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.
Friday, April 28, 2006
Monday, April 17, 2006
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.
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.
Friday, April 14, 2006
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.
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.
Wednesday, April 12, 2006
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.
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.
Saturday, April 08, 2006
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
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
Saturday, November 05, 2005
Mumsie called me in school and asked why I had been incommunicado. I said, I had no credit. Then she gave me a lecture about how I spend my money and how things are tight for dad, what-are-you-doing-to-contribute, i-fear-for-you-and-the-way-you-live-your-life, i-pray-for-you, God-is-watching-you-you-are-a-child-of-christ-blah-blah-blah.
All I expected following my statement was. "Ye! My one and only, omo atata. I am going tosend you money ASAP."
I think she just wnats me to be as holy as possible so that her chances of pushing me off t some unsuspecting son of a church member will be increased.
The woman says she is not racist, let me just bring home a man that is not Yoruba and we shall hear weeen!
Then she told me that our one of our neighbours on the estate had gotten his student visa to study in the UK. Olarenwaju is his name.
Like I care. the boy had been denied three times before the officials finally fell to his back up juju, took pity on his pathetic face (he has the worst case of acne on a man I have ever seen- but he gets chicks- I don't get it) with the hopes that on his arrival in the UK, he will be able to find a goo dermatologist to redeem his face, or they were just tired of seeing him come back every six months or so.
I personally do not know why people choose to leave the country. The peope over there, do not care about you...and by 'people', I mean the whites and even the blacks.
When we went in 2000 to Maryland in the US, our cousins neighbours who dropped in to see the latest batch of africans and one of them asked me in all sincererity, if we had safaris in our backyards. Then they asked, Iya Ranti (Mrs Afolayan) who has tribal marks if indeed they were an indication of her winning her battle with a tiger. I sat there, trying not to allow my jaw to hit the ground. the latter question was as a result of my cousin, Bayo's bobo-jisting to them. H elater told me that he was fed up of them asking him dumb-arsed questions so he decided to give them a little of what they were looking for. He just never though it would come back to bite him.
Now, that i think about it, the look on Iya Ranti's face was classic. You should have seen it.
Back to what i was saying. For all the effort that Nigerians put into trying to be more america, more british, more white, those people could care shit about you. they butcher our names, steal from us as we have continously allowed imcompetent and useless people to be in charge- hint, hint Alameiseigha-, people whose contribution to thier country is to steal from it and then go abroad and disgrace us. Then they have the audacity to run "Feed Africa campaigns".
When theyhad the Africa concert this summer and all the international artistes came together to 'raise' money, i felt like shooting every single person in government and I don't care if they are related to me or not. How did we allow ourselves as a nation to become part of a identity of deprivation, human rights' abuse, poverty, disease and oppression.
You know what? i will not get into this today, talking about this country makes me sick.
I am seriously failing my Economics class. my professor does not take crap. i went to see him to ask for an opportunity to make up for the test i banged, the man looked at me from behind his crooked spectacles and told me that if indeed i had read, i would have passed because he set one of the easiest tests he has ever set.
I read....seriously....for two hours before the test.
My love life is on hiatus. i did not call Ibinabo and I think that he is thinking that he is teaching me a lesson by not calling or sending me money. I am not concerned. In fact I am releived. i have to think long nad hard about my life. One of my friends who has an aristo- even though he is in his fifties and Ibinabo is in his thirties- just had an abortion. I know without a doubt that if I get pregnant, I ma getting rid of it but must i be in a position where I am at risk to that.
I was gisting with my friends infront of the Student union Building, waiting for the shuttle and this girl and her friends work by. They are O.K-ly dressed. My friend, Jide says, "Men, that girl trips me men. U guys know that she has had the highest in Engineering since she was a Jambite?" He then tells us that she was one of the students that came in with a Jamb scholarship (or whoever it is that awards those students who are posted on the back of the Jamb brochure N100000). Micheal who is also with us knows of her and her clique of friends and they talk about how she carries herself and how one boy said that he had to rehearse what he waanted to say to her before he did. We were all laughing as Micheal tried to imitate the boy but I was thinking, who thinks that highly of me amongst the people that I know to put alot of thought into what they want to say to me before they do. I knwo people who are in 'brotherhoods', 'sisterhoods'; people who are club boys, girls like me who have an older man that spends a great deal of money on them and with whom they occassionally have good sex. Most of my friends, with the way we are going will barely squeak thorugh graduation with a second class lower.
Where am I headed? What do people whisper when I walk by?
All I expected following my statement was. "Ye! My one and only, omo atata. I am going tosend you money ASAP."
I think she just wnats me to be as holy as possible so that her chances of pushing me off t some unsuspecting son of a church member will be increased.
The woman says she is not racist, let me just bring home a man that is not Yoruba and we shall hear weeen!
Then she told me that our one of our neighbours on the estate had gotten his student visa to study in the UK. Olarenwaju is his name.
Like I care. the boy had been denied three times before the officials finally fell to his back up juju, took pity on his pathetic face (he has the worst case of acne on a man I have ever seen- but he gets chicks- I don't get it) with the hopes that on his arrival in the UK, he will be able to find a goo dermatologist to redeem his face, or they were just tired of seeing him come back every six months or so.
I personally do not know why people choose to leave the country. The peope over there, do not care about you...and by 'people', I mean the whites and even the blacks.
When we went in 2000 to Maryland in the US, our cousins neighbours who dropped in to see the latest batch of africans and one of them asked me in all sincererity, if we had safaris in our backyards. Then they asked, Iya Ranti (Mrs Afolayan) who has tribal marks if indeed they were an indication of her winning her battle with a tiger. I sat there, trying not to allow my jaw to hit the ground. the latter question was as a result of my cousin, Bayo's bobo-jisting to them. H elater told me that he was fed up of them asking him dumb-arsed questions so he decided to give them a little of what they were looking for. He just never though it would come back to bite him.
Now, that i think about it, the look on Iya Ranti's face was classic. You should have seen it.
Back to what i was saying. For all the effort that Nigerians put into trying to be more america, more british, more white, those people could care shit about you. they butcher our names, steal from us as we have continously allowed imcompetent and useless people to be in charge- hint, hint Alameiseigha-, people whose contribution to thier country is to steal from it and then go abroad and disgrace us. Then they have the audacity to run "Feed Africa campaigns".
When theyhad the Africa concert this summer and all the international artistes came together to 'raise' money, i felt like shooting every single person in government and I don't care if they are related to me or not. How did we allow ourselves as a nation to become part of a identity of deprivation, human rights' abuse, poverty, disease and oppression.
You know what? i will not get into this today, talking about this country makes me sick.
I am seriously failing my Economics class. my professor does not take crap. i went to see him to ask for an opportunity to make up for the test i banged, the man looked at me from behind his crooked spectacles and told me that if indeed i had read, i would have passed because he set one of the easiest tests he has ever set.
I read....seriously....for two hours before the test.
My love life is on hiatus. i did not call Ibinabo and I think that he is thinking that he is teaching me a lesson by not calling or sending me money. I am not concerned. In fact I am releived. i have to think long nad hard about my life. One of my friends who has an aristo- even though he is in his fifties and Ibinabo is in his thirties- just had an abortion. I know without a doubt that if I get pregnant, I ma getting rid of it but must i be in a position where I am at risk to that.
I was gisting with my friends infront of the Student union Building, waiting for the shuttle and this girl and her friends work by. They are O.K-ly dressed. My friend, Jide says, "Men, that girl trips me men. U guys know that she has had the highest in Engineering since she was a Jambite?" He then tells us that she was one of the students that came in with a Jamb scholarship (or whoever it is that awards those students who are posted on the back of the Jamb brochure N100000). Micheal who is also with us knows of her and her clique of friends and they talk about how she carries herself and how one boy said that he had to rehearse what he waanted to say to her before he did. We were all laughing as Micheal tried to imitate the boy but I was thinking, who thinks that highly of me amongst the people that I know to put alot of thought into what they want to say to me before they do. I knwo people who are in 'brotherhoods', 'sisterhoods'; people who are club boys, girls like me who have an older man that spends a great deal of money on them and with whom they occassionally have good sex. Most of my friends, with the way we are going will barely squeak thorugh graduation with a second class lower.
