Tuesday, January 29, 2008

To have loved and lost....

She is on time. I am not. It is usual and almost prophetic of us.
When I walk in, she is with her back to me, restin her chin on her palm as she surveys the crowd. I can tell from her form that she is tense.
I pause for a second to prepare myself before I sit.
"Hello" My voice jolts her a little, I am guessing because it sounds alien to the sounds around us both. She whips her head round and her smile of welcome springs to her lips.
"Yeye..." she says in greeting as she rises to greet me.
I am amazed as my hands go round her in a hug that our reactions are so natural and fluid that if anyone in the cafe were to know in truth, what our meeting is about, they would be shocked.

We ask each other how the day has been, we comment each other on how good we look, we both avoid commenting on the fact that both our eyes betray our inner turmoils; we look good and we also look tired.
"How was your trip?" I ask her immediately I sit down. I have interrupted her mid-sentence asking me if I would like hot tea. She knows that I do not drink coffee.
Her hesitation is brief as I see her mentally prepare herself. She is realising that I am not here to beat around the bush.
"It was alot of fun." She says as she bends low and lifts a bag from under the table that lay by her foot. It is a black and white striped cellophane bag that I know she could only have got from her trip home. She hands it to me. I am slow to take it.
I know the gift is not a bribe. She most likely had planned to get it for me and probably did before it all happened. I am just wondering why she still wants to give it to me. Does she think that this will be a good enough consolation for me.
She sighs at my silence. I have not even looked in the bag. I place it at my feet.
"Cat..." she begins; it sounds like an explanation to an apology.
I stop her with a shake of my head. Now, I want to cry.

I am suddenly very tired and if I could look at myself, I would see as she sees that I am looking a bit gaunt and wearied. This sort of thing can do it to you. This sort of thing when the pain takes over your life and you begin to wonder if you are in control of your faculties as you struggle to claw your way out of the abyss your emotions and feelings have flung you into. This sort of thing where you have no answers you need but only the ones presented. This sort of thing where you are desperately praying for a miracle that will work in your favour to preserve the comforts that you know. This sort of thing when you know you have lost something great but you don't know why. I am weary. I rub my eyes. Maybe the pressure will keep the tears at bay.

"Girl...please don't hate me." she begins. Her hand comes up to touch mine but she thinks better of it as she in unsure. It hovers over mine for a bit and falls to the table, inches from mine.

I shake my head. It has never crossed my mind to hate her.
"How is he?" I ask.
"He is fine." I hear the smile in her voice and my head jerks up. She tries to hide it but I see her glow. My heart explodes in a million pieces of excruciating pain. I cannot scream because I cannot scream.
"I..." she continues.
"Did he tell you why?" I ask her "Because he did not tell me why. It makes no sense to me."
She sits back. "He says be believes there were too many people in the relationship...."
"Like who?" I want to know
"Well, he knows that B tried to get with you..."
"Yes I told him that in passing. That was before us."
"I don't think he understood that."
"What did you tell him?"
"That as far as I know, you have been true to him and to the relationship."
I know that is what she would have said. I just do not know HOW she would have said it.
I am so exhausted.
"So, he wants you."
She does not reply. She does not look at me. She looks down, at the table I presume because I cannot see her eyes.
"I did not come here to fight with you. He has made his decision and I have to live with it. The decisions are always his to make as I can see, when we do what we do, when and who we see who we see and what we say and when we say it. All I did was to take a step back and see if he would give chase and ask me why I stepped back. Maybe that was what he wanted all along. Maybe, he realised very early that I was not what he wanted and he could not figure out an exit. I gave him an out and you gave him an in."
I stop because I can say no more.
We both become silent.
"I am afraid." she tells me, and I remember that I am older than she is. Not just by the two years but in alot of other things. I try to smile to reassure her. My face does not make it. I look like I am in pain.
But I am in pain.
"I don't know what to do. Everyone is going to say I am a fool and that I am deceptive if I choose to go with him. There's you and our friendship. I don't want to loose that. And yet...."
She too does not go on. I understand her completely. I know where she is, how she feels and why she feels the way she feels. She is where I was, when I woke from my heart's slumber to find the world in bloom and the days in orchestra. When all it took was the recognise a number on the screen, the sound of his voice. Even now, I am still waiting...still waiting. I had stopped to check my messages before coming. She does not know that. Maybe she knows. Maybe she knows that my heart weeps that the wall of silence is now becoming an insurmountable blockade.
"You will be fine." I tell her simply or maybe I tell myself. Because I do not know if that is true.

