Today I am angry. I am also always angry, but that is besides the point. I am typing this half undressed on my carpet in my room, an uncomfortable position I will maintain till I finish this. I need to vent, or I will cry hot tears of humiliation.
I got off the bus at my final destination and had hit two men in 3 minutes. The first one not as hard as desired. He was a passenger in an empty bus that almost hit me as I turned to leave the stop. I exclaimed at the reckless driving and the fact that I was a woman incensed Mr Shotgun so much he hit my neck. I can still feel the exact spot as I type this. It churns with mix of pain, anger and the fear of ebola. I smacked his arm in return. Not hard enough. He opened the door and got down and walked towards me. I wanted him to hit me again and let things take their course. I wanted us to end as usual, at a police station, I wanted to bribe, pull strings, do whatever to make sure he got his. They restrained him. They appealed to him with the same logic that endorsed his hitting me : 'you know she's a woman'. Stupid me you're thinking, well I would have preferred that to feeling helpless.
Not more than ten steps away, I was going through the line of parallel shops that is a shortcut to my street. Its entrance is filled with boys who sell DVDs, phones and phone accessories. A mini computer village. Yesterday I pinched a guy for touching me. Today, at that very spot a guy sitting there touched me, I didnt check to see that he didn't deserve my rage. I smacked him with the anger of a few minutes ago, yesterday and today. I walked the rest of the journey trembling and wishing someone else to dare and receive my full martial arts package.
What I did was foolhardy. I would probably have been hurt and scolded by everyone who loves me. Including a friend who suggested that perhaps taking the longer route was an issue of better quality of life, not me allowing others' idiocy to determine my freedom of movement. We are still debating it, partly because for the grump that he is, its amusing.
I react pretty much this way every time. And I get responses along these lines:
1 'Why is your blood hot? In just dey play with you
2 'Don't you know you're a woman?'
3 'You don't have home training'
4 'You tink sey na onle you fine?'
5 'You nor even happy sey den dey follow you play'
6 'Ashaawo! I go slap you now'
One day I came home after a particularly bad day to experience that kind of disrespectful jeering two houses from mine. They were a group of school boys younger than my younger brother. I was so frustrated I was crying. My older brother (whom I'd had a fight with among other things that day) said something to me that stuck.
'Do not let yourself be saddened because of the actions of other people who are stupid'
That worked, but not for long, not in this case.This is not just a case of stupidity. My dictionary; at least its first and most relevant meaning defines stupidity as:
"Lacking in intelligence or exhibiting the quality of having been done by someone lacking in intelligence."
I fear the cap doesn't fit. They aren't doing this because they don't know better. This would imply such knowledge would change them. No.
IT IS CLEAR CUT BULLYING. Confidence in the fact that they are physically stronger and able to harass as they desire.
IT IS NOT ADMIRATION. You are not singled out because of your looks, or even anything more than a fleeting interest in watching you squirm, or whatever way you react which they find comical.
IT IS NOT IGNORANCE as much as NONCHALANCE. They are not interested in knowing, laughably less being concerned by such a thing as the concept of personal space.
IT IS, MOST PAINFULLY, OBJECTIFICATION. Whether you are wearing a hijab or short shorts, going to my street, or Yaba market, or anywhere at all; the mere deduction that you have a vagina qualifies you as a thing to amuse themselves with. Like a baby, only in much more denigrating, dehumanizing ways. You are not a woman in a relationship, a mother, or career woman. You are not the person who had a good day at work or is observing her youth service or is struggling to pay your way through school. You are only in that moment, nothing but 'woman' and can only be treated as human by the validation of a man being with you. This is the streets.
I don't get so angry because they are of a 'lower class' or illiterates, or not attractive, or I am proud. I get angry because of the sense of entitlement society allows another human to have to me .Because I don't want the mix of shame and anger at the way my body tenses up and I'm on the lookout for lunges to dodge when I'm passing two or more men.
I get angry because I don't want to think of what may happen if I happen to be alone with these guys in a room; but I do. I get angry because the freedom and decision to associate with certain members of the other sex is taken from me when they rudely force themselves into my physical awareness. It is mine!
I am 'human' before 'woman', 'somebody' before 'somebody's' sister, wife or girlfriend'. I get angry because I just want to walk in peace, the streets are mine, too.
At some point, we realize that our race to find answers, proliferates the questions.
Thursday, July 17, 2014
Thursday, May 22, 2014
C'EST FINIS!
Its been two weeks now and I could confidently write one of those hell is real books. I had been holding out hope that it would stop when we got back to Nigeria but it didn’t. Yesterday he wouldn’t let me go in the bathroom because she was in there; I’d had to use the visitor’s bathroom. The panic had set in . I had been able to avoid everyone but very soon we would have to go to social functions. What do I do when he starts displaying in public? He kept on talking about forgiving me for what I did. What could he know?
Went to my place today to pick some things up. I drove there and opened the door. I hadn’t slept there since that night. I sat on my bed and thought of the nightmare my life had become. The man to whom I was married, who I was pregnant for,would not taste food I had cooked till a ghost checked the salt for him. Lola would giggle. I wasn’t sure how much she knew about what was happening.
I’d been crying all week, but here in the comfort of my home I wept. Not the photogenic tears-running-down-your face kind. The one where you scream and make strange noises and slam your fist into your mouth, not to silence yourself, but to distract yourself with a different pain. I’d been belting out the wails for an hour when my phone rang. It wasn’t a number I recognized. I picked. Dede.
“What do you want?" I hissed
“Are you okay, can I come in?” he answered
Fantastic.
The devil was at my door.
------------------------------------------------
This time I covered my face as she opened the door. Twice slapped, twice sharp.
"Leave me alone, what more do you want?"
She sounded funny. I dropped my hands to see she was crying. Had been for a while. Pretty face all swollen.
“Why are you still stalking me?”
“I need to talk to you, but first tell me what makes a married woman cry so hard when she should still be in the honey moon phase. You missed me?”
The look on her face shut me up.
“Lara, I know what I did was selfish. I saw you that day and I couldn’t picture you with anybody else. I knew you were gone, but it was like I needed to re-assure myself, that I even ever had. I don’t know what having sex was going to prove, but it was ….”
I trailed off and began again.
“I’m sorry for my selfishness, but I want nothing more in this moment, than to be there for you, to be you friend. Erm… speaking of friends, is Wendy coming?”
She cut me off.
“My husband is mad”
I didn’t quite understand.
“He's upset? He found out? Oh my God!”
“Mad Femi. He sees the ghost of his wife”
My throat dried up. "A-a-ass-as in the Yaba left type? ”
I suddenly felt cold. We boys had joked about things like this. Teasing each other, that the boyfriend of one the babes we chased would use juju on us. Chei na who send me come here o! She started telling me the stories.
---------------------------------------------
I sat there holding her, listening and trying not to look like a bitch ass. But oh boy, I felt the ice cold grip of fear on balls. From here, I’m heading straight to my parents. My mama nor be MFM for notin. I wished this was just some prank. But she wouldn’t be crying this hard. And she had no idea I was going to come here.
“Calm down, it will be fine.”
The words sounded empty to even me. So I just held her till the sobbing stopped. Then she fell asleep.
What have I done?
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
I woke disoriented with strange arms around me. Dede
“How long have I been out?”
“An hour”, he said.
“I have to go now”
He could see my reluctance. Not because I wanted to be with him, but because anywhere was better than where I was going.
