with 4G and 5G networks provide instant access to global information effortlessly with just a click. Our time is both more advanced and defamatory—advanced in the sense that we are better off than our ancestors in terms of technological development, but defamatory in the sense that with just a click, we lie, defame, cheat, and steal online or supposedly abuse the internet unethically. What I like to call ‘click and destroy’ or ‘scroll and see.’ While anyone can search, stream live, or publish content anytime, anywhere, personal information and privacy become an encumbrance to ethics.

I hate to call a cell phone a mobile phone; I like to call it a ‘global device’ or simply a ‘world tool’ because an average person must now know they are carrying the entire world in their pocket. Then, information mainly came from traditional entities, publishers, etc. A flow of information was one-way for all. But now, social media brings people together no matter how far. Viral posts and citizen journalism now compete with mainstream news outlets, which is very impressive. I am happy to see countries like The Gambia adopt the Personal Data Protection and Privacy Bill, 2025. This will go a long way in safeguarding private and public information cautiously to prevent misinformation and disinformation online foolishly. I might be too young to comprehend the full evolution of technology, but I know very well how blogs, podcasts, and vlogs have democratized media.

From local to global communication, technology has evolved rapidly. In ancient days, communication was grossly local or somewhat national. But in modern days, international calls and communication are faster due to their availability everywhere. This might not be said aloud, but WhatsApp is the largest means of communication in Africa, enabling real-time global communication for free, followed by Telegram, I presume. I may be dangerously correct or rightly wrong from my personal data, but mobile communication breaks cultural barriers and geographical boundaries. Africans now learn online, trade, and network across borders in seconds. Let’s start conversations around a borderless Africa in telecommunications, shall we?

In the past, people had to search for information deliberately because access was very limited. Credibility and accuracy were relatively easier to also maintain.

But in our present day, people possess interpersonal skills to develop digital literacy wisdom beyond the internet. Fake news, impersonation, and digital propaganda challenge truth and trust; misinformation misinforms all of us everywhere, every day. The internet is loaded with abundant information that is handsomely accurate and beautifully unreliable.

How accurate was information in times when a town-crier sounded his horn to relate an urgent community disaster compared to now when information is interactive with comments, shares, remixes, likes, and dislikes? Your own friends will pray for your success, and when you become successful, they will scroll and pass your posts on social media without liking them. Interesting, isn’t it? I must also teach about the karma of consciousness in uncommon sense that came as a consequence of social media. Some people or platforms use algorithms to personalize content, masquerading what individuals see and believe. Gone were the days when mobile phones were separated from other devices. But present is the time when AI assistants, wearables, smartphones, and cloud services create a world of delusion beyond reality.

Finally, the world, especially the technological spectrum, should expect and be very prepared for smart glasses as replacements for Androids and iPhones. While Tesla phones have come to lead in that direction, wearable phone glasses will dominate half of the global market by 2060. Apple Vision Pro, Ray-Ban Meta Smart Glasses, and Google Glass are all making plans to compete in the market. AR Smart Glasses (Augmented Reality Smart Glasses) will bring information into your view. Smart glasses will make calls, send messages, and access the internet like a phone.

Beyond 2030, doctorate degrees and intellectual scholarship will be progressively replaced by AI, such that PhD holders will be redundant to innovation or use their degrees to continue causing social divides across the world. The world isn’t in turmoil because of education; it is in shambles because of so many educated people without knowledge beyond education. Aliens are not only around and living with us, but they wrote this essay to remind us that: yes, indeed, ‘We Came, We Saw, We Conquered.’

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Who Cursed The Gambia? An Essay by Modou Lamin Age-Almusaf Sowe

           Disclaimer: I don't own the picture above.

When I was growing up, I always felt uncomfortable whenever I saw highly talented Gambians leaving the country and not returning. However, as I experienced my own taste of Gambian adult life, I began to understand why our country's most intelligent people choose to live abroad and live very private lives. 

If you're looking for a country where people are divided economically, religiously, politically, academically, and professionally, look no further than The Gambia. The only time Gambians seem to unite is when they are destroying or lying against someone. Unfortunately, some Gambians are ungrateful, envious, and divisive. As a result, initiatives aimed at developing the country often remain unfinished. Despite all this—there are still very good and humble Gambians. What happened to the Biri Biri project of forming a team or building a stadium? Was this dream killed? 

What has happened to our talented footballers, filmmakers, young leaders, and skilled workers, as well as events like the Open Mic Music Festival? Dead, right? Ever asked what killed them? Could it just be a mere juju buried in someone's compound somewhere in Pipeline? Ever asked what happened to the young madman walking down the streets of Banjul? 

Our focus is only on what we see—but not what happened, how, and why!
After centuries of intellectual progress, Gambians must face a terrible question: who cursed The Gambia? The physicist Alan Lightman wrote: “Are we now descending from light into dark?” Could the death of the Community of Gambianist Scholars be a similitude? I don't think so; but Nigerian President Bola Tinubu added: "No matter how short you are, if you get out, you will see the sky." Whether we continue receiving analyses here or not—each one of us is already who you're from creation. The general goals of Gambians have frequently been obscured by a prevalent culture of superstition, jealousy, and envy. The belief in superstition that permeates Gambian society should be at the center of Gambian literature.  

Many citizens blame people for their tragedies, frequently ignoring the more concrete causes of their problems. This kind of thinking can create a vicious cycle of blame and hopelessness in which people believe they have no control over their situation. Superstition can cause distrust and division among the public rather than a spirit of cooperation and support. Many successful Gambians failed in many areas, projects, or things they started—which could benefit the country and humankind—simply because of curses or evil powers used against them. However, as Muslims, we should believe in Allah and endure misfortune—good or bad. But should we still blame God for every misfortune and continue with our 'yalla bahna' adage? One of our scholars once advised me: "Never let them know the cow that is giving you milk. If they know, they will poison the cow. Keep your success a secret."

