CATWALQ INTERNATIONAL ACADEMIE II

NOISEMAKERS LIST: 1. WAFFARIAN X 19 2. IDEMMILLI X 15 3. TOYINTOMATO X 12 4. OMODUDU X 5 5. YOSH X 10 6. FINE BOY X 35 7. UBONG DA X 18 8. ATUTUPOYOYO X 28 9. DIARY OF A G X 16 + BREAK DANCING IN CLASS 10. OVERWHELMED X 25 11.SOLOMONSYDELLE X10 12. JAJA X 12 13. GEISHA X 2 14. BOORISH (LISTENING TO MUSIC OUT LOUD) 15. EXSCHOOL NERD X 1 Jeremy Naija blog: I really need to go home. My driver has been here for over an hour. 30+: hmn, i think you want to ride the ambulance home. They are waiting for you outside. Jeremy: why is everyone so mad at me? did i lie when I said they were making noise. they were...or did you not notice. Princessa: all that one na yarns men. Jeremy: I beg your pardon 30+: hei, chineke they will brush dis oyinbo boy today o Jeremy: I have done nothing wrong. Princess: didn't anyone explain to you exactly how writing-names-of-noise-makers goes? Jeremy: Mrs. Somebody told me to write the names of anyone who makes a sound and subsequently add a mark every time after that. Princessa: sobziequo...eh-eh? 30+: u are only supposed to warn them. You are not really supposed to give the teacher their names. Jeremy: I am supposed to lie? Then where is the integrity in being the noise captain? Princessa (bursts into laughter): sobquo, intagreetie, dis is going to be funny men. Toyintomato have break a branch and she said she will use it and kola si e loju Jeremy: i never quite follow you, Princessa. 30+: she just means that Toyintomato is waiting for you outside with a stick. She intends to make marks on your face with it. .Jeremy: My God, why has everyone gone crazy? I only did as I was asked. why is everyone on my case. 30+: I feel you. well, the boys were handed over to the seniors for punishment and Mrs. Somebody took the girls. Princessa: and you know the seniors don't like us. Jeremy: They don't...? Wha... Toyintomato: ehen! dis ez whia u a hydeeng? Hmn, Jehrehmee, what did i does u, ehn, what did I does you? Dat u came and went and gave my name to Mrs. Somebodee? Waffarian: Broda from obodo, na here u dey. we know know now. we dey find you. (The class fills up with the girls) Solomonsydelle: Jeremy, u wrote my name on the noisemakers list? when was I making noise? Jeremy: if you all calm down, I can tell you exactly when you made my list. Toyintomato: make your list. Hy did not make your list o. was heet not u dat write it yoursef? 30+: u guys please calm down. U guys will get in more trouble o Idemmili: 30+, 30+, i know say ur eyes no go see road after oyinbo man don look your side. 30+: Idemmili, please watch yourself o. Ex School: abeg, make I hear word. Ngbo, Jeremy, you were writing names today and of all the people you could see to name, you put mine. Toyintomato: leave him o, atoole osi. Princessa: (giggles) Jeremy: ladies.... Solomonsydelle: u and who are lady-ing? abi u think u are still in london abi it even paris sef? Idemmilli: don't mind this scotland boy. Jeremy: I am from England Toyintomato: hand then? Waffarian: your return can be arranged cos I need to repay you generously for the opportunity you presented me with having to clean the toilets. Toyintomato: Hand Hy ad to go clia the deesgozteen keecheen gottas. Exschool: can you imagine? Jeremy: I am sorry you had to experience that but you must admit you girls were making noise. I mean, Waffarian, you were roaring loud in Pidgin English about whatever it was you were talking about and when I looked at you in warning, you waved at me. Waffarian: Make I no greet you again? see me see trouble o Toyintomato: Mststshhw! Idemmili: abi Jeremy: and u Idemmilli, am not even sure what "heaving bosoms and pulsating members" are but you and Ubong Da sure do Solomonsydelle: when was I making noise Jeremy? you have still not answered my question. Jeremy: I am surprised you don't remember with you and Jaja nearly coming to blows. Solomonsydelle: so defending myself is now noise making Ex School: oya prepare to defend yourself cos you are about to make some noise Idemmili: and I guarantee you it will not involve heaving bosoms. 30+: u guys match your brakes o, match your brakes Jeremy: what is all this? Princessa: (laughing) (Overwhelmed and Geisha walk in laughing, encounter the situation and freeze) Geisha: chineke me, what is going on here Overwhelmed: gen gen, what is popping Toyintomato: whia hare you comeeng frohm? Overwhelmed: from Back Gate. Geisha: went to get Suya, what is going on? Waffarian: nothing. Jeremy: no, I am being accosted by them cos their names were on the noise makers list. Geisha: their names were on the list or you put their names on the list. Jeremy :.... Overwhelmed: come to think of it, I should be vexed with you. idemmili: come to think of it, you should, where are you coming from? Geisha: u know Alhjaji Blogger Generalwants to marry Overwhelmed. He organised her all this suya. U should see. (both girls open their bags) Toyintomato: Jisoz!!! did hall the sheekens heen the town die? Waffarian: o baby, dis jollification is not going to be a solo effort. Overwhelmed: haba, u should know me now, if i wanted to solo it, I would not have come to class. (they deposit the bag on Jeremy's desk and everyone begins to dig in) Ex School: 30+ you won't eat? See princessa has jaboed you. Jeremy, u won't eat? Jeremy: (slightly bewildered) no thank you. I am going home. (the boys walk in) Fine Boy: JEREMY NAIJA BLOG!!!! MY GUY!!! Jeremy: Oh lord, not again. Jaja (singing): white man white man bring a little white rope for the white man Ubong Da: Idemmili, freeze, thou shalt not indulge in the sins of the stomach alone. Idemmili: Mststshhw! Yosh :what are you still doing here? D.O.G: mhmmmm, i smell spicy suya. Omodudu: please tell me that Overwhelmed has got the hook up again. Overwhelmed: u're damn right. Omodudu: I am going to marry this chick. yeee Atutupoyoyo: Jeremy, odaran, u are still here. U wrote my name. Awww, o boy why now. Princessa: u guys nearly missed, the girls were going to brush him 30+: girl, your mouth will not koba u o. what are you playing at? Jaja: eh, dibs on front row seating men. I am on Ugo's desk. Yosh:I am going to assume, you are going to tell me how I got on your list. Jeremy: (standing up) you know what, since none of you want to face the fact that maybe, just maybe, you were indeed making noise, then you can go ahead and brush, sweep, broom me...whatever the case may be. Just get it all over in five minutes. The driver has been waiting for me and I am possibly holding him up from picking up my dad from work. Atutupoyoyo: LIVER!!! Toyintomato: Liva koo, kidney ni. e rush e joo Yosh: TT girl, pleasecalm down and pass me that breast. Toyinyomato: eh Jisoz! Yosh: chicken breast, that big piece there. Jeremy: then it is settled, bye, thanks 30+ for everything. will see you tomorrow. Fine Boy: o boy where are you going to? u have to sample this suya. Jeremy: no thanks. Yosh and Ubong Da: TAKE IT!!!! Jeremy (assessing the situation, accepts a piece of meat) Thank you. Toyintomato: u berra heat it veghy well. Heat eet hand swallow heet properly. Jaja: oya e don do, next time, you will not be selling sweet and biscuit in class (everyone bursts into laughter) Yosh: yeah, cos it was when we were talking that my name got put down. Jaja: solomonsydelle, solomonsydelle. i see u. i see u. soffry massacre that meat now. the thing is already dead. Solomonsydelle: u people, I will bite this boy o. Fine Boy: people, people, people; please allow me to enjoy this suya in peace and tranquility Ubong Da: and the randiness of your thoughts Idemmili: which one is doing him sef? Jaja: Me thinks our boy is sprung Jeremy: hun? (everyone looks at him)...sorry...ignore me Fine Boy: no, no, no people, allow the guy and by the way Jeremy that meat is not going to eat itself. don't waste Alhaji Blogger General's finest. Yosh (to Overwhelmed): does that guy know that you are not even yet fifteen? Atutupoyoyo: wetin "consign" the man? for kano she for don born like four junior Blogger Generals wey go help their papa dey chase the chicken around. Toyintomato (laughing with everyone): four, haaaa, mohdarah! killer! Waffarian: so fine boy, why r u so happy? Fine Boy: Waffy, my sister, I believe I am in love. Waffy and Solomonsydelle: u believe... Yosh: when Kpakpando catches you Ubong Da: it will be nothing like what he will suffer when Baba Alaye get's his hands on him Ex School Nerd: ye, fine Boy, please don't tell me... Jaja: yup. Jeremy, 30+, : What? D.O.G: He is talking about Taurean Minx.

FRUSTRATED (while I prepare to present Academie's sequel)

As usual, when I am preparing to update my blogs, I skim through my favourite blogs both for inspiration as well as to try and discern the general mood in blogville. If the trend is to be serious, I try and interject some philosophical reasoning into my posts and if levity is the mood, I strive to accomodate.

Blogville has opened my mind and heart to discourses that I feel in my estimation need to be experienced by all. From politics to erotica, blogville has something for you. Nigerian bloggers are much more special because their insights are borned out of surviving in a country which has little or nor respect for the workings of a creative mind. The average person has no patience to comprehend how much work it taked to craft words into literary sculptures to pique interest, seduce the intellect and hammer home a strong message. They are too busy with the business of surviving.


That is why I would think that Governor Fashola will have much more on his plates than to push sanctions of the choice of wardrobe of the modern Nigerian. The hypocrisy of this witch hunt is so blatant, it is disgusting. The same people screaming for moral reform are unwilling to tackle issues like sexual and domestic abuse, human rights violations, economic corruption and trafficking of any kind.


I need an explanation of how the sight of skin is going to affect the price of fuel. I need to know how a man choosing to braid his hair is going to provide constant eletricities so that students can study, businesses can run and people can enjoy the small, modest comforts of their homes.


Our forefathers and foremothers walked around (in most cultures) in loin cloths, completely unashamed and UNAFFECTED with the sight of exposed skin. In comes the puritanistic and pervasively conservative caucasian missionaries and they brainwash an entire people into believing that they are ugly and backward and we accept it and pass it on both directly and subliminally to subsequent generations.

