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Happy birthday to me…xxx

     Mortals cannot choose the day they are born or the day they die, their choices begin and end after these two are made for them…

I didn’t choose to be born on the 5th of September but that was the day my mama’s water broke and the doctor announced it was a girl…that girl turned 27 two days ago…

I decided to do a l’il research about the 5th of September not that I’m superstitious or anything but like every optimist out there, I’ve always known I was special…

First thing I googled was famous people born that day and apparently a couple of odd ball characters share birthdays with me! There were presidents, football players, mathematicians, poets, royalty, actresses, composers and great business men, even famous criminals!

Most of the names didn’t ring a bell but of the ones that did, Jesse James the famous criminal and son of a clergy man struck me the most. Not that I have any criminal intent but here was a man who was born on the same day as dozens of great men and decided to go down in history as a famous bank/train robber! He had a choice, yes times could have been tough and his clergy father over-strict but he blazed his own trail and that was exactly what I wanted to do. Make a name for myself, be so great that at my funeral they’d have to truncate the eulogy cos there’d be too many wonderful things to say and who knows, I could even end up on the 5000 naira note later on, or win a Nobel prize…. 😉

All men are born equal…some more equal than others… 😉

Someone asked once why all the great men in Nigerian history had no shoes growing up. The thing is, no matter how great you are or how rosy things are in your life, there’s gonna be that thorn, that storm, that weakness, that dark cloud hiding your sunshine. That thing that seeks to define you…How you handle it determines if you’ll be a hero or a zero…

Before I start my list, for all who are wondering how I spent my birthday, here’s a shocker…I spent it in bed! Tossing and turning and reflecting for the greater part of the day. 27 can be a scary age, just 3 years short of 30. I wasn’t all I’d hoped to be but I hadn’t done too badly either. I had goals I’d achieved, goals I’d left hanging and dreams I’d almost forgotten. I also had some hard life decisions to make…At 5.30 pm, I got a call from an old friend that shook me out of my reverie and as I planned the later part of my day, I made the rather hard decision to kiss Abuja goodbye…

The rest of my day was fun thanks to J, E and S and I got some really cool gifts though I was a bit disappointed that everyone skipped the private jet, range rover sports and land in Maitama on my wish list! 🙂

Now to the 27 things that are part of a great list of awesome events that made me the 27 year old I am today….

1) When I’m in love, I forget to eat which is great cos I like food. I’ve been called ijekuje, medemede, grubido and queen gaul because of my love for fast food and sweet things…. At the same time, I am conscious of my weight so alternate between fasts/diets/the gym and large helpings of cake and suya! Thankfully I’m tall… 🙂

2) I wrote and sold my first novel in primary four. It was about a magic mirror. All 10 copies were painstakingly hand-written and illustrated on white paper cut up and arranged in book-form and sold to my classmates for 2 naira, 50 kobo each. My mom never knew! World’s youngest entrepreneur?

3) The first boy I ever had a crush on was in church. He was nerdy, wore glasses, had pimples and was awfully smart. One day he tapped my shoulder from behind apparently to catch my attention and electricity went through my body. I was 12 at the time and I’m still not sure if it was the anointing, butterflies or jazz! 😉

4) I don’t know my right hand from my left. I have a little birth mark on my right hand that I look at every time I need directions and I’ve learnt to do that at lightening speed! Don’t laugh, I heard only geniuses have that problem. Seems I’m using both halves of my brain equally! 😉

5) I shake my leg and it’s contagious. Sometimes I do it in my sleep and I have 8 different types of shakes and the best of boyfriends have given up after trying to decipher my secret code. I shake my leg when I’m sleepy, bored, angry, horny, restless, excited, nervous or praying! I’m shaking it right now… 🙂

6) I’m a helpless romantic and water full my eye! I really get into a movie, so into it that where others say ‘awwwww, sad’ I cry buckets! Even cried when I watched ‘Lion King!’ I’m also jumpy, couldn’t find my purse after ‘Snakes on a plane’ cos I’d flung it in fright at some point. Nevertheless, I love horror!

7) I pray before I do anything, even before going clubbing… #shameonme! I’m no better than those criminals who pray before robbing…geez! But He is faithful and I’ve never been robbed, mugged, kidnapped, in an accident, drugged etc though my guardian angels did advice I slow my role so I’ve become more indoorsy of late! 😉

8 ) I cried the first time I entered the anatomy lab and saw all those dead bodies. I wasn’t scared or disgusted, I was just sad that I had to cut them up to achieve my dream. They had dreams too… #sentimental

9) I used to be deadly afraid of dogs till I moved to Abuja. Now I live with Nikky, Buddy, Jack and Nikky’s 5 pups. Alsatians and a Bullmastiff. Now i could almost write a book about dogs…

10) I’m afraid of heights, and that also includes being carried so no sweeping me off my feet please. Thank God carrying your wife across the threshold no be by force!

11) When I was in the university, I was superstitious about sandals and slippers. Every time I did something wrong or felt guilty about something, the strap of my shoe cut, no matter how new it was or how strong it looked and I had to do the walk of shame to the nearest shoe-maker…

12) I love my friends and family but I’m terrible at keeping in touch…and would rather send an sms than call… 😦

13) I thought Beast was the sexiest X-Men character! And would have totally married Rock in fantastic four. Something about soft, brainy yet brawny guys not necessarily conventionally hot…

14) At various points in my life, I have wanted to be a genetic engineer, an architect, a pilot, a sexologist, a police woman and a house wife…

15) I was an ugly duckling till the end of secondary school, I have almost no pics left for public viewing of me between age 9 and 16! Any man who fancied me then, knew the meaning of true love or was enthralled with the boobs on the skinny black girl!