Where am I headed? What do people whisper when I walk by?
Saturday, October 29, 2005
It has been quite a while.
What have I been going through? Quite alot. We have lost our first lady, (and rumours have it that she died under the knife of a cosmetic surgeon).I do not want to join the hordes of hypocrites who are heaping upon her the accolades. When she was alive, she was definitely not one of the women I held in high esteem and if indeed these rumours are true, that she died trying to undergo cosmetic surgery, then indeed she lived a life unworthy of mention. I am yet to find out one great thing she did in the scheme of contributing to the plight of Nigerian women. Till date, there have been no laws protecting women from physical abuse or sexual abuse. No laws to prevent and protect them from sexual harassment and discrimination. We have thousands fleeing the country in search of a better life in Europe, only to become sex workers who will either die from STDs like AIDS or will be deportrd in shame. All I ever knew her for was over dressing, excessive make up and her attendnace at parties. I did not even know that she had children, let alone a son at the age that he was.She was not too well liked or respected but I guess with death, alot fades from the minds of the living about the life of the deceased. I am alive and I know she will be missed by those who loved her but I was never impressed or intrigued by her. So, rest in peace, Stella, wherever you as soul have earned.
There has been a plane crash that killed over a hundred people including some very prominent memebers of our government. We had a bunch of exams and I did not do too well on some of them.
When Chinedu got up from my bed, he was very angry but as usual, he said not a word. He got dressed and did it as slowly as he possibly could. I did not try to hurry him. I think he was trying to buy time, hoping that Ibinabo will be at my door when he got there. If I had asked him to speed up his dressing, he might have flown off the handle. I know he does not like to share me with someone. I don't like to share him either but the web of deceit we have woven round each other cannot allow us to do otherwise. Our friends would not understand and we would be pressured into trying to make sure that our relationship works. Most likely it wouldn't, but you never know.
Neither one of our families would accept the other. My parents think that Chinedu is a ne'er-do-well with too indulgent parents and Chinedu's family would never accept a Yoruba daughter-in-law.
Oh my God! Did I just say 'daughter-in-law'? I can't imagine that I am actually contemplating being married to him. To Chinedu. But let's think about it for a minute. What will it belike being Mrs Ozodia. It probably would be nice. He is from a wealthy family and he is very ambitious. I know he has a thriving transport business. He runs two taxi's on the Unilag campus and has two danfo buses running on the island. Though all this fuel hike and police settling is not that favourable to him, he does quite well. He also throws parties and his club or fraternity or whatever you want to call them, is always giving one soiree or the other that he is usually in charge of organising. Thus, more dough to his pocket. He is quite generous and I think that besides the girls and in some cases, women, he is quite honest. He never really comes out to tell you that you are dating and so when one hears of another woman, his excuse is that 'we were never official.' I think I will hav ewhat every woman aspires to have in a husband: comfort,protection,companionship, some luxuries, hopefully healthy and definitely beautiful children and mind blowing sex.
WOW! That man has perfected the art of lovemaking. Last time, I thought, I was going to burst my vocal cords. you cannot help but scream. And he does not just take, he shows you how to give. The first time I thought to try oral sex, he declined. He told me that he knew I would not be comfortable with it and he would not want that. I went and borrowed a whole bunch of porn for reference.I can still see the baffled and sneering faces of the video store clerks as I checked them out. Practiced with a banana till I felt I had got the hang of it, then the next time we met, I went to work. His reaction introduced me to a new power that I had. I could blow real good. Many women, especially African women find oral sex to be dirty or appalling or something only hookers do. I do not think so. I believe that If you have never had it done to you, you would feel the same. Chinedu had introduced it to me from the very beginning and I was able to discover the wonders of multiple orgasms. i thought to reciprocate the feeling and I can tell you that I succeeded. He is the only man I do that to.
Ibinabo is not boring in bed. I do not find his touch distasteful but I 'have been there, done that'. He is gentle and very careful. His movements are methodical. He knows the places to touch to bring me to my quickest arousal and we have never gone past thirty minutes. The first time we hit a two hour mark and an alarming number of condoms, Chinedu and i went seperately to find the morning after pill. We had done it all and we had had fun. It's not even all the time we have sex. Sometimes, we talk. He is upset, he talks to me. Before last summer, we talked all the time. That was why we got along so well. I was privy to a side of him that no one in our clique of friends had access to. I knew what it had been like living in london, how his mother's death had affected him, his relationship with his father and step mother, his relationship with his siblings, what he wanted to do with his life, why he loved mathematics and why he did not like reading. I knew all the scars on his body and which ones were from deeper wounds than the others. I knew how much of a baby he was whenever he was ill. I knew he did not like fish and was allergic to shrimp. I found out the last one by mistake but in time. I prepared a dish and gave him some. His face swole up like a balloon. I cried all the way to the hospital and then, I could not drive so he still had to drive himself to Ikeja general hospital, speeding like a maniac, trying to out run the shutting off of his eyes. We did not tell anyone because then we would have had to explain, why we had been hanging out by ourselves. And that was months before we started sleeping together. Those were the days. Watching movies, going to see plays.
When I had just graduated from Queen's College, he would take me during the period I was at home for a year, to plays at his school. Usually, we went as a group from the estate but I would be seated next to him and we would unsuccessfully try to whisper our comments during the show.
The one time, I went to see a play with Ibinabo, he fell asleep. How can anyone sleep with all the noise and drumming coming from the stage as well as the loud reactions from the crowd.
Ibinabo loves to read...boring books. He is safe to be with. Do I love him? No. I will not leave him though. He is my security blanket.
So when he bumped into Chinedu and I as he was leaving my room, we immediately launched into a conversation about a project and whether or not Chinedu was going to give me 'the thing'. Ibinabo could not follow or understand what was going on and assumed Chinedu's 'reluctance' to give me 'the thing' stemmed from lack of money. He gave me N15,ooo before he left. I did not feel guilty taking his money. I know about the girl from church that his parents want him to marry and how much he actually likes her.
What have I been going through? Quite alot. We have lost our first lady, (and rumours have it that she died under the knife of a cosmetic surgeon).I do not want to join the hordes of hypocrites who are heaping upon her the accolades. When she was alive, she was definitely not one of the women I held in high esteem and if indeed these rumours are true, that she died trying to undergo cosmetic surgery, then indeed she lived a life unworthy of mention. I am yet to find out one great thing she did in the scheme of contributing to the plight of Nigerian women. Till date, there have been no laws protecting women from physical abuse or sexual abuse. No laws to prevent and protect them from sexual harassment and discrimination. We have thousands fleeing the country in search of a better life in Europe, only to become sex workers who will either die from STDs like AIDS or will be deportrd in shame. All I ever knew her for was over dressing, excessive make up and her attendnace at parties. I did not even know that she had children, let alone a son at the age that he was.She was not too well liked or respected but I guess with death, alot fades from the minds of the living about the life of the deceased. I am alive and I know she will be missed by those who loved her but I was never impressed or intrigued by her. So, rest in peace, Stella, wherever you as soul have earned.
There has been a plane crash that killed over a hundred people including some very prominent memebers of our government. We had a bunch of exams and I did not do too well on some of them.
When Chinedu got up from my bed, he was very angry but as usual, he said not a word. He got dressed and did it as slowly as he possibly could. I did not try to hurry him. I think he was trying to buy time, hoping that Ibinabo will be at my door when he got there. If I had asked him to speed up his dressing, he might have flown off the handle. I know he does not like to share me with someone. I don't like to share him either but the web of deceit we have woven round each other cannot allow us to do otherwise. Our friends would not understand and we would be pressured into trying to make sure that our relationship works. Most likely it wouldn't, but you never know.
Neither one of our families would accept the other. My parents think that Chinedu is a ne'er-do-well with too indulgent parents and Chinedu's family would never accept a Yoruba daughter-in-law.