To fry some eggs in this omelette without adding salt, our current officials of the Gambia Government have started silently relocating to new places to avoid waking up every day to people burying 'jujus' in their compounds/gates. Just last week, half a crate of raw eggs was broken at the gate of one government official living in my area. What more should we expect before the 2026 presidential election is over? “Creation is always more difficult than destruction; greed is easier than greatness.” But what do we know about the life of someone affected by the evil eye? Did it happen to you? 'Thiat', it is called in Wolof; despite being real—it is also doubted by scholars.

A time will come, if this is not addressed, every Gambian will sing this quote:
“I plan for betrayal, I plan for backstabbing, I also plan for reunion and forgiveness long before they happen. In life, I expect nothing, I expect anything, I expect everything.”

Sadly, even if Jesus was a Gambian, he would be provoked, called names, castigated, and ruined. Hyperbolically, can we say Gambians will be the last people to recognize Jesus? Like they have done to Achebe, to Cheikh Anta, to Bun Jeng, Moses, and all other prophets. Tinubu added: "Go and work till mentioning your name becomes a source of increased wealth for someone. Even my weakness creates wealth for vendors.”

Therefore, if the Barrow administration does good, commend them. If they do the opposite, show the human side of goodness by suggesting what's good rather than totally condemning them for political differences. If the opposition does good, commend them as well because even God has oppositions. Another teaching of Bola Tinubu is, while responding to critics: “I study them and strategically execute them. My detractors discuss my successes and failures because they have nothing to execute.”

Perhaps the most pernicious evils that afflict The Gambia are envy and jealousy. These feelings show up in a variety of spheres of life, including interpersonal relationships and career pursuits. In a society where success is often considered a zero-sum game, the achievements of one individual can be perceived as a threat to another. People may be reluctant to follow their passions out of fear of drawing unfavorable attention or animosity, which inhibits creativity and innovation. Particularly impacted are the arts, sports, and leadership fields, where gifted people may be marginalized or even shunned because of their peers' jealousy.

The accounts of numerous well-known Gambians who have experienced hardship make clear the effects of jealousy. While some have suffered from mental health problems or have drifted into obscurity, others have died young. These stories act as warnings, highlighting the damaging effects of envy. Many Gambians have given in to the idea that they must compete with one another rather than celebrate one another's accomplishments, which has resulted in a culture of isolation and quiet.

Gambians need to address the root causes of envy and superstition in order to end this cycle. In order to create a more encouraging and cooperative atmosphere, freeing ourselves from the bondage of evil is essential. People can learn to enjoy one another's accomplishments rather than see them as threats by fostering critical thinking and open communication.

Furthermore, community projects that prioritize harmony and group achievement might aid in tearing down the obstacles brought forth by jealousy.

Finally, the issue of who cursed The Gambia is a complicated and diverse topic to limit to this essay. Jealousy and superstition are important, but the mindset that fosters these feelings is the real problem. Gambians may start to remove the negative cloud that has long obscured their potential by cultivating a culture of cooperation, respect, and support. At that point, the country may genuinely start along the path to growth and prosperity, changing the curse story to one of resiliency and optimism.

If you keep giving money to every touching story you are told, you will be the next touching story. Allegorically, to borrow from the Bible: "from glory to glory"—Gambians are never sorry. It's always the same story.

The ear is patient, but the silence is heavy.
Sometimes, being heard starts with being underrated, persecuted, or corrected publicly. Less is more. Privacy is power. And mystery creates wonder.

Therefore, who, exactly, cursed The Gambia?

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Super-marketization of The Gambia, Political Boutiques, and Social Mini-markets: Article by Modou Lamin Age-Almusaf Sowe

       Disclaimer: I don't own the picture.

The chicken swallows pebbles, drinks water, and eats grains. Yet, she complains of having no teeth. If she has teeth, will she eat gold? Let her go and ask the cow that has teeth but yet eats grass. Cut the grass and let the snakes come out. That's the current status of our country's political landscape. Privacy becomes a mini-market, politics turns into a supermarket, and a lack of respect for authority and elders becomes a boutique. Our society has become so demoralized to the extent that there is no middle left. You're either in the very far-left or in the very far-right. 

The politics of hate and destruction should be expunged from our soil. But if you want to know how, when, and where, you were born, go and stand in an election in The Gambia; assume a public office, or closely work with the government. To make a child remarkably embarrassed, insult his mother. In the words of Ashanti King Osei Tutu Kwadwo (Ghana) to the British Governor Sir Charles McCarthy on 21 January 1824, "I will use your skull as a drinking cup, and your jawbones to beat my drums if you dare to invade." Should Gambian elders start using this adage on the youths? Better still, the South African word vulindlela, a Zulu and Xhosa word that means "make way" or "clear the path," which is often used in the context of a wedding to instruct people to make way for the bride and groom, can be suitable for Gambian youths. We should start telling our youths 'vulindlela' if they don't want to be told how they were born. 

What we need today—what I call the new intellectual young man— is any man or woman who is willing to think responsively. Meaning—young people who know that a man’s life must be guided by reason, by intellect, not by feelings, wishes, whims, or mystic revelation. Our youth must value their lives and not give in to today’s cult of despair, cynicism, and impotence, and they must not intend to give up the world to the Dark Ages and to the rule of the collectivist brute.

As John Henrik Clarke famously observed, “Powerful people cannot afford to educate the people that they oppress, because once you are truly educated, you will not ask for power. You will take it.” The politics of opportunism adds to this exhalation. Let's get things right: visibility without value is just noise. Clout may bring crowds, but it doesn’t build trust or long-term results. The truth is less poetic. Destruction is a joint venture. But the citizen who throws garbage in the gutter and the official who sells a hospital contract to his cousin—they belong to the same machinery. Don't they? This is the conception of super-marketization in Gambian politics. A society that advocates for immorality and teaches foolishness in schools; it is no surprise to see the elephant laying eggs in our national park. That's the level of our social cohesion. Popularity has become a suitable yardstick to measure who runs for the presidency in a country where nothing is enough for a man to whom nothing is actually enough. What we are witnessing today is not just a failed society with moral degradation or public apathy; but it’s the slow erosion of divine knowledge on all sides. What the scriptures call the disappearance of knowledge—that's exactly our time. 