16) The first time I was ever on TV was a children’s program on NTA channel 10. I was in JS2 then and my mates teased the hell out of me and my green aunty-give-me-cake-dress!

17) I’ve made grown men cry and grown men have made me cry!

18) I believe in love and would never marry a man for his money. Unfortunately it has been a while since a millionaire tested that theory! 😉

19) I love children and I wanna be a pediatrician but after failing primaries, I am thinking I’ll just give birth to loads of ’em or open an orphanage instead! Now considering other disciplines of medicine…

20) I love sexy lingerie….

21) I wanna change the world…and I wanna go to heaven…both are not easy tasks!

22) I would like to get married next year and have a kid before December 2012 just in case the world does end on that day!!!

23) I got duped by a conman for the first time in history. 65k waka just like that! And I always thought I had waffi sense! So much for Isoko wayo…. 😦

24) I spend more time on my blackberry than any other activity. My not so secret sin…

25) My favorite part of my blog is the site stats…seeing the number of people that visited my blog everyday gives me a daily dose of self-achievement…love you guys!

26) Of the seven deadly sins, if I was gonna be judged on one, it would probably be lust… 😦

27) I’m easily satisfied and have been called low maintenance by every single guy who I’ve ever been remotely involved with, i’m starting to think it isn’t such a compliment anymore. Need to develop a love of money and a hunger for the finer things of life… 😉

I will end this blog with excerpts from http://tlc.howstuffworks.com/family/september-5-birthday-astrology.htm I am allowed to be self-absorbed since this post is dedicated to me and the author had such lovely things to say about the September 5 breed. 😉

“Because of their attitude and appearance, Virgos born on September 5 stand out in a crowd. Intelligent and composed, they are usually in control of their emotions. They’re not just physically attractive but also are composed and dignified.

Relationships are the essence of life for September 5 people, and they spend their life working to make them the best they can be. They have a talent for making marriage work and are responsible and affectionate. They are loyal and expect the same.

They are often highly educated, yet many make their livings in nonacademic jobs. They work hard to achieve financial security. September 5 natives are often satisfied after attaining even modest goals. They balance professional goals with their personal lives without losing sight of either.

Don’t hate, appreciate…we are far from perfect but we will take over the world…if you ain’t born on September 5, ask God why???? Have a lovely night peeps… xoxoxo 😉

 
16 Comments

Posted by on September 7, 2011 in Hall of Fame, Memoirs

 

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To keep all the eggs in one basket or not?

    I’ve broken many eggs in my days. Dropped an egg, hit an egg by mistake, crushed an egg with a heavy bag and even sat on an egg but one thing I never did was put all my eggs in one basket except when it came to men. It’d have been awful to break a whole crate of eggs after spending four hours in Bariga market just because my shopping bag gave way or my basket was hit by a speeding okada man. I however have not learnt the act of separating my eggs where the men I date are concerned, nope, they always end up in the same basket and I am left to clean up the goo when my big ole basket of a heart gets broken…

After my last breakup, a worldly wise almost-sister-in-law chastised me for putting all my eggs in one basket (her brother’s basket! ;-)) That got me thinking, and I decided to do a l’il research on this precious idiom, after all even if mama was all about her eggs, whoever formed the idiom couldn’t have been a superficial egg-protector unless he was a chicken!

To “put all your eggs in one basket” is to risk everything on a single opportunity which, like eggs breaking, could go wrong. Letting your success/happiness depend on a single person or plan of action makes everything dependent on that one thing so if the basket is dropped, all is lost. This must have been a very important principle for poultry farmers who made their money from selling eggs. The family would go hungry if such a disaster occurred but it seems Naija girls have become 21st century poultry farmers, (not sure if calling us chicks has helped :-)). No sharp babe wants to put her eggs in one basket, after all kasala fit burst.

There are all sorts of dispersion of eggs going on nowadays. One case scenario is common among the average city girls. Many of them cannot imagine not having two men. A rich and very-married maga to pay house rent, buy the fabulous clothes and the brazilian hair and maintain her expensive lifestyle and a good-enough-to-take-home-to-mama young man, usually struggling, to pose as boyfriend. Many times the boyfriend knows he is being played but isn’t bothered cos of the material benefits of dating a ‘bigz gurl’ and besides, he usually has a nice, thought-to-be-well-brought-up girl in a city far away. A vicious cycle but whoever plays the game best wins… and there are no rules 😉

More commonly, you have a man with a chick-on-the-side or a girl with two boyfriends and these people could be spokespersons for Dunlop as their slogan is; ‘you never know when you’ll need a spare’ 🙂 They claim that trusting a woman or man is a sure-banker for a heartbreak as you have no idea what the other person’s agenda is. Let’s not even begin to talk about being faithful…

Since I’m against double-dating at the moment for the silly reason that I believe in love and dating two men at the same time can be more mentally tasking than getting a Nigerian on the moon, besides drama queen that I am, I still haven’t discovered a good enough line to give a man if I ever get caught cheating and Nollywood isn’t helping! So far, the most used line is still ‘I swear na devil cause am!’ which is even lamer than Shaggy’s ‘It wasn’t me’ so I gathered a few points from here and there to justify the foolhardiness of putting all your eggs in one basket!

Here goes…

1) You only have one egg.

2) You need all your eggs, so dropping a basket with only some of your eggs is as bad as dropping a basket with all your eggs.

3) Last time you tried multiple baskets you couldn’t carry them all and wound up dropping some.

4) Having only one basket was good enough for your ancestors, so it’s good enough for you.

5) Because you went to a pastor and he confirmed that it was OK.

6) It looks like one basket is going to be the fad this season.

7) You are going to make scrambled eggs anyway.