Oh my God! Did I just say 'daughter-in-law'? I can't imagine that I am actually contemplating being married to him. To Chinedu. But let's think about it for a minute. What will it belike being Mrs Ozodia. It probably would be nice. He is from a wealthy family and he is very ambitious. I know he has a thriving transport business. He runs two taxi's on the Unilag campus and has two danfo buses running on the island. Though all this fuel hike and police settling is not that favourable to him, he does quite well. He also throws parties and his club or fraternity or whatever you want to call them, is always giving one soiree or the other that he is usually in charge of organising. Thus, more dough to his pocket. He is quite generous and I think that besides the girls and in some cases, women, he is quite honest. He never really comes out to tell you that you are dating and so when one hears of another woman, his excuse is that 'we were never official.' I think I will hav ewhat every woman aspires to have in a husband: comfort,protection,companionship, some luxuries, hopefully healthy and definitely beautiful children and mind blowing sex.
WOW! That man has perfected the art of lovemaking. Last time, I thought, I was going to burst my vocal cords. you cannot help but scream. And he does not just take, he shows you how to give. The first time I thought to try oral sex, he declined. He told me that he knew I would not be comfortable with it and he would not want that. I went and borrowed a whole bunch of porn for reference.I can still see the baffled and sneering faces of the video store clerks as I checked them out. Practiced with a banana till I felt I had got the hang of it, then the next time we met, I went to work. His reaction introduced me to a new power that I had. I could blow real good. Many women, especially African women find oral sex to be dirty or appalling or something only hookers do. I do not think so. I believe that If you have never had it done to you, you would feel the same. Chinedu had introduced it to me from the very beginning and I was able to discover the wonders of multiple orgasms. i thought to reciprocate the feeling and I can tell you that I succeeded. He is the only man I do that to.
Ibinabo is not boring in bed. I do not find his touch distasteful but I 'have been there, done that'. He is gentle and very careful. His movements are methodical. He knows the places to touch to bring me to my quickest arousal and we have never gone past thirty minutes. The first time we hit a two hour mark and an alarming number of condoms, Chinedu and i went seperately to find the morning after pill. We had done it all and we had had fun. It's not even all the time we have sex. Sometimes, we talk. He is upset, he talks to me. Before last summer, we talked all the time. That was why we got along so well. I was privy to a side of him that no one in our clique of friends had access to. I knew what it had been like living in london, how his mother's death had affected him, his relationship with his father and step mother, his relationship with his siblings, what he wanted to do with his life, why he loved mathematics and why he did not like reading. I knew all the scars on his body and which ones were from deeper wounds than the others. I knew how much of a baby he was whenever he was ill. I knew he did not like fish and was allergic to shrimp. I found out the last one by mistake but in time. I prepared a dish and gave him some. His face swole up like a balloon. I cried all the way to the hospital and then, I could not drive so he still had to drive himself to Ikeja general hospital, speeding like a maniac, trying to out run the shutting off of his eyes. We did not tell anyone because then we would have had to explain, why we had been hanging out by ourselves. And that was months before we started sleeping together. Those were the days. Watching movies, going to see plays.
When I had just graduated from Queen's College, he would take me during the period I was at home for a year, to plays at his school. Usually, we went as a group from the estate but I would be seated next to him and we would unsuccessfully try to whisper our comments during the show.
The one time, I went to see a play with Ibinabo, he fell asleep. How can anyone sleep with all the noise and drumming coming from the stage as well as the loud reactions from the crowd.
Ibinabo loves to read...boring books. He is safe to be with. Do I love him? No. I will not leave him though. He is my security blanket.
So when he bumped into Chinedu and I as he was leaving my room, we immediately launched into a conversation about a project and whether or not Chinedu was going to give me 'the thing'. Ibinabo could not follow or understand what was going on and assumed Chinedu's 'reluctance' to give me 'the thing' stemmed from lack of money. He gave me N15,ooo before he left. I did not feel guilty taking his money. I know about the girl from church that his parents want him to marry and how much he actually likes her.
Thursday, October 06, 2005
My goodness!
What a week and a half i have had.
We sorted through the Mr.Lecturer shit. 'She' still went. i am beginning to think she did not actually mind in the beginning because come to think of it, she really was not as bothered as we her friends were. she told me that 'it'wasn't that bad. EUGH!!!!!!!
Back to me....
My weekend was the stuff of nightmares....at least if you have a 'boyfriend' who drops in suddenly on you whilst you are tied up with your summer ex- fling.
There was a party and some lag boys came. In fact, alot of them came. one of the club chapters in Ife was throwing its own party and thus alot students from lagos came down in droves for the party. three artists performed. Was nice... Chinedu came with one of his current flings.
When I saw him, we greeted like old buddies but i could feel something in the slight squeeze of his hug. the party which was actually a coalition of about three different parties was off the hook. too many people and waaaayyyy too much alcohol. And every girl there was trying to show as much of their 'assets' without being slutty. Let's just say some were successful whilst others...well....did not quite get the drift of why clothes were invented. i will not name names but eh-ehm...Idia room 306 and moremi's D211, C298, F372, G211,A122,A231,A167.... the list is too long and besides, i do not know everyone's room number.
I went outside to catch some air as some of the guys we were rolling with had become one with their drinks. Eugh! I saw Chinedu hanging with some of his guys while his 'girlfriend' was HANGING off his arm, pretending not to notice that he was openly checking other girls out and even talking to them Some girls amaze me with their inability or reluctance to see that they mean only as much to these guys as their next lay. Touche. Anyways, i saw him and he saw and we made eye contact. we used to have our little codes that we used when we were with our group of friends to signal that we should both get waya and meet up somewhere. He would touch his left brow and I would rub my lips together as if i had just applied gloss or lipstick. i did that because it also indicated to him what kind of meeting I was in the mood for. This time, I didn't do anything when he touched his brow, I simply nodded and began to walk towards where the cars where parked. i did not see him follow me as i walked but i kept moving away from where the lights from the building could discern my figure or face. I was momentarily startled when I heard a sound from a car, it was the muffled sounds of a couple. i laughed softly to myself as i walked away because i knew fully well what they were up to. i nearly jumped out of my skin when a hand closed over my mouth. It was the silly Chinedu, he had been walking parallel to me the whole time and because i had been expecting him to be behind me, i hadn't seen him.
I pushed him away and swatted his hand.
"what is wrong with you? scaring me like that?"
He looked almost contrite,
"I am sorry."
My heart was still racing but as i looked at him in his oh-so-good shirt and dark jeans over dress shoes, my heart was taking on another rhythm. i remember asking myself why i reacted t him like this and why i was content with this hide and seek game we played.
"you look smashing tonight...knew I was coming?" he said brushing a knuckle over my upper arms. I huffed at his nerve and cocked an eyebrow,
"Say what? You? i barely remembered your name." i replied, trying to be cocky. i actually hadn't known he would be coming but i was glad i had tried extra hard on my look...I even wore white, he had said he liked me in white.
He stepped forward,
"well, I knew i was coming and that i was going to see you so i made sure i had my good shoes..." he said against my hair. he is at least two feet taller that i am and with heels, I still get up to just below his chin. I looked at his feet to try and take my mind off the scent of him and how it completely filled my senses. I remember once telling him how much i curse whoever designed tims after one guy nearly crushed my toes with his at a club. Chinedu's were shiny black..Italian I think.
He reached out and pulled me into his arms and I went quietly.
"i missed you, you know. I wanted to talk to you when that your SU aunty was around that day, but you know..."
I did indeed know. Once, when chinedu's mom had been around and she had come to visit, she had unwittingly confided some things about his behaviour to my mum and aunty SU had been there and she had embarked on a deliverance session on the then seventeen year old Chinedu. I knew it had taken all of his upbringing and will power not to walk out on her unending prayer for his soul. I did not want to think about that. he was here and i was in his arms.