It is advisable to refrain from incurring additional debt of ingratitude to party politics and political affiliation should we wish to develop as a country. Our future, as a country, is too valuable to be diminished by ongoing youthful obligations. I am a fan of education, and in fact, it is good for every young person to learn dividedly and have a say in our affairs as a country: but we must not allow women to continue giving birth to insignificant children who amount to nothing other than disrespecting elders on social media. Young girls who do not wear panties nowadays and young men who bet their lives in the name of football. What a wasted sperm! The Gambia must commit to making a decision that will facilitate a rigid law-abiding society in the name of transformation. While the process may present challenges, the benefits are significantly necessary. State information and private communication must not be carelessly divulged in the name of vying for the presidency. 

Having conducted a philosophical cross-examination of our national problem, I can conclude psychologically with a prognosis that our problem frantically started immediately children who overfed on cornflakes, poop on the potty, and among them those who didn't suckle the breast of their mothers, graduate from university. Young people who speak English more than the British and dress in suits and ties. Those who know more than their parents and their teachers; young men who were circumcised at the hospital; 

These are the kinds of young people The Gambia is seeing: emotionally drained youths who vent their frustrations on social media. In those days, with just one look, elders sent children to the conventry and made them suffer the indignity of unremembered graves. But the post-Jammeh era is a generation of baby walker children who now run for president simply because of gardening fame from a village as remote as Sarre Pateh. Interesting, isn't it? That is the height of our country's name on the planet.

Instead of young people having mentors and learning to be responsible citizens who add value to our society, they often glance at our elders and their calm demeanor, unwavering patience, and consistent positivity, and mistakenly assume their path has been smooth and easy. What they fail to see are the countless battles they've fought in silence—the times they felt completely drained, yet somehow found the strength to rise again. They don’t know how many moments they stood at the edge of surrender, questioning whether they should keep going. They haven’t seen the inner wars they’ve waged, confronting fears, traumas, and doubts that threatened to consume them. Their resilience was forged in fire, not comfort, and their journey has been one of quiet courage, relentless perseverance, and a strength that defies easy explanation.

A few years ago, if you had stumbled on any profile on Facebook, you wouldn’t have seen much—just a flower as a profile picture. But all that changed when President Adama Barrow ushered in "freedom of speech and assembly." It is time to initiate an occult of humility and simplicity. There are only two times I become speechless: when I see highly respected elders in our society responding to youths who pee on the potty (poop sï pötti sambur, it is called in Wolof); and when I see haphazardly educated youth with only WAEC results and plenty of F9s advising President Adama Barrow on Facebook. It makes me laugh at our intellect as a country. 

Patriotism isn't a decadence; it's a calculated investment of responsibility, and in today's modern wasteland of cheap popularity, hypergamy, and entitlement, the youth must vet politicians like a high-stakes business deal. If you don't, you will be just another famous Bob Keita.

I’m a naturally reserved person. I wasn’t trained with social media shenanigans, and I never saw the need to post anything—not even birthday wishes. My page was just there… silent. The urge to promote Gambian literature and publicize my writings led me into social media usage. 

In today’s noisy world, focus isn’t just a habit—it’s a superpower. Be so grounded in your purpose that distractions no longer have a say. You don’t need to chase every shiny thing—just the one thing that truly matters. In both my professional and social life, I apply three ethical principles (Kantian, Utilitarianism, and Virtue ethics) to avoid offending and treating people unjustly, at least not intentionally. So, if you ever feel offended by any of my actions, I am sincerely sorry, and please forgive my shortcomings as I am only human. 

But the Kantian ethics taught me that my only motive for doing good is when it is a duty (moral and/or legal), not out of personal interest, and must be universally applicable. 

Utilitarianism reminds me of the consequences of my actions. The utilitarian perspective of good moral ethics is mainly concerned with the consequences of an action and balancing its relative advantages and disadvantages from the standpoint of creating the greatest good for the greatest number of people, in my view. This means that in order to assess an action as being right or wrong in a given situation, one must look at the consequences of applying that action and take full responsibility for your actions. 

Virtue ethics, on the other hand, has taught me an approach according to which the basic judgments in ethics are about character. In virtue ethics, an action will be considered right if it is what a virtuous agent would do in the circumstances. Virtue ethics tend to consider the personal values of an individual, with the notion that if the virtues of people are encouraged, then there would be no need for problem-solving since each and every individual would be acting from the goodness of their heart. Not so?

If ever our country is to develop, the youths, who have a key role to play in our development, must be both patient and educated.

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6 Reasons Why Some Men Leave After Sex

The owner of this picture granted copyright usage of her image.  ©️ All rights reserved!

In the intricate tapestry of modern relationships, love can be both a beautiful journey and a perplexing maze. As we navigate the emotional landscapes of romance, it’s essential to understand the factors that can lead to heartbreak. 

While every relationship is unique, there are common reasons why some men may choose to leave women after becoming intimate.

Here are six reasons that shed light on this phenomenon, offering insight into the complexities of love in today’s world.

1. Physical Attraction vs. Emotional Connection

In the age of instant gratification, many men may initially be drawn to physical attraction. However, once intimacy is achieved, they may realize that the emotional connection is lacking. Love is not solely about physical chemistry; it requires a deeper bond. If a man feels that the emotional connection is absent, he may choose to walk away, leaving the woman feeling confused and hurt. 

 2. Unpleasant Experiences vs. Post-Intimacy

Intimacy can be a beautiful expression of love, but it can also reveal unexpected realities. For some men, an unpleasant smell coming from a woman’s private parts after sex can be a significant red flag. While this may not be a reflection of the woman’s worth, it can lead to discomfort and a quick change in perception. Men may associate this experience with a lack of hygiene or health issues, causing them to distance themselves emotionally and physically. Secondly, it could also be associated with the man noticing you have had an affair with many men prior to making love. Men can quickly notice a promiscuous woman after having an affair with you. This can degrade your worth-- and thereby making them walk away silently.