Maybe we are, or how can you explain that a majority faith leader issues the ban on what a woman can wear to worship and immediately the entire congregation accepts it because, like in the worship of shrines, God apparently resides in one place.

My aunt who agrees with this idea of women not being ALLOWED to wear trousers to church told me she felt so because it is a garment associated with men. I corrected her by saying that it is a garment associated with freedom: freedom of mobility. A man is free to move around and do what he wants while women are forced to scurry about in the shadows so as not to terrify the man when he realises that the woman, if given the opportunity will accomplish alot and possibly more than he can. Am I now to cater to the insecurities of all men who cannot define themselves exclusive of the worship, adoration and deference of women?


I think amongst our people of sheep, God is a semi senile, absent minded caucasian MAN with a long beard and a quick temper who forgets what is going on and then remembers with swift "punishments" for those who erred whilst he was sleeping.


Nigerians, please wake up. You are sliding further and further into the backwardness of ignorance and hypocrisy. You are ruled by fear in all that you do. The western world sees this and capitalises on it and you say nothing.You refuse to challenge those whom you know are responsible for your problems, instead, you in turn inflict more pain on yourselves and on others or you chase after matters that have little or no bearing on the immediate situation. Case in point, the administrative board using HIV and pregnancy tests as a combatant for pre-marital sex when most HIV victims contracted the virus from our pathetically substandard medical practices. Please go to every university in the country, no matter how low on the radar and you will be shown, if you ask which youth are mistresses and boy toys to the wealthy and powerful. Start using your brains, there is a reason why that organ was placed in your head, above all other organs so you can think and reason from a higher perspective.


Some might say, why are you speaking out? Is it because you are one of those women who dresses indecently? I ask, then, what is decency and by whose standards do we measure it? Some people think that it is immoral to patronise and perform in the arts; to them all form of vocal talent that can be displayed is immoral and for the more silent ones like the fine arts, they are a waste of time. There are some that consider the advancements of technology such as the television and radio backward.Some think I am immoral for even speaking at all because as a woman, i guess their understanding is that, as a woman, I am only supposed to use my voice in acquiescence to whatever oppressive and represive situation I am faced with. Are these the people I am supposed to watch blindly while they attempt to come between me and my destiny?


How dare I even think to challenge the status quo? Well, the status quo is rubbish; an amalgamation of ill conceived ideas, structured to keep a certain group of people in control of a nation of people who are just like sheep.


I am getting increasingly frustrated that there will be no country for my children to grow up in. Our neighbours are leaving us behind. We call ourselves the "Giant of Africa" but now Nigeria is appearing more and more like the good for nothing big brother with an over inlated image of himself. And I am panicked to think of how many women and men will get hurt by these recent developments

I am tired and I need to know what I can do.

CATWALQ INTERNATIONAL ACADEMIE 2

COMING SOON...!!!!!!

In the main time, enjoy my other two blogs that no one likes to read.
Thank you plenty much.

MY FIRST BRA

It was time. My mother had finally taken pity on my jiggling up and down and pestering her to grant me my heart's desire. Catwalq was going to be the proud wearer of a very empowering contraption: THE BRA.

Now, I was on the path towards my sexiness. Yes, so I was short, round, had no hair but my bra would change all that. My mother would start respecting me and very soon all the men would be at my beck and call. The reason they were not after me was because I had no "uplifts" to my "weapons of mass seduction". In 24 hours, I would cease to be Cattie and become Miss Catwalq, potential owner of double Ds (so I prayed).

After conveying to my father and brother in the most important of tones (like they cared), our mission, my mother and I set off for the one place in the world where you can find the most sexy of undergarments: Tejuosho Market.

I was nearly besides myself with excitement. i could not wait to return after mid-terms with my new bra(s). Almost everyone in my class had them in every shape or form; even those whose "aspiring" potrusions were competing to attain groundnut shapes and sizes. I had been eyeing in envy all those girls in dorm as they dressed and unleashed on my non-bra-wearing person their imported varieties in color and fabric, I was determined that I too would give them a run for their money. They were to wait and see. The new and improved Catwalq was about to be unleashed.

First we stopped at every customer my mother had in the market and she informed them in loud whispers what we were here to do. Laughter, cackling, winks and immediate perusal of my chest followed. i endured it all because at the end of the long stretch of market corridor, right under the staircase leading upstairs to the clothing and apparel section and male sales people who liked to grab at females sat the mecca of brand new female underwear. they could laugh all they wanted, when I passed back in an hours time, they would see just how little of a girl I was.
Mststshhw! (hiss)

We got there. The women called out to the my mother and I and if not for the instructions I had been given before getting out of the car, i would have jumped forward and started rolling around. My mother settled on one woman with a nose ring. Seeing my eager face, the woman pulled out a bag containing some of the most colorful bras and matching panties I had ever seen. The models on their packaging, were white and had ironing boards for stomachs. the patterns were checkered, floral, mickey mouse, smiley faces etc. YES!!!! This was it, oh my God, this was it.

"Let's start with a 32 C" my mother informed the woman.

The woman expertly unwrapped the bras and spilled its contents out. She selected one. I will never forget it as long as I live. It was bright yellow with little red flowers running across the front. the top of it was scalloped in the lace patterns of the petals. the straps were tiny and had a little bow on the shoulder. The unpadded cups settled tightly into metal lifts to rest under my bra-virgin breasts and lift them to glory. And in a few minutes, it was going to be mine. i put my hand forward to touch it.
Smack! Iya Catwalq'a hand came out of no where and stung my skin. I retracted my smarting hand to saftety. What is going on? Even the seller was startled

"You will not wear such? Do you want to catch breast cancer?" say what? "or don't you know that the metal in the cups can rust against your skin? You will not put me in trouble. Madam, don't you have more suitable ones without metal?" My mother asked

"I get d one wey get plastic." the woman answered.

"No, none with anything. Just bring the plain bras."

I watched in slow motion as the objects of my sexual liberation that had been just minutes dangled beneath my nose like a punishing temptation, were slowly retracted and folded away and a bag containing another brand of womanhood brought forward. I nearly burst into tears when my mother reached for the bra of her choice.

The straps were so big, I could have checked "towel" off my back to school list.

It was plain cotton. Plain, boring and uninspiring cotton.

Visions of dressing in the dark to avoid being seen with such underwear catastrophes assualted my mind and my throat began to clog up with tears.

"Mummy..." I began.

"What?!" my mother snapped. That "what" was the kind that preceeded a slap and unlike Adaure's mother who waited to get home before she was beaten, my mother had no problems rearranging my facial features right there in the center of the market. And no one would intervene too because she just might met out the same to them.

That was how I walked home, the "proud" owner of four bras and matching panties.
We took the same route we had come in with and I had to "show off" my purchases.

When i got back to school, I made sure I took my shower at 3 in the morning and always dressed behind my locker door.

It took me two years to get over the experience.

CATWALQ INTERNATIONAL ACADEMIE 1

NOTICE BOARD ANNOUNCEMENT!
The Mango tree behind Class 5 is out of bounds to students. Anyone caught will be severely punished.