I am too hurt, too hurt and too hurt. Because the end makes no sense. I did not know it had ended until it did and still I don't know why. I have to keep fishing for the pieces in every dump of conversation that I can find...trying to paint the picture for myself with the horror of pastels that present themselves.

And worse, I have to watch as life moves while I remain frozen, clutching at straws...he now clutches at her and she is trying to clutch at our friendship.

I realise that I am having a serious headache.

See, he told me to love him and I do.
He now tells me to let go and I can't.
PS: I finished writing the post to discover that my jollof rice was unsuccessful. Case in point: no blogging while cooking....shikena.

Saturday, January 26, 2008

Yesterday was Friday and I almost forgot my hometraining at home

Update: please check this out...

It started of very nice with God giving me something that I really needed and that I was petrified, I would not get. I was so happy, I was floating. Then I received a call at last minute from the Nigerian embassy asking me to come and pick up a document that was supposed to have been ready since Tuesday and so, I got up wrapped myself in warm winter clothing and set off for the representation of my country on American soil.

I don't know about you, but I feel that Nigerians have a way of disgracing themselves irrespective of their social status and position.

Please tell me why it took five good minutes to get the door opened for me to enter the embassy? I will tell you: Because every single one of their useless selves was glued to the TV watching football. I could hear them shouting at the screen, telling the players to run this way and that, gasping and groaning when the said player did not adhere to the words being screamed at him through the screen. Then, after I nearly broke the call button because I just refused to take my fingers off it till the door was opened, one pot bellied, possibly bare literate individual came and screamed at me, asking why I was making so much noise.

"We have heard you! Why are you making noise?!" He screamed at me.

If anyone has the number to call Yara-on-the-dialysis machine, please send it to me because some people have to be fired.

So, I screamed right back, "I have been standing here. It is cold. Why is there no one to answer me?!"

"I am answering you!"

"Now you are....!!!!". Jeez, so irritating. So the man messes with me some more by telling me to pull on the door when he has not buzzed me in. I know the glass was tinted, but I could see that Murra-fohka smirking. He needed to be glad that I am too broke to buy a gun and that the glass was bullet proof.

I go in and am made to wait in this huge atrium space lobby. I am seated across from this man whose features tell me that either he or someone in his lineage was from south east Asia and I had to avoid his eyes as the shouts of the overly excited embassy staff filtered through the building while we sat in wait and unattended to.

Then fast forward forty five minutes later, the lady comes downstairs to tell me that some documents were missing from my package. Documents that she would have been alerted to tell me about if the man who was supposed to have signed the bloody thing had looked at it at all during the week and not twenty minutes after they told him that I was waiting for him downstairs. I mean, I had called the office at least twice a day, every day and yet no one could have given me the information.

Did they not understand that I had had to skip part of class and walk in that ghastly cold to get there? Did they know that my mother was waiting on this document to arrive and that alot of other things were hinged on it? Did they know and did they care?

I almost lost my temper. the woman noticed it and stood a good three feet away which later was amusing because I responded to all she said in silence. i was so upset, I thought I would start crying if I spoke and if I had started crying, then I would have become hysterical and then I would have sepe-d for the lot of them. I mean the sign in book was a Big Note exercise book ruled and labelled by hand!!!!!!!

*breathe Catwalq breathe* I walked away from her without saying good bye and if the main doors not been made of bullet proof glass and steel, I would have slammed it on my way out. If I had tried and it did manage to swing out, the force of its recoil coming in contact with my face would have landed me a $200.00 ride in an ambulance.

While the embassy team was watching TV, a protest was happening down the street in front of the Isreali embassy.

So while Nigerians were worried about the scores of that irritating game, people were braving the cold to protest an injustice...and after hearing about the dire conditions in Gaza, I realised how greatful I had to be because my case could have been much worse than having to deal with a couple of incompetent, unprofessional and inefficient people.