3. Fear of Commitment

In today’s fast-paced world, the fear of commitment looms large. Some men may enjoy the thrill of intimacy but shy away from the responsibilities that come with a serious relationship. After sex, they may feel overwhelmed by the prospect of commitment and choose to retreat rather than confront their fears. This can leave women feeling abandoned and questioning their self-worth. In a nutshell, most men leave after satisfying their needs.

 They don't want any intimacy thereafter. Perhaps the only time they will talk to you again is when they need sex. This can only happen for two reasons:

1. When they don't have any intention to marry you at all; and/or;

2. When they realize that you're too cheap and available to sleep around with every man.

4. Desire for Variety

The modern dating landscape often encourages a mindset of exploration and variety. Some men may engage in relationships with multiple partners, seeking new experiences rather than long-term connections. After intimacy, they may feel that they’ve satisfied their curiosity and move on to the next person, leaving their partner feeling discarded. This behavior can be particularly disheartening for women seeking meaningful relationships. Men are scum in general-- they are always carried away but looks, shape, and beauty. It's very hard nowadays to find a man who is only committed to only one woman. Very hard to get. 

5. Misaligned Expectations

In many cases, men and women enter relationships with different expectations. While one partner may be seeking a deep emotional connection, the other may be looking for something more casual. After intimacy, if a man realizes that his expectations do not align with those of his partner, he may choose to leave rather than navigate the complexities of differing desires. This misalignment can lead to feelings of rejection and confusion for the woman involved. When a man is ready to marry and the woman is not ready, oftentimes, when he sleeps with you multiple times-- his chances of leaving are higher. Just very high because he enjoys your sexual company rather than having a deep emotional connection with you.

6. Influence of Social Media and Peer Pressure

In the digital age, social media plays a significant role in shaping perceptions of relationships. Men may feel pressure from their family/peers to maintain a certain image or lifestyle, leading them to prioritize casual encounters over meaningful connections. After intimacy, they may feel compelled to conform to societal expectations, choosing to leave rather than invest in a relationship that may not align with their perceived status. Just to add that what they see on social media-- and what is available in real life-- are very different. Most men are carried away by beautiful pictures women post on social media, using amazing filters. But when they meet them in real life-- and notice differences; they tend to lose interest in them quickly. Lastly, men do not want to marry social media ladies. They are the first type of women every man wishes to sleep with, fully knowing that they can never marry them. Never!

Conclusion

Love in today’s world is a multifaceted experience, filled with both joy and challenges. Understanding the reasons why some men leave women after intimacy can provide valuable insights into the complexities of modern relationships. While physical attraction and chemistry are essential, they must be accompanied by emotional connection and mutual understanding. 

For women navigating the dating landscape, it’s crucial to communicate openly about expectations and desires. Building a strong emotional bond can help foster lasting connections, ensuring that love transcends the fleeting moments of intimacy. Ultimately, love is a journey that requires patience, understanding, and a willingness to embrace both the highs and lows along the way.

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"Left Eye" poem by Modou Lamin Age-Almusaf Sowe

Even when Rihanna sang “everything to the left,”
I’m still eating with my right hand.
I understand The Gambia still couldn’t find the right man.
But break, broke, broken—
Let it break.
The broken pencil still writes.
Let the donkeys brake.
Let the pastor and imam preach;
There is still sex on the beach.

So you still don’t know I see both Satan and the Anti-Christ?
The reason why every dog barks at me in The Gambia
Is because I ain’t part of the movement that derails Christ
And praises Jesus Christ.
But hallelujah to this screaming;
Amen to this healing.

Welcome to the New Age.
In the Book of Enoch—
Chapter One, Page One,
Paragraph Six of 2026—
Let’s turn a new page gently.
The sun has already risen from the East;
War in the Middle East;
The NBA headed to the East;
Gog and Magog arrived with ease—
Enough of the East!

Listen!
Expect Abraham Ibn Ashram.
Next is the continent of Africa.
Who are you people still voting for?
Let the rest rest in peace,
And the dead find peace in pieces.
“She knows, she knows,
And I know she knows,
Alright.”
The real rapper defended his thesis;
It is sad to read such speeches.
Such things don’t only happen in music.
I wrote a letter to Satan;
The next morning my image was tarnished.

We’ve successfully burned the Qur’an and the Bible without burning them.
Have we not had enough agendas at the UN?
What else is my mission?
In our religion,
When you eat beef,
Don’t ask how many cows are in a steak.
We’re so accommodating—like a housing estate.
So, let’s ask, how many cows in a steak?
Allow intellectuals to continue seeing their menstruation
Until Achebe resurfaces.

Listen—
An era of natural disasters strikes.
The planet is ours.
But before 2030,
Don’t use my name in vain.
See how I turned your intellectuals into prostitutes,
Your teachers into agents of the devil,
Your parents into my enablers.
And then, I turned you and your child into the New Age.

I am the reason you worship your phone and false prophets;
The reason why every young person is tryna sell a soul.
We’re all sinners in disguise,
But I made you addicted to pornography.
Forced you to use condoms,
Drink contraceptives,
And now you’re a whore.
Well done!
I’m ISIS in capital letters
And abortion in small letters.

Listen!
I’m the devil’s Bible and the sinners’ Qur’an.
I ran marathons in your mind.
Do you see how I’m controlling the world?
I’m a religious crisis.
By my grace, I am the final prophet.
I influenced a generation of mobile addiction—
Sex and dating,
Kissing and immorality,
Flirting and hating.
Admit that I’m hateful,
Enraged, and ungrateful.

See how I’ve successfully made you learn foolishness in school,
Yet you claim to be knowledgeable?
Stupid!
Hi hater—yes, I heard you talking.
Bravo, but that shit was boring.
Am I not the one who invented social media?
Who is discrediting your profile?
Who really is the Savior of Planet Earth?
I turned your value into likes and followers,
Made your presence online,
And reduced you to a mouse—
With a click on the internet.