AFTER SCHOOL:
Waffarian: mee-en, look at those mangoes. Fada Lawd!
Overwhelmed: chei, see how their skin is just glowing.
Kpakpando: umn-hmn.
Idemmili: they are so ripe. all u have to do is shake the branches and they will fall.
Calabar girl: I can almost taste the juice.
Kpakpando: umn-hmn
Waffarian: where is that strong wind when u need it?
Overwhelmed: maybe I will just go and lean against it and see if anything falls
Calabar Girl: Ehn, when Mr. Laspapi is still on duty. And you know that he has been looking for people to cut grass all week.
Idemmili: mee-en, fia burn that elephant grass
Kpakpando: umn-hmn
Ugo D: ladies, ladies, please can you move to the side, you guys are on our field.
Waffarian: say what?
Atutupoyoyo: make una dress joo.
Overwhelmed: wait o, are u talking to me?
Kpankpando: hmn hmn hmn umn
Ugo D: Look, waffy and co, I am not getting into this today. you know this is when we play ball and yet u choose to stand right in the middle of the field everyday.
Waffarian: hey eh, AtuP, no make I take my red eye look una o. Ugo, how much space do you pple need to play sef?
Atutupoyoyo: all that one na yarns. abeg comot make I see road.
Fine Boy: hey, hey, hey, people what is gwan? Hey Kpakpa, what's up?
Kpankpando: Hi
Fine Boy: Hi
Calabar girl (in a whisper to Overwhelmed): hey, her mugu button is here.
Waffarian: Fine Boy, this does not con-syne you o
Fine Boy: Haba, how can you say that? Ugo, men. what's up, time is running. Chief Fineboy must not reach house before me o.
Ugo D: since it's only you she listens to, abeg tell your wife make she dress comot for here.
Atutupoyoyo: abi, plus her assistants
Calabar Girl: shut up and hobble away.
Overwhelmed: look am like monkey
Fine Boy: hey, that is not necessary. Waffy, girl, u know we have only this time before the seniors come and kick us off for their game. What do u say u let us ...?
Waffarian: we were just standing here jejely-and rora-ly. Abi, we are standing on your head,ehn Ugo.
Ugo: (shakes head and hisses)
Overwhelmed: look Fine Boy, the issue is, we want those mangoes. If you guys want us off the field, we gats to get our mango on.
Ugo, Fine Boy, Atutu: SAY WHAT?!!!!
Calabar Girl: U heard. Mango in hand, leg off your field.
Ugo: look men, am not about to serve punishment with you guys. Those toilets have not seen water not to talk of soap and I am not going to be the one to remind them what that is.
Atutupoyoyo: Amen
Waffarian: It's your call. I plan to be here everyday till Mango season is over. Then who knows what other fruit will be in season then.
Fine Boy: Waffy, why?
Waffarian: Zed.
Fine Boy: Guys, what do you say?
Ugo: Omo, match your brakes right now, u and who?
Fine Boy: Look all the best spots are taken. If we no do am by this time no more then. U know it is almost time for prep
Atutupoyoyo: Which is why, they should be in their dorms disturbing somebody else or something.
Overwhelmed: bite me
Atutupoyoyo: I don't want to catch something.
Fine Boy: hey, hey, no fighting.... U know what, just because it is you, Waffy and co, I will actually climb the tree myself, but
Overwhelmed: but what?
Fine Boy: Ww will all go to the tree. Even if I climb, you guys will stand under. And somebody has to stand guard.
Waffy: I am down. Oya. I will show you which branches have the nicest ones.
(Yosh, Ubong Da, Diary of a G, Boorish, Omodudu approach)
Diary of a G: niggas, what the f*#@S up?
Boorish: abeg stop that break dance, with all your american lingo you picked from DSTV
D.O.G: are you disrespecting me?
Yosh: (chuckling) Fine Boy, AtuP, are we playing or not?
Ugo: Not unless, we climb the mango tree.
Boorish: why, what for?
Idemmili: for the mangoes silly
Omodudu: oya, what are we waiting for?
Yosh: uh, i do not think that is a good idea.
Calabar Girl: that's why we did not ask you to think
Yosh: ouch
Calabar Girl: sorry
Boorish: wait, who is climbing the tree and who is eating the fruit? cos i am not about to be tarzan-ing up and down
Ugo: with laspapi on patrol
Yosh: and u could fall and break your legs.
Waffarian: now that the wooses have spoken, Fine Boy, oya now. Idemmili, make sure we know if anyone is coming.
(Fine Boy, Omodudu, Calabar Girl, Boorish, Kpankpando, Waffy move off)
Yosh: Oh boy, I don't like the look of this.
Diary of a G: well, those mangoes look really good.
Ugo: oh shit, toilets here we come
Atutupoyoyo: (handing Idemmili the ball and following the mango climbing team) why am I always doing dumb shit like this?
Ubong Da: u want the mangoes too?
Idemmili: yup. lovely juicy, soft mangoes.
Ubong Da: yeah, sinking your teeth into the soft flesh
Idemmili: and the sweet liquid bursting into your mouth
Ubong Da: streaming down your throat
Idemmili: your mouth struggling to manage the fullness of the fruit...
Ubong Da: ok, ok, ok. I see your M&Bs at work here.
Idemmili: what, u think you cannot match me?
Ubong Da: Idem, girl, my sturves will crush the nonsense of M&Bs any time.
Idemmili: you are on. you write something and I'll write something and we will see whose is better.
Ubong Da: who is going to judge? can't be either one of us
Idemmili: has to be someone that can read.
Ubong Da: that rules out half the class
Idemmili: that's not nice
Ubong Da: ok, when do you want to have it ready for? cos I can whip up something right now.
`Ubong Da: what...shit. men, yawa.
Laspapi: All of you freeze!!! Don't even bother to run. I know all of you. I know your father. I know your mother and above all, I know you. Fine Boy, just sit on that branch where you are and Waffarian, as you are holding those mangoes, just come right here. Diary of a G, pull up your pants. If you don't want to wear clothes, let us know, otherwise find a belt!!!!

COMING SOON

Coming soon for your viewing pleasure and amusement:

CATWALQ'S INTERNATIONAL ACADEMIE.
Registration commences immediately.
All attendees must have an open mind and a sense of humour.
Spaces are limited to a first-come-first-serve basis.
For further information, please contact the proprietor Catwalq Bani-Baraje by email:
CatwalqB@gmail.com.

Stay Tuned

something is wrong...

something is wrong with my texts.
I can't change the colours and sizes. And when I try to put some words in italics or bold font, i have some letters and *<> before and after the word.
What do I do?
Where r the blogger pros?

Hey Mister

Excuse me sir,
I understand that this road that we laboriously plow each day in our quest for bodies of steel and incitement of desire belong to neither you nor I. But I must plead with you.
If you must choose to run in the evenings, the same time as me, could you please ensure that the length of your jogging shorts, at least come to rest on your knees? Maybe the lights were always off, or I was just to preoccupied with other things but are human thighs supposed to possess that much hair?
And I must say that I think something is extremely wrong when your "shorts" hug your "region of productivity" and I see no "evidence" of "man spheres".What do you go a-tucking before you leave the house.
I also think you need to get your skin checked out. That shade of pink must be unhealthy. Is it just me, or does it seem that even your sweat is trying to get away from you cos each time you pass me, I always have to check if it is raining. I must look quite silly being the only person jogging with an umbrella.
Don't look at me like that. U have to know you are asking for it when you unleash yourself on the unsuspecting public. I am not trying to anger your ancestors (and just so you know, mine aren't asleep so don't even try some clifford orji type shit. who is clifford orji? check the internet. sha don't try it)I am just trying to ensure that my attack, defense and weapons of male persuasion are in top form. I am not sure why you r doing what u think u r doing...don't tell me, I am not that interested.
I have to go now. Yeah, you too. See you...okay, bye bye now. What? Will I be coming this way tomorrow? No, I don't think so. i think I am just going to accost my boss with what I am working with....no hugs, sorry

U add two sentences of your own to

She speaks in whispers
But loves in screams...

Niger Delta: the abused mistress; constantly promised marriage

Margaret Hill, the three year old daughter of a British expatriate worker has been kidnapped in the Niger Delta on her way to school. The militant groups have reached an ultimate low as in desperation they have turned to the innocent children. Many people have raised an uproar and it was reported on the BBC UK website that the British Consulate is demanding an immediate release of the child.

So far, all those who have heard about this story, have heaped alot of curses and insults of outrage and disgust on whoever is responsible (as it is the usual culprits MEND have denied involvement); which of course is not unwarranted. But I am curious to see if anyone is aware of the bigger picture at stake.

I am not too sure of the geography of the niger delta but from my own understanding (and here I emphasise the word "my"), the niger delta probably began its decline after the Biafran war. The discovery of oil is probably the biggest catastrophe to befall the region. the last time I was there which was in 2002 when I made road trip through the east, we passed abandoned farm lands and riverways; made unusable and toxic by the resultant pollutants of exploration.

For a people who have been reliant on the land for their livelihood, the inability to use these must mean an immediate and destruction of their socio-economy. Now, I am not much of a politician and I am aniticipating the comments to this post to be lengthy discourses on how incomplete my analysis is; but I need to ask how any one is surprised that suddenly out of the ashes of a raped and defiled people arose a vigilante group emulating terrorist antics as their only means to garner attention.

The thing is though that just like their terrorist mentors, the only response their going to get is a reciprocated show of force. To appease their foreign masters, the Nigerian government is going to dispense on the offense military force instructed to take no prisoners and leave no stone unturned. What we are going to now see is an even greater disaster to the Niger Delta people than they are already experiencing.

For a region that gave Nigerians the audacity to walk around with the arrogant pride of people of means, they sure have very little to show for it. All their great minds have either been poached or fled to the south west or Abuja or worse still to the same foreign lands that are responsible for the abuse of their people. All those who remain are not skilled enough to manage what little they have or are more motivated by a sense or entitlement and greed that they covet it all for their private and personal gain.

I am in no way advocating for militant groups. Violence and intimidation never gets the desired result and only breeds hostility. As it is, many are forgetting that the most violent of Nigerians reside in the Sharia brainwashed states of the north (yeah, i said it, go burn what's left of Kano)and are writing the vibrant and colourful people of the Niger delta as a bunch of trigger happy, barely literate, errant individuals. Some of them are but the majority are just like you and I, praying for the morning to bring a respite to their problems.

I pray Margaret is returned home soon. She is only three and only God knows what the poor thing is going through. And her mother is probably loosing her mind.
I am also praying for an end to the rape of the Niger Delta. Like any woman who has been abused for so long and too long, she too adopts the characteristics of her abuse and uses it on others, whether they have anything to do with her condition or not.

I don Tire

Rain rain go away
come again another day
catwalq has no umbrella

NEPA is a bitch. No light for three days and we don't have gen. Me I am tired of ironing my clothes one week in advance. How am I supposed to know that the air-con in the place I am going was probably once used to generate snow at one point in its existence.

Obasanjo is just shameless. And I thought he would retire and chase his chickens at his Ota farm. Which one is advisor again? Have we not suffered enough from this man's intelligence? Haba! Agbaya!

Wo, peoples, I will gist later, I need to go and collect ice block from Mama Junior upstairs. And tonight's soup. We kept some of our sturves in their freezer.I hope they have not left for church cos mumsie told me to get it like three hours ago and I just saw Sunday, drive out the car. Where there people inside the car?

ADO EKITI MEMOIRS

Apparently this blog is rated:

Mingle² - Free Online Dating

I REMEMBER WHEN:

mummy will say to daddy, "please could you help me get some tomatoes on your way back?" and daddy would say "yes" and turn up a few hours later with two baskets of tomatoes that he bought at three times the actual price. the market women loved my dad and his beat up Volvo 240. We always had food in that house

Omo mummy got his head stuck in the buglary proof in our neighbour's flat when we went to sneak and check out what the new tenant had in his flat. I laughed so hard I wet myself

I got stung by a scorpion and daddy said that it was a spider from Kingdom Arachnida. He had the doctorate degree in the house and so many encyclopedias, so we were figured he was right until I started to feel drowsy and sleepy

Our three guava, two cashew and pitanga trees

Mummy wishing she had not waited one more day for her fat paw paw to ripen on the tree cos the next day, it was not there

throwing stones at the masquerade and having the boys chase me down with koboko. I barely made it into the house

Iya oyo's pounded yam and egusi with assorted meat

traveling three hours to get to Ikogosi Warms Spring, just so we could swim

knowing all the mountains and rivers in the country

knowing all the states and capitals.

Omo Mummy getting getting stuck in the guava tree after I told him to climb up and shake the branches. Mummy beat me something serious before she climbed up and brought Omo Mummy down by the collar of his shirt. He was six so he got only a spank. i got a thrashing so bad that it even hurt to fart

The king's market and Oja Okesha that only opened every seventh day

The cathedral with seven schools in its compound

Sweet Alagbon; u know the sweet made from coconut and wrapped in cellophane and tied in knots. looked like a string of stones

Our farm and my small garden where I grew two yams, six ears of corn and some ugu

The pineapples that did not bear fruit till we moved out, six years after they were planted

The onions that daddy planted and made us talk to ( he read somewhere that if you talk to your plants, they grow better) that never grew. I always told anyone that saw him conversing with his plants that he was my father's twin brother from lagos.

