Sunday, December 28, 2008

This morning

1. I discussed the Arab-Isreali conflict and went over popular opinions that the Arabs were the descendants of the son of Abraham that he had by his female slave and the Isrealis are the descendants of the son of Sarah. I put forward that if that is the case, then I blame Abraham for using a woman for his own personal means and discarding her when he was through with her because he had found an alternative. I am not sure if it is written anywhere( as I don't read the bible) but it is quite possible that the slave girl was raped. Imagine that situation where you are so horribly violated, forced to bear a child only for you and your child to be cast away when something more favourable to your tormentors came about. I figured that was probably enough motive to want to casue trouble. However, that does not explain away generations of violence to one another--the Isrealis and Arabs I mean.

2. Which also brought up the topic of "the chosen ones". Who decides who are the chosen ones? And how do we know the "texts" advocating them as chosen ones were not solely written by them and part of propaganda masquerading as religious material

3. Then I thought about different scenarios that I had read( briefly) or learned about from the orthodox religious faiths that I could turn into satire for a stage performance. I have already come up with my version of the Nativity tale (that one always cracks me up when i imagine how it will be executed). I have one for the story of the Garden of Eden, where Adam is just a lecherous fool who thought with his stomach and his penis....and now, I have one that will be set in the House of Abraham....

4. Which now reminds me of the show House of Saddam; an awesome film project bringing together some of the best actors of middle Eastern descent. I am so in love withj Igal Naor. I don't care that he is 50 years old, we can always work something out.

5. Which brings me to my fascination with older men. Why can't I just gravitate towards someone at least six years older? What is it about a man in his forties or in some cases fifties (depending on what he looks like) that makes my knees water...? Someone said that women who move with older men are looking for a father figure. I disagree. I have a father. One that was always there and would possibly wring my neck if I brought home a man just nine years his junior. I like who I like. Shikena

6. Which caused me to think about sex and how long it had been since I had had any and how I was not even in the mood to take off my clothes on the account that I was not looking as I would want to, i decided that I must once again, go on a diet and this time be consistent.

7. Then I thought of what it would mean to be consistent. I need discipline in my life. I thought of all the wasted time I had misused in the past year and all the projects that either had to be abandoned or shelved...

8. Then I thought of all my business ideas and how much money I need to do what I want to do

9. Then I thought about where I could get the money

10. Then I thought about money some more

11. And some more...

12. Then I said I would make another unending list of things to do so I could get organised. Then I chastised myself because I make those lists everyday and never seem to be able to get them done or keep to task

13. Then I wondered where the list I made for yesterday was

14. I couldn't find it.

15. I checked my handbag.

16. It was not there

17. Could it be on the table?

18. I think someone trashed it which would be ironic because I am the one always trashing pieces of paper that look like trash.

19. I think I have created a cleanliness monster.

20. I need my own place

21. Then I went online to look for affordable apartments.

22. I need money

23. So I thought about money some more

24. Then I thought about whether I would break rules to make money

25. I told myself: you have been in this country for five years (in a couple days) and you have not broken rules, why start now?

26. I couldn't be a prostitute.

27. Too much work.

28. I need a job. I have been looking for one for months, one that will allow me to work and be paid cash because the law says that I cannot work off campus and there are no jobs on campus.

29. Would working not be breaking the rules?

30. Aaaaaarrrrgggghhh!!!

31. You know what, I am not stressed.

32. I am going to go eat something.

33. First what is on TV?

34. Oooohhh, sexy Said Tamaghoui

35. *sigh*

36. It is 12:33 pm...what do I eat for breakfast sef?

37. Let me go take a shower.

38. Thank God no one is forcing me to do anything, like work in servitude or whatever

39. Not like Abraham's slave girl.

40. Which brings me back to the Arab-Isreali conflict...what would it take for us all to get along? ehn?!!!!

Wednesday, December 24, 2008

Tuesday, December 09, 2008

The bus to tomorrow

picture from

Sit here

With your bag of dreams

The bus to tomorrow has not yet come

If you like

You can begin the walk

If it stops to pick you


Or else

you take longer

With a bag of so much

Don't think of the heat of the burning sun

There is water in the course of the sojourn

The bus to tomorrow has yet to come

In the distance, you should see its form

Its slow chug making you to breathe fast

Does not mean that it moves to meet the beat

Sit here

With your bag of dreams

The bus to tomorrow has not yet come

If you like

you can begin to walk

If it stops to pick you


Or else

you take longer

With a bag of so much



I must laugh, the story is riddled with mirth.

You cannot return, The words were flung at you

With your bag of so much, telling you to take your foolish dreams

And leave the simplicity of their unimaginative peace

You spat your goodbye, you refused to cry

You have no time, you must catch your ride

So you hurried and hurried to the station

Where the dust had cloaked with a blanket so brown

Only to find that the bus was no where around

Sit here

With your bag of dreams

The bus to tomorrow is yet to come

If you like

you can begin to walk

If it stops to pick you


Or else

you take longer

With a bag of so much

They can come up to you

And offer you a lift

Faster they will get there

and faster they will split

It is hot I know, but the cool they offer is not so

The ride so fast, it brings vomit up and out

Do you even arrive?

And how do you pay for this ride so fast that they offer?

Me thinks they have seen your bag of dreams

And that is why they know that you need to get somewhere

And that you must have been waiting awhile.

Sit here, joo

With your bag of dreams

The bus to tomorrow has not yet come

If you like

You can begin to walk

If it stops to pick you


Or else

you take longer

With your bag of so much

Sit here

With your bag of dreams

Sit here

I will sit with you

I too, have my bag of dreams

The bus to tomorrow will soon come

Sit here

Saturday, November 29, 2008

Let there be peace in Hindustani....

Wednesday, November 26, 2008

The night before thanksgiving

pictures from

The winds are brutal and unrelenting. They whip at my body with malicious glee, reminding me that I have to go through this gruelling journey everyday, twice a day. And at this time, everyday as I await the bus to take me home, I go through all the things that I find unsatisfactory with my life. I list all the things that I wish would end and all the things I would do, if given the chance. I look for all the things that aren't there and tell myself, "any day now, God please, any day now"

Then by happenstance, someone will come to stand by me. By the looks of them, he or she is also waiting. But not for the same thing. They are waiting for me and all others to leave. We are in their way. We are in the place where they call home. This uninsulated shed with a broken bench, pooly lit and inusfficiently sheltered. We are in the place where tonight, and most likely every other night, they will call bed.

We don't meet each other's eyes. I am a bit ashamed of my ingratitude but unrelenting in my ambitions. I can do better than I am now and I want the chance to do so. Yet, I know in that moment that I could be in so much more worse a situation.
It's okay though. For now, the wait ends and I continue on my way. I am paying my dues so that what comes next is much more appreciated and every action from now on must be done to ensure that it does not bring to another, difficulty and unneccessary strife.
For the ride home, I try to remember: Cat, dear, be grateful.

Wednesday, November 19, 2008



No hair


no laugh


no cry


no smile


not slim


not fat


can't dance



and I


not used


not tired


not hungry


can't dream


don't sing

please don't sing



and I


no sex


can't want

not wanted

won't want


no move


don't stop


don't beg


oh dear



and I


no sounds


no frowns








and I


not who


yes, what


don't know






and I

It's me...
It's me....
It's me...
It's me, myselves and I....

Tuesday, November 18, 2008

Hold my hand

I'm tired

And I'm falling

Hold my hand

I'm tired

And I'm falling

Hold my hand,


I am tired

And I'm falling

Hold my hand

oh oh

I am tired

And I'm falling

Please hold my hand.

Monday, November 03, 2008

Liquid symphony

The rains have come and with it, a liquid symphony. Water waltzes down from the skies and then breaks into a fox trot on the metal roofing sheets that cover the decaying urban sprawl that is Ajegunle. Where it can, this water finds its way to the ground and roughly drags the earth down the hill in an electric slide. This is the best part: watching refuse, sand and discarded bits make valiant attempts to resist the pull of their watery master; pretending like they either do not hear its music or that they do not wish to dance. In the end, water wins and they all dance along to its tune. When it is all over, all has been washed clean or at least moved from one place to another. We forget that the stench of rot remains and that the ground is now a vomit of mud. No, we say to each other: the rains have cleansed the land.