8) The probability of breakage does not exceed the cost of additional baskets.

9) You’re a fatalist — the eggs are all going to break anyway.

10) You are rebelling against your mother who told you to never keep all your eggs in one basket.

🙂 For more reasons to keep all your eggs in one basket, go to http://herbison.com/herbison/broken_eggs.html

Behold, the fool saith, `Put not all thine eggs in the one basket’–which is but a manner of saying, `Scatter your money and your attention’; but the wise man saith, `Put all your eggs in the one basket and–watch that basket!

The business owner who puts all his eggs in one basket isn’t foolish, he’s committed. So peeps take care of your basket, your man or woman signed up for a 100% of your love and attention and not minute measures and if after all is said and done, your basket falls and the eggs get broken, be rest assured that they were rotten eggs even if they smell good (that’s just his expensive perfume), be thankful you didn’t have to carry them home.

Chutzpah yellow pages coming soon…

So take that risk, enough with all the insurance covers! The cow way no get tail, na God dey pursue the flies! (still one of my favorite quotes) Have a lovely day peeps…xoxoxo 😉

 
11 Comments

Posted by on August 20, 2011 in Hall of Fame, Relationships

 

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New thingz

I was having lunch with my friend J at Southern Fries, when a chick walked in, there was another chick with her but no one even noticed. All eyes were on her and her ‘hey-mama’ skirt which had all the men and their little men at attention and the women gaping. The lower curve of her butt cheeks was peeking at the world and all that separated it from the chilly afternoon air was a pair of fish net tights. We really had to commend the efforts of the skirt for managing to cover her upper cheeks. She wore Karen-couture (The latest in boob-baskets guaranteed to display your boobs to the far-sighted, made popular by Karen Igho, BBA winner) and had a brazen look on her face that made the icecream melt a bit faster. Someone started coughing and we turned to see an older man choking as his wife glared angrily at him not even bothering to help out. Our vixen got her food and sat down facing her audience, legs apart, red thong teasing the crowd as she slurped on a milkshake and I could see a lot of the women looking faint, their sensibilities thoroughly insulted, wishing they could have her thrown out but she was a paying customer and it didn’t help that there was a tomboy sitting beside her with a proud and possessive look on her face enjoying the scene her lover had created. Soon the novelty wore off and heads hastily dropped as cold chips were remembered. I was intrigued but J assured me that it was becoming a fairly common scene in Abuja though it struck me as odd because I always regarded Southern Fries as a family-type eatery and it was a Sunday afternoon…that paying customer robbed many a man of their post-church anointing! 😉

I flew into Lagos last week and I was half expecting to see water everywhere but Lagos was dry and it seemed people had moved past the floods and the loss of lives and property. The last time I was in town, school children would sing ‘rain rain go away’ when it began to pour and old folks would hum the lines to the old hymn ‘Showers of blessing’. Now once the sky turned a dark grey, people began to speak in tongues and beg God to preserve their property and lives and my gym instructor says more people are taking swimming lessons. Seems that instead of umbrellas, an insurance cover is the best sort of protection from the rain in Lagos. Maybe there was a reason planking was such a great fad, seems like that’s the sorta skill we need to be learning to stay afloat! The floods brought a sense of foreboding that returned with each drizzle and only the sun coming out again could clear the air. I got a Blackberry broadcast days ago warning about a tsunami forecasted to be hitting Accra, Lagos and PortHarcourt soon and panicked. If we couldn’t handle floods, we’d be like the Lost City of Atlantis if a tsunami struck. The broadcast claimed it was reported on Al Jazeera but the news was as false as the lions escaping from the U.I zoo. Thank heavens! Our people say the cow way no get tail, na God dey pursue the flies. May the souls of those who died in the floods rest in peace!

I had a fabulous weekend with my girl R, catching up on eachother’s lives, trading spicy man-gist while sitting with an orgasmic cheesecake at Ice cream factory and it was heaven as always and while I was at it, I spotted a Lagos celeb and began mentally comparing his photos to his real life persona, meanwhile my friend was sizing up his hands. I didn’t realize this was going on till she commented that he was lacking in the trouser department and was obviously a nervous and narcissistic person. I choked on my hokey pokey icecream and stared at her in horror. After verifying that she hadn’t colored with him, I asked her how she knew such scandalous info about this near stranger and she said she had looked at his hands. According to R, a man’s hands said it all. If his thumbs were small, so was his package, if his nails were very short, he was a nervous person (guess biting his nails had to do with that) and if his hands were small, he was narcissistic. I laughed so hard cos I did think privately that he was a Nigerian Johnny Bravo. 🙂 While still giggling about that, my friend C changed his BB status to ‘You can tell a girl’s hustle by looking at her legs’. I immediately pinged him to ask what exactly my legs said to him…the answer has been censored… 😉 Seems our body parts say more about us than we’d want to. A woman’s nails speak volumes of her cleanliness and a man’s feet whisper more tales about his package. Wonder who funded all this research? 🙂 Anyway ladies, the next time you meet a hot, new guy, be sure to ask him to show you his hands but remember that it’s not the size of the fish that matters but how well he can swim in the ocean. 😉

How I’d missed Lasgidi, so many things had changed since the last time I was around. Lagosians are no longer afraid of LASTMA. Surprise, surprise! Reminds me of a father who kept flogging his son till one day the son learnt to ‘chest’ it and stretched his hand out defiantly to collect his koboko… and they’d even learnt to do that and still keep their money in their wallets. And has anyone noticed the circus on Lagos roads these days? First we had mopo and yellow fever, then in came Lastma and now we have VIO and some other uniformed peeps. Everyone demanding respect, particulars and egunje. Feels like an owambe with different officers in their various aso-ebi demanding attention and exacerbating the Lagos traffic! Had to part with a thousand naira when my cab man was apprehended for not having a particular license and the guy was in tears as he hadn’t a kobo on him…Lagos, only the strong survive.