Friday, January 18, 2008

Tide & Enitan (Version 1)

I was looking through some of my old notebooks for one that was not too used that I could recycle for one of the classes I was taken and I stumbled across some writing I had done a few years back. I actually started this particular story in secondary school and I entitled Tide & Enitan.
It was fictional and based on the idea of what would happen if Queen's College was to merge with King's College. I always thought I would find a best friend who was a guy and we would exchange notes in class. I actually had an entire big note filled with the story and friends would borrow it to read. Then one day, I went home because I was ill and when I came back, it was gone. That was one thing that really hurt me to loose because in many ways the story mirrored alot of what I wished was happening to me as a fourteen year old who was trying not to be overwhelmed with her insecurities and the disparities her fantasies brought to her real life. Also, because I could count on one hand the number of guys I knew who weren't family (and even family could fit on one hand...okay, maybe two) and I was trying to imagine what guys talked like.
Anyways, two years ago at my internship, I was bored out of my mind and so decided to continue but fast forwarding to years later. It did not necessarily have to be Tide and Enitan but it was all about a guy and a girl who were best friends.

I must warn you, it is a bit long. Remember, what they are saying to each other is written on paper in notes exchanged when they cannot directly speak but are in close proximity. So imagine that they are in a meeting or something....

I called you last night. Why did you not pick up?

I wasn't home.

Bull. I was downstairs when I called you.

What? you came to my apartment yesterday?


I did not know that

Would you have let me in if you had?

I don't know

What is happening between us? Why is everything getting complicated? It was not supposed to turn out this way

Well things don't always turn out the way they are supposed to.

Can we talk about this?

There is nothing to talk about.

I disagree...You are just trying to punish me. I said I was sorry. Let's talk over lunch. Once the meeting is over, let's do that. At Benny's.

I am not hungry. Plus, I brought lunch.

Great. What delicious concoction have you prepared today?

I did not say that I brought any for you


Look, I am sorry but you have to respect my decision. I have thought long and hard and it is best if we have some distance between us. At least, until Meimuna is more comfortable with you and I.

I am afraid that I can't accept that. I am sorry about what happened on Saturday and I have told her that you and I are only friends. She has to accept that. I do not tell her whom she can or cannot be friends with

Look, we have always know that our friendship would cause us some problems. This is not the first time. No one understands what we have and many people we know are threatened by our closeness. If I was in Meimuna's shoes, I would be too.

You would act the way she did on Saturday? That is not you.

Maybe I would not be that aggressive but I would definitely be cautious about a woman that the man I am in love with is friend's with.

Are you saying that I do not feel for her what she feels for me?

Do you?

U know the answer to that...and I don't know why both of you need me to prove it.

When I was with Micheal, he hated your guts. He never wanted you around. he always said that I compared him to you. I think he was right.

I am sorry that I am all of this hotness that he could not measure up.

Shut up.

lol. but seriously, we have been friends for over ten years. We have been through it all. It is very tiring to constantly have to reasure her that though you and I are more family than friends.

You have it easy sef. I almost went mental with Micheal. there was a point that I started censoring every conversation with him to exclude your name and anything we did together...and you know we see everyday.

I never liked him. You should have stuck with Faruk.

Mumu, that's because the two of you were cut from the same fabric of idiot.


But really, there was a time I was very happy with Micheal

And most nauseating to look at. Both of you. You walked around like you were high. I always had to sniff you to make sure ganja had not become your new vitamin.

hahahaa. look who's talking about high. U think I am like you? Yes, he was good to me at one time. That is what I held on to at the end.

i thought you were very brave with all that happened...

You know me...always brave

Don't worry my dear, your prince will come.

I'll settle for a man

If you like sef, marry tree or coconut. As long as the bride price is brought to my house first

What happened to my father's house?

You forget that your father made me custodian of your sorry arse. I have invested money against how much you will fetch at the end of the day. And your father recognises my effort. My ad for you in the papers will soon pay off. I thought that mumu, Micheal would have played ball and I would have been able to retire but he went and fucked up. Now, I am stuck with you.

God will punish you.

lol...but on a serious note. If you want a prince, you should never settle.

I have a feeling you love it when I am single so you can gloat and be dispensing advice like you are some pro.

hey, I am a pro. And I don't like it when you are unhappy

I am not unhappy because I am single.