Why then do they not cleanse me? I, who sit here patiently waiting for this symphony. My ticket has been purchased through my homelessness and I have front row seats to the magnificence of the rain's dance. No, it will not cleanse me. It's not meant to. I am to sit here, chilled, hungry and alone. All of my eight years, this is all I have ever known. Still I wait to be cleansed, ignoring the sores on my spindly legs; hunger having long receded and its definition forgotten as there has been no otherwise.

One day however, the rain brought something else. A hand. It reached through the crack in the wall I had made for myself from old doors and forgotten panels from the market place. It dragged my screaming form out and enveloped me in an embrace so tight that I was certain to squeeze the air out of my being. I fought and railed at the hand, cursing the rain because it had deserted me. The rain laughed and continued on its own way.

The rains have returned and with it, liquid majesty. It has never been so beautiful. I watch it from my new seat on the window. The window that is by my little bed. My bed in this huge house where the hand has brought me. Here, no one worries that I don't speak. Here there is no cold. The hand has changed many times. Now it belongs to an old man who smells like baby powder. I now smell like baby powder too. Some other hands gave us alot of it and I have my very own bottle of blue. It is a nice place, this house. He is a nice man too. There are nice children here. And here, the rain is nicer.

The rain sings and with it, liquid orchestra.

Friday, October 31, 2008


Nigerian Government,

When you fear criticism, then what is being said must be true. You are one of the most useless institutions out there and that is because you are populated with incompetent, corrupt and self serving individuals whose usefulness has expired and whose goals and objectives benefit no one but themselves.

As a citizen, I have the God given right to say all this and as a human being, I can do that also. If you are not going to do anything good with yourselves, at least don't do anything worse. Let the man go, if he has not said anything true, why are you worried? And if he did do something unconstitutional, there are the appropriate channels to bring him to justice.

Or are you planning to come for the rest of us too?

Wednesday, October 29, 2008

Farafina's latest issue out

Check out Farafina's latest issue online for free. You can download and print to your heart's desire....

Monday, October 27, 2008

It's the Year of Thanksgiving

Picture got from here

The new spiritual new year has begun and it is the Year of Thanksgiving. You have come a long way and I know that if you push aside the mist of challenges that might exist to obscure your vision of your life, you will find alot to be thankful for.

Thus, in the spirit of all things blogger (because asking you for something else might be intruding on your personal space) I would like to invite you to tell me:

1. One blog you are thankful for

2. One blogville sponsored event you are thanful for

3. One new thing that you learned on blogger that you are thankful for and

4. One blogger that you are thankful for.

Leadership by example dictates that I must say mine so I will list as follows;

Blog I am thankful for: Naijablog. I am there every day.

Blogville sponsored event: 14TH AND SERENITY. It was an experience on its own and allowed me to converse with some of the most interesting people on blogville. In the event that people argue that I can't plug my own event, then I say BLOGVILLE IDOLS; because it was the first one that I saw that gave me the idea for mine.

New thing I learned: To seperate the blog from the blogger. Not everything you read is as it presents itself and not all bloggers are as they present themselves online. Thus in real life, learn to look at whatever or whomever you are looking at from a higher point of view. You see more and are never dissappointed but always surprised.

One Blogger I am thankful for: I should have made this option plural because for me there are so many. I will say Rayo because she introduced me to blogging....and because she knows where I live so I don't want her to come smother me in my sleep...cos I really wanted to say...
And you?

Tuesday, October 21, 2008

A loud silence

Tomorrow, October 22nd, 2008, I am inviting you to join me in a move to
Break the Silence and support the Congo in her struggle for stability and freedom from an exploitative west. This week is Congo Week and this is a way for you to join hands to make your voice heard...through your silence.

From 11 am till 5pm, I implore you to join the CELL OUT!!!. Switch off your phones from 11 am till 5 pm in a boycott of the cell phone industry. Coltane which is used in the manufacture of cell phones and other electronic devices has been the motivating factor behind the exploitation and death of millions in the Congo. Congo has as one of its multitude of abundant resources, this mineral called Coltane.

There was a time when we did not have cell phones. You can make a difference. Join me in the CELL OUT.

Thursday, October 16, 2008

You know some of your people have fucked up real bad when this conversation appears as part of the dialogue in a DISNEY cartoon:

Wha are you up to?

I need to get money

What for?

Someone has been sending me emails for investments in Nigeria. I need to get back to them

Uhh, I wouldn't do that if I were you....

So here's a big thank you to all you mother fuckers who ran this country to the ground and encouraged corruption and crime in all its forms. Nigeria is now a punchline for Disney's prepuberscent kids !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Monday, October 13, 2008

Is it true?

Catwalq: How come these porn stars have such great skin? Ehn, I want to look like one.

Catwalq's Aunty: Don't you know they say that sperm is good for the skin?

Catwalq: Haba! Aunty mi!!!!!!

Catwalq's Aunty: I am serious. Ask someone.

Catwalq: u mean sex? or you mean as lotion?

Catwalq's Aunty: Yes!!!

Catwalq: (rolling on the floor laughing her beautiful african derriere off)

So to you guys: Ngbo?!!!Is it true? Has anyone heard any such thing?

Wednesday, October 08, 2008

Yeah, I said it...and...?

I was having a conversation today with a dear friend of mine and we were recounting experiences we had with fellow Nigerian women with regards to the following: sex, marriage and children (to have or not to have). I personally am fatigued from discussing this topic but I still find it fascinating because I find that I am in the minority with regards to how I address and analyse the above mentione topics.

I love sex. I think it is a natural function that can be used for both recreation and procreation. I do not entertain any guilt of any kind associated with it because I am an adult who chooses to responsible for my thought, words and actions. Thus, religious endorsements or lackthereof on me having sex outside of the oh-so-sacred institution of marriage is of no consequence to me. I think that with regards to sex, we all have to be honest with ourselves. In any decision regarding what you allow yourself to experience, it all boils down to you and what your comfort level is. If you won't do something, it's then not your place to impose upon others the same decision. Therefore, if you like sex and want to have it, that is your business and if you want to experience it only within marriage, that is your business too. The pervese comes into sex when the experience is either to someone's disadvantage or guilt gets involved.

I don't think marriage is sacred or any of that nonsense. It is a socio-economic partnership with emotional ties included. It is important only to whom it is important. If it does not work out, it--the contract--can be severed and another created. I refuse to compromise on my happiness because I think it is delusional to think that you can make someone else happy when you are not.

Children are also important to whom they are important. Having ovaries does not a good mother make. I was tickled pink by the many comments on Solomonsydelle's post about a woman (I am assuming she is an adult) who wrote in asking for advice on whether or not she should have an abortion. Me, if I don't want a pregnancy, I am getting rid of it but also I should be smart enough to use birth control if I am going to be sexually active. As a woman, you have to be in control of every decision that involves your life and your body. That is what makes you a woman: self responsibility. As much as people would like to spout religious text as the basis for why they would advise for one to keep a pregnancy, none of them would be there to experience with you the joys and PAINS of motherhood. And please don't imagine that because there is a father involved that he is obligated to share the experience. It would be ideal and props have to be given to committed and involved fathers--and I am not saying that men are so dispensable--but when you remember that should anything wrong happen with that child, society would ask for the mother's identity, you start to evaluate your role as a mother rather differently (or I would hope)
Anyone can be a mother and at any time they wish. It just depends on how you define motherhood. I have said this before and will say it again: Carrying a child inside of you for nine months does not mean that the child is obligated to love you. And I will add, that I think that should not be the maximum of your accomplishments. Unless that is how you choose to identify yourself: birther of another human being.

I feel that those who share my views don't get heard in the sea of stereotypical "traditional" opinions. It seems like the majority feel like views like mine are not deserving of being expressed. I think most of us are not corageous enough to say what we really feel in the face of opposing majority view. If I have offended anyone...I am not sure I care.
I am just someone who refuses to define myself along the lines of whether or not I am a virgin, whether or not I am married and how many full grown ovaries I am pushing out of my vagina. I am other things. And those things are much more important to my definition of womanhood.