Listen—
I inspired a generation of boobs and big buttocks,
Alcoholism and drugs,
Dancing and shaking of asses,
Wealth and more money.
C’mon, honey.
What y’all bitches masturbating for?
You dress indecently but don’t want to be called a prostitute.
Bitch, what’s your name?
My style of writing is too harsh;
I don’t decorate the truth on pavement.
Who really is the King of Saudi?
Just too supernatural to comprehend.
But when schooling kids in kindergarten,
Teach them A-B-C.
Every gardener needs a crop,
But I am the apple of your eyes—
And your Spotify children.

Should I still tell you I am the left eye?
It’s funny—I’m the writer
Every writer is tryna beat now,
Even underground writers with a big mouth.

Explanation of the poem titled "Left-Eye" written by Modou Lamin Age-Almusaf Sowe.

The poem is a "sarcastic lyrical poem" written as a protestant vilification that foretells the coming of age in contemporary African and global poetry, indecisively.

It both revealed and predicted the future plans of the "Illuminati" in the coming years, and happenings across the globe. Referencing from the holy books; it exonerated the arrival of the Anti-Christ and Gog and Maggot. 

The poet, using euphemism, sarcasm, rhythmicity, innuendo and paradoxical iambic pentameter, provocatively insinuates his revolting against the secret society personally and socially.

Linking music and poetry to lyrically and intellectually disintegrate societal values, the poet begins with opening verses from a song by Rihanna, "Everything to the Left", noting that the song was evil because it praises Dajjal, the left-eye (one-eye).

The poet teaches that a certain group of people in society becomes famous, powerful, rich, and influential because of their affiliation with the Illuminati.

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You Never Loved Me - Poem by Modou Lamin Age-Almusaf Sowe

I am full. 

Of me. 

Blessed. 

Free. 

And.

Grateful. 

Free calls

With Africell 

Customer care

On flight mode 

Up in the air 

Do I care?

Some days,

I forget who I am

I can’t see the light 

I am lost from within 

I look around

It’s dark and vast 

Everyone is gone 

Nothing lasts 

My loving eyes,

My soft touches,

My strong, solid anchor,

Once outsourced. . .

I am left with nothing but rancor

Toss and cheers to alcohol 

I understand now that I'm misunderstood 

You don't understand me

So let me explain: 

I thought that in time what was bad would turn good

I love you from the centre of my heart 

From where the blood gurgles in its search for oxygen 

I breathe you into my soul for healing each time my heart threatens to hurt.

Aware of my victim hood

Forged in childhood

Perfected in adulthood 

Into nationhood 

I am in the hood 

For the chicken, poddles, and noddles 

Miscommunication 

Retaliation 

Resignation 

Obligation

But to what,

Sensation?

I trusted love 

I dated lies 

I kissed romance 

And hated you

Followed my course 

Leaned in

Reached out

Got back on that wench

Sit on the bench 

And drove a Benz 

Now I falter

Confused 

I refused 

The news 

Don’t know where I’m

What’s been the purpose?

What was the lesson in that?

Heartbreak 

Lies

Cheating 

Sex

And romance.

Is that all?

Every truth I believed that this world had to offer 

I question entirely 

I’ve filled up my pockets 

With theory and rationale 

Gleaned from my process

It’s dissolved into nothing, 

I’m empty.

You never loved me.

You love the money,

The fame,

And the cars.

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Man with No Friends

In the silence of the night, I weep

For a life that seems so steep

No friends to call my own

Just enemies disguised in a friendly tone

This is probably the most me I've ever been,

I'd been to places you've never been,

I've got plenty enemies among jinns and human beings,

I don't fear the sting of bees,

I'm an 'A' student and never got Bs,

I've departed:

I'm, I, was, are, were, been.

Bingo, Bissou to Binko,

Being,

Just let me be.

I'm a man with no friends

A compound with no fence

A dollar with no pence

A verb with no tense.

My success breeds jealousy and hate

As others plot to seal my fate

People pretend to help, but behind my back

They whisper words that attack

Every young person dreams to be

Just like me, so carefree

But little do they know

The weight of success, the price to show

Alone in my journey, no one by my side

As I watch my dreams slowly slide

Away from my grasp, my heart so heavy

A soul so pure, yet so unsteady

No love to warm my lonely nights

No joy to fill my empty sights

Just the sound of my own thoughts

Echoing in the silence I fought

I, a man of intelligence and grace

Struggling to find my rightful place

In a world that's cruel and unkind

Leaving me shattered, lost in my mind

But despite the pain, the loneliness and strife

I continue to fight for my life

For I know deep down inside

That my spirit will never subside

So as the tears fall from my weary eyes,

I lift my head up to the skies

And vow to keep pushing on

Until the light in my heart shines strong.

My special wishes to you! To schedule or book me for public lectures/ book launches/ conferences/ readings/ scriptwriting/ keynote/motivational speaking events, please email:

 modoulaminsowe1@hotmail.com 

 © All Rights Reserved! Thank you for reading and following my blog.

Honeymoon (Poem by Modou Lamin Age-Almusaf Sowe)

We met immediately the rain stopped beating,
Pompously across the Bertil Harding Highway,
And the stagnant waters gathered on the road
To confidently discuss national problems...

I became your problem
When I splashed a colorful of lovely
Waters on you accidentally;
My heart stopped beating in my chest.

I apologized to you in Spanish,
Ashamed and nervous;
You looked at me twice,
And I looked away in hesitation.

I feel like putting a knife in my throat
And slicing myself into pieces for you.
I regretted my actions and inactions,
And I displayed my shame on MBC Action.

Dressed in African-Gambian
Purple bazin riz,
Glittering in your natural beauty,
Without makeup,
Waiting for a car to pick you up,
That evening, the Ramadan departed for Jerusalem
To pay homage to the Jews.

Just like a thief escaping from stealing,
Your shoelaces fit my shoes.
Hot body, everything looks perfect like a painting.
You mute my emotions.

My instincts told me to apologize in Chinese,
But destiny told me to speak of humanity,
When weakness became my language.
I sighed away from eye contact,
And I gave you my contact.