“Lara, I’m not asking you to do anything rash, I’m not trying to be selfish. But I need you to know that I’m ready to do whatever I can. If you need a friend to talk to, a place to stay, whatever it is, I’m here.”
He meant it, and although I’ll never take him up on the offer, I was grateful. I drove home but couldn’t go in. After sitting in the car for about thirty minutes, I started the ignition again, and went to see my best friend.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Wendy listened with increased anger.
“So something like this was happening to you and you’ll be sending me smiley on BBM.”
“I didn’t know what to do”
“You’re shooting your show tomorrow abi? You can’t sleep there tonight. Tell me what you need and I’ll go get it for you”
I couldn’t argue.
“What will you tell Femi?”
“Leave Femi to me”
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
I heard the key turning in the lock. She was home.
“We’ve been expecting you”, I called out.
“Oh shut up Femi”. That wasn’t Lara.
Wendy came into the living room
“Taste the food for you? Really? You couldn’t even edit the line?”
I remembered Wendy was a Nollywood buff.
Game over.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
I had a peaceful sleep for once in a long time. I’d been asleep by the time Wendy got back and I left early for the studio the next morning. I had made up my mind I was going to come clean to Femi. And if he wanted to leave me for his ghost, fine. My guest today was Tonto Dike. The studio was filled to capacity.
“Good morning, my name is Lara Yusuf, and this is Lara’s lounge. We have a very controversial guest today, but before I bring her in, there’s something I’d like to say. As you all know, I got married recently….”
I heard Esey’s voice.
“What are you doing?” then sounds of a scuffle, and Femi’s voice in my head set.
“Don’t do it. I know already. There is no ghost. We’ll talk after the show.”
What the hell was going on? I wondered.
“Out loud I said, I just want to let my husband know that whether in heaven or hell. I’d still like to be there with him.” I smiled and continued.
Immediately after I was done, I rushed home where my husband told me everything. How he’d followed me home that day, seen a movie on Africa magic and decide to torment me with it. How disappointed he was that despite torturing me I didn’t come clean. How Wendy had recognized the lines he used from a movie last night. I told him how it was all a stupid mistake and we both cried. We were a long way from resolution, but ready for the journey.
************************************************
ONE YEAR LATER
LARA
I am married to the sweetest man alive. Femi has been so supportive. I know he’s hurting, but it hasn’t made him any less of a husband. My baby girl is 6 months old now. She’s the cutest baby ever. Lola is obsessed with her. She can’t understand why we won’t let her carry ‘my baby’ as she calls her.
DEDE
I got a message from Lara today to meet at bottoms up. Little strange for her to be asking to meet up after all this while, at a bar no less. I had been here for an hour now. I wonder what this was all about. The dust had settled and we’d both moved on for good. I called her but it kept saying she was unavailable and I could leave a voice call. Airtel. I finally did. “ Lara wassup? I’ve been waiting here for an hour now? Where are you?”
I finally got up to leave. I needed to pee first. I walked in to the urinal and began. I heard a muffled sound as something hit me. I felt oddly numb. Then I saw blood on the floor beneath me. I realized it was coming from my chest as I fell to the floor. I saw a guy from the bar standing above me, gun pointed at my head to finish what he’d started.
FEMI
Live with someone you get to know them pretty well. That included stuff like phone passwords. A text from Lara’s phone to Dede’s asking to meet; deleted immediately after sending of course, took care of intent.
Mobile banking passwords: three transfers from the account that was in my name but she operated, five hundred thousand naira, 1 million naira, then 1.5 million naira to Dede’s business account. She herself admitted on questioning that she was the one who operated the account and I didn’t know the password to it. She couldn’t even remember the transactions or so she said. The things a well motivated yahoo boy can do. That took care of motive; blackmail.
Dede was not found immediately so time of death couldn't be established. But somewhere after his voice call to Lara which was retrieved, there was a message draft in his text inbox to his mother, telling her that he was meeting Lara and didn't know what would happen after. Typed in by the assassin I paid of course, but then again, only saint Dede knew that. That, along with the fact that I was obviously too dumbly in love with my wife to be capable of anything other than a Nollywood prank, well that took care of reasonable doubt. My lovely wife was sentenced to life in prison.
Looking forward to the rest of my life. We all know women are suckers for men who have 'been through so much'.
Thanks for reading, do share with a friend, and please drop your comments, the feedback would very useful :)
Went to my place today to pick some things up. I drove there and opened the door. I hadn’t slept there since that night. I sat on my bed and thought of the nightmare my life had become. The man to whom I was married, who I was pregnant for,would not taste food I had cooked till a ghost checked the salt for him. Lola would giggle. I wasn’t sure how much she knew about what was happening.
I’d been crying all week, but here in the comfort of my home I wept. Not the photogenic tears-running-down-your face kind. The one where you scream and make strange noises and slam your fist into your mouth, not to silence yourself, but to distract yourself with a different pain. I’d been belting out the wails for an hour when my phone rang. It wasn’t a number I recognized. I picked. Dede.
“What do you want?" I hissed
“Are you okay, can I come in?” he answered
Fantastic.
The devil was at my door.
------------------------------------------------
This time I covered my face as she opened the door. Twice slapped, twice sharp.
"Leave me alone, what more do you want?"
She sounded funny. I dropped my hands to see she was crying. Had been for a while. Pretty face all swollen.
“Why are you still stalking me?”
“I need to talk to you, but first tell me what makes a married woman cry so hard when she should still be in the honey moon phase. You missed me?”
The look on her face shut me up.
“Lara, I know what I did was selfish. I saw you that day and I couldn’t picture you with anybody else. I knew you were gone, but it was like I needed to re-assure myself, that I even ever had. I don’t know what having sex was going to prove, but it was ….”
I trailed off and began again.
“I’m sorry for my selfishness, but I want nothing more in this moment, than to be there for you, to be you friend. Erm… speaking of friends, is Wendy coming?”
She cut me off.
“My husband is mad”
I didn’t quite understand.
“He's upset? He found out? Oh my God!”
“Mad Femi. He sees the ghost of his wife”
My throat dried up. "A-a-ass-as in the Yaba left type? ”
I suddenly felt cold. We boys had joked about things like this. Teasing each other, that the boyfriend of one the babes we chased would use juju on us. Chei na who send me come here o! She started telling me the stories.
---------------------------------------------
I sat there holding her, listening and trying not to look like a bitch ass. But oh boy, I felt the ice cold grip of fear on balls. From here, I’m heading straight to my parents. My mama nor be MFM for notin. I wished this was just some prank. But she wouldn’t be crying this hard. And she had no idea I was going to come here.
“Calm down, it will be fine.”
The words sounded empty to even me. So I just held her till the sobbing stopped. Then she fell asleep.
What have I done?
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
I woke disoriented with strange arms around me. Dede
“How long have I been out?”
“An hour”, he said.
“I have to go now”
He could see my reluctance. Not because I wanted to be with him, but because anywhere was better than where I was going.
“Lara, I’m not asking you to do anything rash, I’m not trying to be selfish. But I need you to know that I’m ready to do whatever I can. If you need a friend to talk to, a place to stay, whatever it is, I’m here.”
He meant it, and although I’ll never take him up on the offer, I was grateful. I drove home but couldn’t go in. After sitting in the car for about thirty minutes, I started the ignition again, and went to see my best friend.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Wendy listened with increased anger.
“So something like this was happening to you and you’ll be sending me smiley on BBM.”