Feel free to disagree. Or not.

Friday, October 03, 2008

Yesterday, my teacher wept as he recounted the tale of how the remains of enslaved Africans were laid to rest in lower Manhattan after having been exhumed in the early 90s by chance during thr construction of a major landmark in New York. He did not bawl. Tears simply ran down his face as he discussed ancestors for the Africans all over the world. He spoke with pride about how Howard University was selected to conduct the research and forensic study simply because it was the only school the supporters of the cause could think of with black scientists they felt they could trust to conduct the research without influence and tampering.

For many years, the bodies resided on the campus while undergraduate, graduate, faculty and visiting scholars painstakingly tried to piece together whatever history they could on the remains they had found. He described the interment ceremony with emotion and how the bodies journeyed through all the predominantly black states on the east coast in coffins handcarved from Ghana and lined with handwoven kente cloth. It was a wonderful tale. He ended by saying that one day, we--the students--will be called upon to stand for something and in that moment of decision we will realise what our training/education/degree had been for.

It got me thinking about my country whose birthday had just past. For the past four three years of my being here, I celebrated Nigeria's independence day with much more vigor and enthusiasm than I had done my whole life. I would put on my nicest African fabric, braving the fall weather to brand myself as someone in celebration of my countries efforts. I never really thought of those who might have died so I could have a country but I would think of those who continue the struggle because they have decided to stand for something. They stand for their country, their nation and their people. They know what their training is for and that is their lives calling.

This year, I did not carry my portable shrine of fabric on my skin. I did not show up at any of the many parties being thrown around the city (not that I ever went: there is just something not so appropriate about dry humping in the name of independence) and I did not sit painstakingly texting everyone in my phone book and wishing them a happy independence day. Funny enough, neither did they. I did not rush to my blog to put a post displaying my e-patriotism. It was just an ordinary day. Me, and all my issues trudging through the cycle of it, hoping to get to the next one not as bruised as one feared. And the situation at home unchanging.

We are 48. And so? What have we done to show that we remember those who fought so we wouldn't have to? What have we done to take the name forced on us and brand it a superior identity? Not much.

But is home. A forty eight year old home whose foundations are still there but whose structure is bending in the wind.

Happy birthday old girl. Everything is going to be okay....

Saturday, September 20, 2008

You have 14 messages

"Hi, this is Tayo...and Lara...and Queen(hey girl!!!!) and we are just calling to say hi (Hiiiiiiiiiiii!!!!....where have you been?). Anyways, call us, no call me (what about me? Are you the only one with number?) okay. Toodles...."

Hi, this is me when you get this message.

Hi, this is Tayo. Haba! Ki lo n sele?

Omo, Queen here o. Where are you?

IB. This is your friend Lara. You know, the fine one. Not the other two. I am calling to make sure that you are still alive and speaking English. I will stop by your place tonight. Abeg open the door o...unless there is com-pah-nie...wink wink...anyways, laters.

Look here, IB, what is it? where are you. Call me. Just in case you will say you don't know...It's Tayo.

Girl, please call me. I am worried.
It's me, Lara.

Girl, I just heard. I am so sorry. Where are you?

IB please where are you. I know you are getting this message. Please call me. I have been to the house and you are not there. Please let me know. It is not the end of the world. It is Queen o. Me. Queen. Please talk to one of us. I know you don't like me but that is not....

I was just saying that that is not what is important. Call me, it is Queen.

IB it is me Tayo. This is not fair o. Are you trying to make my hair fall out with worry? Eleyi o da o.

You know what, just call me. I am tired of begging you. Ah-ah, what is it?Where are you? be hiding and shit. Oya, I am sorry. Call me. Tayo

Omo you are gangsta o. Chei...and see me worrying. Call me, it is Queen

Oloriburuku ni iwo omo yiii. me. It is Lara.

Delete messages?
Messages deleted.

Tuesday, September 16, 2008

Splenda-dly Useless

I felt I was coming down with something and so I raked together my last $2.05 and went to get myself a cup hot herbal tea from Starbucks. And when I say my last $2.05, I mean my last $2.05!!!! Anyways back to my story. By now you should know I am fitting to curse someone out.

Anyways, I get there, get my tea and proceed to what I like to call the "garnishing station" where you can make up your beverage any which way. I was about to reach for my old faithful, Domino Sugar pack, when I looked down and saw my encroaching gut and thought to myself "Cat, you need to get on this diet for real. I mean, in two years, you have gained a good twenty pounds and on 5'4", 170 pounds does not look good (I am not 170 pounds yet o...but if I am not careful) I turned to my right and looked for the alternative (I am sorry my diet isnot exclusive of sugar) and picked up SPLENDA! That oloriibu zero calorie sweetener piece of sege! That baba n la nonsense owo waster! That iranu, rada rada olorogbeske amunisowonu type mssssstssssthw!

Now, I am sitting here. My throat is still hurting funny. And I am watching my green tea vanilla thingy cool down to a BITTER!!!!!!!!! mix. The yeye thing made my tea bitter and now I cannot drink it. Nitori olorun, hen?!!!!!
I am so pissed. Mostly at myself becaue I should have known better. After all there was that incident in freshman year when....

*sigh* my throat is paining me. If I catch anyone that works at Splenda...walahi!!!

Sunday, September 07, 2008

Sunday, August 31, 2008

A Cat nap

The fact is that I must take a much needed step back to reorganise my life. For two weeks, I have churned on many story plots trying to find the right words with which to carve out a most intriguing and spell binding tale. Alas, the words fail me and I am bereft of tales to tell.

I am two weeks into the first semester of my final year and staggering under the sheer weight of responsibilities, commitments and plans that I am in a constant battle to see realised. Everything dances just within reach, enough to remind me that they aren't.

*Sigh* the trials of a woman with an imagination on steroids. I am fatigued and yet emboldened. And definitely in need of a vacation.

Wednesday, August 13, 2008

Mikhaila's proposal

"You have to help me get to where I need to be. I kind of gave him the impression that I knew what I was doing and now he thinks that once I get the position, I know what to do."
In her desperation, she was talking too fast and Souman was trying his best to not only follow her side of the conversation but also process the information she was passing on.

"Why would you lie about a thing like that?" he had to ask.

She bit back on her statement and had the good graces to look a bit ashamed. "I really wanted it so I..."

Souman sighed. It was not her fault. She was not the first person that he knew who was trying their darnedest to be where she was trying to go. And it seemed that she had somehow led Martineau to believe that she deserved to be there.

"Do you know what you are asking me to do?" he asked her again because he was quite sure that she didn't.

"Yes," she nodded profusely, her long braids swinging back and forth in their high ponytail, "you have to help me." then she arched an eyebrow, "or are you helping someone else?"

He returned the look, "Maybe"

"Souman," she sighed, moving closer, her breast brushing against the sides of his arm, "Please Souman..."

Even though he sighed and feigned irritation, he knew that he would give in and give her what she wanted. He also knew that with all his help, she would not look back even for a second once she was within Martineau's grasp. And yet, what could he do. He was helpless against Mikhaila. He was even grateful she had only asked for what she had asked for because he knew that had she asked for more and the impossible, he would have given it to her.

Thus began their sessions for two months. She would come over after classes and he would coach her for four hours. Initially, it was for twice a week but towards the end, it was almost everyday. Everything he knew, he taught her and she was a quick and effective learner. Sometimes, when he watched her replay something he has shown her, he was no longer sure if indeed she was the novice she had claimed to be.

The last time they met, she was quiet. And so was he. Things had changed. He was now angry at himself for having invested so much time and effort because for her, it had been only been about the sessions but for him, it had been so much more.

"Thanks so much Souman." she whispered, her small voice floating from behind the veil of her hair to caress his ear. It hit him like a slap. Tensing he moved away so his thigh was not touching hers.

"When do you meet with Martineau?" He knew he should not ask but the words left his lips before he could stop himself.

"Tomorrow at nine..." she rubbed her eyes, "Funny, I was so looking forward to it."

"And?" he asked, his ears perking up, hope causing his heart to jump in his chest.

"I....I...." she shrugged and never finished her sentence. And that was how they left it as she got up, got dressed and left.