I reached behind him and playfully grabbed his butt. I love his butt, especially without clothes on them. he chuckled, a sound that rumbled against my ears, and rocked me. I pulled away and led him to the boot of a car indicating i wanted to seat. as much as i loved being in his arms, i had been in heels for over four hours and i am not such a magician that i do not feel pain in my heel. He lifted me on to the car and moved between my legs. We did not speak. He rested his head against my bosom and I just loved the feel of him. i held him.
Somewhere in the mix of talking, we began to make out. It was slow at first like me were trying to remember and recollect what we used to taste like. Then, we sort of lost control. Kissing Chinedu is like drinking wine. you have to savour each one and drink deeply. then as you get heady, you try as much as possible to gulp it down. I also love his hands, he does not paw or grope....but gently feels you and guides you into him.
We had to pull apart because if we hadn't we would have gone too far right there and then.
"Where are you staying tonight?" i asked
"with you?" he said
"What about all those girls you came with, especially the one that has attached herself to your hand."
"My guys will organize her."
I chuckled imagining what would be going on in the girl's mind when the party was over and she searched high and low for him with no sign of his whereabouts. i wondered if one day, he would do the same to me. i mean, here I am allowing a secret exual relationship to continue.
"friends with benefits." we called ourselves but I knew that deep inside, what we did menat much more to me. i pulled away.
"What is it?"
I looked into his eyes, they seemed troubled. i couldn't be sure. i had seen him put on that same look just before he discarded of some female to sneak upstairs to his room with me or who ever was there.
"One day," I said slowly, "I might be in her shoes." i nudged my head in the direction of the party, indicating the girl.
"Or one day, i will be in Ibinabo's shoes." He said simply, then shook his head, "Heck, I am already in his shoes. He moved to the side, "you were the one that said we should keep it secret.'
I remembered. it was indeed me. And I know why I said that. i looked at Chinedu, he was looking at his feet, his hands had been balled into fists and shoved into his pockets. He was angry and I did not know why. I didn't want that. I stepped behind him and embraced him. I felt his angry stiffness disipate into a sigh. It sounded weary, like he was tired and had no choice but to give in...to what? He turned to look at me,
"You do not understand...You don't know..."
I was confused. He always spoke to me in short sentences, like there was a great thought and calculation into his choice of words.
"What?" i asked him.
He kissed me.
i don't remeber much after that. Like how we got to my room in the boys quarters or what we must have said to each other on the way. Maybe we walked in silence, holding hands but then again, maybe not. Maybe we talked about school, family, the business deals he was always chasing after but again, maybe we did not.
We spent the night together. It was beautiful.
Then at nine the next morning, Amara, my neighbour came to knock on my door, rousing me from sleep to tell me that Ibinabo was around and trying to find parking space that was as close as possible to the house.
I spoke to her through a crack in the door and turned to look at Chinedu. He was still asleep. i don't ever like to wake him. He looks peaceful in his sleep. We are both stark naked. Infront of him, I am not concerned about my stretchmarks or that i might not have an ironing board for a belly. He tells me I am beautiful. I like to hear that.
I wake him up. He smiles and reaches a hand for me to pull me to him. his eyes are sleepy but happy. I chuckle an smack his hands away.
"get up" I tell him, "Ibinabo is here."
chinedu's smile disappears and his eyes awake to a hardening.
What a week and a half i have had.
We sorted through the Mr.Lecturer shit. 'She' still went. i am beginning to think she did not actually mind in the beginning because come to think of it, she really was not as bothered as we her friends were. she told me that 'it'wasn't that bad. EUGH!!!!!!!
Back to me....
My weekend was the stuff of nightmares....at least if you have a 'boyfriend' who drops in suddenly on you whilst you are tied up with your summer ex- fling.
There was a party and some lag boys came. In fact, alot of them came. one of the club chapters in Ife was throwing its own party and thus alot students from lagos came down in droves for the party. three artists performed. Was nice... Chinedu came with one of his current flings.
When I saw him, we greeted like old buddies but i could feel something in the slight squeeze of his hug. the party which was actually a coalition of about three different parties was off the hook. too many people and waaaayyyy too much alcohol. And every girl there was trying to show as much of their 'assets' without being slutty. Let's just say some were successful whilst others...well....did not quite get the drift of why clothes were invented. i will not name names but eh-ehm...Idia room 306 and moremi's D211, C298, F372, G211,A122,A231,A167.... the list is too long and besides, i do not know everyone's room number.
I went outside to catch some air as some of the guys we were rolling with had become one with their drinks. Eugh! I saw Chinedu hanging with some of his guys while his 'girlfriend' was HANGING off his arm, pretending not to notice that he was openly checking other girls out and even talking to them Some girls amaze me with their inability or reluctance to see that they mean only as much to these guys as their next lay. Touche. Anyways, i saw him and he saw and we made eye contact. we used to have our little codes that we used when we were with our group of friends to signal that we should both get waya and meet up somewhere. He would touch his left brow and I would rub my lips together as if i had just applied gloss or lipstick. i did that because it also indicated to him what kind of meeting I was in the mood for. This time, I didn't do anything when he touched his brow, I simply nodded and began to walk towards where the cars where parked. i did not see him follow me as i walked but i kept moving away from where the lights from the building could discern my figure or face. I was momentarily startled when I heard a sound from a car, it was the muffled sounds of a couple. i laughed softly to myself as i walked away because i knew fully well what they were up to. i nearly jumped out of my skin when a hand closed over my mouth. It was the silly Chinedu, he had been walking parallel to me the whole time and because i had been expecting him to be behind me, i hadn't seen him.
I pushed him away and swatted his hand.
"what is wrong with you? scaring me like that?"
He looked almost contrite,
"I am sorry."
My heart was still racing but as i looked at him in his oh-so-good shirt and dark jeans over dress shoes, my heart was taking on another rhythm. i remember asking myself why i reacted t him like this and why i was content with this hide and seek game we played.
"you look smashing tonight...knew I was coming?" he said brushing a knuckle over my upper arms. I huffed at his nerve and cocked an eyebrow,
"Say what? You? i barely remembered your name." i replied, trying to be cocky. i actually hadn't known he would be coming but i was glad i had tried extra hard on my look...I even wore white, he had said he liked me in white.
He stepped forward,
"well, I knew i was coming and that i was going to see you so i made sure i had my good shoes..." he said against my hair. he is at least two feet taller that i am and with heels, I still get up to just below his chin. I looked at his feet to try and take my mind off the scent of him and how it completely filled my senses. I remember once telling him how much i curse whoever designed tims after one guy nearly crushed my toes with his at a club. Chinedu's were shiny black..Italian I think.
He reached out and pulled me into his arms and I went quietly.
"i missed you, you know. I wanted to talk to you when that your SU aunty was around that day, but you know..."
I did indeed know. Once, when chinedu's mom had been around and she had come to visit, she had unwittingly confided some things about his behaviour to my mum and aunty SU had been there and she had embarked on a deliverance session on the then seventeen year old Chinedu. I knew it had taken all of his upbringing and will power not to walk out on her unending prayer for his soul. I did not want to think about that. he was here and i was in his arms.
I reached behind him and playfully grabbed his butt. I love his butt, especially without clothes on them. he chuckled, a sound that rumbled against my ears, and rocked me. I pulled away and led him to the boot of a car indicating i wanted to seat. as much as i loved being in his arms, i had been in heels for over four hours and i am not such a magician that i do not feel pain in my heel. He lifted me on to the car and moved between my legs. We did not speak. He rested his head against my bosom and I just loved the feel of him. i held him.
Somewhere in the mix of talking, we began to make out. It was slow at first like me were trying to remember and recollect what we used to taste like. Then, we sort of lost control. Kissing Chinedu is like drinking wine. you have to savour each one and drink deeply. then as you get heady, you try as much as possible to gulp it down. I also love his hands, he does not paw or grope....but gently feels you and guides you into him.
We had to pull apart because if we hadn't we would have gone too far right there and then.
"Where are you staying tonight?" i asked
"with you?" he said
"What about all those girls you came with, especially the one that has attached herself to your hand."
"My guys will organize her."