Looking at your toes
When I said sorry regretfully,
Biting my nails and shaking in my trembles,
My nervousness donating me blood
For my heart failures.

Friendship grew between us;
With time, we set the pace.
On the phone and in space,
It took me so long to write this poem.

Walking down the beach,
With our heads bowed down;
I can't look at what you can't look at in me.
Our hands are observing social distancing.
Even a car could fit between us.
I sweated a gallon of smiles,
Wanting to tell you
How I feel.

When the keys to the door of your singleness opened,
The padlocks broken,
The shops of Serrekunda Market wide open,
Proposing to you in broad daylight,
Sighing from the afternoon,
Little do you know,
The date lied on the calendar.

The day I put a ring on your finger,
The sky tasted ginger.
Kneeling before you,
Humbling myself on my knees,
Angels announcing our marriage up in the skies.
I couldn't sleep that night.
I cut myself but couldn't bleed.
The sexual healing...
That feeling
When the pastor said,
"You may now kiss the bride."
I kissed all the bridesmaids
When we locked lips.

Waking up in Dubai,
Making your breakfast,
Touring the Palm Hotel,
And naming our kids Paul, George,
And George-Paul.
I woke up in New York City,
Looked at myself in bed,
And realized it was a dream.

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Blood of a Virgin: A Poem by Modou Lamin Age-Almusaf Sowe

Photo credit: Suri   man of Ethiopia drinking  blood

Cheers for the cup of blood we tossed

Together with Satan.

The night before we killed a prophet

And separated a man from his wife;

It was the evening before we told nations

To write the "age of 18" in their constitutions.

The morning a president sacrificed his own son,

Bitten by an unknown dog to die in our kingdom

For his rule without wisdom,

Weighing his sins on the wings

Of a demon

From the Manding Empire to the Vatican:

He looked into the eyes of death

And took off his mask,

Exchanging lips with the daughter of the Antichrist;

Sucking her nipples

Like a physiotherapist

Assigned to an all-important job,

Marinating the blood of a virgin

With salt and margarine

To acquire more money,

More power and fame...

Learning dangerous lines from the devil,

Receiving remedial classes from Lucifer

To destroy the Bible and the Quran;

The eyes of men in lust and love

For presidents who respect us,

Countries that obey our leaders,

We declare them winners.

I play with violence.

You play with me; you're nosier than silence.

Children, I can't wait to kill them.

I'm more haram than Boko Haram.

I smuggled cocaine in kilograms...

I've been in the dope business

Since Africa didn't sell,

The poets were children,

And Aristotle wasn't taught by Horace.

What is this nonsense you speak?

I recognize every member of the Illuminati.

I am destined for greatness and chill with the hatred.

I support God like Adam and Eve combined.

I have been watching you from afar,

Looking for virgins like some crude oil,

But I strongly believe in Allah,

And I don't need your wealth and fame!

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I Wish You Knew - Sad Love Poem by Modou Lamin Age-Almusaf Sowe

I wish you knew how your marriage has affected me.

I wish you knew I can't love another woman as much as you,

I want you to know I'm healing from the pain of heartbreak day by day.

I wish you knew I need you more than anything on earth.

I met many women, but none is like you.
I hurt many girls because of you.
I have forgiven you, but I can't forget our love.

I wish you knew I need you one more time.

I could have married anyone.
But what's marriage without true love?

I wish you knew how hurt the ladies feel whenever I mention your name.

I wish you knew it was your own family that separated us.

You held me in the palm of your hands;

Our love was more than Romeo and Juliet.

My love for you is here to stay.
I can't get you out of my head.

I wish you knew those who separated us
I am the only one you ever truly love.
I wish you knew how black magic affected our love

I wish you knew I am your husband, and you are my wife.

I wish you only knew God can judge us.

I wish you knew we have sworn by the Holy Qur'an to be together forever.
I wish you knew I am only your admirer and lover.
I am not your enemy and cannot be one.

I wish you knew you were the only true love I once had.
I wish you knew how I am dying inside without you

I wish you knew what the future holds for us

I wish you knew the cure for the lonely nights I spent alone
I wish you know you are the only remedy for my heartache.

How I wish, how I wish you knew!

 

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I Do Not Worship The God You Worship (Poem by Modou Lamin Age-Almusaf Sowe)

What does the God you serve do for you?

Is he not the God of poverty

The carrier of sicknesses

The doer of evil who easily kills than he can cause life

Is he not the God, they say, owns the moon?

That God, they say, is all-seeing; the all-seeing eye

Is he not himself the God of destruction?

I speak with the word and voice of God

Vox Populi, Vox Dei

Hit you with my cock and dick

In Jola, I shout the word  'Leh-gaga leh cock'

Hating on me, I do not just give a fuck

I am not married because I cannot marry the blood of Satan

My blood is so pure to unite Muslims.

I do not worship the God you worship.

You painted my image in black and white

With fraud and sexual harassment allegations

Just because I refused to join your religion

You can't defame my fame

I do not burn in the flame

But yet, took the blame

To cover up for your shame, I did earn the hate and hatred.

I know everything about the Secret Society

Perhaps, that's why most of you hate me

Gambian literature,

I do not worship the God you worship.

I dearly know the prophet called Haddy Ceesay

He stammers and has one-eye

The doyen praise singer and guardian of the book of Satan

I knew him as the god of the national museum

I met all his family in the spirit world

I killed his twin and intertwined his dream

I do not write because I want to

Angels who betrayed God

Satanail and Azazel

I recognized you all in the realm of the occult

I've been redeemed to operate in the world of the supernatural

I do not worship the God you worship.

I do not sell my soul to be Achebe or Shakespeare

To be famous and make noise at trade fairs

But you all know I am the custodian of Gambian literature

Managers show me manners when they see me behind the cameras

If you cannot worship my God, respect the G.O.A.T in me

I see more than the eyes of the Anti-Christ

I derail Christ and praise Jesus Christ

When I die, bury me in Mecca or Madina

I know why you killed Sadam Hussein, Gaddafi, and Sankara

We don't die we multiply and then we come and divide you.