“I didn’t know what to do”
“You’re shooting your show tomorrow abi? You can’t sleep there tonight. Tell me what you need and I’ll go get it for you”
I couldn’t argue.
“What will you tell Femi?”
“Leave Femi to me”
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
I heard the key turning in the lock. She was home.
“We’ve been expecting you”, I called out.
“Oh shut up Femi”. That wasn’t Lara.
Wendy came into the living room
“Taste the food for you? Really? You couldn’t even edit the line?”
I remembered Wendy was a Nollywood buff.
Game over.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
I had a peaceful sleep for once in a long time. I’d been asleep by the time Wendy got back and I left early for the studio the next morning. I had made up my mind I was going to come clean to Femi. And if he wanted to leave me for his ghost, fine. My guest today was Tonto Dike. The studio was filled to capacity.
“Good morning, my name is Lara Yusuf, and this is Lara’s lounge. We have a very controversial guest today, but before I bring her in, there’s something I’d like to say. As you all know, I got married recently….”
I heard Esey’s voice.
“What are you doing?” then sounds of a scuffle, and Femi’s voice in my head set.
“Don’t do it. I know already. There is no ghost. We’ll talk after the show.”
What the hell was going on? I wondered.
“Out loud I said, I just want to let my husband know that whether in heaven or hell. I’d still like to be there with him.” I smiled and continued.
Immediately after I was done, I rushed home where my husband told me everything. How he’d followed me home that day, seen a movie on Africa magic and decide to torment me with it. How disappointed he was that despite torturing me I didn’t come clean. How Wendy had recognized the lines he used from a movie last night. I told him how it was all a stupid mistake and we both cried. We were a long way from resolution, but ready for the journey.
************************************************
ONE YEAR LATER
LARA
I am married to the sweetest man alive. Femi has been so supportive. I know he’s hurting, but it hasn’t made him any less of a husband. My baby girl is 6 months old now. She’s the cutest baby ever. Lola is obsessed with her. She can’t understand why we won’t let her carry ‘my baby’ as she calls her.
DEDE
I got a message from Lara today to meet at bottoms up. Little strange for her to be asking to meet up after all this while, at a bar no less. I had been here for an hour now. I wonder what this was all about. The dust had settled and we’d both moved on for good. I called her but it kept saying she was unavailable and I could leave a voice call. Airtel. I finally did. “ Lara wassup? I’ve been waiting here for an hour now? Where are you?”
I finally got up to leave. I needed to pee first. I walked in to the urinal and began. I heard a muffled sound as something hit me. I felt oddly numb. Then I saw blood on the floor beneath me. I realized it was coming from my chest as I fell to the floor. I saw a guy from the bar standing above me, gun pointed at my head to finish what he’d started.
FEMI
Live with someone you get to know them pretty well. That included stuff like phone passwords. A text from Lara’s phone to Dede’s asking to meet; deleted immediately after sending of course, took care of intent.
Mobile banking passwords: three transfers from the account that was in my name but she operated, five hundred thousand naira, 1 million naira, then 1.5 million naira to Dede’s business account. She herself admitted on questioning that she was the one who operated the account and I didn’t know the password to it. She couldn’t even remember the transactions or so she said. The things a well motivated yahoo boy can do. That took care of motive; blackmail.
Dede was not found immediately so time of death couldn't be established. But somewhere after his voice call to Lara which was retrieved, there was a message draft in his text inbox to his mother, telling her that he was meeting Lara and didn't know what would happen after. Typed in by the assassin I paid of course, but then again, only saint Dede knew that. That, along with the fact that I was obviously too dumbly in love with my wife to be capable of anything other than a Nollywood prank, well that took care of reasonable doubt. My lovely wife was sentenced to life in prison.
Looking forward to the rest of my life. We all know women are suckers for men who have 'been through so much'.
Thanks for reading, do share with a friend, and please drop your comments, the feedback would very useful :)
Tuesday, May 13, 2014
PART THREE ;)
Sorry, for not posting on Friday, it was the fault of my too comfortable couch. This first part is Dede's side of the story and it was written by by a reader who uses the handle @hayeslikeisaac on twitter . If you're a first time reader, you can read part two HERE and part one HERE . With apologies from myself and my couch; enjoy.
You don't know me, you cant understand my story. Its hard to take when you have been taken for a "Maga" or "Lagos JJC" as it may seem. I loved Lara. She knew I loved her, she was the perfect fit Lara Phillips all 5ft
9inches of chocolate perfection. Full lips, full hips and oh those other "assets". There are women and there are women and she is one damn woman. Yes Im a "Lagos boy" you'll see me where ever the boys throw down, from 100 hours to Rhapsody to Soul Lounge hey what's a man to do? Moving back to Lagos was a charm in itself but meeting Lara while walking out of the airport was me in my most powerful state.Hand luggage and her cousin in tow how could she not look? I'd made her cousin coo and do unspeakable things on the plane now we were on ground Id seen another. This other I had to have! Lara was behind the cord as usual with MMA she had to wait for her people to get through before she could walk up to them. As we walked out I saw her immediately, I
saw her look towards me not realizing she was waiting for her cousin Shade. Now dont get me wrong Shade is alright, head of legal for a multinational and a figure from the gods but Shade wasn't Lara. Lara had that "Ummph" factor. She could engage you to the end of the earth, if there was someone you wanted to be stuck on a deserted island with, it was her. But remember I told you, I'm a Lagos Boy.
Once out of the airport Shade became 2nd fiddle for my attentions Lara was Nefrititi, she was Queen to this, she owned this! Lucky for me Shade in her haste to return had forgotten to get her sim back into her phone and had to call from mine! How lucky can one man be! Once we had parted I just saved the number. There was no WhatsApp or BBM then so there was no way to do this in a subtle manner. I waited, it was hard it was difficult but I waited. Waiting was difficult, my loins ached, the hands of Shade on them in the plane was one thing, the thought of Lara was another. I made the call 3 days later after being accused by everyone around me of being in a trance. I had it mapped out and planned to perfection. Shade had called me a tonne of times, sent texts etc I deliberately ignored then on Thursday I called Lara..The excuse was simple, I was trying to get a hold of Shade but didnt have a number (ignore all the calls and text just keep a straight tone Dede, nothing spoil).
My charm offensive was awesome, we spoke for about 20mins, asking how her day was, heard some noise in the background she told me she was on Karimu Kotun trying to get something to eat and that sealed the deal. I was at Eko hotel I summoned her immediately, come round theres a feast waiting. That was the day I knew Lara loved food and I would feed her to get anything! And I did.She was there with me for 4hours. In 4 hours I'd gotten from her everything, her life story, her likes and her pet likes and hates. Id also gotten a promise to see later that weekend....Shade was a faint memory for then, even she didnt remember her cousin. Besides Shade was a 6hr "event"! A London to Lagos tryst was hardly the stuff dreams are made of!
On Friday evening I picked her up and she melted into the leather in my Aston Martin.I made an excuse of picking up something from the house. Same neighbourhood in Lekki so she came in to see the place. Once inside she couldnt utter a word. I'd modelled the house to be the same as the one I had in LA. 2 storey, looks like a bungalow from outside but is awesome when you walk in. Loads of polished/finished wood,
Italian marble and the pool. The pool was the proverbial panty dropper, she saw it and had to get in. Lara was fun, she was a happy go lucky girl and today she was showing me happy, lucky and fun. It took very little for me to convince her the pool was warm enough for a plunge. First her feet, then her ankles
and before we knew it she had slipped into the pool fully clothed!