I chuckled imagining what would be going on in the girl's mind when the party was over and she searched high and low for him with no sign of his whereabouts. i wondered if one day, he would do the same to me. i mean, here I am allowing a secret exual relationship to continue.
"friends with benefits." we called ourselves but I knew that deep inside, what we did menat much more to me. i pulled away.
"What is it?"
I looked into his eyes, they seemed troubled. i couldn't be sure. i had seen him put on that same look just before he discarded of some female to sneak upstairs to his room with me or who ever was there.
"One day," I said slowly, "I might be in her shoes." i nudged my head in the direction of the party, indicating the girl.
"Or one day, i will be in Ibinabo's shoes." He said simply, then shook his head, "Heck, I am already in his shoes. He moved to the side, "you were the one that said we should keep it secret.'
I remembered. it was indeed me. And I know why I said that. i looked at Chinedu, he was looking at his feet, his hands had been balled into fists and shoved into his pockets. He was angry and I did not know why. I didn't want that. I stepped behind him and embraced him. I felt his angry stiffness disipate into a sigh. It sounded weary, like he was tired and had no choice but to give in...to what? He turned to look at me,
"You do not understand...You don't know..."
I was confused. He always spoke to me in short sentences, like there was a great thought and calculation into his choice of words.
"What?" i asked him.
He kissed me.
i don't remeber much after that. Like how we got to my room in the boys quarters or what we must have said to each other on the way. Maybe we walked in silence, holding hands but then again, maybe not. Maybe we talked about school, family, the business deals he was always chasing after but again, maybe we did not.
We spent the night together. It was beautiful.
Then at nine the next morning, Amara, my neighbour came to knock on my door, rousing me from sleep to tell me that Ibinabo was around and trying to find parking space that was as close as possible to the house.
I spoke to her through a crack in the door and turned to look at Chinedu. He was still asleep. i don't ever like to wake him. He looks peaceful in his sleep. We are both stark naked. Infront of him, I am not concerned about my stretchmarks or that i might not have an ironing board for a belly. He tells me I am beautiful. I like to hear that.
I wake him up. He smiles and reaches a hand for me to pull me to him. his eyes are sleepy but happy. I chuckle an smack his hands away.
"get up" I tell him, "Ibinabo is here."
chinedu's smile disappears and his eyes awake to a hardening.
Monday, September 26, 2005
Omo, yawa!
Kata kata!
As we don go meet Sheik say make im organise the stupid Mr. Lecturer, e be like say the guy sef get connections. Sheik vex. Awon boys tell am say the guy get sanctuary. The guy get to know. Let's just say that Bola might be retaking the class, except if we go to administration. But to whom do we report? Is it those incompetent extortionists in admin that are out for money or the ones who also keep campus girls as 'girlfriends'. this country sef. the poor girl don tire. she was like, 'sebi it's just one time.' Can u imagine, being forced to contemplate the idea.
So Evelyn took matters into her hands and went to see 'Big Bros' as we like to call him. that's our name for her aristo that is based in abuja and only sends for her when he is in lagos. She told him what was happening to Bola and I do not know what the guy did but last night, when Bola was walking to the hostel after lectures, "those girls" came and accosted and roughed her up a bit, saying that she had made a mistake messing with 'Mr. Lecturer.'
When did lecturers start having connections to cultists. The underworld was the security blanket of students even though to enforce themselves, we the student body had to pay dearly. Besides on OAU campus, they are not that terrible. If you walk right and keep your nose clean, you really have no need to meet them.
I really do not know what is going to happen because i am aware that my name is linked to this issue.
Nitori olorun, ile-iwe ni obi wa ran wa lo ti awon oloriburuku tisha osi fe fi ti won ba ti awon kan je.
God dey! he will vindicate the innocent and I know that Mr. lecturer will surely be punished.
Kata kata!
As we don go meet Sheik say make im organise the stupid Mr. Lecturer, e be like say the guy sef get connections. Sheik vex. Awon boys tell am say the guy get sanctuary. The guy get to know. Let's just say that Bola might be retaking the class, except if we go to administration. But to whom do we report? Is it those incompetent extortionists in admin that are out for money or the ones who also keep campus girls as 'girlfriends'. this country sef. the poor girl don tire. she was like, 'sebi it's just one time.' Can u imagine, being forced to contemplate the idea.
So Evelyn took matters into her hands and went to see 'Big Bros' as we like to call him. that's our name for her aristo that is based in abuja and only sends for her when he is in lagos. She told him what was happening to Bola and I do not know what the guy did but last night, when Bola was walking to the hostel after lectures, "those girls" came and accosted and roughed her up a bit, saying that she had made a mistake messing with 'Mr. Lecturer.'
When did lecturers start having connections to cultists. The underworld was the security blanket of students even though to enforce themselves, we the student body had to pay dearly. Besides on OAU campus, they are not that terrible. If you walk right and keep your nose clean, you really have no need to meet them.
I really do not know what is going to happen because i am aware that my name is linked to this issue.
Nitori olorun, ile-iwe ni obi wa ran wa lo ti awon oloriburuku tisha osi fe fi ti won ba ti awon kan je.
God dey! he will vindicate the innocent and I know that Mr. lecturer will surely be punished.
Thursday, September 22, 2005
Sometimes i really hate this country. How do you have institutions were students pay through their noses for an education but have neither the facilities nor faculty to provide any at all. I am so fed up. What the hell am I struggling to get an education for when at the end of the day, your survival all boils down to who you know and where they are at the time you know them. I am so tired of these two-faced politicians who stand infront of the cameras and the ignorant and condemn the government for their lack of provision for the Nigeriam youth of today whilst all their children attend school abroad, spending my money and the only times they come to the schools is when they are there to receive honorary doctorate degrees (which is just disgusting as most did not even attend university for a bachelors degree not to talk of a doctorate) or to pick up the young girls who believed that a wealthy older man was going to be their means of survival. It is so easy to cross the boundaries of propriety and allow an older man access to you and yours in exchange for financial provision. ironically, there is no financial security in befriending an older man because he too will be quick to go through as many young things as he can in an attempt to recapture the youthful fantasies they were never able to afford. I hate those men but why would i complain. i do date an older man even thoughhe is not of the same generation as those filthy letchers. those disgusting old men who have no shame in propositioning women for money. i wonder if they are happy. there must come a time when having a woman who will only continue to be with you as long as ypu can furnish her in the lifestyle that you have promised her, begins to take a toll....easpecially if you want to keep it a secret.
Today, i am not just thinking about these men; at least they give the women the choice of opting for that kind of relationship or not. I am thinking now of those shameless, disgusting men who seek to manipulate and force women into things they would not even contemplate doing were it not for the fact that all choice in the matter was taken from them. i am talking sexual blackmail. These bastards!!!
Can you imagine Professor Orunwaye told me that if Bola, my friend wants to pass his bus. admin course, 'i know what to do'. Can you imagine that lizard looking thing threatening her with failure if she does not befriend him. What is this world coming to when men, we were entruted unto by our parents become the very predators they were instructed to protect us from. Have they no shame? No heart? No decency? How do you contemplate sleeping with someone the same age as your daughter. that is to say if they had been playing with mud as children outside the house, you would have been envisioning the other girl as a potential bedmate. That is just disgusting!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
WELL, I DO KNOW WHAT TO DO!!!
We are going to pay a visit to Sheik.
He is very adept at handling such matters and after this is over we are going to need sanctuary.
I am so tired.
This is school is not worth the hastle and tribulations thrown in our paths.
BUT my father would kill me if I left school.
I still cannot believe this stupid man and I know Bola is not the first girl he has tried to entrap on campus...but she will definitely be his last.
He has messed with the wrong girl.
Or rather should we say, the wrong guy's girlfriend.
Today, i am not just thinking about these men; at least they give the women the choice of opting for that kind of relationship or not. I am thinking now of those shameless, disgusting men who seek to manipulate and force women into things they would not even contemplate doing were it not for the fact that all choice in the matter was taken from them. i am talking sexual blackmail. These bastards!!!