Catching Esunsun and frying. Mummy condemned the frying pan after that

Daddy telling Mummy that he was going to bring her a present and then showing up later with some dead wild animal. U should have heard her reaction the day he presented her with a dead python. he told us he'd clean it himself and we would see that it tasted just like fish. he and I sat outside to eat the "fish" and we were not allowed to bring it inside.

GYM blues

Ladies and Gentlemen, I am in intense physical pain.
Have just completed my second day of thirty minutes on the stationary bike and thirty crunches.
I cannot feel my legs.
My spine is on fire.
I think I am going to pass out.
God is this how I am going to go?
I have not even dated my sheik yet?
What about all my world jet setting?
I have not even had the upgrade to first class on BA, Oh God why me?
Should I call my mum?
What time is it?
No, she might just kill me herself.
Yee eeeee, my thighs!!!
Mo gbe, I think I am seeing a white light.
Idiot, it is just your neighbours driving down the street
I think I have shifted my liver
*sob* I am only trying to have a flat tummy, ehn, eze okwu
Maybe if I could just detach my legs for a while, it will not be as bad.
Jesus!!! What is this?
is my hair falling out?
Why is everything dark?
Oh, sorry, have to open my eyes first.
I don't know who sent me message. All these yeye summer ads on cable. Me too, I want a bikini
Am tired of my one piece suit. Besides, I have already slashed d thing with scissors into a two piece.
I am having a headache. Hey!!! I hope I am not having a haemorrage.
U should have turned back when u walked into that gym and everyone in there was skinny. I mean, everyone else used like six other machines while they had to scrape you off the second one.
I don't even know how I walked home in a straight line
How many fingers am I holding up? First, let me move my hand up to where my eye can see it cos I cannot turn my head.
Men, I have to find a way to get my hands on that hoodia plant cos I don't think I can go through this everyday.
Why is Jennifer Lopez taking off her clothes?
Where is the remote? Oh, it has been in my left hand all this while? No wonder, i could not lift my hand.
Is this heiffer singing in spanish? Idioto! How am I supposed to understand...
Let me see what else is on
CNN...
BBC...
MTV...
Africa Magic...Jesus!!!hell no
Discovery Home... what is this? Tips for summer get togethers? Pudding? Shio. Barbecued chicken, hmn, ok, roasted corn. these yeye oyinbo people and their culinary crimes. Why will you douse corn in butter?
*sob* I am hungry

MY HI5 TOASTERS

HI5 cracks me up. i have received marriage proposals, girlfriend proposals and all sorts of romantic lyrics on my HI5 page. I just checked it after a while and thought to share with you some of my admirers. See, I am not really single...

HOW ARE YOU DOING,I REALLY LIKE YOUR PICS THAT IS PLACED ON HI5,I REALLY LOVE IT,ITS SHOWS HOW PRETTY AND BEAUTIFUL YOU ARE,I NEVER KNEW THAT THERE IS STILL SOMEBODY SPECAIL LIKE YOU ARE UNTIL I SAW YOUR PICS,I REALLY LOVE THAT AND KEEP IT UP.
AM WALE BY NAME,TALL AND DARK IN COMPLESURE,I WE REALLY LIKE TO KNOW YOU MORE,BECAUSE YOU CONFUSED ME MOST.I REALLY WISH WE KNOW MORE BETTER,CAN YOU PLS CALL ME ON THIS NO (0802 xxx xxxx) OR YOU REPLY ME VIA THIS HI5 OR ON MY YAHOO MAIL BOX(xxxxxxxxx@YAHOO.COM),WAITING YOUR SOONEST REPLY.THANKS WALE


AM FRANK OBI.

AM 21 YEARS MALE.

AM FROM NIGERIA.

LIVE IN LAGOS.

AM LOOKING FOR A LOVE THAT I WILL UNDERSTAND AND SHE WILL ALSO UNDERSTAND ME.

THANKS.

FRANK.
xxxxxxxx555@yahoo.com
+234 803 xxx xxxx.




Hello,

am Obinna, 6.ft,dark in complexion, And from Nigeria.
anyway, i came across your profile and admired you, so i will want to be a
close friend to you.i will like to have ur cell number for easier commiuncation.
waiting for your reply.
Best regards,

Obinna.


saw ur picand u are not bad loook,i will appreciate if u cud pls mailmeon dis Email ID alfrexxxx@yahoo.com i really like the way u look and i will like to meet .the pic u will see on the hi5 is notmine cos i dontlike putin my pic on the internet .pls try and reply we cud talk better.
The sense I know I can not show
but with the feeling I can bear only comes with despair
When I try to see I can not tell
when its anguish or love
but with you I see only love
so when there it may not be fair
but you will always now that I will care
and when I share my thoughts
I know we will always share our love. 0805xxxxxxxx

stumbled across ur page...must have put a lot of thot into it...u seem very inspired...if u are single,not an unrepentant lesbian or serial killer or passer of bad cheques then I know this really cute guy, who is upwardly mobile, handsome, very sexy, strong willed ,single minded and soon to be the first US black president...I think u 2 should meet...

If u are interested , let me know, If not ...pls dont curse!!


Good...progress :)



Sweetie pie,

I saw ur PICTURE on the page of hi5 and u looked so cool...pretty and sexy... like a curio.., charming like comet and graceful like a goddess with those smiles that shone like the moon on her passion filled night....Has anyone ever tell u that u are beautiful?...if yes/no, I most award u the compliment cos, i cared about u with a genuine interested and helpless in confronting with ur impeccable beauty so sweet that words cannot tell the essence...hmmm! am so much interested in ESTABLISHING SERIOUS RELATIONSHIP with u. Reply

Honey I LOVE YOU --- POEM

You are a lovely star
that bestride my horizon
sweeter than the rose scent
that becons forth bee
lovely than the lily
in the mist of her softest green
perhaps with this strange pang of excitement
as soft and gent as a sigh
(in) this I craved for
leastdaresay entrapped
to be lost in the labyrinth of ur love complexities
Far away u are
standing and looking
with pairs of hypnotising smile
yet my heart felt
the warmth of your presence
touching like serenade in the air
growing with charm tender.
cause, am fascinated,
intrigued and besotted.

Engr.Barry

can u pls mail me thru. my private box: xxxxxxyyyyyy@yahoo.com and send along with ur picture and phone number to enhance my calling u ok

DREAMS II: PART UN

The streets are filled. Hordes of people. Excitement is ripe and ripples in the air. I am standing watching as they approach. I am not scared, maybe because I assume that I cannot be seen. The light is a dull grey and the city is Lagos. Women rush to close their eyes and bury their faces in the clothing of their male companions. The penalty of sight would be unmerciful and just to make sure that everyone knows this , whips are drawn out by men accompanying the sojourning spirits and brought down without qualms on the backs of the cowering women. Some even expect it.

Cries in Yoruba fill the air but funny enough I heart no sound. I turn and cross the gutter to the safety of our house as they pass by; these EYO people. The spirits are draped in white cloth, hold white sticks and have white boat hats atop their heads.
I enter the house. It is a typical old Lagos house; a bungalow with a long dark corridor that leads to the back.

The children are scouring about the house excited out of their minds. I brush them aside as I make my way to then back unconsciously following their direction of movement, curious to see what has got their wires touching. I pass a few but their excitement increases their speed and they gain on me and move forward. I realize that they are running towards a voice, that of a child’s and one that I know like then back of my hand. We reach the small courtyard at the back of the house. The children and I screech to a stop. The boy has pulled down a ladder leading to the roof where the food is dried and is attempting to climb. He gestures for the other kids to follow. They wish to see the masquerade procession and will do so from the roof. I rush forward. I know that if they are caught, there will be hell to pay.

My voice cuts through the chattering children. I hush them up in one instant. They freeze and look at me. The boy does not let go of the ladder. Infact, his foot has been planted on the bottom rung. He is on his way up and it will take much more than my voice to prevent him from doing so. I rail at them in Yoruba. “Get away from there. Come on, go.” I push an shove through their muffled complaints till I reach the boy. He still ahs not moved and neither have his eyes left my face. He challenges me without speaking and moving. I falter, and a small fear creeps into my mind. If I cannot handle this now, I never will be able to do so. I raise my hand and smack him hard across the face. The other kids flinch at the force of the impact. In this house there is no democracy, no bargaining and no reasoning. I am older, the adult and I will be obeyed.

I look at my hand, it is just as small as his. I am a little girl. I am barely a foot taller than he is. I am not as big as I think. I am immediately scared. The other children are looking at both of us, waiting for the explosive result. Would he let it slide and cement my position of authority or fight back and plunge us all into confusion? Whose side should they be on? The little girl who has her sleeping infant brother on her back steps away, unconsciously removing herself and her charge from the line of fire. There is silence. I find my voice.
“Get away from here. Do you all want to be in trouble?” My voice is surprisingly steady “If you are seen, you will be in trouble.”
The boy only breaths and stares at me. I am suddenly incensed. “I said GET!!!”. Even I am visibly shocked at the strength of my tone. The boy apparently is as well. He blinks and his stance is broken. His eyes lower and he steps away from the ladder. He will obey. He has obeyed. I am secure.
“I am sorry sister XXXXXX” he says to me in Yoruba. Not my name but I nod in acceptance. The other children step forward to do the same. One by one, they come to me to acknowledge my authority. I hug a few, not all, just a few. They must not think me weak.
Then I wake.

Jeje-ly and Rora-ly

Have u ever heard someone snore to the point that your bones rattled?

I came back late from Ibadan. I went to Challenge to see my aunt with whom I will be staying during my service. I will do the three weeks at camp and relocate back to her boys quarters. I am suppsoed to be teaching at some school. I hope tha language of instruction is English because as strong as my Yoruba is, it will be no match for Ibadanites and their own brand of oyo dialect...