On a closing note, we slept in July and woke up in August! Happy new month peeps, let’s take out the clutter of dreams unfulfilled, broken promises, relationships going nowhere, procastination and ideas put on hold and embrace a new month and a fresh new start. Have a great day peeps…xoxoxo 😉

 
20 Comments

Posted by on August 1, 2011 in Hall of Fame, Uncategorized

 

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Don’t love me with slaps!!!

  I just googled ‘windeck’ the title of the Cabo Snoop hit song and it means ‘sex’ *scream! Did i actually promise to make a 2 second sex video for my fans if I win? Course not! Paris Hilton I am not!!! 😉

I got a shocking blackberry broadcast this morning about some dude killing his wife 5 days ago. Heaven knows why on earth I got the news so many days late since some of the contacts on my BB are self-proclaimed CNN reporters abi na WikiLeaks?!! They somehow manage to be at all places at once. Informing us about police fights in Mushin and Agbero fights in Bauchi at the same time! Anyway this broadcast was very different because it not only carried the news of Titilayo’s demise but a picture of her husband grinning menacingly at her on the wedding day! Also there was a note attached to it about domestic violence and that got me thinking…

When I was younger I used to think stories like that only happened to poor people living in face me, I face you apartments cos every time Frank Olize’s Newsline reported a gruesome story such as this, it was always in that setting but Titilayo (May her soul rest in peace) was a Lagos girl and worked at Skye Bank, I imagine she did the same things we did and gave her man the same dose of shakara that we all have given our significant others so why is she six feet under while we are going about our daily business doing the same old s**t? It hardly seems fair! How does a sane prince charming morph into an unrestrained beast? One who not only stabbed his wife to death but took delight in cutting off parts of her body, parts that probably attracted him to her in the first place. What could she possibly have done to deserve this? Reports say her parents warned her about him but hey, everyone knows someone whose parents warned them about a certain man and they ain’t dead! Heck! My mama warned me about two of the men I dated and though mama turned out to have old people’s foresight, my heart was the only part of me scarred.

I look at the cute little boy sitting across from me in his mama’s laps. He has the cutest dimples in the world and he definitely will become a heart-stopper one day but will he be a Kolade? How can one tell? Some people blame it on dysfunctional families but hey, I know lots of men with family drama and they haven’t murdered anyone yet neither have their fathers. Could it be an evil spirit masked as blinding rage or a borderline case of schizophrenia? In those days parents would investigate families before giving out their daughters but nowadays if there’s money and prestige, mental stability and psychiatric history seem to be pushed aside. Could Titilayo have cheated on him and if she did was that enough reason? How many signs did she ignore while they were dating? How many times did she forget a hot slap after a reaffirmation of his undying love?

I can relate with domestic violence because I was hit by a guy once. We’ll call him K. He’d been on my case and I’d been giving him the regular UNILAG girl shakara, one day we got into an argument late at night while walking down the street of my house and he flipped and threw me slaps that made me see stars yet undiscovered. He pushed me on the floor kicking and cursing like I was a lifeless sack of garri. I screamed, I begged, I tried to run and I fought back but it was a lonely road, he was high on weed (a later discovery) and I was on my own. An hour later (nose almost broken), he had calmed down sufficiently and with tears in his eyes, threatened to jump into the silent lagoon because he knew he had lost me. The irony of the matter was that while my insides were screaming bloody murder and ordering all the mammy waters not to have mercy on him when he jumped in, I mustered all the energy I had left into an audible plea. I was actually begging him. I reasoned that if his body was found floating in the Lagoon, I would be charged with murder even though I was innocent. He walked me to my house giving me strict orders to put ice packs on my swollen face and not let my family see me till the morning. I barely made it to my house. Now little did he know that my family is close knit and akin to the Italian mafia. By morning my neighbourhood was crawling with police and he was on the run. Some days later, he checked himself voluntarily into Yaba Left. I heard that he had abused every one of his ex-girlfriends yet each of them had dated him for years at a time. I wondered what would make a woman stay in a relationship while a man got his kicks off punching her.

Over the years I have heard stories of women who have lived with violent men, some getting maimed, others long dead. They stayed cos of their children, they stayed cos they couldn’t live with the shame of a failed marriage. Who is taking care of the children of the deceased now? Who is paying the hospital bills of the battered wife? My friend W said she stayed in an abusive relationship for years because when he was not abusing her, he was the kindest, sweetest, most generous man alive. It makes me remember Eminem and Rihanna’s song; ‘Love the way you lie’, I love that song but no one should willingly be in a relationship that burns them to the ground. My friend became a bully after a while, taking out her aggression on course mates and room mates and beating them up at the slightest provocation. Some people would have envied her for having such a devoted boyfriend but only her inner caucus knew about the stone in her shoe. Thankfully today she is with a good man who may have faults but would never raise his hand to hit her.

When I first started dating, my mum gave me two nuggets of wisdom. First of all, she said; ‘Never manage a boyfriend, because he will do much worse as a husband’ and secondly, ‘Before you commit to a man, make sure you know the limits of his temper’. Yes once in a while, you can find me provoking an otherwise sleeping lion (aka boyfriend) just to see if he bites. Many times it isn’t intentional, PMS ensures it happens often enough! Marriage may hold surprises but we don’t want our jack-in-the-box to be a coffin!

So what to look out for in a man….(I know it can be hard to spot an abusive man when love blinds our eyes)

-He pushes too far, too fast, planning your future together right away. (The relationship moves forward very fast. Abusive men woo as fast as they can. They know that they can’t sustain consistent good behaviour for very long)

-He hates his mother and is nasty to her.