Why are you unhappy then? You do not smile as much as you used to. it is depressing to look at you

I am sorry that I am unpleasant to look at

That's not what I meant

What did you mean? ehn?

Look, we need to talk. There is no way we can write what we have to say to each other. I need to talk to you. To really tell you how sorry I am about Saturday.

I know you are sorry about Saturday...

But what?

You have Meimuna now. For you, she comes first. You have to appease her, you need to limit the way we see each other. If you want to see if you can build any lasting happiness with her. That's why I am pushing you away. That is why I am not working with you, not taking your calls. That's why you will not be included in lunch from now on. I want you to be happy my dear. She makes you happy and she needs me out of the big picture to be happy. That is your job. To make her happy. If it doesn't work out between the two of you, which I doubt will happen, I do not want to be a reason because with the way that I see you feel about her, if that ever is the case, you will one day despise me. I don't want that.


So you see?

I am sad.

pele. you will get over it.

So there goes our trips?

unless I have a boyfriend and we go in pairs

and my free food...I mean, your delicious cooking

that is the one I am most happy about. You cannot come and be raiding my fridge anyhow anymore.

Awwww...and I was doing you a favour or that food would have spoiled


and our sleepovers....can i have the recliner in the basement , seeing as you don't use it and I cannot come over anymore


What? Why? I am hurt.

I don't care. I keep the recliner. U think u're the only one that likes that chair. I still have not forgiven you for lying that the massage mechanism was not working.

It wasn't....I swear on ...I swear


Then I am keeping the karaoke machine.

dang! u know that's my joint

Umm-hmn, all my broken windows can attest to that fact.

awwww, you know you love my voice

Yes, it had brought me closer to God because anytime you pick up that microphone i pray that 1. the neighbours don't call the cops and 2. the roof does not fall. so far, the MAN has been good to me.

That's not fair. You need to make a list of all the stuff we have together and we'll split.

hahahahaha...u wish. I see some ojoro about to happen. I will have my lawyer call yours...

I had to stop here because it would have been too long. Still have so many pages. Reading this was an experience because I did not even remember that I had written it.

Oh and for those who could not figure out the previous post: bashir asked his wife to forget romoke (the missing maid of honour), with whom he knew she had been having a relationship.

Sunday, January 13, 2008

Maid of Honour

"Oh my God, you look so beautiful" Banke exclaimed. She did it in her familiar high pitched British accent influenced English. There were tears in her eyes. I guess the sight of me was indeed that beautiful that she was moved to tears. From somewhere in the depths of my soul, I found a smile and made an extreme effort to project it onto my face. It worked.

"Awwwww", she cooed, "you are blushing". I looked away. I could not hold her happy gaze any longer. I reached for my earring and manouvered the stud between my fake french manicures and proceeded to put them on. Banke rushed to take them from me and help me put them on. It was my day, someone was bound to sneeze for me, if I asked them to. I had done nothing for myself in three days except pee. It would have been alarming had I cared.

The sounds in the room masked my tumultuous mind. My silence had already been interpreted as cold feet. Of course, I was wondering if I was making the right choice, they joked, but did I not see that he and I were destined to be together? I mean, any one of them would say, he comes from a great home, he loves me and above all, I was going to be living in the lap of luxury. My engagement ring alone, if sold could buy me an island in Dubai's Palm Jameirah. I looked at it. I wondered why even though its shine looked so cold, it was burning itself into my skin. I wanted to yank it off and ram it down Banke's throat and end her incessant chatter. There was an increase in the volume of chattering females that made up my carefully selected bridal train- I mean, the wedding was being covered by every network and magazine, reputable and aspiring-and I looked up. My mother had come in.

She looked lovely. She always said that she was suited for wealth and that is why she had been born into the family that she was. Her chocolate skin shone like polished wood and her makeup was flawless, a feat she had mastered years ago and never lost. I was content to let the sweating make up artist paint my face up. I did not care. I just wanted this to be over with.

"Eeeh, adumaadan, iyawo ologe " she greeted me in Yoruba. I had moved to greet her when she entered but she had halted me. "This dress is gorgeous. It fits you like a glove. Hmnnn, when he ses you, I am sure he will just faint with ecstasy."