So, I finally dragged my bag from the gate of the estate (the half drunk-half stoned security refused to let my N600.00 can take me into the estate) to our house with no one to help me. Everyone was quietly ensconsed in their houses; just me, half awake mallams and the neighbourhood bingos coming out to see who was crossing their turf.

I had called the house and told Tawa to wait in the living room for me. She came out (grudgingly) to open the gate and she helped me with my bag. We went through the back and I noticed that the basket of clothes I left for the washerman was still there waiting for me (we need to fire that guy). I was just about to open the door to ask Tawa about that when the most horrendous sound that can fill the night reached my ears.

I swear, my bladder filled up instantly. Not that we live by any bush o but the thought of the possible animals or creatures that could make such a noise froze my blood. I looked at Tawa. The idiot looked at me. "Aunty Catwalq, ki ni yen?" (what is that?)

How am I supposed to know? I left like three days ago. How am I supposed to know what Juju u people have awakened in the house? I know my mom likes all these prayer sessions and I have always warned her that one day, while she is warrior-ing for the lord, some other type of soldiers will just decide to take her on. Also, we have these wierd neighbours on our right. Their house is supposed to be empty but the lights will be coming on and off (one time the outside lights were blinking).

I looked at the back door. We were about twenty steps away. We moved. Quickly
From no where,the sound came back. Please believe me when I say that I felt my ribs shake. It was at that moment the useless cat that walks about the estate decided to jump out of the shadows and knock over the buckets in the back.
Tawa's scream nearly removed my braids from my head. In our rush to get in the house, we both could not pull the mosquito net door and that made the foolish girl even more frightened. I am sure I wouldn't have been as panicked if she had not been there. We got in the kitchen, locked the door and switched off the light. I had seen the cat but I was not sure about its predecessor. There was a brief silence
"Tawa, fun mi ni bag mi. (Give me my bag)." I began to move to the stairs.
*No answer*
"Tawa" *sharp whisper*
"Aunty...mo to ju u le" (I have dropped it)
Even though she could not see my face, she had some sense to step back cos if I could have bitten her, I would have. I had just gotten away with reckless behaviour and I was not about to test my ancestors by opening the door and going outside
"E ma binu..." (please don't be angry) She started to beg.
"Ti n ba ji lola, ti anything ba wa missing...wa ri nkan ti ma se fun e(if I wake up tomorrow and anything is missing)" I saw her outline dip in an apologetic curtsy. Stupid girl. She is for ever doing things like that: locking people in rooms, keys in the boot, leaving purchases in whatever shop she last entered in the market etc
I hissed and began to make my way on the dark. I did not even carry my right leg when I heard the sound again.
Tawa switched gears to repeating "blood of Jesus". I thought maybe something had got in the house. Probably no one could hear because they were in their rooms with the AC on. As I passed the door, I took the broom with the wooden handle and held it ready for some Jackie Chan style combat if necessary. Tawa clutched on to my blouse ready to use ME as her defense strategy. I guess while whatever it was was eating me, she would have fled to safety. Oponu u
The sound was now getting louder and louder and coming from the living room. We tip toed as quielty as Tawa's breathing and blood-of-Jesus-ing would allow.
Twice I had to smack her hand because she had boned my dress and opted for clutching at the small of my back. If not that I was scared, i would have slapped her something serious. I braced myself and flicked on the lights.
Lying in the middle of the floor was the biggest stomach I had seen since the prenatal ward. And it was on a man. It looked like he had swallowed whatever was trying to get out/ breathe or both and thus making all those horrid noises. For a good minute, I just stood there poised to attack- Tawa poised to bite me- looking at the specimen. I had nearly wet myself for that?
Apparently Aunty Femi was in the house and had got a new driver.
Where he sits in the car, I am not sure cos that stomach...
And he did not even wake up.
You should have seen the egg I fried for his arse in the morning

RESOLUTION...

Thanks to everyone for stopping by. It has been an exhausting while trying to keep up appearances at home, dodge Chinedu outside and maintain my sanity. I feel embarassed, stupid and drained.

I have done quite a few silly things...risky, but never irresponsible. With him, I don't know...I was like, "Whatever, I am down." Initially when I posted the blog, I felt a huge weight lift off my shoulder and almost imediately another one landed as I began to read the responses and comments. I had hoped for some empathy; had expected it even but not the hostility and damnation against him. I read my blog many times and thought of how to really explain to you our relationship, who he was to me, to the world and how I was going to resolve this. To do that I had to face him and face him... on my own terms.

We met in Bola's house because my house was a no go area and I did not want to go to his where he would be in the most control. Bola was riled and waiting to go. Right now, our friends have begun to suspect that something happened between us because when she saw him in public, she let him have it and after dropping my name and insults on his head in the same sentence, a picture has begun to be painted and so I needed to nip things in the bud before they escalated. I had to beg Bola to go out quietly and leave the house for us. I am not violent and so I knew I was not going to attack him...at least not without back up.

Bola still waited to see him before she left. I was watching through the window when he arrived and from her hand gestures and the way he was looking at her, she was not speaking English or politely either...waste of time because he does not speak Yoruba. I watched him walk to the front door of the flat; slowly, hesitantly and heavily. He had lost weight...alot of it. I tried not to feel sorry for him but it was hard. I realised in that moment that even if he had not fled like that, he would not have been able to keep us functioning. He has never been able to deal with stress. Ever since I have known him, he deals with his issues by brushing them aside or leaving them for someone else to deal with. This time, it was me.

He knocked. I opened the door. He nodded...did not speak...probably couldn't. I nodded...stepped back for him to come in. I moved into the sitting room and he followed me. I took a seat and motioned for him to take one on the opposite end. He moved closer o me. I looked at him. I am not even sure how I kept my face blank. I guess the past five months had numbed me...numbed us both.

He came right up to the chair and then he went down and postrated. For a full thirty seconds I just stared at him...stunned. I don't know if anyone knows but Igbo men do not postrate and definitely not to women. I savored the gesture but asked him to please get up. We had to talk.

I wanted to know if maybe he saw something in his sleep that chased him not out of the house but out of the country. I wanted to know how even if he was so scared he would think that somehow, I would have made the situation worse. Did he not know that I was the one who stood to loose the most? I had a doctor who felt that because I was young and unmarried,I did not deserve a standard of medical care befitting of a human being. I could have taken a hanger on myself or wolfed down some pills if my plan had been to checkout from this earth but I listened to you and went with you to your so called friend who had the audacity to call me weeks later to ask me out after he nearly rearranged my reproductive system. What about my parents? What if I had died? Was this the way to go? In disgrace? How didn't he know that I would have been hurt? How did he not know that if he left me on my own like that, I would have been devastated? Did I have to walk around with a billboard before he knew how much I really cared for him? Did he not know that I overplayed with my reputation to fit into his world?

I was hurt because for once I had to let it show how much I needed someone...how much I needed him. I was hurt because he did not know that.
I was so exhausted, I just started crying. I cried even while he talked. i understood everything he said because I knew him somewhat.
I knew him because I loved him

U know when I found out, I was not even scared. Funny enough, the day I found out, I had seen it in a dream. When I woke up, my head was so clear that I almost thought I was still asleep. I immediately went to the chemist and bought test kits. The guy at the check out counter was looking at me funny, I gave him my coldest u-really-don't-wan't-to be-messing-with-this-chick-right-now one in response and he sharply packaged my purchase for me.

I took the test twice and even after staring at the matching two lines for over twenty minutes, I still was not panicked. I knew I was not going to keep it and I knew that my family must never find out. Already my mother had started me on Malaria drugs when I started acting funny and somehow, even though I had been very weak nauseated, I had managed to keep wolfing down meals and stay awake to let both of us believe that the medicine was working. I just sat there on the toilet holding the tests trying to figure out how I could have been so stupid. i knew when and with whom. So, i packed up everything, put it in my purse and without a care for whether or not I would be seen, I walked out of the house, crossed our small street and knocked on Chinedu's gate.

Funny enough he was home and I remember his smile of welcome fading when he realised that I was not my usual self. I actually showed him the test in the kitchen. His parents as usual were out of the country and his siblings were wherever they were. I did not care. The only sound in the kitchen as he looked at the test was the air conditioning unit outside.

Fortunately for him, he did not dare to deny it. He asked me if I was okay. I said fine. He asked me what I wanted to do. I said I needed to get rid of it. I even had the money. He looked taken aback and I wondered if he had expected me to come there crying hysterically and unfocused. I am not in any way loose and immoral but I also know what I can and cannot do and if I was going to raise a child unmarried, it will not be while still under my father's roof.

We went to his friend who had a clinic in Akoka. The meeting was short and I sat there and bore the knowing/judging/condescending questions the guy through my way as we scheduled the appointment. It would be in a week when he could "squeeze" me in and not have his staff involved with my "issue". He took me home.

The plan was that because I would be incapable of movement for at least 24 hours afterwards, he would drive me to and from the clinic. I would stay with my friend Bola for the weekend while I recuperated. I had to let Bola know that I was going to be coming from the hospital but even though she immediately started harping on me, I did not tell her who was responsible. She kept asking if I had got back with IB or with some guy from my job. I snapped at her to leave me alone. She fell silent but not until she said something to the effect "sorry o, mi o kuku ran e nise" (I am not the one responsible).

I don't know what made me go to his house two days before. Maybe deep down, I just needed some more convincing that everything would be alright. I got there and the Mai-guard told me that Chinedu had travelled. I was like "ehn?!!! to where?" He did not know and was quite sorry that he didn't because of the way I asked him.

I went home and bombarded his phone with calls. At first it was going to voicemail then the phone was switched off. I called our friends if anyone knew where he had went. Friday came, the plan was that he would pick me up at noon cos I was supposed to make the appointment for three. No Chinedu. I tried to keep a calm demeanor as I ushered my mum into the car and out and Sayo with her. I took a taxi all by myself, asking myself how I could have been stupid enough not to see it coming.

When it was over and I came to, I thought I was going to die. I could not stay at the hospital. I had called Bola who thankfully came to take me home. She had borrowed the car of one her many toasters. The doctor gave me that look as if to say: How did a girl like you think a guy like Chinedu would be there for you like this? I felt he must have lumped me with every female he had ever given an appointment. Like we were all useless. His tone indicated it and so did the looks of the two nurses that were there.