-He wants your undivided attention at all times and it is mandatory.

-He must always be in charge. (Overly controlling and always wants things to go the way he wants them to go).

-He always has to win.

-He breaks promises all the time.

-He can’t take criticism and always justifies his actions. (He makes excuses to justify his behavior or actions instead of feeling sorry).

-He blames someone else for anything that goes wrong. (Denies every single mistake and refuses to claim responsibility for his actions).

-He’s jealous of your close friends, family members, and all other men. (He can always find reasons for not spending time with your friends and family and he may try to discourage you from spending time with them also.)

-He always asks you where you went and whom you saw. (Uncontrollably jealous and extremely possessive).

-He has extreme highs and lows that are unpredictable. (Mood swings and Bi-polar behaviour)

-He has a mean temper. He starts fights and always wants to bicker and start conflict with others.

-He often says you don’t know what you’re talking about. (Invades your personal space and treats you without respect).

-He makes you feel like you’re not good enough. (He’s not happy to accept you the way you are and  reminds you regularly what a wonderful guy he is and how lucky you are to have him)

-He withdraws his love or approval as punishment and destroys objects around you, especially those that are dear to you when angry.

-He pushes you to do things that make you feel uneasy, like taking the day off from work or even breaking the law.

– His vulnerability may appeal to you. (You might find yourself saying: “he just needs someone to really, really love him (and heal his pain.) Why does it need to be you? Feeling sorry for someone is no basis for a loving, equal relationship.)

– He expects a big return on his investments. (He may seem happy to put your needs and wishes first for a little while, but it won’t be long before he starts saying: “Look at everything I do for you. You should be doing X, Y and Z for me.”)

– All the women who he’s had relationships with in the past didn’t understand him and let him down or behaved badly and he admits to hurting and attacking a woman in the past but blames that person for making him do it.

– There are areas of his life he refuses to talk about.

– He’s got a history of alcohol and/or drug abuse, and possibly violence.

– When you first meet him, there’s something about him that you don’t like. If you choose not to trust your intuition, you’ll probably pay for it. Big time.

–  He’s all sweet with you, but he acts differently with other people. (Rest assured that, with time, you’ll become ‘other people’.)

– There are times when his behaviour leaves you feeling like you’re dealing with someone you don’t even know.

– He exhibits low self-esteem.

– He is unable to identify and express emotions in the right way and shows it by being angry with you when he is angry with somebody else.

– He lies to you constantly and plays with your emotions in any way possible such as calling you names, degrading your being, ignoring your emotions, depreciating your achievements, insults you in front of others and poisons your mind with constant bad-mouthing and threats.

– He is cruel to animals and weaker people.

– He forces you to have sex even when you are ill.

– He has an over bearing, aggressive personality which you have mistaken for confidence and he is a control freak.

If you have any doubts that your partner may be, or may become, abusive, take the relationship slowly and listen to the advice of friends and family whose judgement you can trust. If you don’t like what they say and find yourself replying: “But you don’t understand. He’s not like that…”, the chances are, you’re wrong and they’re right.

For one woman (Titilayo), it is too late. She will never hear the birds sing or the wind in the trees or more appropriately the horns blaring in Lagos traffic! She loved a man, she gave her all and he repaid her with death! May she find rest for her soul. I sympathize with her family and friends.

Dear reader, it is not too late to get out of that abusive relationship!

Men please take note, women can be abusive too! I guess the reports are less because it’s far more embarrassing. Pele dear but if you are in that situation run for dear life oh cos women have been known to murder their better halves!

Please treat your wife like the delicate flower that she is…whether she’s a rose or a wall flower!

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Have a great day peeps…xoxoxo 😉

 
7 Comments

Posted by on June 29, 2011 in Relationships

 

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Bele!

  21, 22, 23, 24……..her phone rings and interrupts her tummy squelching sit-ups. ‘No sir, I am not having sex, I’m breathless because I’m doing exercises…’

She looks at the tummy, if one can call it that. Tummies are supposed to be flat and toned like the girls on MTV not folding like a towel at Transcorp Hilton or jiggly like Shakira doing her thing. This one is definitely a bele! She holds her breath and sucks it in, it looks good from the front but from the side, she looks like she is pouring a drink offering to the god of gluttony! What d’hell?

25, 26, 27, 28…..she remembers the mountain of eba she ate, damn! Washing it down with a bottle of small stout was a bad idea. 29, 30….and that tub of icecream Moses bought her. The guy was unbelievable! He liked his women endowed with big succulent boobs and an ass that could only be described as idi-araba! Yet he wanted her waist as small as the elastic band on his boxers and her stomach as flat as his flat screen plasma. Had he not seen her mother’s bele before he toasted her? How she wished her tummy was as flat as the girls she sometimes caught his eyes eagerly scoping like vultures circling their next meal. He had better know that a big stomach was a great cushion for his head after a long day and he could always pretend it was a 3rd breast! Men were so hard to please….31, 32, 33, 34….she remembered the size of Moses’s gut and chuckled. Did he think she didn’t want her very own real life Denzel? Hian! He called it a sign of good living, she called it one nkwobi-beer combo too many! She was sure he had forgotten how the regions below his belly looked and she sniggered every time he pushed his car seat back to create room for his investment! 😉 35, 36, 37….what would she wear for that party oh?! She groaned as memories of her last shopping expedition came to mind. What were those New york designers thinking when they left little or no space for plus sized tummies? She had struggled into ill-fitting dress after ill-fitting dress, looking for the dress that would make her look like the sex godess she was and had only conceded to buy the black chiffon gown when the frustrated attendant, threatened to bring her dresses from the maternity section. She wasn’t fat, goodness no she was only endowed in one place too many!