Can you imagine Professor Orunwaye told me that if Bola, my friend wants to pass his bus. admin course, 'i know what to do'. Can you imagine that lizard looking thing threatening her with failure if she does not befriend him. What is this world coming to when men, we were entruted unto by our parents become the very predators they were instructed to protect us from. Have they no shame? No heart? No decency? How do you contemplate sleeping with someone the same age as your daughter. that is to say if they had been playing with mud as children outside the house, you would have been envisioning the other girl as a potential bedmate. That is just disgusting!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
WELL, I DO KNOW WHAT TO DO!!!
We are going to pay a visit to Sheik.
He is very adept at handling such matters and after this is over we are going to need sanctuary.
I am so tired.
This is school is not worth the hastle and tribulations thrown in our paths.
BUT my father would kill me if I left school.
I still cannot believe this stupid man and I know Bola is not the first girl he has tried to entrap on campus...but she will definitely be his last.
He has messed with the wrong girl.
Or rather should we say, the wrong guy's girlfriend.
Monday, September 19, 2005
Ibinabo is getting on my last nerve. Who does he think he is? Does he think because I go out with him everytime he drops by and he spends a couple thousand now and then, he is lord and master over me? I do not know why i bother with him anyway. So what if he is cute, drives a nice...very nice car, lives in a nice house(note that I said house and not flat) by himself, and knows how to-do-what-he-needs-to-do. I mean, in the to-do department, he holds his own. Built right and knows how to work with his equipment and is quite kinky too. Just like I like it.
..........Back to the subject. HE IS IRRITATING THE HELL OUT OF ME!!!!!!!!
He called me like five times yesterday, but since my phone was dead and my charger had been left behind in school, I could not charge the phone. I sha packed my belongings after stocking up on cash and a morality lecture from pupsie food from mumsie and prayers from Gbadamosi (the miser would have to have his life depend on it before he gives out money and we kids have learned very long ago not to expect him to dole anything out. I mean, his wives had to lock him and threaten to have him miss an 'important' meeting- a party- before he released money for Ayoka and her sibling's school fees. Lousy! Razz Man! and I mean, he is quite razz!), I got in the car with the driver, Mr Peters and headed for school. Dad must have been in a very good mood because for once he listened to my mother's request to let the driver take me to school. 'After all,' she had said, 'You always say, you want to drive yourself and we can go together to Bintu's party and not worry when Peters gets home to his family.' She had been glowing when she had said that and dad had simply nodded as if half asleep. i looked at the two middle aged people. i wonder what they had been up to. I know mum waits for him like a dutiful african wife to come home every two weeks to be with her and us, the kids. i also know that Fatima, dad's second wife and mother of my three half-siblings waits for him to come back to her after out two weeks are up. The day, mum told us when i was about eight, that dad was taking a second wife, a part of me died towards men and has not awoken till today. Many people from other cultures do not know how it is that two women can agree to share one man and how the children appear to be cordial to one another. I do not know either. I have stopped hating my siblings in abuja. it takes too much strength. i have also ceased to acknowledge Fatima's existence ever since dad gave me a near fatal beating for disrespecting her in public. My mum had cried but she had not sided with me. 'If something were to happen to me today, she will take my place...if you hate her, you will not sutvive." she had told me while attending to my bruises. I do not hate fatima. it is my father who is responsible for all that is happening. I see my mother die silently each time he leaves for Abuja, or everytime he and Fatima appear as a couple in the papers. The children are always welcome in our home and to credit both mother and fatima, none of us feel the difference in abode, whether we are in lagos or in abuja. Farida, Hussein and Hassan are all younger than I and are quite adorable. that was why i could never hate them. Most especially Hassan. Farida is sixteen, and the twins are twelve, a few months younger than Sayo. Ayobami is nineteen, Olawale is seventeen and Sayo is thirteen. And my father is the proud father of seven children and husband two wives and only God knows how many mistresses.
Anyway, I get to school and check my messages when i get to school and there is an irate Ibinabo on there demanding to know where I was. Apparently he had driven to Ife from lagos to take me out. I was not there. where was I? He heard i went with some guys out. Where was I?
so I called him.
"Oh boy, wetin?"
"Where have u been?!"
"Why are u shouting? Good afternoon to you too."
He calmed down and asked me nicely where I had been, how I was and what happened. I told him that i had gone home and regaled him with the tale of the loosed-bowelled passenger. He laughed and forgot that he was angry and i felt somewhat sorry for him. I knew that the relationship was drawing to a close. It had been fun but he was trying to get in too deep. I knew that he liked to watch me sleep. I know because i woke up one morning to his unshaven face a few inches from mine staring intently. i had screamed into his face giving a full dose of morning breath but he did not even flinch and a couple of times lately he has been talking about love and me meeting his parents. the ironic thing about this whole issue is that, for a relationship that is structured totally to exclude strings and rarely to result in continuity and for both parties to simpy be consenting adults having a good time, Ibinabo has turned it into something else. he even has me answering 'yes' to the question of whether or not I have a boyfriend and last month, I completely ignored another guy because i was thinking that it would be 'disrespectful' to Ibinabo to even entertain the other guy's advances. What is wrong with me and my head?
First it was Chinedu and now it is Ibinabo.
He said he is going to come for me this weekend. Siggggghhhhhhh!!!!!
He is a good man. And I am being treated well. Do I love him too? I do not know. I must be coming across as very loose or cold or opportunistic or all of the above. I do not know. i have never put too much value on what men say. dad said I was his little princess. apparently that title expires once you reach a certain age because Farida and Sayo have both been his little princesses as well.
I am worn out. I have not studied and I have not studied for my economics test. Prof Ibekwe does not tolerate nonsense.
I need to find someone with handouts from the other lecturer's class coz Ibekwe does not sell them. he is old school. A firm believer in the good future of our dear nation. Poor man, he needs to wake up out of his delusion.
..........Back to the subject. HE IS IRRITATING THE HELL OUT OF ME!!!!!!!!
He called me like five times yesterday, but since my phone was dead and my charger had been left behind in school, I could not charge the phone. I sha packed my belongings after stocking up on cash and a morality lecture from pupsie food from mumsie and prayers from Gbadamosi (the miser would have to have his life depend on it before he gives out money and we kids have learned very long ago not to expect him to dole anything out. I mean, his wives had to lock him and threaten to have him miss an 'important' meeting- a party- before he released money for Ayoka and her sibling's school fees. Lousy! Razz Man! and I mean, he is quite razz!), I got in the car with the driver, Mr Peters and headed for school. Dad must have been in a very good mood because for once he listened to my mother's request to let the driver take me to school. 'After all,' she had said, 'You always say, you want to drive yourself and we can go together to Bintu's party and not worry when Peters gets home to his family.' She had been glowing when she had said that and dad had simply nodded as if half asleep. i looked at the two middle aged people. i wonder what they had been up to. I know mum waits for him like a dutiful african wife to come home every two weeks to be with her and us, the kids. i also know that Fatima, dad's second wife and mother of my three half-siblings waits for him to come back to her after out two weeks are up. The day, mum told us when i was about eight, that dad was taking a second wife, a part of me died towards men and has not awoken till today. Many people from other cultures do not know how it is that two women can agree to share one man and how the children appear to be cordial to one another. I do not know either. I have stopped hating my siblings in abuja. it takes too much strength. i have also ceased to acknowledge Fatima's existence ever since dad gave me a near fatal beating for disrespecting her in public. My mum had cried but she had not sided with me. 'If something were to happen to me today, she will take my place...if you hate her, you will not sutvive." she had told me while attending to my bruises. I do not hate fatima. it is my father who is responsible for all that is happening. I see my mother die silently each time he leaves for Abuja, or everytime he and Fatima appear as a couple in the papers. The children are always welcome in our home and to credit both mother and fatima, none of us feel the difference in abode, whether we are in lagos or in abuja. Farida, Hussein and Hassan are all younger than I and are quite adorable. that was why i could never hate them. Most especially Hassan. Farida is sixteen, and the twins are twelve, a few months younger than Sayo. Ayobami is nineteen, Olawale is seventeen and Sayo is thirteen. And my father is the proud father of seven children and husband two wives and only God knows how many mistresses.