She claimed she slipped, she says me standing so close to her and maybe I slipped, fell and moved her ever so slightly beyond the edge. That evening, I jumped in to "rescue her", gave her a tshirt to wear (the most snug one I could find, one of the muscle fit A&F ones....momma didnt raise no fool) and once she slipped into it, the rest was simple. That night we didnt go out, we sat in, spoke about everything under the sun. I knew everything about her. I knew what
everyman had done to and for her and I knew what she wanted to hear. Women aren't as complicated as you think, Listen and youll find that spot that spoils them. Material things are one thing, attention is everything. Attention to detail, how she likes her eggs, the fact she doesnt like orange juice, its the little things. I made those little things a big difference in the next few days, by the end of the next week she mentioned Shade's name. It took a lot to respond "Shade who?"
Now lets get back to tonight, you can be the Ex or you can be the next you choose. For nearly a whole year we were the toast of Lagos. I was never associated with any woman publicly (yes there were the rumors, the innuendos etc. heck if Sade Ladipo and the Grapevine were around then Id have been a daily topic!) Once you become Lara's man by virtue of career you were "marked". I made a meal of it though, I sent her flowers, I sent muffins to her camera and makeup (that got me loads of offers to bed by the powder girls) and I took her out without question.
Her catching me in bed with Shade had a story behind it.Shade was the jealous type, she had to be among, had to have everything had to be in the limelight, missing out pained her. ". She was the type of girl that wanted destination wedding and the works. In me she saw someone who could provide that and my not returning her calls but suddenly appearing beside Lara at functions, she was pained! Shade showed up while Lara was on air for an unplanned show, by then my timing was known to most in the little circle I kept. Sitting in my living room I lazily walked to the door and there stood Lil Miss Thang. An overcoat in Lagos was a rare thing, nothing under it was even better. She had a cannibalistic approach to getting what she wanted. Before I knew it She pushed me inside and that was it. I was out of my depth and staring at her naked glistering body in seconds. I hadn't seen Lara for a few days and suddenly I was there staring at a body I knew wanted me. I could have suspected it but damn this was booty and I was......
I stripped off her overcoat and dived in. She wasnt the gentle love making kind like Lara, she was a rodeo girl and she was born to ride. Have you ever met the girl Apache rapped about in Gangster Bitch? She went in on me
like I was made of diamonds. She had this hip movement thing she did and damn I was going to rip her and as I got on top something said look up....
In my sex filled head I saw a shadow, focused for a bit and saw an image, I saw a person....yup. That "Oh Shit" moment came up and lets just say I didnt cum. Theres nothing I didnt do, theres nothing I didnt try to do. Lara wouldnt see me. Eventually I left town, I came back a few times. I never got involved with any girl publicly neither did I ever get any woman back to my place. Hundreds of flowers, gifts etc. I sort of gave up. Lara made sure I was never able to see her, I tried to make my way to see her but I couldnt take the rejection.
Over time, over a long time 8 years I sat at the club watching TV and there she was, the volume was low but something was unfolding, the more I looked the more it became obvious. Some little girl was handing Lara, my Lara a ring and her dad was there waiting to be told yes. I jumped into my car and made my way to her studio, passing her car on the way in I decided to follow her. Call it what you want I wasnt stalking her, on getting to her place and seeing her walk out looking all that....I had to talk to her, I had to hear her voice again.
'Congratulations'.....The slaps came in thick and fast.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
He sat there
for a few seconds, his lower jaw obeying gravity. Hardly the expected reaction. He looked like he was in a trance. Surely it couldn’t
be shock, it wasn’t his first kid. I touched his hand and he jerked, snapping
his mouth and looking at me. “How far along?” He asked. “Just a little over
three weeks”
“That’s wonderful
baby,we’re having a baby! I’m so excited!” he lifted me up from the sofa and
spun me a little. I laughed with joy, forgetting his earlier weirdness. Setting
me down he said “ I want to have the wedding as soon as possible. We will go to
the registry tomorrow to book a date. We can do registry and traditional, then
the white wedding after you deliver”. He was talking very fast, obviously
excited. I was happy, my indiscretion of yesterday forgotten. All was well.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
All was not
well; A woman I had just been about to break up with was carrying my child. How
was I even sure it was mine? How long had she doing unholy things with the guy
from last night? Afterall, he was important enough to ditch me for on the day
of our proposal. I felt sick. That evening, I went to the club to hang with the
boys. After a very energetic game of
squash, we sat down for beers and the teasing started. I smiled and sipped,
thinking about my predicament.
I got home
and the house was empty. She and Lola had gone somewhere. I thought of her with
my daughter and my fist clenched. Then I remembered my child was also inside
her. I switched on the TV, Nollywood and their ghost stories. I decided to
entertain myself.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Low, I know. To use my pregnancy like that.
But Femi knew me too well, he was going to know I was hiding something. I needed
the smokescreen. I came back from my ice cream outing with Lola to find him on
the sofa. My phone was ringing. I didn’t want to wake him so I silenced it and walked
away. I checked caller ID. Wendy, checking in. She told me Dede was out and warned me
sternly, like I needed to be told.
We married
two weeks later. A small group of people at Ikoyi registry, my parents, his
parents and about three friends from each side. The next day, Saturday, was our
engagement. Recorded of course for, Lara’s lounge. I was officially Mrs Yusuf.
Then hell broke loose.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
It was on
our honeymoon, we had gone to Zanzibar for a mini honeymoon. We’d just gotten
into the room from a swim when he
started.
“ Baby , I need
to tell you something’
His tone
filled me with instant dread. I sat down on the bed beside him. He held my
hands in his.
“We
are now married. We shouldn’t keep
secrets. She thinks its time to tell you. She’s very happy for us, and she
knows I love you as much as I love her” I smiled, wondering why his tone had
been so serious when he was talking about Lola. He looked over my shoulder and
smiled back.
“ Yeah, you’re right, Zanzibar was a good
choice. so romantic”
I turned to see who was talking to. Air.
“ Femi,…are you okay? Who are you are you talking
to?” I asked, trying to understand the joke. He laughed. “Don’t be funny, don’t
you see her behind you? I’ll leave you two to your girl talk” he said, leaving
the room.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
He came
back from drunk for the first time ever since I’d known him. He slept as soon
as he hit the bed. Early the next morning, he seemed to be sleep talking. “No.
no don’t kill her, she did it but we have to let it go” I was still trying to make sense of his
gibberish when his eyes flew open and he jumped up.
‘ I have
told you, I don’t want to talk about this anymore, you said I should marry her
still, I have married her! He shouted, looking at the wall on my side of the
bed. “Oya come back to bed joor’ he said in a placating tone, all the while
addressing the opposite wall. Finally facing me , he said “ baby, shift small,
let her lie down’ My legs began to vibrate, I needed to use the toilet. Panic
made every word difficult “ ff-fe-femi, where is she?’ I asked, playing along.
He laughed heartily. Lara stop being ridiculous, someone is lying beside you
rubbing your tummy you’re asking where…
My shriek cut him off. I jumped off the bed,
my arms protectively covering my belly. I had never felt this much fear in my
life. “who-what are you talking about?”
He gave me the look he would give Lola if she
was being stubborn. “Femi if this is a joke stop it now. what are you talking
about? Who is touching my belly? “Tade of course, he said, rolling his eyes. I couldn’t
breathe. ‘T-tu-ta-Tade? Tade your late
wife???”