I really wished that he would. I did not tell her so.

"But I cannot imagine why Romoke could not be here today. I mean, what happened? you still have not said..."

Banke looked away little bit uncomfortable. I did not blame her. She had not been my maid of honour until the week before. She had tried to find out why I had removed Romoke and when I had refused to respond to her, she had instead immersed herself in the glory of her position. Everyone withe eyes knew she had her sights on the best man. Romoke was out and Banke was in and she was going to ride her position well. This was the wedding of the decade and who knew whom she would meet? She did not intend to enter the new year unmarried. I knew it and as a friend acknowledging but not understanding her quiet desperation, I was in some way giving her an eight month start. After all, how long do you really need to know when you want to or not get married. I knew I did not want to be Bashir's wife from the first day I met him.

I did not answer my mother. I coughed and Banke produced a glass of water from somewhere. My mother was looking at me. I wondered if she could tell what I was thinking and feeling.

"The limo is here." a young female voice carried over the din bringing shrieks. My mother abandoned her questioning as the finishing touches began to be made. I rose to my feet, clad in ivory silk that cascaded in volumes about me. The hairdresser, hindered by my meddling mother shoved my veil through my curls into my head.

It was time

His thrusts were not non-pleasurable. I resolved that I could possibly grow accustomed to him as I deftly and skillfully raised my hips to meet his, punctuating his groans with artfully delivered moans. He would reach his peak in a few minutes and I knew that I would have to "arrive" at mine before that, helping him in his lovemaking to me. I clenched my muscles and felt his shuddering begin.

I increased my pace, digging my nails as hard as I could into the skin of his back. If I tore through flesh, hey. As his uninhibited moans escaped his lips and his movements became jerky and sharp as his body convulsed to an orgasm, I relaxed my limbs and belted out the most guttural and incoherent sounds that I could. I added a few shivers to bring home the message and we both "danced" to the music of our "orgasms".

He held me afterwards. I let him, I mean, he was my husband and if he wanted to cuddle from then till January, I had to let him. I did not even mind his sweat. It smelled clean. It was okay.

"Dolapo." His voice was hoarse and a little bit shaky. His descent was much slower than I thought.

"Hmnnn" If I spoke and he heard the strength in voice, he would know that I had not received the same results as he. I matched my breathing to his...just slightly.

"Are you okay?" he asked.

I actually smiled because I could hear the hesitation in his voice. He reminded me of the boy I had met when I was six and he, ten years of age. I nodded into the crook of his arm. My back was to him and he had spooned his length around me. I could feel his member, not quite limp against my back and I sensed it would not be that long before he was good to go again. I had heard of his "abilities".

"It get's even better." He whispered into my hair. My bun was nearly undone and my braids had spilled some.

I nodded.

"It will get better and you will begin to recognise my heartbeat as your own."

I rolled my eyes in the darkness. Boy, please.

He pulled me tighter so suddenly that a gasp betrayed my surprise. "I can make you happy if you just let me."

I had no room to squirm and he was holding me so tight that I could not breathe. I was suddenly scared. "Bashir..." I whispered in a choked gasp.

"Dolapo, I can make you happy if you just let me love you and you give us a chance."

"Bashir, what on earth are you saying? It is our wedding night." I began, moving my head to try and look at him.

"Is it?" he asked as he let me go. The rush of air made me a bit weak and I quickly sat up and whipped around to look at him. He was lying there, naked in all his male glory and looking at me with eyes so sad that I began to panic. He knew, I thought, he knew.

I laid a hand on his chest, "Bashir, " I began in a voice most demure, "what is the matter? why are you talking like this?"

"You are my wife. " he said simply

"I would imagine so, or both our families have just spent alot of money for nothing and the past forty-eight hours have been just for show." i joked.

"You are my wife, Dolapo." he said again. he was not joking

"Yes" I agreed.

"Then forget her."

Friday, January 11, 2008

A week in the life of...

Monday: Moved back to school. I thought I cleaned up before I left and thoroughly too. Why are there hairs on the floor. Eugh.....*sigh* did not miss school. When am I graduating again?
Cool, still have some fish, shrimp and ewedu that I can cook. But there is nothing else so that's going to be awkward.