I do not worship the God you worship.

I cannot be an Ahmadiyya 

Because Ghulam Ahmad is not better than me

Go and ask Satan if he doesn't know the Mahdi

Find out why I am Almusaf 

My name is the name of the Quran

I am a qur'anic verse

If death, I fuck

If knowledge, I made it.

I do not go to school to have wisdom

I read the Book of Enoch

My life is a mystery

I know the location of hell

Even if I die and go to hell,

I will end up going to heaven.

I do not worship the God you worship.

I am the book of the New Testament

I don't need trophies to wear gold

My God is sufficient for me

Am a beast, am an alien, am ahead of my class

I am not a human

I burned the Church of Christ

Because if there is God, why won't Jesus be one

I do not write this poem

The devil did

You destroy the Quran and the Bible without burning them

I do not worship the God you worship.

I already exchanged my blood

Rehearsed for my death

Swam in the human waters of bravery

I am holy and horny

Sex doesn't make me drunk

God did.

If you won't allow LGBT

Change your gender

Men and women are not toys

Boys for men and girls for women

I met Satan twice in my life

If there is heaven on earth,

I take Islam as my sacrifice

I made incantations

Bath in the blood of lies

I am nothing but only a poor slave of Allah.

I do not worship the God you worship.

 

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Copying any of my articles without written permission is an infringement of Copyright.

Decolonizing The Heart (A Poem) by Modou Lamin Age-Almusaf Sowe

Hey Miss Tonto,
You running to my mama, I want you to please tell her, I say that I say something.

Miss Tonto, I started to believe in such things like heaven's trumpet;
After it is over, is this is it done?
If there is heaven, make it speak to your son-- exaggerated a little bit--
Trying to make a point to make you understand why you should quit smoking.

Miss Tonto, you see my moma tell her am lost
Living in a world without a mother when life is tough,
Falling in love is not love.
But before my funeral is arranged,
Before the sky is damaged,
The rivers are folded like a carpet,
Your kings will be our slaves;
We will assemble every man from his grave:
From the incense of intelligence,
To the hospital of thoughts;
We taught your teachers what you never read in books.
If insanity is the drug of misery,
What is the cure for death?

Miss Tonto, my sins always light the cigarettes and people talk when I cough,
I started back up again; twenty years later, I got famous throughout the world:
Can buy food for myself when is life soft.

Miss Tonto, you see my mama, whisper her this:
The real reason why I go to church on Sundays to confess my sins,
Passing my Bible studies and Satan helping me with my homeworks--
I saw spirits spitting and eating the flesh of so on and so on--
And until this day, Gambians do not know I write for them.
From Ghana to Alabama,
Read my speeches like Barrack Obama.
God sent down prophets and books,
But you swallowed the pages,
Painted the law of divinity,
Declared yourselves prophets;
Steal, rub, and drink--
Constitutionalized lies--
Monetized the law--
and normalized evil.

Miss Tonto, you see my father, please ask him why he married my mother, was he happy inside?
Because it takes dignity to carry my mother's name with him.
Am sure I did it in spite of my decision at birth to be a Nigerian:
I'm a genius inside battling with Satan and all angels running arts and culture.
We're like two young people with different views whether a penis is actually a toy.
I die from heart conditions caused by the divorce I did to The Gambia.
What's the need of decolonizing the mind if the heart is still enslaved?
When prophets and kings sold their souls,
Lies on the lips of a president,
Writers write for Satan,
The pastor preaches good but drinks from the bottle of sin,
Money is god;
Winning is vital;
School teaches immorality;
Education doesn't benefit Ph.D. holders;
Technology controls your minds;
But we control your hearts.
Decolonizing the mind, for who, to whom?
Who lied to you?

Delicious My Sugar Sauce ( Love Poem )

                                                  

Disclaimer: Modou Lamin Age-Almusaf Sowe was paid by a client to write this love poem for her. The name of this person is withheld for personal reasons. Therefore, the picture is only used with the permission of the person herein for the purpose of this poem.

Excuse me, did you say something?

Was you talking to me?

It all started when I started seeing your face on my examination papers

You became my DP

My wallpaper

My screensaver and the saver of my screen

I saw you and wanted to shout, but I yelled and screamed

Afraid of your body cream

Intending to fetch water from your stream

It was all a dream.

Was it?

Your image started blocking my sight My nose loss its sense of smell Your looks blocked my incoming words My ears felt shy of you I trembled and trampled Gazing at you gives me a heart attack Like Attack without Jizzle, I attacked your shadows Printing my lips at Shadow Print Walking from Old Yundum to Bambo I mistakingly drank a bottle of shampoo.

Excuse me, did you say something?

Was you talking to me?

Loving you is giving me pimples

Your smiles give me dimples

Your hips make wise men foolish and foolish men very foolish

I started using tissues in public

Laughing at vans and gele geles I hate watching TV, and television started chasing me You got me on the left And you got me on the right I love you, is that alright?

Excuse me, was you talking to me?

Did you say something?

I write as the writer in me With tears in my heart Fears in my eyes Blood in my hands And discomfort in my brain To shout out to you The word "I LOVE YOU" in tick capital letters I think this might be worth your attention, don't you? Empathy became my God And your love is my religion School taught me nothing if not sitting on chairs Everybody wants to be the lion in your jungle I became the lion who eats both the lion and the jungle Bottle of perfumes started meaning nothing to me I burned like a wasted petrol I got lost like a needle in the middle of the sea Through the windows of my mind, it is you I see I couldn't stand seeing you with other guys I started hiding my feelings for you But this feeling I'm feeling is killing me It is kneeling me and dissing me willingly.

Excuse me, was you talking to me?

Did you say something?

My love for you is whiter than a bride's dress on her wedding I made you fall asleep in my heart To wake up in my dreams You are the pillow that brings me closer to God When I was heartbroken You fixed in me what was broken What ancestors did you summon to the summit? My heart was broken at the AU Summit To give me what I needed

What you need to take from me.