I went home, threw up like three times and just lay there groggy. Twenty four hours later, I was still bleeding. Bola started to panic. I tried to calm her down before she placed a call to my mum. I called the doctor, he did not take my calls till the next morning. Gave me some bullshit about how he his phone had been acting up. He comes to the house, checks me out very roughly and tells me that I will be fine in a day or two. Day or two? I am supposed to be back home in two hours. Had to call my mum and tell one unbelievable lie about some runs Bola's mum wanted us to help her do with her fabric business and that we would get paid. Luckily, I still had on me the money I had intended to use. She was not happy but she was quiet.

I cannot tell you what I went through all alone. Bola had to leave me periodically and I just lay there wondering if I was going to bleed out. Was this how my entire existence was going to end because I had decided to catch some fun carelessly. the guy I was sneaking around for had disappeared and there I had thought I meant more to him than a quick shag. I even called his brother and sister just to tell you how panicked I was. The brother lived in port harcourt and the sister in Lekki...

then he shows up nearly five months later and wants to talk. I am not even sure if my thoughts are in English at this point....

where have u been?

Moi: (taking the phone from the househelp) Hello

CO: Hi, it's me...Chinedu

Moi: Oh Hi...long time

CO: (chuckles)

Moi: What is so funny?

CO: You are.

Moi: ( suddenly very irritated) U called me for jokes? Where on earth have u been? What do you want?

CO: I...

Moi: If you have nothing to say, I am very busy.

CO: Wait, I am sorry. I am trying to explain myself here.

Moi: For what?

CO: (sighs) Look, I was a complete asshole. I was a bit scared....I did not know what else to do and when the opportunity presented itself to leave for a while I took it.

Moi: Uhm-hmn

CO: I need to see you. We cannot talk over the phone. We need to...I need to talk to you. I have to explain myself

Moi: I am very busy besides I am not at home

CO: Really? cos I just saw your mum and she said that you were in.

Moi: I am not at home for you to come and see me. And since when did mumsie start talking to you. She does not like you...

CO: Uh...she said...

Moi: Like I said, I am not home.

CO: (silence)

Moi: (silence)

CO: (silence)

Moi: If you are not going to say anything, I have to go. Have got stuff to do.

CO: (sighs) Look XXXXX.... I just want to know how you are doing.

Moi: Well, I am no longer pregnant if that's what you want to know.

CO: I know that... XXXXX, u're not making this easy

Moi: Then why are you calling? Do you expect us to pick up where you left off or what do you take me for? I am not making this easy? #@%& you!!!!!

CO: (voice rising a bit) I am just trying to fix this!

Moi: Fix what? But you already did when you left! It was fixed loud and clear when you treated me like you did Suzy and all those your other LAG girls...

CO: (silence)...

Moi: (silence)

CO: I am sorry.

Moi: (voice shaking) Chinedu, it took me a long time...I cannot do this right now. I don't want to see you. please do not call me. don't speak to anyone that lives in this house with me. If you see me coming, avoid me. If our friends ask, tell them I offended you and we fought...tell them whatever you like. I don't care at this point. I am tired and i barely made it through with my sanity intact.

CO: XXXXX....

Moi: ( I hang up)

( then I lock myself in my room and cry for four hours. Till mum comes home and I have to help prepare pupsie's dinner)

I saw Chinedu today. WTF? Where has he been? He disappeared without saying goodbye. I heard he was in the states and then I heard that he was in the UK.
After he graduated he just faded. I saw him at the cyber cafe. I almost passed out when I did. he was speaking to some chick who was obviously fresh out of secondary school and begging for attention. I saw him first and tried to beat a hasty retreat. He saw me and waved. i fled.
Why am i acting so stupid?

What happened to Daniel Schutzmann?

Any fans of Footballers Wives out there?

Does anyone know what happened to my sweet, sweet Brit playing an Italian?

I was so hooked on this guy. I bought Seasons 1-3 only to find out that he does not return after the second season and neither does Nathan Constance and his wife donna nor chardonnay and Jason Turner

Bummer.

Zoe Lucker's Character Tanya Turner is still there so I guess there is some sort of consolation

YAR'ADUA HAS WON THE ELECTIONS
PEOPLE HAVE DIED, BRIBES EXCHANGED AND NUMBERS FALSIFIED. I AM JUST HAPPY THAT IT WASN'T ATIKU THAT WON. THAT GUY JUST WANTED TO DISGRACE THIS COUNTRY, WHOEVER HEARD OF A VP GOING AGAINST HIS PRESIDENT IN A DEMOCRATIC COUNTRY? SUCH BS BETRAYAL, YOU WOULD EXPECT IN THE MILITARY ( NOT THAT BABA IYABO WAS SPECTACULAR BUT I WOULD LIKE TO KNOW THAT THERE IS A CODE AMONGST THIEVES)

SO ATIKU WAS ROYALLY PISSED....GIBBERISH ABOUT HOW THE ELECTIONS WERE DESIGNED TO FAIL http://www.guardiannewsngr.com/policy_politics/article01 ETC. BABA GO AND SIT DOWN AND FIGURE OUT HOW YOU ARE GOING TO SETTLE ALL THE PEOPLE THAT CONTRIBUTED TO YOUR CAMPAIGN BASED ON THE MONETARY GAINS YOU PROMISED. I WISH I COULD BE A FLY ON THE WALL DURING HIS NEXT PARTY MEETING. AS LONG AS THEY ARE NOT DISCUSSING THE HIRE OF AN ASSASIN TO BUMP OFF YAR'ADUA, I GUESS IT WILL BE SPECTACULAR.

THE FUNNIEST NEWS I HAVE FOUND SO FAR ARE THESE RESULTS:

Yar'Adua scored 24, 338, 063 OK, SO WHAT NEXT. PLEASE GOD HELP THIS COUNTRY O

Vice-President Atiku Abubakar of the AC got 2, 637, 848 votes. MWAAHHH MWAAHHH LOL LOL LOL LOL LOL LOL LOL. NOPE... STILL LOL LOL LOL

Rev. Chris Okotie of the Fresh Democratic Party (FDP) 24, 049; NOW I NEED OXYGEN COS MY CHEST HURTS. AM ON THE FLOOR CRAWLING ALL OVER THE PLACE. THIS GUY IS SO RIDICULOUS. LMAAO ( LAUGHING MY AFRICAN ARSE OFF)

Dr. Osagie Obayuwana of the National Conscience Party (NCP) polled 8, 229. EEYAH...WHERE IS GANI FAWENHINMI? HOPE HE IS NOT STOMPING HIS FEET AND THROWING A TANTRUM. HE IS FAMOUS FOR SUCH SHENANIGANS

SO THIS GUY YELTSIN IS DEAD...U KNOW THE RUSSIAN GUY...EX-PRESIDENT... FORGET IT, AM NOT SURE EITHER WHETHER HE WAS GOOD OR BAD BUT NOW HE HAS CHECKED OUT

THE BRITISH GUY WHO WAS KIDNAPPED HAS BEEN RELEASED. I THOUGHT LIKE HIS COUNTERPARTS WHO GOT PICKED UP IN IRAN, HE WOULD HAVE SAID THAT HE SUDDENLY FOUND HIMSELF IN NIGERIAN WATERS. U KNOW THESE DAYS, BRITISH AIRWAYS HAS STARTED DROPPING OFF THEIR PASSENGERS ONE BY ONE INTO THE ATLANTIC AND FOR SOME REASON, ALOT OF THEM ARE FINDING THEMSELVES IN THE NIGER DELTA. DAG ON PARACHUTES.

I AM ABOUT TO GRADUATE O. I HAVE NOT BEEN BLOGGING MY PERSONAL LIFE FOR A WHILE COS I HAVE BEEN TRYING TO SORT A LOT OF THINGS OUT.
I'LL KEEP YOU POSTED

http://www.alertnet.org/thenews/newsdesk/L21562007.htm

Muslim pupils kill teacher in northeast Nigeria

What is wrong with these people?
I am amazed at these Moslems. I am an Eckist and you cannot imagine how many times people have said rude things about me and my choice of faith. As the third largest faith in Nigeria, I wonder what would happen if every Eckist reacted because someone did something to offend our doctrine.
When will Moslems/ Christians and any member of the orthodox faith learn that the greatest defense you can give of your faith and your belief in God is how you choose to live your life. Burning down cities and killing non believers does not make you faithful, it makes you an embarrassment unto your teachings. That was how those ignorant fools cost us the priviledge of hosting the Miss World Contest in 2002 because they claimed that some journalist had insulted Prophet Mohamed. According to my research, he had many wives, an indication that indeed like the journalist said, he had an appreciation and an eye for the ladies. I am not going to go into the fact that he married one at thirteen......
I wonder what they are going to burn down as a result of this blog now.
Stupid! Stupid!! Stupid!!!

http://www.alertnet.org/thenews/newsdesk/L21562007.html
What is wrong with these people?
I am amazed at these Moslems. I am an Eckist and you cannot imagine how many times people have said rude things about me and my choice of faith. As the third largest faith in Nigeria, I wonder what would happen if every Eckist reacted because someone did something to offend our doctrine.
When will Moslems/ Christians and any member of the orthodox faith learn that the greatest defense you can give of your faith and your belief in God is how you choose to live your life. Burning down cities and killing non believers does not make you faithful, it makes you an embarrassment unto your teachings. That was how those ignorant fools cost us the priviledge of hosting the Miss World Contest in 2002 because they claimed that some journalist had insulted Prophet Mohamed. According to my research, he had many wives, an indication that indeed like the journalist said, he had an appreciation and an eye for the ladies. I am not going to go into the fact that he married one at thirteen......
I wonder what they are going to burn down as a result of this blog now.
Stupid! Stupid!! Stupid!!!