38, 39, 40, 41….The truth was she had been proud of her pot belly, flaunting it in bikinis and wiggling it like a belly dancer when the beat allowed. She could’ve sworn the men who pursued her were attracted to that round soft belly. She boasted to the skinny girls with abs that Picasso and the great artists of old, only painted women with tummies like hers. Yes, she considered herself a masterpiece. Her perception of her body image hadn’t changed but now she found herself conforming to the almost completely westernized culture that had become the rule book dictating her people’s perception of beauty. The doctors said her large gut wasn’t healthy, well she’d inherited it from her grandma who had eaten okporoko till she was eighty eight! She counted to 50 and stopped. Glistening with sweat and breathless, she glanced at her tummy hoping to see it had shrunk an inch or so but alas it was all there, defiant like a Niger-delta militant!

Puuuush she cried, inhaling deeply as she tried to force herself into the corseted dress she had chosen to punish herself with. Even after all the exercise, her tummy refused to be bullied into smaller confines. Puuush! Still no luck, with beads of sweat on her forehead and panting like she’d run a mile, she threw her hands up in defeat!

Was it her fault that amala and eba were staple foods in nigeria? Was it her fault that her tummy decided staying unnoticed was a crime against humanity? What did her gym instructors with their perfect little bodies know about true beauty? She may not be able to wear a belly ring that would peek through the folds but which of those non-existent tummies would support the native beads grandma had made just for her? Why would she consider a tummy tuck or liposuction when others had died trying to do wuruwuru to the answer?! She was an african woman abeg! Built like a rock, made to last. She didn’t have freckles and she never turned pink. She could wake up at dawn to feed her family, keep three jobs and still have enough energy to pound yam and pound her husband all in a day’s job.

That bele of hers looked good in a blouse and wrapper and proudly provided support for her breasts with or without a bra. Her husband found it easy to spot her in a crowd and could beat his chest and exclaim that his wife was well taken care of. Yes a big belly wasn’t fashion forward but it didn’t make her any less of a woman. She was a proud african woman with skin like an oil-painting, a backside like a station wagon, breasts like talking drums and a belly like the oba’s palace. She was beautiful, every stretch mark and cellulite telling a wonderous tale. She was groomed to weather any storm, a maiden fit for kings and she’d give you a run for your money anyday. Bele or no bele, she was on fire! 😉

…for all the authentic african women out there, you are perfect just the way you are!!! Have a lovely day peeps, xoxoxoxo 😉

 
10 Comments

Posted by on June 5, 2011 in Hall of Fame, Uncategorized

 

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#Dear Future Husband

 My one&only husby,

I’m hoping you read this but even if I haven’t met you, I know I will soon. We’ve all been waiting for you for a while now. What’s keeping you? Was your flight delayed or are you too busy making our millions? My aunties keep asking, my mum keeps praying and even my father has a look in his eyes these days like “Oh girl, how far? Wetin dey happen?” I used to tell them you were on the next bus coming into town but then I realised that my future husband would have a car and not just one of those that went toh-toh-toh with thick exhaust fumes and body-odor laced wind-conditioning. Also he would not be a johnny-just-come so brothers in the village or who recently moved to town please do not see me in a vision or ask pastor about me.

My dear husband, tribe is not important but surnames are important. I don’t want our kids teased in school. If you cannot pronounce your own surname without gulping air, I suggest you get a new one. Also if your parents named your nephew Victory-over-satan or Hygienius please inform them that they will not be naming our kids. I heard about a woman whose Mother-in-law gave her kids horrible tribal marks while she was at work. May I inform you that if that ever happens, I will sue! I want bright kids so if you are an average-joe, I suggest you up your game and get a Ph.D so you don’t have to lie to your children that you came first in school.

Smelly, hairy arm-pits are disgusting, I want to be able to smell your pheromones without choking. I like CK euphoria, please make it your primary scent, especially when you want me to give you some after a long day…it makes me all warm inside! I hope you are not one of those men who don’t flush toilets. Your shit ain’t one of the seven wonders of the world and I couldn’t care less if it took you ten minutes to get it out. I will not applaud the feat and the sooner it’s forgotten the better for us all. If in your single days, you and your friends thought it amusing to entertain yourselves with fart of different sounds, duration and concentrations, please note that I am royalty and such behaviour will be severely frowned at. Boxers should not be recycled unless I am out of town! Any funky smell whatsoever would land you sleeping on the couch! And if you think an Al Qaeda beard or a body hairy like a bear is cool or you have to wear boxers a size larger to accommodate all the hair in there and you think it is sexy, then obviously you must have used jazz to get me and I must warn you that my mother is a pastor and I will not visit you in Yaba-left when you finally go mad as punishment for casting a smell um I mean spell upon me!