I like the caesura you deliberately make in contextuality of my dramatic irony I like the brevity in your sensation

Your love is burning my heart, daily I burn Are you not yourself an angel from the above? I speak in tongues for the love in me is big enough to hide you in my world. The first day I saw you, I feel like going live on QTV telling everybody it is me Assistant Jesus The way you walk nearly made me Start throwing stones at the gate of the Statehouse Women like you deserved to be told At least 72 times in a day that you are beautiful Lips like the gospel of Mathew and hair like Surah- An-Nisa Hips like ranha bisap I like how you kick my mind like a football Playing ball with bullets Oily like chui boullet. My distinguished queen, Here is your crown to wear. You deserve to be treated like a queen and loved like a mother; I love my eyes when you look into them When you smile everybody got to look aside My heart is pumping deoxygenated blood into my head For being so hungry to eat your lips. I read the devil's love bible Verses to rhymes all speak about you The way I love you cannot be a lie Because even if I sit up straight, I cannot lie.

My special wishes to you! To schedule or book me for public lectures/ book launches/ conferences/ readings/ scriptwriting/ keynote/motivational speaking events, please email: modoulaminsowe1@hotmail.com 

 © All Rights Reserved! Thank you for reading and following my blog. Should you wish to use any of my articles for research, lectures, personal use, etc.,.. kindly address your message to: modoulaminsowe1@hotmail.com. Copying any of my articles without written permission is an infringement of Copyright.

If I Wasn't Me ( A Poem)

If I wasn't me 

I wouldn't be born a Gambian writer on 7 January 1990 

In Bakau Newtown, The Gambia, West Africa

In a religious family of multiple scribes and Islamic scholars

My blood is from Prophet Isa ( Jesus) 

And the Prophet Muhammad (S.A. W).

If I wasn't me, I wouldn't have cried nights full of me on a faithful Friday

Waking up on Saturday morning

Hearing my mother talking to my dad Thinking about the name I was going to be given.

But most people don't want to be part of the process, they just want to be part of the outcome. 

But the process is where you figure out who's worth being part of the outcome. 

Seven days before my birth, I saw all the humans and inhumans who were going to be my enemies. 

I seen days of insanity 

Seeing enemies I recognize inside my mother's womb

Sweeping the hardest parts of my struggles; 

From hatred to accusations, 

All the food I ate served as my tears 

Even gold couldn't convert my fears.

 

If I wasn't me, I wouldn't drink blood inside my mother's womb 

From avengers to revengers amongst mankind and the jinns

Congregating to pay every debt of self-defeat they had lost to my grandfather

Everyone knows bout my greatness from kismet to dissipation 

But their hatred gives me constant constipation

I know Christians without beads and Muslims who don't read the Qur'an,

I read the devil's bible

And I'm off the rifle 

Bcos when I was two years old,

I met the antichrist at the age of 14

I recognized him and know he is a world leader 

A ruler who is glorified in the West;

A handsome public speaker and a former president.

If I wasn't me, I wouldn't have rejected my nationality of being Gambian to

Speaking to reporters in India,

But nothing is perfect that's why I made the difference.

Bring back Jesus, I'm the prove

Like a food in a stove, 

I planted myself a great destiny from my hard work

Like a newly wedded bride caught cheating with a gateman, 

I rejected my namesake's name for my name instead 

I'm not my namesake because I renamed myself 

Classified my ISBN and put me in a shelve

I'm Modou not Momodou 

I was born to carry the whole of mankind up there in the sky

At the age of 7, living a life that is so hard...

I recognized all the snakes and reptiles present at my naming ceremony 

I got aunties from the marine kingdom and uncles from the evil world 

But my grandmother never fed on evil.

If blood, I drink it,

If money, I make it

I don't care it is clean or not, I just take it. 

I'm not a wizard, I'm a jinn. 

I feel like I'm half human and half inhuman for us humans 

The daytime is my night and the night is my daytime 

I'm usually dark in the light and light in the dark

I'm darker than the Kaaba at Mecca

And harder than the pyramid in Egypt.

 

If I wasn't me,  I wouldn't see two witches eating my flesh at night 

Addicted to writing and hate love without marriage 

Hesitation made me feel like a lie in the middle of a gossip 

I knew the Quran at heart and became the heart of the truth

The bible is inscribed on my chest;

 If we'll fight, let's fight,

I've been waiting for death for so long 

With great aplomb.

I'm born to identify the Dajjal 

To become a disciple to Jesus and a viceroy to God.

If God has three letters, why not man?

From canterbury, nativity, and credulity,

I'm captivated by my innermost being.

Let me sell you mirages from the sun

Let's say Jesus will soon come.

I knew I was going to be called Modou Lamin Age-Almusaf Sowe 

Bcos Almosaf is the guardian of the qur'an and a religious reformer. 

My name attracted so many liars with some and informers 

From the olding generations to the newcomers,

I'm enslaved in England and remarried the queen.

If I wasn't me, I wouldn't see the antichrist since I was young bcos 

Not all cars are taxis' 

I ain't gotta to tell you Chinua Achebe didn't just rose to fame like that

If you want to be great, you have to worship the spirits

If you ain't part of the secret, they say, "don't trespass the Secret Society"

Every letter entering into the statehouse must bear the writing "His Excellency"

I don't need cameras to appear on TV

Everything I touch turn to gold

Ask a golddigger 

My wife is so cool like a cold dinner

The truth doesn't have to smell sugar and salt to be accepted 

I'm better than your favourite author 

Don't make me urine on you

I'm addicted to doing evil

I'm a photo lamp in a photograph 

Even if I were to sell my soul, nobody can buy it.

Put my picture in your magazine 

I did so many good things but every Gambian hates me like Yahya Jammeh.

Let's play with ambers of fireballs 

From Wordsworth to Shakespeare, I'm read everywhere, what y'all talking bout?

Go drink ibuprofen 

Add me to the dictionary 

Or add the words I invented;

I can vividly remember meeting Satan.

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