He did not know why he had suddenly been paralysed with misery. It had suddenly enveloped him and crippled him to his bed. Work, he did not get to not; fortunately it was a weekend. He just lay in bed, clothed in his boxers and the memories of Mikhaila.

He remembered how the first time, when he had taken her as carefully as he could she had taken a sharp breath and then quickly covered her mouth as if in apology. He had had to kiss her fingers away, coaxing her to relax and focus on his lips until he could begin to move and take her with him where passion was leading. Or the smile on her face the first time she made him scream his incoherent release against the contracting muscles of her throat. He remembered everything. Every gasp, every moan, every touch, every chuckle, whisper and soft scream. He even remembered the time she had been laughing so hard that she had farted and how he had laughed himself silly at the mortified expression on her face.

He remembered it all. As well as the fact that the only reason she had come to him was because she had lied to Martineau that she so much more sexually aware than she was. From the corner of his eye, the green lights on the digital clock said that she was probably continuing that lie with a very convincing performance. He curled up on his side and tried to go to sleep.

Her cold hands on his back propelled him awake. Her eyes blinked back from him from behind a screen of braids.

"What are you doing here?" he looked at the clock. He had only been asleep for thirty minutes.

She shrugged and moved to take peel her jacket off her small shoulders. The lace of her corset peeked out at him.
"You know you did not lock the front door. Has it been like that since I left?" She asked.
He nodded.
She took off all her clothes except for her panties and crawled beneath the sheets with her back to him.
"I did not go to him." she whispered, "just in case you are wondering."
He nodded and pulled her form against him, burying his face in her hair with gratitude.
"I propose you never do." he said to her.
"I agree" she replied.

Friday, July 25, 2008

Where the critters lay

When I saw them scurrying down the steep slope, I remembered the conversation myself and my friend Yetunde had had only thirty minutes earlier when she had exclaimed "Can you imagine the audacity?!"

Sensing the humour behind the question, I had laughed and asked "What is it again?" because she had only just outlined the most ridiculous plan ever to find herself a husband.

"It is these two rats here," she replied hissing, "they are fighting in front of me..."

I had imagined her facial expression, the two tiny things oblivious to their audience and started to chuckle.

"Chase them away naa." I had suggested.

"Ehn, me?" she must have shaken her head because there had been the sound of movement against the phone, "Noooo, before the vex and bite me. You remember what happened to Sylvia when she said the rat in her house threw something at her from on top of the cupboard when she was chasing it?"

So, that was why when I saw the two squirrels hurtling down the steep incline of landscaping near the road, I did not move to stop them; ask them to slow down or point out that it was rush hour and that cars were speeding down the street.

I looked away only for a moment and that was all it took for one of them to launch itself on the street in a bid to get to the other side where the trees were plentiful and filled with nuts and unripe fruit for their possibly famished bellies. It happened so fast. It probably never saw the grey Toyota Corolla coming and I am sure neither did its driver see Brown Squirrel Number II.

It was an excruciating two minutes watching helplessly as the tiny form struggled to hold on to this incarnation, its tiny limbs thrusting out rapidly and furiously in the air as if to grab at the tiny thread that was life itself. What could I do? Nothing. Though not a fan of the pesky critters and always the first to complain how the laws in this country prevented me from indulging myself in some fresh bush meat stew, I still was not hardened in the face of pain.

So, I said to it, "Let Go. Move on. You are done here. May The Blessings Be." And meant it. I hoped it had learned all the lessons it needed to afford it a return into a higher state of consciousness and that it realised that the use of speed while moving should be in combination with caution and good vision.

It must have either heard me, realised what I had said was true or both because its limbs slowed to a still certainty. It had crossed over. Painfully, but over nonetheless.

I looked to see if Brown Squirrel Number I was somehow standing at the roadside, his/her hat in hand mourning the vicious and abrupt passing of their comrade. There was nothing there. God knew what He was doing when He made souls at all different levels. For them, it was all about survival of the fittest.

My bus arrived and I too moved on.

Sunday, July 20, 2008


"Thank you for coming." he says to her. They are looking into each other's eyes and she is trying not to blink. The words sound to her like she imagines they would if he were talking to one of his clients at the office. She does not respond. She neither wants to be there under the circumstances nor is she about to make the whole process easy for him. She is pissed and a whole lot at him.

He sighs. Then he rubs his eyes. They look tired. She mentally chides herself for filling sorry for him. She wants him to feel as bad and as hurt as she is. He senses her coldness and the weight of it make his shoulders sag. He is upset with himself that he is the result of her pain.

"How have you been?" he asks, then wonders what he expects her to say. She does not disappoint.

"How do you think I feel?" her retort is sharp and swift.

He tenses. She is spoiling for a fight and he refuses to give her one. First, there is no reason to fight and second, they are in a public place.

"This is not where I expected to be. You must understand that." he tells her.

"I should know," she replies sarcasm drenching her words and bringing her upper lip up in an unpleasant snarl, "I am supposed to be on my honeymoon." She pauses and touches her finger to the lip as though in thought, "but no, no, my fiancee has broken it off to go be with his..."

"Be careful" he warns, the tone of his voice sending a chill down her spine and bringing tears to her eyes. He never would have spoken to her like this in the past. Now...

He sees he has shaken her and is immediately contrite. He reaches for her right hand that she has placed on the table beside her untouched glass of water.

"Barbara, I am sorry..."

She shakes her head and pulls her hand away to reach in her purse for her handkerchief. She needs to stop the tears and buy herself time for composure. He realises that some of the other patrons in the restaurant are beginning to stare at their table. Most of them are staring at him in accusation; especially the women. They seem to all know that he is responsible for her distress. He sits back in his chair and looks at the table setting before him.

"I only came because it seemed like no one was going to leave me alone until I did." she says finally. Her voice is no longer as strong or as bitter. Now, she too is showing her fatigue. It has been a long day and a long year for both of them.

"I never got a chance to say how sorry I was. I promise you that I never betrayed the relationship the way you always imagined...."

"I know that you never slept with her." she tells him.

This is news to him and it shows on his face. "Then why...?"

"It is not only through sex that one betrays a relationship. No, you never cheated on me physically but yes, you betrayed me. Because every moment that I thought I was sharing my life with you, you were sharing yours with someone else. What I don't understand is why you played along until the very end. You would have married me, wouldn't you, had I not called it off?"

He does not answer and instead looks at his hands.

"How is she?" she asks. He thinks about how she is and a small smile comes to his lips. Barbara sees it and a little part of her dies an abrupt and painful death. It takes all of her not to gasp out in pain. Instead, she channels all her energy into maintaining a fixed mask of tired indifference.

"She is doing great. She sends her regards. She would have come..."

Barbara knows that too as well as why she didn't. She knows that Khaltoume does not need to come to speak with her because she already has. It was that conversation that has propelled her to meet with Martin in this restaurant overlooking the lagoon.

"I am not sorry I love him or that he loves me. I am only sorry that our doing so is causing you pain. We never planned it or even worked to make it happen. It just did. It is okay if you never forgive me but you must forgive him because he fought to stay with you for as long as he could." Khaltoume had said.

To Barbara, that statement makes no sense at all. All she knows is that her boyfriend of three years and fiancee of one is now married to her daughter.

Monday, July 14, 2008

Razzness is an art...

I am razz. And proudly so.

I speak my mother tongue, read and write it well.

I can transition between the crudest of accents and hold a convo in pidgin.

I love that I can balance a tray on my head and roll up a scarf to support it.

I always gather the folds of my bubu under my pits and tilt my head tie to the side.

I can dance the yahoozee, galala and s-wooo very well

I have thighs strengthened from gripping to the sides of okada for long periods of time as well as....

I have a nose piercing

I snap my gum when i chew

I would rather eat at mama-put any day

I talk loudly all the time and I don't care...

I speak my mind as long as I know I can 1) handle the consequences, 2) I can beat up any one who objects and 3) my house is not too far if 1&2 don't apply

I sometimes go for lunch at Mama Beatrice, the woman who roasts corn, yam and plantains on my estate

I lace and gele is a necessity for every woman.

I wear huge costume gold jewelry

I have about three Alhajas in my family and they all sell fabric, have gold teeth, wear fake lashes and drink stout.