Anyway, I get to school and check my messages when i get to school and there is an irate Ibinabo on there demanding to know where I was. Apparently he had driven to Ife from lagos to take me out. I was not there. where was I? He heard i went with some guys out. Where was I?
so I called him.
"Oh boy, wetin?"
"Where have u been?!"
"Why are u shouting? Good afternoon to you too."
He calmed down and asked me nicely where I had been, how I was and what happened. I told him that i had gone home and regaled him with the tale of the loosed-bowelled passenger. He laughed and forgot that he was angry and i felt somewhat sorry for him. I knew that the relationship was drawing to a close. It had been fun but he was trying to get in too deep. I knew that he liked to watch me sleep. I know because i woke up one morning to his unshaven face a few inches from mine staring intently. i had screamed into his face giving a full dose of morning breath but he did not even flinch and a couple of times lately he has been talking about love and me meeting his parents. the ironic thing about this whole issue is that, for a relationship that is structured totally to exclude strings and rarely to result in continuity and for both parties to simpy be consenting adults having a good time, Ibinabo has turned it into something else. he even has me answering 'yes' to the question of whether or not I have a boyfriend and last month, I completely ignored another guy because i was thinking that it would be 'disrespectful' to Ibinabo to even entertain the other guy's advances. What is wrong with me and my head?
First it was Chinedu and now it is Ibinabo.
He said he is going to come for me this weekend. Siggggghhhhhhh!!!!!
He is a good man. And I am being treated well. Do I love him too? I do not know. I must be coming across as very loose or cold or opportunistic or all of the above. I do not know. i have never put too much value on what men say. dad said I was his little princess. apparently that title expires once you reach a certain age because Farida and Sayo have both been his little princesses as well.
I am worn out. I have not studied and I have not studied for my economics test. Prof Ibekwe does not tolerate nonsense.
I need to find someone with handouts from the other lecturer's class coz Ibekwe does not sell them. he is old school. A firm believer in the good future of our dear nation. Poor man, he needs to wake up out of his delusion.
Sunday, September 18, 2005
Today, Aunty Femi came to visit with her children. I know we are supposed to be family (she is my mother's sister) but that woman rubs me the wrong way. First, she is a christian and she irritates me with her prayer warrior routines. We are christians too but I know the only reason my father goes to church is because all his 'friends' do too and lately since democracy has been in power. she always looks like shit. excuse my french. It is her belief that to be considered worthy of God's favour, she has to look as ugly as she possibly can. I heard her loss of fashion sense started about four years ago when her husband impregnated some woman outside. i think to save face or her mental health, she turned to the church. That is all good and fine but when she drags her two overweight daughters clad in garments i would not even conjure up as possible to be worn, and come to my house to tell my mother that she is raising me wrong, she can go to hell.
First, she said that my wearing tight jeans was sinful. I looked at her with clear hatred. i do not hide such things. It was on the tip of my tongue to tell her that with all her praying, Kike, her older daughter has seen and done more things than i ever have. the last time they spent holidays with us, Kike gave me a very vivid description of something that can be done using a vibrator. I simply stared at the girl who was two years younger than I, and still iun secondary school, educating me on such matters. Well, all I can say is that she is very much a pro coz i tried it out with Kunle, my 'boyfriend' and Woooooooooooow!. I bet aunty femi knows none of the things her daughter knows or else Uncle Gbadebo would not have strayed. HEhahahaha
Anyway, she came and stayed and irritated the hell out of everyone. dad cannot stand her either. her daughters looked demure as ever. Kike is as far as I am concerned, demonic. The scariest thing is that she and Sayo, my younger sister are inseperable. I keep telling that little knucklehead to stay away from our cousin but Kike has somehow brainwashed my sisters and bothers. I was once afraid that she had practiced on my brother, Wale. He really gets along with her.
And oh, Gbadamosi was there. he snored through most of my aunt's religious rantings. Soemtimes, i think I actually love that man.
We were seeing them off, me, trying to push them as quickly as possible into the car, when I looked up and saw Chinedu.
Now, how do I talk about Chinedu Ozodia. He is our neighbour's son. he used to live in England before his mum died and he moved back to Nigeria to be with his dad, step-mother and siblings. He attends Unilag and studies Engineering. He drives a BMW 5 series. He is also the guy I messed around with last summer.
The oddest thing about what happened is that neither one of us told anyone. Not even Evelyn, my best friend and partner in crime, knew about us. And when I prodded his friend Marcus, who lives on the next street, to see if Chinedu had said anything, he seemed oblivous. i guess, Chinedu had kept his promise....no one will know.
Did i love him? I do not know. But I was happy with all the moments we snuck around. he took me out a few times to places we were sure none of our friends will be and for my birthday that June, he gave me a jewelry set. You know, matching earrings, necklace and a bracelet. I did not let anyone know. Chinedu is a ladies' man. He is always seen with girls who are made fun of because you hardly ever see the same one with him twice. i did not want to join that list. i had enough gossip going on about me. Most of my friends and our estate's clique know that I have a rich young aristo-ish( he is only 30) guy friend.
Anyway, at that time Chinedu was supposed to have been seeing Ejiro from Sonibare estate. I always wanted to laugh in her face whenever she went on and on about Chinedu. Once, Chinedu and I exchanged careful glances above her head while she practically mauled him in public. We had teased the pair and none of us had been suprised when it was over a few weeks later. I knew that it was hard for Chinedu to stick to one woman for long and I think because I was aware of that and laid no claim to him and pushed no ideas, we survived the summer. then i had to go to back to school.
I think i felt sad when it was over. I wonder what he felt. He greeted my mom and aunty Femi. Kike oggled him through veiled eyes. i just wanted to slap her. he was about to leave. I wished we could speak. That i could speak to him. He drove off at his typical suicidal speed. I tried not to watch him go. I touched my earrings. i wear them all the time.
he asked me to.
First, she said that my wearing tight jeans was sinful. I looked at her with clear hatred. i do not hide such things. It was on the tip of my tongue to tell her that with all her praying, Kike, her older daughter has seen and done more things than i ever have. the last time they spent holidays with us, Kike gave me a very vivid description of something that can be done using a vibrator. I simply stared at the girl who was two years younger than I, and still iun secondary school, educating me on such matters. Well, all I can say is that she is very much a pro coz i tried it out with Kunle, my 'boyfriend' and Woooooooooooow!. I bet aunty femi knows none of the things her daughter knows or else Uncle Gbadebo would not have strayed. HEhahahaha
Anyway, she came and stayed and irritated the hell out of everyone. dad cannot stand her either. her daughters looked demure as ever. Kike is as far as I am concerned, demonic. The scariest thing is that she and Sayo, my younger sister are inseperable. I keep telling that little knucklehead to stay away from our cousin but Kike has somehow brainwashed my sisters and bothers. I was once afraid that she had practiced on my brother, Wale. He really gets along with her.
And oh, Gbadamosi was there. he snored through most of my aunt's religious rantings. Soemtimes, i think I actually love that man.
We were seeing them off, me, trying to push them as quickly as possible into the car, when I looked up and saw Chinedu.
Now, how do I talk about Chinedu Ozodia. He is our neighbour's son. he used to live in England before his mum died and he moved back to Nigeria to be with his dad, step-mother and siblings. He attends Unilag and studies Engineering. He drives a BMW 5 series. He is also the guy I messed around with last summer.
The oddest thing about what happened is that neither one of us told anyone. Not even Evelyn, my best friend and partner in crime, knew about us. And when I prodded his friend Marcus, who lives on the next street, to see if Chinedu had said anything, he seemed oblivous. i guess, Chinedu had kept his promise....no one will know.