Tuesday: Registration under a miracle. Someone somewhere has just bought me a bit of time to get my stuff together. Chinese vs Halal food? McDonalds it is.

Wednesday: Mom is not speaking to me. Have f@%&*D up really bad. What was I looking at? God, please help me. This is a new year, cannot be starting up like this....
Classes have begun. Projects to choose from and I have chosen

Thursday: Two classes. One with a teacher who has no business still being in school if he had two minor strokes over the xmas break and is now walking with a cane. I think I am going to like that one. The other class looks like a holding cell for fashonistas and sorority girls. I thought this was Creative Writing Fiction...these people read?

Laptop still comatose and all the diagnosticians are telling me what I don't want to hear.
6 pm: Some hope. A new laptop on credit with four months to pay in instalments.
Stressed out, so I am going to watch a Chinese movie.

Friday: Week at an end. Free groceries at the end of the tunnel.
How am I going to survive a three hour class in the morning again this semester? I barely made it through this morning....

Summary: I am in a state of surrender. Handed over all to God cos I am not starting this year with issues anymore. All hitches are going to be removed ASAP!!!
I have to triple my efforts in school this year because even with all my drama, some people have it worse and they are exceling in school so what is my own problem sef?

So how has your week being?

Sunday, January 06, 2008

Part 1 & 2

Part I

It means nothing.

It means nothing.

It is just tremors that overtake your heartbeat and convulse you to a release

It is just a steady hand gripping the flesh of your thighs in a silent instruction of how and when to move

It is only sounds of words incoherent and yet most understood

It is only texts and emails that help to set the mood

It is only skin that tastes of man and sweat and cologne and heated promises

It is only the steady rhythm of probing thrusts

It is only the crippling guilt of exchanged looks as he chats away blissfully unaware

It is only the turmoil of a horribly kept secret.

It means nothing.

And neither will the next time.

Part II
Abeni sits
Abeni sits outside
Abeni sits outside because
Abeni sits outside because she
Abeni sits outside because she cannot
Abeni sits outside because she cannot go
Abeni sits outside because she cannot go inside

Abeni is
Abeni is scared
Abeni is scared to
Abeni is scared to go
Abeni is scared to go and
Abeni is scared to go and beg
Abeni is scared to go and beg Kajola
Abeni is scared to go and beg Kajola to forgive her because she has embarassed Kajola

You see
You see Abeni
You see Abeni thought
You see Abeni thought Kajola
You see Abeni thought Kajola was
You see Abeni thought Kajola was cheating on her with her best friend Motun

So Abeni
So Abeni went
So Abeni went to
So Abeni went to Motun's
So Abeni went to Motun's house
So Abeni went to Motun's house with
So Abeni went to Motun's house with "awon boys" to burn the new car that Abeni believed Kajola had just bought for his mistress

It turned out
That the car was for Abeni
And Kajola had parked it in Motun's house
In preparation for Abeni's fortieth

The fire
The fire damaged
The fire damaged part
The fire damaged part of the house

Motun is
Motun is not
Motun is not amused
Motun is not amused and neither is her boyfriend who had helped Kajola get the deal on the car.

So Abeni
So Abeni sits
So Abeni sits outside
So Abeni sits outside because
So Abeni sits outside because she
So Abeni sits outside because she cannot
So Abeni sits outside because she cannot go inside.

Wednesday, January 02, 2008

Where there are no names, all can be said

They come from near
They come from far
They come to tell me who they really are
In my ears
Against my skin
They can reveal all that is within

Sometimes with tears
Sometimes not
Sometimes it is not about the battles
That they have fought
It's what they need to let out
Much like steam
Or when they need to build up
Their self esteem

I am exclusive
It's my right
Even though I have lost it
To this world of night
They think they know me
That they understand
They think they see me
When I let them hold my hand

Sometimes, I sit in terror
When I am not sure
Just how much the speaker is control
Of his all
Fortunately they remember
Sadly they tell me that they do
That they must let me go
To a world that they will never know

Then when I am in need
Of a someone just like me
I come to this place nameless
Reborn and recreated
Cos where there are no names
All can be said
And sometimes, to speak is all I need
To get through the days that make my year