I am razz jare. No long thing.

Sunday, July 06, 2008

If my aunty asks you where her iphone is, tell her that I don't know.

I am serious, I don't.

Wait, let me stop this music so I can see who is calling me sef...

Like I said, I don't know

Monday, June 30, 2008

She that foundeth a husband....

I saw him.

I wanted him.

I facebooked him.

I added him.

He added me.

I messaged him.

On something that had nothing to do with him.

He replied me.

Then we chatted.

Then we emailed properly.

With our gmail accounts.

There we chatted as well.

Then he asked for my number.

Then he called me.

Then I called him.

Then he was coming to town.

So he asked if he could see me.

I said ok, that I would like to see him.

So we met and we saw each other.

We had fun.

He came back.

We had more fun.

Then I went over.

And had more fun.

Then I came back home.

And invited him over.

He came.

It had been all planned.

I was ready.

And I let him know.

It was magical as expected.

The next morning we talked.

And talked.

We were going to make it work.

We did.

It took us four years.

We made it work.

Then he tied me to him with a good old fashioned rock.

Over cake and wine, he said to the guests

"He that findeth a woman...."

I smiled to myself.

Because if anyone had been foundeth

It had been me finding him

Thursday, June 26, 2008

Blog Mongers IV

What the hell do you think you are doing?

What do you mean?

I am asking you what the hell you think you are doing?


Do you know that I almost fell out of my bed with fright?!!! I thought someone was dying!

Dying! Where?! Why?!

I can't believe this shit!

What are you talking about?

What are you doing?

Wha...Oh, you mean...?

Yes, I mean...

I was rehearsing.

For what? How to wake the dead?

(laughing) noooo, now, blogville idols.

U're fucking with me.

What? You don't think I can win?

U're fucking with me.


Have you heard yourself?

What do you mean?

Let's just say that if I could bottle your voice, I can bleach metal.


Ya heard me

You are mean

My dear,I am your friend. I won't lie to you. Your voice is the stuff of nightmares. Look at my hair, it is still standing.

That's gel.

Uhn uhnnnn

yeah uhn

I applaud you your faith in miracles and I know I can't stop you but please don't melt the phones with your singing. Or aren't you having to call in?

You're mean

I am just saying. I am going back to bed, please don't make me wake up screaming like a woman.

Whatever man, u're just mean

No, Catwalq, I am telling you the truth....

Sunday, June 22, 2008

Blog Mongers III

Dear Wise Sistah,
I have been started and deleted this email to you so many times that I have lost count. I knew that for me to get the healing that I so desperately seek, I would need to do this. Talking to you is the final phase of ripping the band aid off the wound that is my bleeding heart and battered soul. I know that this email will confuse you as you think you have no idea what I am talking about. But I can assure you that you do and in your own very brave way, you tried to prevent us all from going through the same experience but we were too absorbed by your tale to fully understand the bright red flag of warning that you waved. I for one, thought myself above such mistakes and thus walked right into one. Now, I have to retrace my steps and have returned to my starting point, bruised and bewildered but very grateful that I was even able to return at all. It seems that many others have not been so lucky.

I only have one question. It will explain the ramblings in the paragraph above to you and I know that your answer will help me immensely. Like you, I was lured into believing that life outside of blogville was just as believable and predictable as life within it; a place where the blogger and his words are the same.

How did you survive HIM? I am trying to and it has been devastating. I have lost myself in a most horrific way. I was wrenched away from my reality and everyday is a struggle not to loose all else.



I read the email over and over again, each time heart sinking to an even deeper place in my chest. Just when I had imagined that the past was all wrapped up and put where it belonged: on hot embers so they could be turned to ash, it seemed that a little piece had escaped the fire and floated up on the softest breeze to taunt me. I was suddenly enraged. Rising out of my seat with a loud, almost inhumane scream that tore itself from my tortured breast, I hurled my mug of coffee away from me and at the wall. The ceramic piece shattered releasing its dark contents in a splash against my curtains that were in its way.

I realized I was shaking; and so much that saliva was collecting in my mouth and coming out in small spurts. Tears sprang to my eyes and gushed out and before I knew it, I was sobbing. Not just for myself but for her. I slowly sank to my chair but had knocked it away when I stood up so instead my body sank awkwardly to the floor. There I sat in a most uncomfortable and undignified manner.

Then suddenly, I knew what I had to do. I was going to say what I had been threatening to say and what HE had threatened me not to. I no longer cared that he said he had emails from me that would contradict my allegations and turn me into the woman scorned and the stalker spurned. I did not care that he said he had me on video doing unspeakable things in the nude, so drunk that even I could not remember. I did not care about all he had said. All I knew was that I was dealing with a very sick and twisted individual who needed to be stopped. Someone who used the cloak of anonymity to befriend and betray the trust of innocent women; Sistahs of mine.

All of us had become bloggers for different reasons and had been grateful for the camaraderie and friendships we had found. We had made the mistake of taking it outside of the realms for which it was intended. The hand we had extended had been horribly maimed. Our bodies and minds horribly raped. The result of mine lay in some dumpster somewhere along with other unformed human waste that could only be found in such clinics that performed the service.

It all had to end. And I had decided to bite the bullet and do the deed. I picked myself up, pulled my chair back and returned to my computer screen. The email was still open, Little-Enid-Blyton's email sitting undisturbed and unflinching. I opened another tab and logged into my Blogspot account.

That motherfucker was going down.

Wednesday, June 18, 2008

Blog Mongers II

I have just been on your blog. What the hell is going on?

My dear, na so I see am o. Leave them, when their joblessness comes to an end, they will move on to something else

This is serious o. You have almost a hundred and fifty comments and most of them are just insulting each other left, right and center


You are laughing...

I should not laugh? This shit is funny o.

Men, this blogging thing sef. Some people have turned it to a do-or-die affair.

Omo[1], for some of them, it is.

What even happened sef?

Nothing o. Remember when I went home last month for xmas...


ehn, that was when it all happened.

U mean the reunion issue?

Yes o. That is what they have now turned to ammunition and used to make noise over my head. The mumus[2]

Ehn-ehn. This is serious o.

You cannot even imagine. I have been bombarded by emails from all over. Even bloggers that I thought were my friends are misyarning in my direction. The shit is exhausting.

What are you going to do?

Nothing. I don't have time for uselessness. Though, I am enjoying it sha. I am riding those blog hits all the way to the bank. You know I have ads on my blog.

Wait o, you really need to break down what is going on because I am lost. Which one concerns Skinny Dude with the matter?

Oh that one? he is the one that started it. Him and his gbeborun[3] mouth. That man talks like a bitch men.

Where have I been all this while?

U dey ask me? I dey with you?

I am serious joo. Explain, what happened

Men, I am tired. It is a long story.

Haba. You cannot do this to me o.

You don't know how mentally exhausting this thing is o.

Please now

Okay. Remember how when I went home, I planned that fundraiser and invited all my friends?

Ehn now, you invited me sef, just that I ended up not coming home again.

Ehennnnn. Anyways sha, the week before my beach fundraiser, you know Roses And Diamonds planned that her annual bloggers' reunion party that every one and their mama goes to. Lepa Shandi and Skinny dude were there and somehow, one of them said that I was in town and that they had just spoken to me on the phone. Can you imagine that Roses And Diamonds made them call me, put me on speaker phone and talk to everyone there? I was so upset. I had to say hi to like twenty people, some of whom I did not even know....

I remember that she blogged about it.

Men that one is small. She was sha like "why did I not come?" me, i cannot now be telling her that i have no interest in meeting her and her band of "bloggers extraordinaire"; so I said I was sorry and that I had not been aware because I had been planning to my trip home and that I could not make the get together even for a drop-by because I was not in Lagos at the moment.

Where were you?

In Lagos.


men, what is going to carry my leg to such a place? If I am not talking to you outside of blogville by now, you should know that I don't want to see your face anywhere.

You are a blog snob

And proudly so. If I wanted to know everyone, i would have used my real name.

So what now happened?