Now I’ll be second wife to only one entity, football. Not because I’m so crazy about the game but because I figure you can’t cheat and watch football at the same time. So your attachment to your team is inversely proportional to your straying. Yes, about straying…I know you’ll be a CEO or a senior manager one day but my dear husband, female secretaries and PA’s with boobs are a no-no. I also don’t think a house girl is ideal but since I don’t want a house boy molesting my girls, I’m considering hiring a 42 year old female day time house-keeper. Not that I don’t trust you boo but nobody leaves meat around for the dogs to learn self-control with. Also if we are driving by or surrounded by women, I expect you to have tunnel-vision and I should be the only light at the end of your tunnel. I’ll ask you if I’m hotter than Halle Berry every once in a while and knowing how smart and peace-loving the man I married is, his answer will always be an enthusiastic ‘Yes!’.
You are allowed to enjoy your beer though I will not tolerate drunken displays, you are no longer a teenager. If you come home late at night with stale beer-breath and expect me to kiss you without throwing up in your mouth, please make use of the Listerine in the bathroom before any amorous attempts. I do not condone smoking and I can sniff out cigarette smoke a mile away. I really don’t care about it killing your lungs, you are an adult and if you choose to make me a widow early in life, that’s your choice but permit me to remarry. The reason I will not stand you smoking around me is that secondary smokers die first, so if you plan to kill me off, do it in a more ingenious way rather than making me die a long painful death in cancer’s cold grip!
Please be warned that my uncle’s an AIG and so if you are presently a swindler, yahoo-boy or gambler I will hand you over to him without remorse and never bring you food or come see you in jail. I cannot have police coming to my house with search warrants. Have you seen a house after the police search it? It takes days to get it back in order not to mention the neighbors’ gossip. We are a good christian family and I’d like to keep it that way, who knows you may be deacon one day!

Where staying out late is concerned, please make sure you take your key and if you expect any late night loving or a listening ear for your alcohol-induced excited chatter, please come home before midnight. When we argue please do not storm out of the house. Be warned that I’d have locked the door prior to a fight if I notice you are one of those men who run when mad. I don’t want you driving into a tree and killing yourself before I have a chance to apologize and tell you how much I love you. I hear you men like to storm off and head to a beer-parlor where you can drink your beer and calm yourself down when angry. Well honey, there’ll be beer in the fridge and we have a parlor, I won’t intrude, knock yourself out! Please remember that we are on the same team and that the sun must not go down on our anger. Please always remember to fight fair. I will not call you names or bring up a list of your past faults and I don’t expect you to do so either. Also do not under any circumstances hit me or even push me. I am your woman and I bruise easily. I know I did not marry a coward cos what other sort of man would hit a woman? Remember I may be irrational, impulsive and impatient sometimes but you are still my protector. Don’t make me learn karate!!!

Please do not be a one to three-minute-man. I will not fake the big ‘O’ so that you know when exactly you are not getting it right. I will try most things but draw the line at bizarre. I know men are useless after *** but please muster up enough strength after I tire you out to cuddle me and call me those beautiful names that make me blush before you doze of and try not to snore, it ruins it for me and keeps me tossing and turning hours after you’ve made your grand entry into dreamland.

I will cook any and everything for you as I am an accomplished cook and I know that being a reasonable man, you will not err as long as I keep your tummy, ego and junior well satisfied but I would prefer you didn’t send me to the kitchen to make fufu, starch or groundnut soup. If you have a strong affiliation for those foods that cannot be satisfied with pounded yam and banga soup or eba and edikainkong or semo and egusi soup, I suggest we visit your mother from time to time so you can suck breast but much as I hate the above listed food, I will cook them all day, every day to keep my home. If you ever think the money you give me for food is too much, please know that you will be accompanying me to the market on my next trip for a feasibility study!

Please don’t think that because I haven’t listed the usual ‘ten things I want in a man’, I do not require them. I want a man who stands up for me, one who defends me 100% in public even if he’ll chastise me in private. I want a man who massages me after a long day and doesn’t think it unheard of to give me breakfast in bed more than once a year since I’ll be pampering him 363 days in a year. I want a man who knows how to handle my PMS in a compassionate and kind manner and is patient with my imperfections. I must warn you that I will not be a ‘Stepford-wife’ and I will get on your every last nerve once in a while but I will love you unconditionally, pray for you unfailingly, trust you implicitly, worry about you when you are sick, share all your burdens, take care of our children, stay awake till you come home at night, stay faithful even when you have a gut the size of china and need viagra the same way you need water and still be your number one fan. I’m your woman and I cannot wait for the first day of the rest of our lives….

Come quick!

Yours sincerely,
Wifey!

P.S: I wonder how much DHL will charge to find you and deliver this letter. Have a lovely night my husband, your unborn children say wassup…xoxoxo 😉

 
62 Comments

Posted by on May 23, 2011 in Hall of Fame, Relationships

 

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Sober reflections…

     It hurts. I blink back the tears as I struggle to type the words, conscious of the strangers in my office. I try hard not to sniffle, it takes all my concentration to breathe steadily. My chest tightens and I curse inside as my mascara begins to run. “I am a professional, I can handle this, I just need to get through the day”. I mutter those words over and over, my new mantra. I will the mantra to come alive and give me the energy I need. It’s been a week since the phone call. Everyday a new mantra gets me by, every night I think, toss and turn. The alarm clock tells me it’s morning again and I wonder if I slept at all.

I decided to listen to music today on my way to work, my friend B always said Sade Adu, Cold play and Tracy Chapman was the best breakup combo. They helped me nurse my pain, I’d have been better off listening to some hardcore rock band. I think mascara and liquid liner will be a no no till I’ve nursed myself back to health. I reach out for the half-opened can of coke on the dash board and take a sip. P’s face floats before my eyes, he is warning me like he did the last time this happened. ”Don’t let yourself get fat, a broken heart is not an excuse to lose your hotness, don’t you wanna be looking all fly when you bump into him at a club, making him wish he’d stuck around?” I shake my head and the image disappears. I down the rest of the coke and promise myself no more after this. I reach for my bag to fish out my lip gloss and my hand touches the hard plastic of my gym membership card. I paid 12k for that, I think aloud. Gosh I wish I was like my friend A who abandons food every time a man abandons her, she survives on fanta and the occasional cigarette and sometimes shrinks to a size zero. Who am I kidding? I’d never be anything less than a size 10 but the thought of it brings a smile to my face, softening the hard lines and the world seems to smile with me.