“Don’t be rude” he said reprovingly, “she just thanked you for how well you take care of Lola, say you’re welcome”
“Don’t be rude” he said reprovingly, “she just thanked you for how well you take care of Lola, say you’re welcome”
I left that room in a sprint.
Friday, May 2, 2014
La Premiere Part 2.
I have to say that writing this second part was not nearly as fun as the first, not with what happened yesterday. My thoughts go out to all the families of yesterday's bomb blast victims, please say a prayer for them, and our nation today. Thanks.
I drove straight to my parents to pick Lola up. Usually when it was this late I would just come the next day. But i needed her. Plus, i didnt know what time Lara would be coming and not seeing her there will raise questions.
After bathing and tucking her in, I went to my bathroom to do the same. I couldn't stop playing the past three hours in my head. With one hand brushing my teeth, I pulled back the band of my shorts and examined my package. No, it wasnt that. Then what?
I had just settled into bed and switched off the light when my door opened. Standing in the doorway, stomach still bloated from too much pizza, and dwarfed by her shadow was my daughter.
'Daddy, I want to sleep here'
'Why? Are you afraid?' I asked, wondering if she'd had a bad dream at my parents'.
'No, you are afraid' she replied the best way her vocabulary would allow.
My eyes went wet immediately. Without uttering a word, she had picked up on my mood. Just like her mother. I swooped her up and put on the TV. I'd thought wouldn't be able to sleep but somewhere around the hundredth question about Kimpossible I shut down.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
5:00 am
It was morning and the sun had risen on my foolishness. I didn't need to turn to know it was real. He was snoring loud enough. Yesterday was surreal. From my fairy tale proposal to the ghost of mistakes past showing up on my door. This was actually real? I was an educated, enlightened grown woman, not some pea-brained character on Telemundo. How did I let this happen? I felt sick. My prince was sleeping at home because I spent the night with a frog. I didn't know what to say. I didn't want to have to say anything. How do you tell a man who is naked in your bed that you can't stand him? I felt revulsion rise from deep within my belly. I rushed into the bathroom to throw up. Afterwards, I brushed my teeth like I'd drank drainage water; then I got into the shower: scrubbing skin like it would take away the filth. The water rinsed the soap and tears down my body; not enough.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
No matter how bad the day before was, when you wake up, there’s a few precious moments of ignorant bliss, before your brain reminds you you’re in hell. I didn’t have those. I woke up depressed, and then I remembered why. It does something to you, your perception of yourself as a man. If affects your esteem in a certain way, to know your best was not enough. My late wife had been my first love. I had never felt anything like this. So at thirty five and widowered with a child, I was having my first heart break.
Lola was still sleeping beside me. She too had fallen asleep finally. Looking at her lying there, I felt the resolve to protect my daughter at all costs. That was my only clarity in this whole nightmare. Even if it meant Lara had to go.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
I got out of the bathroom, slipped into the first thing I could find, and left the house soundlessly. He was still snoring as I closed the door. I got into my car and turned the ignition. Was I running away from my problems? No, I was driving. And drive I did. From my house in Ikoyi down to Ajah, circling back twice, I focused my thoughts on horning at other people. Sometime later my phone rang: my best friend Wendy. The relief I felt that it wasn't Femi was chased by guilt as I parked at the edge of the road and picked.
"Aunty na wa o! U na never nack finish? Ordinary proposal you've forgotten me; talk less of when you kon marry."
I winced. Wendy had been my best friend since childhood. We knew the tiniest details about each other, yet I hadn’t spoken to her since my proposal yesterday.
“Calm down jor! Its not like that”
“I can’t hear you o. Was it so bad that you lost your voice?” She teased. “Sha come and buy me brunch abeg. Then you can give me the whole jist”
We met thirty minutes later at Southern Sun. After ordering, I told her about the proposal; step-by-step. She showed me all the memes and gifs of yesterday that people had already made. People were having fun on twitter. The food came and I was ravenous.
“Easy nau, don’t pack all the shrimp, am I the one that told you not to drink lucozade before you began? And how is my darling? Hope you people did not wake her up with all your noise?”
Hearing the reference to Lola the fork stopped half way to my mouth and words tumbled out instead.
“I saw Dede last night”. Wendy went still.
“What? Where? ” Her eyes lit up with mischief. “He saw the proposal? Kai...”
“I didn’t sleep at Femi’s.” I cut her off, staring resolutely at my big toe. The realization of what I was saying hit her.
“Mary MAGDALENE!” she exclaimed before she could stop herself.
The whole restaurant turned towards us, some laughing. Looking from the outside, it probably was funny.
“What are you saying?” She had lowered her voice to a whisper but tone was still shouting at me. I signaled for the bill; we couldn’t have this conversation here. We strategized at her house and I told her every detail, plus the one thing Femi I had been waiting to tell Femi before yesterday's events. She offered to go ensure Dede had left while I put our plan into action.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Wendy’s mother, Alhaja Bello was one of the biggest distributors of dry gin in Lagos. She had three shops in Balogun market and three others. Because of that, she had many boys who worked for her, whether distributing gin or beatings. Wendy took two of them to Lara's house just in case. She let herself in . Dede was still feeling the empty bed for Lara when the first slap woke him. “Hi dear” she cooed as her face came into focus.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The bell rang and I went to get it. I opened door to find my fiancée standing outside. I smiled and asked, “What happened to your key?”
“Oh, I ev-even forgot” she stammered, ending with embarrassed laughter.
No, guilt has made you feel unworthy of the key I thought.
She came in and I hugged her, every fibre of my being wanting to be someplace else. She went into my room to drop her bag. When she came out, she had a grave look on her face. “We need to talk she said”. We went to the living room and sat down.
“I have something to say too but ladies first” I said, as calm as I could.
“I’m pregnant”
I drove straight to my parents to pick Lola up. Usually when it was this late I would just come the next day. But i needed her. Plus, i didnt know what time Lara would be coming and not seeing her there will raise questions.
After bathing and tucking her in, I went to my bathroom to do the same. I couldn't stop playing the past three hours in my head. With one hand brushing my teeth, I pulled back the band of my shorts and examined my package. No, it wasnt that. Then what?
I had just settled into bed and switched off the light when my door opened. Standing in the doorway, stomach still bloated from too much pizza, and dwarfed by her shadow was my daughter.
'Daddy, I want to sleep here'
'Why? Are you afraid?' I asked, wondering if she'd had a bad dream at my parents'.
'No, you are afraid' she replied the best way her vocabulary would allow.
My eyes went wet immediately. Without uttering a word, she had picked up on my mood. Just like her mother. I swooped her up and put on the TV. I'd thought wouldn't be able to sleep but somewhere around the hundredth question about Kimpossible I shut down.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
5:00 am
It was morning and the sun had risen on my foolishness. I didn't need to turn to know it was real. He was snoring loud enough. Yesterday was surreal. From my fairy tale proposal to the ghost of mistakes past showing up on my door. This was actually real? I was an educated, enlightened grown woman, not some pea-brained character on Telemundo. How did I let this happen? I felt sick. My prince was sleeping at home because I spent the night with a frog. I didn't know what to say. I didn't want to have to say anything. How do you tell a man who is naked in your bed that you can't stand him? I felt revulsion rise from deep within my belly. I rushed into the bathroom to throw up. Afterwards, I brushed my teeth like I'd drank drainage water; then I got into the shower: scrubbing skin like it would take away the filth. The water rinsed the soap and tears down my body; not enough.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
No matter how bad the day before was, when you wake up, there’s a few precious moments of ignorant bliss, before your brain reminds you you’re in hell. I didn’t have those. I woke up depressed, and then I remembered why. It does something to you, your perception of yourself as a man. If affects your esteem in a certain way, to know your best was not enough. My late wife had been my first love. I had never felt anything like this. So at thirty five and widowered with a child, I was having my first heart break.