Did i love him? I do not know. But I was happy with all the moments we snuck around. he took me out a few times to places we were sure none of our friends will be and for my birthday that June, he gave me a jewelry set. You know, matching earrings, necklace and a bracelet. I did not let anyone know. Chinedu is a ladies' man. He is always seen with girls who are made fun of because you hardly ever see the same one with him twice. i did not want to join that list. i had enough gossip going on about me. Most of my friends and our estate's clique know that I have a rich young aristo-ish( he is only 30) guy friend.
Anyway, at that time Chinedu was supposed to have been seeing Ejiro from Sonibare estate. I always wanted to laugh in her face whenever she went on and on about Chinedu. Once, Chinedu and I exchanged careful glances above her head while she practically mauled him in public. We had teased the pair and none of us had been suprised when it was over a few weeks later. I knew that it was hard for Chinedu to stick to one woman for long and I think because I was aware of that and laid no claim to him and pushed no ideas, we survived the summer. then i had to go to back to school.
I think i felt sad when it was over. I wonder what he felt. He greeted my mom and aunty Femi. Kike oggled him through veiled eyes. i just wanted to slap her. he was about to leave. I wished we could speak. That i could speak to him. He drove off at his typical suicidal speed. I tried not to watch him go. I touched my earrings. i wear them all the time.
he asked me to.
Saturday, September 17, 2005
So, i came home from school yesterday. Something I really did not want to do but as we say, 'wetin man pikin wan do if e no get money." I was dead broke and I had heard through the grapevine (i.e my younger sister Sayo) that pupsie had arrived from Abuja and so like the dutiful dead-broke daughter i was, i put all my kobo-kobo together and left Ife for Lagos.
The trip was the stuff of nightmares. first, one of the passengers in the five-sitter cab that we took paid for the trip and then disappeared. We had to wait an extra hour just for his sorry ass to show up and then it turned out that he had a running stomach which we did not realise until forty-five minutes into the journey. needless to say, we spent an hour-forty-five minute long journey in almost three hours because we kept stopping for him every few miles so that he could disappear into the bush to take care of himself. The second to the last time, we did not need to be told to stop. the stench of his body releases informed us of the poor man's predicament and accompanied us the rest of the way to lagos. The trip taught me something about myself....I can be a bitch sometimes. I compalined the loudest about the incessant stops and made the most fuss when the man messes himself up. I refused to see his very embarrassed and uncomfortable expression. Others were more accomodating and one of the women gave him something in her bag to chew and it seemed like the mixture of black leaves that she had squeezed into her cellophane bag, worked because he did not have to go to the bathroom till we got to Ojota where he got off. All we had to bear with was the smell. We simply wound the windows all the way down and my magazine, 'Gbefila', one of the latest gossip mags on campus flew out the window.
I guess that was my punishment for being unkind to another.
I was so tired from my trip and looking forward to a nice night's sleep but mumsie had other huge plans. i have this feeling that nothing gets done at home when I am not around. All the ideas for huge meals seem to appear the moment my left foot crosses the doorway. That's when my mother said in her tiny voice, "i think we should make pap." I looked around the kitched for the huge pap bucket where we usually soaked the corn for the pap and I did not see anything. Apparently, what she meant was that i was to wake up at the crack of dawn this morning and accompany Tawa, the housegirl to Tejuosho and buy fresh dry corn to bring home and wash and soak. As well as all the ingredients necessary to cook for two thousand years. For a house where only three people live at any given time, we sure cook a hell lot of food and as the eldest and a female, I have been 'blessed' with the opportunity to help prepare everyone. I do not know why pupsie has to feed everyone that comes to see him. there is one of his friends, Alhaji Gbadamosi that i believe strongly, either does n0t like his wife's cooking or is just to miserly to leave soup money (as i know that his second wife, mama Ayoka does not work) because he is always in my house and eats every square meal. I ams o used to having to cook his food and that of my dad's seperate from the family pot....he is diabetic and pupsie has high blood pressure.
Sha, we watched a movie in the living room upstairs. An american film. Some boring thing on the hallmark channel. there was a scene where the daughter in the movie yelled at her mother and stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind her. My mother had reacted to the scene the same way she always has. She clapped her hands in an up and down movement the way nigerians especially yoruba people did when they were suprised by a situation, tapped her feet in a fast movement on the floor and shook her head.
When we were little and used to live in ibadan, in that old house that belonged to my grandfather, she would look at me and dare me, after seeing scenes such as this where the white children were rude and disrespectful to their parents and threatened to call 911 or child services or something like that, to do the same. She would say aloud as if to no one in particular, when we children knew she was referring to us, that we should indeed try what we have just seen on her and that when she is done with us, we can go and call 'olopa' and then she would hiss in her long, ssssssss-ie way. I would shake my head rapidly to tell her that i was not born with two heads to try and disrespect her, Oluwafunmilola Ajike Fabomilasiri, aya Emmanuel Oladimeji Fabomilasiri; mother of five. In my mind, i would think to myself, 'which phone?'
The trip was the stuff of nightmares. first, one of the passengers in the five-sitter cab that we took paid for the trip and then disappeared. We had to wait an extra hour just for his sorry ass to show up and then it turned out that he had a running stomach which we did not realise until forty-five minutes into the journey. needless to say, we spent an hour-forty-five minute long journey in almost three hours because we kept stopping for him every few miles so that he could disappear into the bush to take care of himself. The second to the last time, we did not need to be told to stop. the stench of his body releases informed us of the poor man's predicament and accompanied us the rest of the way to lagos. The trip taught me something about myself....I can be a bitch sometimes. I compalined the loudest about the incessant stops and made the most fuss when the man messes himself up. I refused to see his very embarrassed and uncomfortable expression. Others were more accomodating and one of the women gave him something in her bag to chew and it seemed like the mixture of black leaves that she had squeezed into her cellophane bag, worked because he did not have to go to the bathroom till we got to Ojota where he got off. All we had to bear with was the smell. We simply wound the windows all the way down and my magazine, 'Gbefila', one of the latest gossip mags on campus flew out the window.
I guess that was my punishment for being unkind to another.
I was so tired from my trip and looking forward to a nice night's sleep but mumsie had other huge plans. i have this feeling that nothing gets done at home when I am not around. All the ideas for huge meals seem to appear the moment my left foot crosses the doorway. That's when my mother said in her tiny voice, "i think we should make pap." I looked around the kitched for the huge pap bucket where we usually soaked the corn for the pap and I did not see anything. Apparently, what she meant was that i was to wake up at the crack of dawn this morning and accompany Tawa, the housegirl to Tejuosho and buy fresh dry corn to bring home and wash and soak. As well as all the ingredients necessary to cook for two thousand years. For a house where only three people live at any given time, we sure cook a hell lot of food and as the eldest and a female, I have been 'blessed' with the opportunity to help prepare everyone. I do not know why pupsie has to feed everyone that comes to see him. there is one of his friends, Alhaji Gbadamosi that i believe strongly, either does n0t like his wife's cooking or is just to miserly to leave soup money (as i know that his second wife, mama Ayoka does not work) because he is always in my house and eats every square meal. I ams o used to having to cook his food and that of my dad's seperate from the family pot....he is diabetic and pupsie has high blood pressure.
Sha, we watched a movie in the living room upstairs. An american film. Some boring thing on the hallmark channel. there was a scene where the daughter in the movie yelled at her mother and stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind her. My mother had reacted to the scene the same way she always has. She clapped her hands in an up and down movement the way nigerians especially yoruba people did when they were suprised by a situation, tapped her feet in a fast movement on the floor and shook her head.
When we were little and used to live in ibadan, in that old house that belonged to my grandfather, she would look at me and dare me, after seeing scenes such as this where the white children were rude and disrespectful to their parents and threatened to call 911 or child services or something like that, to do the same. She would say aloud as if to no one in particular, when we children knew she was referring to us, that we should indeed try what we have just seen on her and that when she is done with us, we can go and call 'olopa' and then she would hiss in her long, ssssssss-ie way. I would shake my head rapidly to tell her that i was not born with two heads to try and disrespect her, Oluwafunmilola Ajike Fabomilasiri, aya Emmanuel Oladimeji Fabomilasiri; mother of five. In my mind, i would think to myself, 'which phone?'
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