Ehen, that is how she huffed and puffed she was asking me to come and I was like, I couldn't. Long story short, she said that she was planning another one two weeks from then for those bloggers who had missed that day and she would not take no for an answer. I told her I would try and hung up. I was leaving the week of her second shing-ding so I knew that even if she called anyways, I would be out of the country...

you sef...

anyways, my event holds and of course you know all those that were there: Aristocrat, East of The Niger, Her Majesty's Spy, Prince of my Castle, Still Waters and co.

You did not mention all those celebs now.

You are telling me. Anyways, stupid me invited Skinny Dude because somehow, we had been chatting offline and we yarn small small sha and I thought it would be a good networking opportunity for him, cos that guy has so many ideas, too bad he just yarns like a woman. That's how when he now saw Roses And Diamonds, she was like "Where is La Femme Executive?" That one was like "oh, she has gone back to the UK o. After her party last week. In fact, this blogger was there...


That blogger was there. bla bla bla was like another bloggers reunion, just with the creme de la creme.

O pari[5]

I am guessing that alot of people were there because that was how it all began. the mugu now sent me an email saying that if I knew I did not want to meet her, I should have just said so instead of pretending and lying. And you know me now, I was like "I am glad you understand"

No you didn't!!!! Kike, your mouth sef...

Me ke? what did I do? I mean she hit the nail right on the head. I would have given her a prize but I did not have spare change...


hehehehehehehehehe. Wharreva joo. That was how it all began o. She told one person and another. the next thing, someone is putting up a post on their blog on how some naija bloggers feel too big with themselves and the olorigbeske[6] decides to mention that for example La Femme Executive is one of them.

That was what I saw and was like , ah-ah what is going on? Went to your blog and saw that the party had already started without me.

Men, you missed. You should have read the post when Roses and Diamonds said that she is such a humble girl and proceeded to give us a brief run down of her life and all the nonsense she has accomplished. I laughed so hard, I almost deleted an important file. The razz mbeke

This is all so surreal. My own is just that, what concerns all the people who feel that they have to say something?

You know most of them cannot seperate the blog from its blogger. I remember the post that I put up about seducing my boss and the emails I got then with people, mostly female asking me to repent and desist because I would be ruining someone's marriage--I had said that he was married--some even emailed me just to insult me and to call me all sorts of names. I......

which boss? you own your own business or when was this?

They don't know that now. I remember when I met Aristocrat and he was like "you are shorter than I expected."

He thought you were tall?

Well, at least taller than I am. I was like, "You are poorer than I expected."

You did not!!

I sure did. That was way before we started dating.

Your mouth is going to put you in trouble one day

It already has mennnn. What possessed me to say "I do"?

Wharrever it was, your wedding is about to be off the hook. I wonder what those bloggers would say if they knew that the two of you are getting married. On blogville, you are always fighting...

hehehehehee. That is why this drama is funny to me. Some people want to kill themselves over shit that is not that serious. Woooo, me I am hungry, I am going to make something to eat.

My dear, we go yarn later. Nighty night

Night sister-in-law. Go and update your blog joo. That place is disgraceful...

Naughty girl.

[1] Omo: child
[2]Mumu: Imbecile
[3]Gbeborun: gossip
[4]Olosi: fool
[5] O pari: It's finished!
[6] Olorigbeske: Big headed

Friday, June 13, 2008

Blog Mongers I

Hano lives at 2, Fortworth Avenue. He lives in a three bedroom, two and a half bath, walk-out basement townhouse. He drives a Volkswagen Jetta. He leaves for work every morning at 7.00 am so that he can beat the beltway rush and make it to work for 8.30, after which he would spend the next thirty minutes setting up his desk, making scalding hot tea to jarr him awake and check on his internet affairs. This is one of his favourite times of the day. The time between 8.30 and 9.15 when the office is quiet and empty of his other colleagues.

This is the time he runs through his check list of blogs, reading and leaving comments. He has his favourites because almost every other day, they have a new post up with content as intriguing and as entertaining as the commentary that follow.

There's Shady Lady, a young Nigerian woman who blogs out of her base in New York and posts the most outrageous tales about her exploits with people she knows are dubious and shady. There is Tantalizers, a young Nigerian man who loves to cook and works in a bookstore. There is East Of Here, a Rwandan journalist who fled to France when the genocide began. There's Seffi Appiah, a Ghanian woman who always finds something amusing about her daily commute to the senior citizens' home where she works as a nurse. There's Lace And Ankara, a young Nigerian woman who imagines herself to be the next vogue in the making for her blog is filled with borrowed reports and commentary on the latest fashions from all over the world. There's Michael Butts, whose blog Hano does not understand but finds fascinating because of all the information pertaining to technology displayed and discussed there.

Hano reads blogs from contributors all over the world. He is familiar with the different cultural groups on the internet: the Africans, Asians, Europeans, Americans, South Americans and Australians. He loves them all. The ones that he pays most attention to are the Africans because their tales are so unique and highly indicative of where the social consciousness is.

For instance, there is no morning that he stops at Shady Lady's without seeing some offended Nigerian calling her out on her supposed activities. There was a time that Shady Lady indicated that someone had reported her to the authorities and they had investigated her using her URL. That had been an interesting time because Shady Lady had gone offline for three months. While she was gone, the comments on her blog reached almost three hundred as various theories were thrown about as to her wherabouts. She later surfaced with a post full of curses for whoever she believed was responsible.

He loves her blog. He loves what she writes. It always makes him laugh. Especially when she decides to take digs at other bloggers. Her post on one female blogger, Sitting On The Rock got more than fifty comments in its first hour. Sitting On The Rock always wrote about her plans to get married before the end of the year and each post was an outlet for her frustrations at her lack of success in finding a mate even though she had intensified her prayers, fasting and involvement in church. Shady Lady cleaned the floor with her and the ensuing online brawl lasted all of three weeks with bloggers taking sides and expressing their own views on the issue.

Hano had watched it all unfold and die down. Shady Lady, bored, had moved on to other issues. Sitting on the Rock had fled the blogging world. The drama was over. And it has been for a while so, Hano is a bit bored with what the posts he sees online in the mornings. No one is saying anything important and no one is pushing any new projects.

After scrolling through a few blogs, he moves to his email. He hits the "compose" button. He sends two emails.

The next morning he is tickled to see one of his favourite female bloggers, Express Lady give a spill all post on her relationship gone sour with another blogger, Aristocrat. He checks the blog hits and smiles.

Friday, June 06, 2008

I don't particularly like children. Growing up and envisioning my future, I could see a career, the possibility of a husband but I never could envision some little things running around complaining of hunger or each other. I don't have the patience or the interest to indulge them. But I do not see why one should deny them their childhood either. I had mine. They deserve theirs.

I sometimes feel the emphasis that Nigerian women put on children is not necessarily because they are so loved but because of what motherhood represents and affords the woman. As a "child bearing" woman, she-the mother that is- is certified as "fully functional" and she secures her position in her marital home. And we all know what "marriage" is to the Nigerian woman.

I know that mothers do love their children. My mother would give me her heart right now without batting an eyelid and she would do the same for my brother; so, I am not saying that a there is a lack of love and affection. I am just saying that I feel that some of the ways we define motherhood is not something I aspire to be a part of.

If and when I decide to become selfless and revolve around someone else, I plan to adopt. I cannot understand how when God has created a balance between women seeking children and children seeking mothers, we still have so many children living in deplorable conditions in orphanages. Or women being put through hell because of "their" inability to produce children? Why would I subject myself to midnight sojourns to the riverside and eating odd delicacies like fried tortoises under the moon when I can simply walk into one of such homes and pick one child to give my whole life to?

Some argue that "There is nothing like your own blood. What if the child asks for his/her mother in the future?" Then by all means, let us get a private detective and seek her out; provided she has indicated that she wishes to be found. I am of the mindset that if all I can do is love that child and give the child even half the childhood experience my parents provided me, then I have done a good thing. Imagining that because you nearly ripped apart your insides pushing forth someone into this world is a guarantee that they will love and respect you says to me that your definition of what it is to be a mother is askewed.

I think children ought to be nurtured, cherished, celebrated, disciplined, educated and learned from. It is a huge responsibility to be given the task to help shape the destiny and mindset of another human being. It takes patience, selflessness and a great deal of creativity. Love is secondary. I love kids, I just don't like them.