Once again I am back.
I think it is safe to say that it is a good thing that I do not get paid for this blog coz I would have been fired by now.
However, life is coming along fine.
I am hoping for a large change soon and I think I might be coming out of my life hiatus to get a job and a boyfriend.
I am watching on TV, The Intern by PHC Bank and listening to Same Ni by DJ Azeez. The latter u can see then video on youtube http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BO9PpI_TDqI
I am so in love with this video.
And oh, Naija pple are stepping up. Check out Psquare http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=u1x2mgW8ml8
will gist u all that has been happening all this while later

MY GOODNESS!!!!!
It has been three months since my last blog and I am feeling like I am about to burst with the amount of gist that I have.
I worked at Kash for three weeks before school was called back and I shipped myself back to school. But before then, those were the funniest three weeks of my life. For one, K.V is based on Davies Street and anyone who knows Davies Strees on the island knows that it is banking central. We are like a spitting distance from the bus stop and i mean that literarily because any time I step out of the building, someone's saliva seems to be shooting past my face. It's war of the salivary glands being fought by all the brave agbero boys of the island.
The bus ride in the morning is the most funny and annoying thing one can ever be fortunately unfortunate to experience. First you leave home at 5.30 and walk to the bus stop. Lagos wakes up at about 4.00 in the morning and so, most of the time, you are not the only one there. Though there were those occassional days when I stood shaking in my "sensible shoes", watching warily as one or two lone cars sped by at break neck speed (either because the driver is also pertified of armed robbers and/or trigger happy police or they were fleeing from both) then slow down when they saw me: a lone female.
I endured two episoded of that before I went home and casually remarked to my mother(falsely) that someone was raped and robbed at the bus stop and that it took all of three minutes (hahahahahahahaha) before the bus arrived for the calamity to befall the poor innocent girl whose only crime was going out to seek a job at the behest ( i am not even sure that is a word or what it means) of her father. The next day, I was given Mr. Laraban, mummy's long suffering slightly imbecilic driver to ensure my safety to and from work. Like his hobbling self and disgusting rotted teeth would save me...then again, it just might have.
So, i rode the bus each day and absorbed all the smells around me. I do not know what the African man's problem with deodorant is. How do you leave your house smelling of day before yesterday's dinner and feel prepared to meet the day? I guess that is my naivete sounding out. I really must remember that millions cook and sleep in the same room; not the same building, the same room. Thus, clothes absorbe the ODOUR of whatever is in the air. Bus conductor's oozing the fermentation of an unwashed mouth mingles with the body odour of ten other passengers, two of which are on both sides of you and are falling asleep against you. Add to that the festering heat of an african morning or the cold of the rain.
Riding the bus is funny. Imagine when the bus does not stop because it does not have brakes and that in go-slow, the bus conductor has to walk beside the bus and put stones in front of the tires to stop the car from rolling back. I like bus conductors, they are the salt of the earth. the barely literate, foul mouthed, foul minded, badly dressed and odour-filled salt of the earth

Since we are on strike, I decided to get a job. My father was livid when he came home one afternoon and no one opened the door for him to get in. I was sleeping the day away and Tawa had gone to the market on errands. Mum was out: socialising and my siblings are back in boarding school. After dad had roasted in the hot sun for an hour, the security guard gbeborun remembered that he had not seen me leave the house at all: hence, i had to be in. Dad called all the phones in the house including mine and I did not answer. the useless thing was dead and I was wolfing down a large bowl of left over jollof rice from the party my mum dragged us to over the weekend.
I do not know what made me look up but whatever it is, I thank and worship you because if I hadn't, the effect of the slap that had been swung my way by my irate father would certainly have shattered my skull and rendered me headless. Apparently, my father had called my mother and ordered her home. She arrived just as Tawa was alighting from thetaxi she took from the market and the two of them must have been a sight to see, falling over each other to open the door for the bellowing olori ile/baale ile. My dad swept past them, followed the sound of Tuface Idibia playing on the television into the upstairs sitting room and propelled his left hand forward to rearrange my face. God, my ancestors and whatever juju my mother is practicing under-g saved me from requiring a facial lift cos i saw a sudden movement and moved to get a clearer view. Who knew that that would save my life.
i jumped up and watched with a mixture of alarm and amusement as my mother threw herself before my father to prevent him from harming HIMSELF. HIMSELF!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!??????????????????
I was the one about to suffer the effects of his beating. African women and their husbands.
Anyways, in the evening, i was summoned into the study where I was unceremoniously told that, I needed to find a job and that he was going to call his admin manager and see where I could be placed within his company. I was going to work for him...for free. Then, he was calm. Mummy had prepared pounded yam and he had washed the heavy meal down with chilled palm wine. Instead of the old man to confess that he was hungry when he stormed inside shouting at me about me wasting his money and time and filling my head with the music of college dropouts. I am quite sure Tuface graduated from university.
Anyways, I was excused and I ran to my mother and railed and railed and told her that it was over my dead body that I was going to work in the same office as dad. My mum heard the dead body part and a couple phone calls, I am now seated in the offices of the owner of Kash Ventures, a proud anad paid employee of three days.
Everyone here is crazy.
I've got to go.
My lunce break is over.

School is on strike. Our professors are once again resorting to the muliply failed idea of not going to work until they get what they want. Well, for the past two decades, I do not think that they have got what they want. Why would the politicians ever care for the plight of today's youth? Their children are abroad studying alongside the children of the white man. The same white man they connive with to bring this country to its knees
I do not know how long it would take. The strike, I mean. Last stime it took seven months and just as I thought I would either kill myself or someone in my family from boredom and frustration, ASUU balked and gave in; in the interests of the students. At least, this time, we finished exams just before leaving. I do not know what I am going to do with myself for the next few months.
As at this very moment, I have no job and my book has not been accepted for publishing. I have refused to loose my mind at the prospect of being broke this summer and jobless. At least I have a home to go to. I will just have to compete with Tawa, the housegirl for her pay as I will be doing a whole lot of most of the kitchen chores and supervising the house. I will become the housekeeper and she will be the maid and my mother will be in housewife heaven. I think she is going to be preoccupied with a lot of parties this summer. So many of her friends' children are getting married and as many of her friends are wives of politicians, I will be given an opportunity to see my country's money being squandered at will.
The last wedding I went to took place at the Adebayo House on Allen Avenue. There were over six thousand people in attendance, including Tinubu, some governors and ministers. we only saw the parents of the couple for a few minutes; long enough to get our picture with them taken to be put on BOS, in Ovation, Citipeople and Expressions. My mum was so happy to see herself rubbing shoulders with the "rich and famous". I do not know what my father was thinking.
I always wonder what he thinks about most of his colleagues when he sees them living the way they do. I know I always wonder what changed. I remember as a little girl, watching them secretly meeting in our house after Abiola was arrested, trying to form a network to get him out, the truth out to the people and return the president elect to his rightful position as the leader to the country. These men that I am talking about, now have third and fourth wives, all of whom are at least a third of their ages. The only news one hears or reads about them is at social gatherings.
These were men that as a little girl, I aspired to be married to. Men who would speak eloquently about the country's problems and profer solutions on the spot on what to do about them. Some of them were arrested for their public opinions on the military government and the escalating levels of corruption in the society. Now they had become the figureheads of a dying society, of a people gone so far astray that I sometimes fear that one day, our greed will wipe us off the face of the earth.
I do not ever discuss my thoughts with my father. Our relationship is a strange one. He would be so disappointed if he knew half the things I had done. As a woman. As his child. But what am I to do.
The society has left my father behind in his OLD ways of thinking. His ways of thinking cannot apply to the society today. Not when he thinks with the mind of a graduate of a british university from a time when our naira was ywice the dollar and equal to the pound. When our leaders had the training to assume their positions and execute their duties. From a time when the black mind was celebrated as superior to the that of the white man. A time when we as a people planned our lives. A time before oil.
Now, he sends his daughter to school in an environment where her association with the most powerful around is what will guarantee her survival and protection. Something that her father cannot do.
I will return home for the strike. I will return to my father's house. I will return to the old man with the old ideas. To the man who still believes that hardwork and honesty are the two keys to success. To the man who married a woman who wants so badly to be a social butterfly. To the man I call father.
I will return to my father's house because thanks to the government, that is the only place where there is a decent human being left. Maybe I will be able to retrace my steps to my innocence. In my father's house.

i swear, the day that my family finds my blog, i will be immediately disowned. My father has already written me off as having not much to offer. It hurts sometimes but then, i myself know that i have gotten myself in so much trouble that i would make the same assessment of myself.
Anyways, I did something bad to my aunty, Mama Elelubo.
First, I have to tell you how she came about the name. It's what we have called her for centuries, as far back as I can remember anything. For some reason, the only dish I have a memory of ever eating in her house is Amala. I have racked my brain as to why that is but all i know is that everytime we go to her house, I have only ever eaten Amala. And that in itself is odd because I clearly remember spending two weeks at xmas by her and the family.
Now, whilst she is a splendid amala cook and concocter, she is a nasty person. My God, if you thought I did not particularly care for My Aunty Femi, Aunty Bola (Mama Elelubo) really brings on the rash.
she came to our house for Easter. I went home looking for money from my parents and those guys just figured, you know what, we will just kill the living day lights out of this girl and they saddled me with the task of preparing frejohn and fish. My God, if I have to clean one more catfish, I will loose my mind.
That's where I was, since my arrival from Ife, cleaning fish and trying not to kill either one of my sisters. Sayo had been delegated to be my official assistant but noooooo, that useless girl took off for only God knows where and left me and Tawa to slug it out. My mum was watching tv; I mean, what is the point of having children if you cannot enslave them in the future and justify it as upbringing. I am even surprised that my fingers are stil functional after handling all that fish in cold water. Plus, the ghastly things, are sold to you alive and I have to chase it around the huge bowl and then smash its head in before I can kill it. Sigh. The lengths we will go to to eat another animal.
And then, the visistors (who apparently have no houses of their own to cook in) came trooping and never failed to complement my mother on what a spectacular cook she was. Did she correct them and say that it was her collegiate daughter whom she had sent to Ife to pursue a degree in Business Administration, that she had shoved in the kitchen to do the cooking or that she was assisted by the ever silent Tawa (sometimes, i fear that girl; she does not talk. She can sit in silence for hours. At least, numeorus tests have shown that she is not stupid at all: which is the scary part.) who had been shipped in from Ibadan.
i sha cooked and cooked and then what will Mama Elelubo say after she had devoured two plates? That my fish could have done with more cleansing!!!! Can you imagine the fat cow.
I do not know why she is allowed into the house at all. She is dad's sister and all she ever does is come to cause katakata.
Her battle with my mother went on for years till my brother was born. Obviously my mother was failing in her duties as a wife in her "inability" to produce a male child. And Aunty Bola took it upon herself to search for a replacement.
So, what did I do to the heiffer?
Well. let's just say that I know where the keys to her car is. Let her ride danfo for a few days. Cos I know she said that she cannot find the car's spare.
I offered to tear thne house apart and find her keys for her while we ushered her into a taxi that I am sure she paid for because the money dad handed me to give her, I conveniently forgot on the dining table as I escorted her out.
I am not a bad person. I was provoked.