I look up and my boss has been speaking to me, he has a quizzical look on his face. ”Are you alright? You seem to have been lost in space” I have menstrual pain I reply. God forgive me but that’s the oldest lie in my book. I like the way it curries sympathy from even the hardest men and makes them too embarrassed to challenge me. In my first year in med school, I’d woken up late for class after a night out clubbing. I scrambled to class only to be faced with deadly calm. There was a professor in class and he was one of those desperately trying to make a mark as a no-nonsense kinda man. His sharp eyes noticed me sneaking into class and he asked me to come on stage and tell the class why I was late. As I walked the walk of shame, 99 excuses flashed before my eyes, each one lamer than the next. I could hear my class mates giggling and murmuring and saw the looks of pity in the eyes of friends. I got on the stage and he actually gave me the mic, I looked at the class and in my most sober voice whispered….I had menstrual pain. The guy didn’t hear me the first time so he asked me to speak up and in a loud defiant voice with all the chutzpah I had, I announced that I had menstrual pain. The conservative lecturer looked so scandalized. He must have begged the floor to open up and offer him a place to hide. With obvious embarrassment, he shooed me off stage. I walked triumphantly back to my seat, even taking a seat beside my friends and I was a hero that day. I used that excuse a lot, later in life, to escape ward-rounds and tiresome call duties, to explain why I was late or wasn’t paying attention, to get a bit of attention and to chase away forward men hoping for some action. Funny thing is on the days I actually suffered the dreaded pain, I preferred to hide my pain and act normal. I’d always been a softie so attention and sympathy often provoked me to tears so to avoid breaking down, I created a facade. To the world I’m strongest when I’m most in pain. My friend J beefed me die. As a man he knew women had him by the balls every time they used that excuse and he threatened to invent a menses-detector. We are still waiting J! 😉

My boss took his leave and it wasn’t a moment too soon, my heart constricted in pain again and I cried out softly. Why couldn’t I erase that smile from my mind? Why did hell torment me with memories? I’d burned the pictures and deleted the messages, I’d erased him from my life the day he uttered those words; ”You are the woman I want to marry, not the woman I want to date. I am leaving you cos it isn’t fun for me anymore but I’ll be back one day”. Those words played over and over in my head. I never cared much for his choice of music but now I burst into tears every time a cheesy Nigerian song was played over the radio. I considered getting a rebound but I remembered all the ones I’d had in the past. There was A who was 2 yrs younger than me but made me laugh with all the poetry he’d write me and all the songs he dedicated to me. There was L who didn’t have a dime and enjoyed spending my money but gave me the loveliest compliments on earth. There was T who loved to cook and would prop me up in front of the TV and serve me great food. But rebounds were distractions. They made you smile, made you forget the pain, gave you hope, boosted your ego and mended your broken heart. Those were the job requirements and regardless of their CV, as long as they got the job done, they were hired and as would be expected, fired as soon as they outlived their usefulness. I wonder who mends the broken heart of a rebound?

I didn’t want a rebound. I wanted to nurse this pain, feel it burn in my bones and eat at my flesh, I wanted to gasp every time my heart painfully beat beneath my breast like the broken pieces were piercing into the rest of it. I wanted to stay awake each and every night tossing and turning killing myself with thoughts of him with another woman. Blaming myself, blaming him, blaming God, begging God. I wanted a miracle, I wanted reprieve. I wanted some sunshine on my cloudy day. I read the words of Tupac over and over….”You can spend minutes, hours, days, weeks or even months over-analyzing a situation: trying to put the pieces together, justifying what could’ve, would’ve happened….or you can just leave the pieces on the floor and move the fuck on!” I’ve always been a Biggie fan but of late, Tupac seems to speak to me. But was it so easy to leave the pieces on the floor? Obsessing over it had always been my game plan. It had taken me 8 months to get over the last one. Why were breakups like labor pain, no matter how many kids you’d birthed every time you went into labor you felt like a virgin! The big fat tears rolled down my cheeks again. My cheeks were fatter, I seriously needed to lay off the food but it all helped. I missed my friend R, he cured heartbreaks with a complimentary big bottle of Baileys and there was nothing quite like a cycle of crying-drinking-sleeping and crying again. The drinking phase got you happy and forgetful. No wonder men depended on alcohol to mend their hearts. But I’m lightheaded and for some reason this has been a very sober breakup…last time I drank, I went on twitter and sent him more DM’s than a twitter-virus. It beats drunk dialing but still leaves you embarrassed in the morning.

I don’t wanna numb the pain, I wanna feel. I wonder why after all the years of experience it all ends up being the same shit, different days…I pick up my blackberry and scroll through my pics. You are a hottie babe, you’ll make it through. I pick up my bible and my eyes happen to fall on Psalm 34:18 “The LORD is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit”. Suddenly I feel a rush of gratitude. I’m thankful for life, I’m thankful for friends, I’m thankful for family. I’m thankful I’m not one of the women featured in Zone Reality’s ‘Crimes of Passion’. I pause and try to imagine me committing the perfect crime. I snap out of my reverie, drama queen that I am, I’m a healer, not a killer besides the state of Nigerian prisons is enough to keep you on the right side of the law, always. My thoughts return to more reasons why I should be thankful…I’m thankful hearts heal, I’m thankful there are gyms and I’m thankful for a love that awaits me after the storm. I close my eyes and whisper ”Thank you” cos He’s right there, He never left, not even for a minute. It’s gonna be alright in the end….I fall into a contented sleep.

…For every person who has gone through the pain of separation. After the rain, the sun will shine again….it always does! Have a wonderful day peeps. Off to Lasgidi for a week and my my I can’t wait! xoxoxo 😉

 
14 Comments

Posted by on May 18, 2011 in Hall of Fame, Inspirational

 

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