Lola was still sleeping beside me. She too had fallen asleep finally. Looking at her lying there, I felt the resolve to protect my daughter at all costs. That was my only clarity in this whole nightmare. Even if it meant Lara had to go.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
I got out of the bathroom, slipped into the first thing I could find, and left the house soundlessly. He was still snoring as I closed the door. I got into my car and turned the ignition. Was I running away from my problems? No, I was driving. And drive I did. From my house in Ikoyi down to Ajah, circling back twice, I focused my thoughts on horning at other people. Sometime later my phone rang: my best friend Wendy. The relief I felt that it wasn't Femi was chased by guilt as I parked at the edge of the road and picked.
"Aunty na wa o! U na never nack finish? Ordinary proposal you've forgotten me; talk less of when you kon marry."
I winced. Wendy had been my best friend since childhood. We knew the tiniest details about each other, yet I hadn’t spoken to her since my proposal yesterday.
“Calm down jor! Its not like that”
“I can’t hear you o. Was it so bad that you lost your voice?” She teased. “Sha come and buy me brunch abeg. Then you can give me the whole jist”
We met thirty minutes later at Southern Sun. After ordering, I told her about the proposal; step-by-step. She showed me all the memes and gifs of yesterday that people had already made. People were having fun on twitter. The food came and I was ravenous.
“Easy nau, don’t pack all the shrimp, am I the one that told you not to drink lucozade before you began? And how is my darling? Hope you people did not wake her up with all your noise?”
Hearing the reference to Lola the fork stopped half way to my mouth and words tumbled out instead.
“I saw Dede last night”. Wendy went still.
“What? Where? ” Her eyes lit up with mischief. “He saw the proposal? Kai...”
“I didn’t sleep at Femi’s.” I cut her off, staring resolutely at my big toe. The realization of what I was saying hit her.
“Mary MAGDALENE!” she exclaimed before she could stop herself.
The whole restaurant turned towards us, some laughing. Looking from the outside, it probably was funny.
“What are you saying?” She had lowered her voice to a whisper but tone was still shouting at me. I signaled for the bill; we couldn’t have this conversation here. We strategized at her house and I told her every detail, plus the one thing Femi I had been waiting to tell Femi before yesterday's events. She offered to go ensure Dede had left while I put our plan into action.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Wendy’s mother, Alhaja Bello was one of the biggest distributors of dry gin in Lagos. She had three shops in Balogun market and three others. Because of that, she had many boys who worked for her, whether distributing gin or beatings. Wendy took two of them to Lara's house just in case. She let herself in . Dede was still feeling the empty bed for Lara when the first slap woke him. “Hi dear” she cooed as her face came into focus.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The bell rang and I went to get it. I opened door to find my fiancée standing outside. I smiled and asked, “What happened to your key?”
“Oh, I ev-even forgot” she stammered, ending with embarrassed laughter.
No, guilt has made you feel unworthy of the key I thought.
She came in and I hugged her, every fibre of my being wanting to be someplace else. She went into my room to drop her bag. When she came out, she had a grave look on her face. “We need to talk she said”. We went to the living room and sat down.
“I have something to say too but ladies first” I said, as calm as I could.
“I’m pregnant”
Friday, April 25, 2014
LA PRIEMIERE
An Ex once told me a theory he had that 'Once dé bè is always dé bè'. i.e once you've had a girl eternal entry is your birthright, especially if you were the esteemed 'first'. It irks me to think anyone would be guaranteed a pass into my future just because they were a part of my past. Sadly, though said Ex hasnt been so lucky i.e PUBLIC DISCLAIMER, THIS DID NOT HAPPEN TO ME!, it does happen to some. Hence the inspiration for this story. It was supposed to be flash fiction but i enjoyed writing this so much I found myself developing a three or four part story. Not sure yet, and definitely not my most imaginative title, enjoy La Priemiere. *to be pronounced in fancy French accent please*
'Welcome back' I said, smiling into the camera right in front of the stage. 'If you're just joining us this is LARA'S LOUNGE, I'M LARA PHILLIPS and I have as my guest today the shiny lipped, dimpled, Davido. Now we've got time for one more question before we round this episode up....' 'left back' . I heard Esey my producer's voice prompt in my tiny earpiece. It was too far in the studio for me to see but I obeyed. 'I have a question in the back?' I said, pointing in that direction.
The shock of hearing that unmistakable tiny voice barely registered before the bigger shock of what was happening hit. 'Will you marry my daddy?' it asked. The audience went mad.
I am renowned among friends and family for the sluggishness of my brain in processsing things that shocked it. My boyfriend's four year old daughter was on the set of my live show and asking me to marry her father and the first two questions in my head were 'who pulled her out of school' and 'wasn't her father in China on business?'
" Get up Lara, get up!" Esey's voice made me realize I was still seated in my seat with my go-to smile plastered on my face. Everyone was out of their seats and straining to get a glimpse of the them in the center now.
I hurried down the stage and in that direction, stumbling as my heels reminded me they weren't made for running. The crowd parted till I got to the center. Sure as God, there was my man, his tall lean body standing there in a White shirt, jeans, Navy blazer and brown mocassins. All of which I'd bought him at one time or another; except for the red cardboard pocket square, Lola's addition. She was right beside him, clutching his index finger with all of hers, in a much tinier replica of her daddy's attire; the cutest wingman ever.
My audience was impatient now . Shouts of 'answer nau' 'Yes or No?' 'she don friendzone am' filled the air. Each one of them happy to be witnessing the gist, I kept hearing cameras click. Esey probably had someone taking photos for all the blogs. The wench, she would so milk this for the publicity! I would kill her later, I had a proposal to answer.
"Let him ask for himself" . I finally spoke, not taking my eyes off him. He smiled that naughty smile of his as he went down on one knee. My Femi.
Seeing her father, Lola decided that this looked too much like punishment and jumped ship to me. I smiled and rubbed her hair. "Lara Phillips, will you marry me?" The crowd shouted that last part with him.
'Yes' . The whole studio erupted. Davido was singing 'Ayé',I couldn't stop smiling. I never got to sign off the show properly.
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>><<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<
We had dinner at this Italian restaurant in Lekki. A few industry people were already congratulating me. This town! As we waited for our food I let my mind travel back in time. Three years ago, still nursing a 5 year old heartbreak, I was doing just fine thank you with purely physical relationships. I reserved feelings like Love for my job. Femi, a widower with a one year old child had been my friend for a while. We grew close until we fell in love but he knew that word was a taboo to me.He loved me as stubbornly as I refused to thaw. I did everything to push him away, even knowing it would crush me if he did.
I remember how I would throw fits of anger and he would leave, only to come back with a tub of my favorite ice cream which he would put just out of my reach then walk out. I would restrain myself from pouncing on it just till he closed the door behind him.
The food came and I watched Lola dig into her pizza, this was just a formality for her. As far as she was concerned I'd been her mother since.