Friday, May 30, 2008

Even though

You are not my type
You are too quiet
You eat cheese
You don't like to read
You think my tastes in movies suck
You are a morning person
You chew gum with your mouth open
You don't like to wear suits
You don't experiment with foods
You watch too much football
You don't understand why I don't like football
You are too close to your mother
You want too many children
You don't understand why I don't want children
You watch Flavor Flave
You watch discovery health
You listen to country music
Your car is always in a state
You are untidy
You think I am a neat freak
You are too tall
You understand the stock exchange
You play chess
You think I am too gra-gra
You don't understand why I don't like your friends
You think my friends are phony
You want me to keep natural hair
You don't know how to cook
You drive too slow
You think agricultural conventions are cool
You think my fashion trade shows are boring
You secretly want to be a traditional farmer
You don't know that I know
You don't know that I don't mind, as long as I never have to lift the hoe
You think I cannot sing
You don't understand why I think you cannot sing either
You think I drive too fast
You think I have too many male friends
You don't know that they all respect you
You are not my type
You don't like fish
You don't like Lagos
You want me to come and live in Enugu
You don't know that I have already decided to come with you
You don't know that I am messing with you
You don't know how much I love you
So, even though you are not my type
Yes, I will marry you

gra-gra : agressive

Sunday, May 25, 2008

Thursday, May 22, 2008

14th and Serenity arrives

14th and Serenity arrives Monday, 26th May 2008...

Sunday, May 18, 2008

A difference of thirty minutes

I told him to call at 6.00 pm my time

It would have been midnight his time.

I told God that if he didn't, then he was not the one for me.

He called at 6.30 my time.

I told God that it was only thirty minutes. Afterall, one had to consider the time difference between us.

Three months later, I was tired, hurt and broken.

I asked God why?

He said "But child, I did not choose him for you. You did. The one for you was to call at 6.00"

And He was right.

Cos I had told him to call at 6.00 my time

And he had called on his time

And it resulted in a waste of my time


SEE HERE........

Monday, May 12, 2008

Water under the Bridge

G.B? Is that you?


*clapping* It is a lie. So this is you?

*Looking at self* Yes

How have you been?

I have been well. And you?



Everyone is doing just fine...

Thank God.

Girl but you are hard o....

How do you mean?


What about Njideka?

I thought she was your friend?

She was.

Then why weren't you there? I mean, no matter what happened between the two of you, you should have been there.

There was no place for me there.

How can you say that? Ehn, all her friends were there. We all came to support her family.

*shrugging* Well, what can I say...

At least for the kids.

You of all people should know why I was not there.

What do you mean?

Miriam, if there is one thing that I do not like, it is dishonesty. How can you be asking me what I mean? Infact, how can you stand here and pretend you don't know what happened?

I beg your pardon

No, I beg your pardon. Weren't you on the Chibuzor support team that accused me of trying to wreck her marriage and now that she is dead, you are all pretending like you did not know that one day that monster was going to kill her...?

G.B, what are you trying to say...?

*hissing* Sebi, I am the unmarried one? The one that did not have her best interests at heart?The immoral one? The one that does not know anything that she is saying. Abi? Weren't those your exact words?


Oh, you didn't know that I heard all of you? Of course, you didn't. Isn't that funny. See, let me educate you. You remember that get together that we, and by we, I mean Nijdeka and I had planned; that you came and took over because God forbid that she do anything without your high and mighty approval? You remember that one? The one where two hours before, Chibuzor nearly removed her front teeth because she challenged him on his mistress? You remember how you, her mother and those single-digit-IQ-holding females that make up your clique sat around her offering advice on how she was supposed to not antagonise her husband and make her marriage work? Remember how, when she said I had told her that she ought to pack her bags and get the hell out of there, you all started on my case about how I am so immoral. How can I know anything about a good man or what it takes to put a marriage together, after I had slept with all the men I work with to make it ahead?

*Stammering* What? I....Excuse me...

Oh, now you cannot form a sentence? *hissing* you forgot to turn off your cell phone after I had called to get the directions to your place. You made Njideka change the venue to your house that you live in with your husband and your children and all that your money had bought you.

How dare you?

You better be glad that I just got my nails done. Or I would have given you tribal marks from the opposite side of the country, stopping me in the middle of the street with your phony arse questions and judgments. Heiffer please, you are just as responsible for her death as he is.

Are you mad?

Ehn now. You did not know...ah-aaaah, let me tell you. It is my madness that has got me all i've got baby. I am mad o. Very mad. Infact, I am anbout to display for you if you don't carry your useless self out of my sight and scurry over to your Rav 4....

Fuck you!

Fuck me?
*Reaching for her earrings* No, sis, I am about to fuck YOU up.

*stepping back*
Are you crazy? Do you know that you are in the middle of the mall's parking lot? People are watching you.

They've got to watch me. I am on primetime.Besides, more asphalt to paint your face with.

I know what your problem is, you're just jealous. Look at you, 35 years and no husband or children. You are forever chasing your co-workers about and you think you are an actress because you take off your clothes? You are a common prostitute.

With an oscar. Don't forget that.

You are a common whore. We all know you wanted Chibuzor and when he turned you down, you tried to break her marriage off.

What are you talking about?

Chibuzor told her. Oh, you did not know that your secret will come out.

*sigh* I have always known you were not worth my time. It is the word of a wife beater that you will take as gospel. You know what, I apologise for what I said before. It's not your fault that your are stupid. It's my fault for listening to you.
*turning and walking away*

Yes, go away. Run away. Nonsense. Useless. And she called you her friend. Backstabber. Prostitute.....


She wept with an intensity that shook her being and hurt her chest. I should never have stopped to talk to her, she thought to herself over and over. It had disntegrated so fast that she had not been able to stop herself.

Seeing G.B was like turning a knife in an already sore wound. Nijdeka's death had torn her apart so bad. Everyday, everywhere she went, there was a reminder that she could have stopped what had happened. No one knew how much she beat herself over the head for not being brave enough to help her friend be brave. She couldn't do that.

She was not like G.B who told the world on a daily basis to go fuck itself. She was barely holding it together. No one knew that Etta's prolonged trip to Spain was because he was in jail. No one knew that she knew she was being watched by the men who paid him for the "goods" he supplied and had been caught in possession of. No one knew that she was sleeping with his brother so he would not kick her and the boys out. No one knew except Nijdeka. And that was why she had understood the fragility of her friend's existence and how if Chibuzor had kicked her out, it would all have been over.

As it was now. She laid her head on her steering wheel and wept; hers sobs masked by the loud horn.

I watched her crying in her car. And I knew what she was feeling.
Neither one of us had been able to save her. And we had called ourselves her friend.

Friday, May 02, 2008

Na so I look my back...somebody tag me

1. Link the person who tagged you
2. Mention the rules in your blog
3. Tell about 6 unspectacular quirks of yours
4. Tag 6 following bloggers by linking them
5.Leave a comment on each of the tagged blogger’s blogs letting them know they’ve been tagged

I was tagged by Naijalines.

The rules are listed above

7 unspectacular things about me (What? You thought I would not put my own spin on things?)
Anyways, here goes:

1. I am very lazy. I work hard not to let it show

2. I am very shy. You won't be able to tell if you met me. You wouldn't believe it either unless you really knew me. Few people do.

3. I can listen to the same song over and over and over and over for ever until the song looses its power, or the CD gets scratched. And most times, I listen to only one part of the song so I have some songs on my playlist that start out okay but get low at some point.

4. I love easily and hard. And I cut people out just as fast.

5. My greatest fear is that at the end of the day, I might simply settle for a man not because he is the best for me but because I have become afraid of being alone.

6. I sing. And I write songs. And I have had some of my songs performed....

7. Most people mistake my confidence for arrogance, my drive for agression and my silences for judgement.

Like I said before, I am very lazy. So, I am tagging the first six people to comment on this post...I am off to bed. Just finished exams.

Wednesday, April 23, 2008

The things my eyes have seen.

Ok so, I told him I liked to be spanked. That's how this overzealous morrafohka delivered a blow to my backside that sent my left leg into spasms.

WTH!!!!In reflex, I swung my hand around to deliver a slap that would remind him where he was. I missed and nearly shattered my wrist on the bed post.