i had to come home today because I am broke and need to refuel on food and cash. besides, campus is becoming depressing by the day and then, there's the fact that today is Good Friday so everywhere is closed down so that the christians can have one more way to laud their faith over everone else.
Ibinabo called...finally. There wasn't much to say. i think it was worse for him because I wasn't screaming or making a fuss. What did he think I was going to do. for the fact that I had not decapitated him on the sport should have indicated to him that as I walked away from the scene, i was walking away from him and from us. US. Was there ever any us.
I am beginning to wonder what it is really like for men who keep yound women as mistresses. you know, like those sugar daddies( older men who run around with young girls less than half their age). How must it feel knowing that the only reason someone is with you is because of the money that you give to them and that they consider sex with you nothing more than part of the business arrangement. How must it feel to know that in reality they cringe when you touch them, especially those over weight, potbellied imbeciles that seem to have found their way into the coffers of the country's economy.
Ibinabo is not like that. I mean, not pot bellied and ugly. he is really quite good looking and very intelligent. he is the youngest manager in the bank where he works. he has been sent on numerous business trips because he is very well trusted. But, i do not think Ibinabo knows that he can indeed have a meaningful relationship even if he does not throw his money or the knowledge of it around.
I hvae noted that most african men have not been taught to believe in themselves without the accolades heaped upon them by women. they need us to define them because they have never been taught to define themselves without us to be their backbones, their ceremonial robes and trophies. If only they, as strong African men, knew their own power and celebrated themselves, they will not be seeking women who are of the same age as their grandchildren to help them recapture the youth they never had a chance to experience or define.
But Ibinabo is not like that. Not yet.

You will never believe what I saw yesterday. Since what happened happened, I have been nearly incoherent with anger.
Can you imagine what is saw on my way back from the post office yesterday?
Why was Ibinabo trying to extract this girl's large intestines with his mouth? Can you imagine, I saw my boyfriend (if you can call him that) trying to swallow this girl infront of Savory's. I almost fell down when I saw him. I could not believe that he would have the audacity to have another girlfriend right here on the same campus as I and so blatantly flaunt her in public with not a care that someone I know would see them and that it would get back to me.
And do you know that he saw me?
And he SHRUGGED!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!. He Shrugged!!! He Shrugged!!!
What does that mean? What does that mean? Is he crazy?
He did not even stop what he was doing and the stupid bitch actually had the audacity to dagger me. The ugly heiffer actually gave me 'the look'; you know, the one when you are just daring someone to mess with you.
At that moment, I just wished that I had been raised on the streets and would have kicked some arse.
Then, I realised why he had shrugged and so, i simply walked off.
Ibinabo had shrugged because he knew that we had never defined our relationship and he knew that I too had not been faithful. I mean, I had two other guys supporting me last year and then there was Chinedu.
As I am writing this, I am calming down. When i first decided to update my blog, I intended to use it to abuse the life of the girl Ibinabo was with. i know her name, department and her hostel room. I know that she came in through diploma and whom she hangs out with. I went snooping and have discovered all there is to know about her and I have also discovered that she is just like me.
We are both trying to survive in this country. We both have older men in our lives, on whom we depend on for financial survival. We are both female and if there is one ting I know, it's that the greatest battle a woman will ever have to fight is not against a man but against other women.
Ibinabo has to show that he is not a punk; not a bitch. Not bound to my thong. I understand that. So, I am not going to stress.
I have other things on my mind now. I alomost forgot that when I saw Ibinabo, I was coming back from the post office. Still no word from any agency. I do not even know what to do or think.
I just want to get out of this country, so much. I am fed up with life here. Everyday, it's one problem or the other. One hassle or the other. You struggle with NEPA, with lack of water, hostel accomodations, school fees, professors, course loads, expensive handouts, understocked libraries, weight, the price of living, thieving school officials, thieving government officials, and to top it all off, as a woman , you struggle with men.
I am so weary of it all. Sometimes, when you are doing all these worldly things, it can be exciting but when you get home and close the door behind you, you find that you are by yourself and if you are like me, a thinker, you will find that you are burdened by what you think about all that you see.
I wish there was a way to go back in time and change the outcome of things.
I have to take stock of my life, especially as I am trying to become a writer; the likes of which will rival Nnamandi Adichie, Buchie Emecheta and Seffi Etta.
You know what my real problem is, I am too intelligent for most of the things I do. i move with friends whom i always like to call the SURVIVORS. They are just getting from day to day, allowing the tide of things to push them about. they wait for things to happen. Never proactive, always reactive. I, on the other hand, cause things to happen.
But, because I know that i will never fit in if i am myself, i do things everyone does. Date older men because it is currently in vogue, wear the latest hair style, the latest fashion, attend all the happening parties, indulge in all that everyone is indulging in so that I am also mentioned when the happening people on campus are being talked about. I have truly lost myself and i only needed to see a refelction of what I am doing to myself, in the face of the girl that Ibinabo was with, for me to feel this dirty and sullied.
Most of my friends do not eeven know that I have this blog. If they did, would they care. I wonder how many of them read anything other than citipeople or ovation.
Ibinabo has not called and neither will I. I think if he calls, I will listen to what he has to say and then, I will explain to him that I am not upset. I am tired. If he needs to express his virility or recapture his youth by dating a girl in university, then he should by all means do so. I am just not going to be that girl any longer.
i need to start from now, showing this great mind that I have.
I am a queen and I have to act like one.

my goodness, i just realised that it has been about five months since i blogged. And almost that long since I even read that of anybody else.
I have been going through alot. This year is proving to be somewhat of a challenge and yet at the same time, a multitude of miracles. I have survived so much and I am preparing for a big change in my life.
I finally finished my first manuscript (it was supposed to have been finished since 2004 but somehow, I managed to drag it into december 2005)
So, this is how the international publishing industry works:
1. You, the author, wrack your brain for months/years and pour out all your creativity into a manuscript that you are so certain is going to launch you into financial success and give you the money to buy your own house and tell your father that he can keep his and your mother that you do not have to be proper because now, you can buy yourself a husband. I mean, with the money I am imagining, I should be able to pay his bride price and that of all his siblings.
2. Then, you start to look for publishing companies that publish your genre...you will discover that they do not accept 'unsolicited manuscripts'. Long and short, if you do not have someone to talk to them on your behalf, they do not want to meet you, or read the next 'Gone With The wind'. Mine's much better by the way.
3. You, then start to look for agents, most of whom are lsited in books and publications that you have to buy. Even then, some charge to read your manuscript (why do you think i wrote a book...I was hungry; i need money and so, I wrote a book to sell and make money.) You only fall in love with writing after your advance cheque and the red in your debt account starts to recede.
4. You then send them the first fifty pages of your story (double spaced, one inch margin, indented paragraphs...phew), a self addressed and stamped envelope, a synopsis, cover letter and contact details. Do you know how much it costs to print about thirty of these packages and send them out IN US DOLLARS.....!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!??????????
5. Then they send it back to you: " we wish you well in your writing endeavours...blah, blah, blah, or something like that, but we do not feel that your manuscript is suited to the type of work we represent.
6. You cry and ask God Why?
7. The next batch of rejections come back
8. You start to search for a rich boyfriend because you are broke from this publishing venture
9. Then, suddenly, a ray of hope, one asks for the whole manuscript.
10. You think and think about where you are going to pring about two hundred and ninety pages ....
11. ah, karamba...eureka: the school internet cafe where you have printing limit of thirty pages
12. You walk in, sign in and change computers every thirty minutes. You spend about three hours coz u know: ink finishes, the printer has thirty jobs lined up and u are number thirty, the attachment file of your manuscript will not open, the cafe manager suspects what you are up to, you see someone you know and you do not want anyone to know that you have written what will be the source of your financial liberation, u have to pee and when u get back te chick you have been secretly hating cos she is such a better dresser has planted her fat derriere in your seat....
13. You print your 'dreams and aspirations' and package it with prayer an dhand it over to the post office and wait.
14. You contemplate suicide because there has been no response and you have banked everything on the fact that they will love it and immediately want to represent you. Infact, they have pushed it on a test audience and have a publisher waiting to put the book out.
15. you wait, go even more broke as you await the response
16. you come back from school and a huge package is awaiting you in the mail: your returned manuscript
17. You almost refuse to collect it
18. the editor tells you what is wrong with it and that if you can fix it, maybe you and she can talk
19. You spen a nerve wracking week, on the story and fix it up, change it, etcetera,etcetera
20. You go back to step 10-13
21. You are waiting and any day soon, you will hear from them and all your problems will be solved cos right now, I am owing my private school about $4,000+ in tuition and I have until May 5th to straighten it all out.
22. Cannot call mumsie or pupsie cos they had given me the money and I spent it. On what, i do not know, but somewhere, there is a laptop, etc in the list of things that I purchased.
23. I am waiting on my miracle and I feel that it is about to come.
24. Until then, I am going to piggy back on my friend and go with her to Abuja. She has up and left me in the dust. Last month, she upgraded 'aristos' for a local senator or house of assembly rep, or whatever u choose to call him ( he sha, has escort and money and has asked her to accompany him to Abuja and 'BRING A FRIEND.' I nearly beat her into choosing me.
25. I have to go and study, maybe, i can polish up my shoddy grades and earn the department subsidised tuition scholarship and ting
26. Who knows, anyways, when I am done here at the cafe, i will go and check my mail