After dinner I told Femi I had to go pick up some stuff at my place and I'd meet them at home. I took a cab. When I got home there was a car parked in front of my house which i didn't recognize. Probably one of my neighbour's 'man friends'. I'd just turned the key in the lock when I felt someone behind me.
'Congratulations' the voice said. I turned sharply. Dede. After eight years. Standing on my doorstep like it was the most natural thing in the world. I had imagined this scenario way too many times for my brain to be slow. I slapped him, hard and fast. I relished the way it swung his head to one side. So I did it again.
'Won't you invite me in?' he asked, rotating his neck.
'What do you want?' I countered.
'Well..' he drawled, 'word around town is my Ex is getting married, thought I'd drop by to congratulate you'.
'Last time I saw you you were in bed with my cousin'.
I tried to keep my voice down. Eight year old scabs had just been peeled open. I was determined not to let it show. You're happy now, you're in love, you have an adorable step daughter, Femi has the body of a god.I counted my blessings in my head to harden myself, but he was already kissing that precise spot on my neck....what a bastard.
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>><<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<
Two hours later we lay side by side in my bed, spent. He was the first to speak. 'If this were a Nollywood movie, the camera would start from our clothes scattered on the floor, show the whole floor..' I laughed and turned into him. Our bodies still fit perfectly. I lay there loathing myself for how good it felt. I suddenly remembered Femi. I bolted up so fast my head hit Dede's chin. I searched the room for my bag. I'd dropped it when he kissed me. I raced to the front door and there it was.
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>><<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<
I watched my fiancée rush to the door of her house wrapped in a bedsheet to pick her bag. I'd dropped Lola with my parents and followed her home for some consunmate celebration but had seen her bag outside. I thought she was in danger and was opening the door with my key when I'd heard them. Thus I was stuck watching the bag from the end of the street. At least now I could leave. I walked away to my car parked down the street, there had been no parking space. My phone rang just as I put the key in the ignition. I switched the ignition off then answered, doing my best sleepy voice hoping no car would drive past or horn and blow my cover. 'Baby where are you?' .
'So sorry babe, I slept off, I guess today was just so stressful, I hit the bed as I got home. See you tommorow okay?'
'It's okay, I understand, I love you, goodnight'. '
Goodnight' she replied and hung up. She didn't say 'I love you'
'Welcome back' I said, smiling into the camera right in front of the stage. 'If you're just joining us this is LARA'S LOUNGE, I'M LARA PHILLIPS and I have as my guest today the shiny lipped, dimpled, Davido. Now we've got time for one more question before we round this episode up....' 'left back' . I heard Esey my producer's voice prompt in my tiny earpiece. It was too far in the studio for me to see but I obeyed. 'I have a question in the back?' I said, pointing in that direction.
The shock of hearing that unmistakable tiny voice barely registered before the bigger shock of what was happening hit. 'Will you marry my daddy?' it asked. The audience went mad.
I am renowned among friends and family for the sluggishness of my brain in processsing things that shocked it. My boyfriend's four year old daughter was on the set of my live show and asking me to marry her father and the first two questions in my head were 'who pulled her out of school' and 'wasn't her father in China on business?'
" Get up Lara, get up!" Esey's voice made me realize I was still seated in my seat with my go-to smile plastered on my face. Everyone was out of their seats and straining to get a glimpse of the them in the center now.
I hurried down the stage and in that direction, stumbling as my heels reminded me they weren't made for running. The crowd parted till I got to the center. Sure as God, there was my man, his tall lean body standing there in a White shirt, jeans, Navy blazer and brown mocassins. All of which I'd bought him at one time or another; except for the red cardboard pocket square, Lola's addition. She was right beside him, clutching his index finger with all of hers, in a much tinier replica of her daddy's attire; the cutest wingman ever.
My audience was impatient now . Shouts of 'answer nau' 'Yes or No?' 'she don friendzone am' filled the air. Each one of them happy to be witnessing the gist, I kept hearing cameras click. Esey probably had someone taking photos for all the blogs. The wench, she would so milk this for the publicity! I would kill her later, I had a proposal to answer.
"Let him ask for himself" . I finally spoke, not taking my eyes off him. He smiled that naughty smile of his as he went down on one knee. My Femi.
Seeing her father, Lola decided that this looked too much like punishment and jumped ship to me. I smiled and rubbed her hair. "Lara Phillips, will you marry me?" The crowd shouted that last part with him.
'Yes' . The whole studio erupted. Davido was singing 'Ayé',I couldn't stop smiling. I never got to sign off the show properly.
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>><<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<
We had dinner at this Italian restaurant in Lekki. A few industry people were already congratulating me. This town! As we waited for our food I let my mind travel back in time. Three years ago, still nursing a 5 year old heartbreak, I was doing just fine thank you with purely physical relationships. I reserved feelings like Love for my job. Femi, a widower with a one year old child had been my friend for a while. We grew close until we fell in love but he knew that word was a taboo to me.He loved me as stubbornly as I refused to thaw. I did everything to push him away, even knowing it would crush me if he did.
I remember how I would throw fits of anger and he would leave, only to come back with a tub of my favorite ice cream which he would put just out of my reach then walk out. I would restrain myself from pouncing on it just till he closed the door behind him.
The food came and I watched Lola dig into her pizza, this was just a formality for her. As far as she was concerned I'd been her mother since.
After dinner I told Femi I had to go pick up some stuff at my place and I'd meet them at home. I took a cab. When I got home there was a car parked in front of my house which i didn't recognize. Probably one of my neighbour's 'man friends'. I'd just turned the key in the lock when I felt someone behind me.
'Congratulations' the voice said. I turned sharply. Dede. After eight years. Standing on my doorstep like it was the most natural thing in the world. I had imagined this scenario way too many times for my brain to be slow. I slapped him, hard and fast. I relished the way it swung his head to one side. So I did it again.
'Won't you invite me in?' he asked, rotating his neck.
'What do you want?' I countered.
'Well..' he drawled, 'word around town is my Ex is getting married, thought I'd drop by to congratulate you'.
'Last time I saw you you were in bed with my cousin'.
I tried to keep my voice down. Eight year old scabs had just been peeled open. I was determined not to let it show. You're happy now, you're in love, you have an adorable step daughter, Femi has the body of a god.I counted my blessings in my head to harden myself, but he was already kissing that precise spot on my neck....what a bastard.
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>><<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<
Two hours later we lay side by side in my bed, spent. He was the first to speak. 'If this were a Nollywood movie, the camera would start from our clothes scattered on the floor, show the whole floor..' I laughed and turned into him. Our bodies still fit perfectly. I lay there loathing myself for how good it felt. I suddenly remembered Femi. I bolted up so fast my head hit Dede's chin. I searched the room for my bag. I'd dropped it when he kissed me. I raced to the front door and there it was.
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>><<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<
I watched my fiancée rush to the door of her house wrapped in a bedsheet to pick her bag. I'd dropped Lola with my parents and followed her home for some consunmate celebration but had seen her bag outside. I thought she was in danger and was opening the door with my key when I'd heard them. Thus I was stuck watching the bag from the end of the street. At least now I could leave. I walked away to my car parked down the street, there had been no parking space. My phone rang just as I put the key in the ignition. I switched the ignition off then answered, doing my best sleepy voice hoping no car would drive past or horn and blow my cover. 'Baby where are you?' .
'So sorry babe, I slept off, I guess today was just so stressful, I hit the bed as I got home. See you tommorow okay?'