Luckily I did not break it. If not for how long it had been since the last time and I was not sure of my next installment, I would have ignored his begging and left. But you know how it is...I sha decided to continue.

That is how this odaran dropped his trosizz. If you see what I saw, you will not be sitting there asking me why I am avoiding the were. I was just looking at him. I could not believe my eyes.
What was I supposed to do with it? It is not like I said I have a rat problem and that he should come with a kondo, that he now produced the thing he wanted to use to kill me for my mother.

I told him "you better divide it into two and keep one for yourself and I will see what I can do with the other half."

What? You thought I would let him go away with that thing? Men, God forbid. Even God would have vexed for letting such a good thing go to waste.

And it was a good thing.

See, I have been walking sideways for three days.

Saturday, April 19, 2008


Enrolment for the new session has commenced.


Application due May 1st...

Saturday, April 12, 2008

Thinking in scenes

My heart sank a loud thud that only I could hear. Sounds of twin Nigerian hip hop singers dissolved from the loud speakers and faded away. Fear settled on my being with a coldness that brought goosebumps to my skin. What the f*%k was he doing here?

"I am sorry...I did not know you were coming." Moji was immediately at my side, her hand on my arm, her eyes a pool of apologies.
I tried to calm my breathing as I felt the walls around me begin to spin. She must have taken my expression to mean my upset was directed at her.
"But you said you were not coming now?" she whispered harshly, exasperation evident in her demeanor.
It was true that she had cajoled and cajoled for days that I come for her party and when that did not work, she resorted to threats and when she saw that I was not going to budge, she let me. She knew I was avoiding HIM. What she did not know was why.

I closed my eyes and took a breath.
"I am sorry. I am over reacting. Please, don't mind me. It must be the smoke."
Someone was indeed smoking.
Moji looked at me skeptically. I saw her steal a glance at him.
"You are sure?"
I nodded and gave her a weak smile.
"Sebi you told me there was going to be food. please don't tell me I burst out my payless shoes for nothing..." I joked.
She chuckled, "Payless ko, Payfull ni. there is food but me, I will not advise you to put it in your mouth."
"Haba," I laughed, "why?"
"Jide cooked it."
"Ewo". We both burst into laughter.Mine had alot of effort behind it even though what she had told me was hilarious. Her boyfriend was a great cook whose power ingredient was pepper.
"Se you are okay. Seriously he just showed up. How can I tell him to leave? He is Jide's friend. You guys need to talk to each other. Since you will not tell me what happened...ehn, please abeg. Why do the two of you hate each other so much?" Moji asked me, her smile disappearing.

"He said he hated me?" I was surprised.
"No, but the way you guys are always fighting. I mean, after that last time, I was afraid for the two of you. I suppose you go and pray over the issue what ever it is. How could you draw a knife on him? Omo, you are crazy o."
"No ooo," I sneered, "I will wait so he can rearrange my face with a slap abi. That useless waste of..."
"ehn, ehn, ehn..." she cut me off, "we are here to party. See," she made a wide gesture with her hands, "this place is big enough. If you don't want to see him or his ancestry, there are so many corners that you can hide yourself. he is over there, you can go upstairs. I will come and join you." she cocked her left brow at me, "you better not leave."

I really wanted to. It had taken all of me to get up and decide to come to her party. I had to. How could I not? After all she had helped me through. The least I could do was to drag my self, slap on some courage and come watch half drunk colleagues gyrate to raunchy dance numbers. After all, she had promised me over the phone that there would be no repeat of the last time I was at her face when he and I flew into each other's face. Granted I flew at him and most of what he was doingwas trying to deflect my blows and get me off him but the hostility that had been simmering between us for over two years just reached its peak. It had been a long time coming.

I sighed. I knew that even if I wanted to, I could not leave. He had seen me. Him freezing half way through taking a sip from his drink told me that he had. His nod of greeting had been cold and mocking. I had shuddered with disgust. I wanted to rip his eyes out so bad, I could taste it.
"No, I am not leaving." I promised her. I could not. I knew everyone was watching the two of us. If I left, it would only fuel the rumors even more.

When I was ready to let the world know, I would let them know. Until then, I needed to preserve my sanity by avoiding Jubril Keffi.
I made my way upstairs to the food. I made my way past some female making a spectacle of herself as she tried to execute the dutty wind; her drunken self grinning stupidly as even more drunken males cheered her on. Some couples were two inches from turning their dance moves into a possible opportunity for procreation. I smiled and shook my head. Some people were not going to like what ended up on youtube in the morning.

I got to the food. It was all there, displayed in all its excess. My guess was that the first people who had descended on the food had quickly spread the word that it was a no-go area. I had always had this theory that Jide secretly did not want anyone eating his food so he made it near poisonous. Fortunately for me, my mother and Jide had learned from the same culinary school so pepper was never an issue for mr. But I was not hungry. And I was not in the mood to dance. I went upstairs to the bedrooms in search of one that was empty and had not been recently used to exorcise the horniness of anyone at the party that night.

The Master bedroom was a mess. Moji's clothes were all over the place. And I knew it was not because she had been getting ready for her party. It was always like this. I did not know how she and her boyfriend could stand the disarray. I suddenly felt fatigued. All the bravado with which I had walked into the party was gone and I felt hollow and cold. So I began to clear the bed. Then I began to clear the floor. Then I moved to the dressing table. I was not in the mood to fold clothes so I just dumped the items in the closet and closed the door.

I lay down, my whole body sighing with exhaustion. I could feel the thud of music emanating from the surround sound pulsating through the walls and floors. I closed my eyes and silently questioned the wisdom of me coming. The sobs rose suddenly and before I could check them, I was weeping into the pillow.

I did not hear the door open nor hear the footsteps approach. Strong arms turned me over and lifted me into an embrace. Cologne and the scent of clean man enveloped my senses. I clutched at the fabric of the shirt encasing a hard chest and gave vent to my sorrows. It was a good cry. I felt as helpless as a baby and I cried like one.

Hiccupping as I expelled mucus into the handkerchief that was proferred to me, I pulled away and looked up,
"You know I hate you right?"

Jubrila's expression was blank. "Sure."

"And we are not going to be friends. Never."

"Mmn hmn."

I began to cry again. He let me. I crawled into his lap and curled there. He bore my weight and just held me. We said not a word.

"You know he does not deserve you. You are too good for all this shit." his voice rumbled through his chest to my ears. I sighed. Why wouldn't he just leave me alone.

"It's over." I said. More to myself than to him.

"Are you sure?"

I tilted my head back against his arm to look at him. His eyes were worried. sad even.
I nodded.


"He is no good." he said as he drew me close. " I should know. He is my father."

Tuesday, April 08, 2008

Another soul moves on....

"It will be great to die knowing that you have lived your life without causing anyone any more difficulty than they ought to have."
- Prof. Tsomondo

You will missed.

Saturday, April 05, 2008

Today I met The King

Today I met The King after I wrangled an invitation from Solomonsydelle to her son's (and my future husband's) birthday where I was sure to get free food on my way home. I had a lovely time spent marveling at how she and her quiet husband managed to not only entertain two other couples and myself but also their three rambunctious kids. Her babies are so cute, bikonu!!!

Of course when I arrived, I immediately introduced myself to my husband. He gave me a once over and returned to his plate of chicken. His sister, my inlaw gave me a small greeting and the celebrant, Bomboy, a small smile. I was not to be deterred. I needed to have them eating out of my hand if I was to ensure that my wine carrying ceremony would take place in the future.

What did I not try? I smiled. I teased. I flirted. I even tried to be saucy. The boy no gree. Haba! It was when he told me that the low cut on my head was not hair compared to his mother's tresses that I knew somebody had been there before me to put sand in my garri. I mean, what could a young and succulent twenty-three year old babe have done to irk this toddler so?

I was so crushed but I am not finished with this boy yet. Whether he likes it or not, he is carrying my wine. So hence (is this a word? I know there is "henceforth" but is hence used this way? I digress) hence, the countdown to my ascension to The King's highly coveted position of Queen.

Why is it going to go my way? In the words of the-owner-of-the-money-of-my-head,
"Because I said so".....