'It's okay, I understand, I love you, goodnight'. '
Goodnight' she replied and hung up. She didn't say 'I love you'
Friday, April 18, 2014
GUEST POST : FOR THE LOVE OF THE ART!
This is another post by Chuks Asoegwu. Do read share and comment on how you cant believe an 'UKWU' lover like him would hold such views.
When you do the kind of job I do,there's a huge tendency that your daily modus operandi will not conform to the global nine-to-five practice especially when you work the late evening or night shifts like me.
At noon,while majority of the people in my area are at work,I'm usually just waking up,trying to prepare breakfast and plan my day.Yes I know,weird isn't it?.
One day,I decided to watch something other than Supersport,Africa Magic and the news channels for a change.I tuned to a particular music channel for a little visual entertainment and after about twenty minutes I began to wonder whether I was really watching musical videos or soft porn.The skimpy dresses which left little or nothing to imagination,the erotic dance steps and poses and so on.I turned off my TV out of disgust and dressed up for an appointment I had that afternoon.
On my way to the aforementioned appointment,the car stereo in the vehicle I was in was turned on and co-incidentally the song playing was the exact one whose video I had earlier watched.After two minutes of paying close attention to the lyrics of the song,I couldnow understand the vulgarism being displayed in the video-It was simply an offshoot of the lyrics to the song.
As a broadcaster,I am privy to songs of all genres and forms from different personalities who want you to give their "artistic expressions" airplay.Eight out of ten times the musical progression,rhythm and instrumentals are almost the same."Pop Moet","Pop Champagne","Give it to me","Wind your waist","Shake it";These are a few of the cliche lyrics the listening audience(most of which comprise teenagers and young impressionable adults) are exposed to.This in turn raises a very pertinent question:Is it about making an impact with art or is it just about making money for these artistes?.
After continuous proliferation of the soft porn we call music videos,offensive display of violence and wealth(most of which are facades),what will be the opinion of posterity concerning these so-called superstars.
Very recently,a female artiste named Maheeda went completely naked in her video titled "Naija Bad Girl".Not only was the video utterly distasteful and absolutely classless,Maheeda has successfully shown the woman-folk to be objects of sexual pleasure and gratification;She has also laid a very wrong example for her teenage daughter.Yes,she is married with a daughter.
It now behoves the National Broadcasting Commission to clamp down on this ugly trend that is rapidly eating deep into our society and if this scourge is not adequately nipped in the bud,the consequences could be fatal.
This is my candid advice to artistes,music practitioners and enthusiasts in general:When writing your music and expressing your art in whatever form you deem fit,endeavour to create masterpieces that you could look back on and be proud of because whether you believe it or not the real owner of that talent will inquire of you what you have been able to achieve with his gift to you.
I wish you all the things you could possibly wish yourself and my ernest prayer is that you find the inner courage and strength to stay true to what you believe in while exhibiting your God-given talent for the world to see.When you do this,the money and all the other perks will come to you.Good luck!
Chuks Asoegwu(07011918203)
When you do the kind of job I do,there's a huge tendency that your daily modus operandi will not conform to the global nine-to-five practice especially when you work the late evening or night shifts like me.
At noon,while majority of the people in my area are at work,I'm usually just waking up,trying to prepare breakfast and plan my day.Yes I know,weird isn't it?.
One day,I decided to watch something other than Supersport,Africa Magic and the news channels for a change.I tuned to a particular music channel for a little visual entertainment and after about twenty minutes I began to wonder whether I was really watching musical videos or soft porn.The skimpy dresses which left little or nothing to imagination,the erotic dance steps and poses and so on.I turned off my TV out of disgust and dressed up for an appointment I had that afternoon.
On my way to the aforementioned appointment,the car stereo in the vehicle I was in was turned on and co-incidentally the song playing was the exact one whose video I had earlier watched.After two minutes of paying close attention to the lyrics of the song,I couldnow understand the vulgarism being displayed in the video-It was simply an offshoot of the lyrics to the song.
As a broadcaster,I am privy to songs of all genres and forms from different personalities who want you to give their "artistic expressions" airplay.Eight out of ten times the musical progression,rhythm and instrumentals are almost the same."Pop Moet","Pop Champagne","Give it to me","Wind your waist","Shake it";These are a few of the cliche lyrics the listening audience(most of which comprise teenagers and young impressionable adults) are exposed to.This in turn raises a very pertinent question:Is it about making an impact with art or is it just about making money for these artistes?.
After continuous proliferation of the soft porn we call music videos,offensive display of violence and wealth(most of which are facades),what will be the opinion of posterity concerning these so-called superstars.
Very recently,a female artiste named Maheeda went completely naked in her video titled "Naija Bad Girl".Not only was the video utterly distasteful and absolutely classless,Maheeda has successfully shown the woman-folk to be objects of sexual pleasure and gratification;She has also laid a very wrong example for her teenage daughter.Yes,she is married with a daughter.
It now behoves the National Broadcasting Commission to clamp down on this ugly trend that is rapidly eating deep into our society and if this scourge is not adequately nipped in the bud,the consequences could be fatal.
This is my candid advice to artistes,music practitioners and enthusiasts in general:When writing your music and expressing your art in whatever form you deem fit,endeavour to create masterpieces that you could look back on and be proud of because whether you believe it or not the real owner of that talent will inquire of you what you have been able to achieve with his gift to you.
I wish you all the things you could possibly wish yourself and my ernest prayer is that you find the inner courage and strength to stay true to what you believe in while exhibiting your God-given talent for the world to see.When you do this,the money and all the other perks will come to you.Good luck!
Chuks Asoegwu(07011918203)
Tuesday, April 8, 2014
Guest Post: Dear Mrs Right.
Once upon a time before I lost my way, i used to be a poet. I know right? These days i just post other people's stuff. This is a guest post by Chuks Asoegwu. His number is at the end of this post. For all ye females who might be melted enough to wanna holler. That is if poetry still has a chance in this world of iPhones and Ferraris, enjoy!
DEAR MRS RIGHT
Are you in the Americas?,
Or are you somewhere in Sydney?,
Wherever you are dear Mrs Right,
I beg you,do come quickly,
Oh please come quickly!,
The weather in Lagos is cold,
It gets pretty lonely sometimes,
And I have no one to hold,
Dear Mrs Right,
Everyone loves a good cook,
But I want more,
I also care about how you look,
Please be very intelligent,
The type to never skip classes,
Also be very light-skinned,
With a nice pair of glasses,
You must be very attractive too,
With well-shaped hips,
Certainly a good kisser,
With well-framed lips,
An artist in the kitchen,
A warrior in the sheets,
My best friend at public functions,
A lady in the streets,
A very devoted arsenal fan,
You should never be rude,
Always come home early,
Because I don't joke with my food,
Aside from taking road trips,
I'm a lover of pure art,
I want you to be gentle,
With words that soothe my heart,
Sometimes I could be a bit lazy,
I get unbearable when I'm angry,
Most times I keep a straight face,
I don't think straight when I'm hungry,
I tend to get jealous sometimes,
It's my way of showing that I care,
You might not always have me around,
But for you I'll always be there,
I don't care what others say,
Calling you an apparition,
They think you're not real,
A figment of my imagination,
I'll fantasize during the day,
And dream about you at night,
Until I have you in my arms,
My darling Mrs Right.
Chuks Asoegwu
07011918203
DEAR MRS RIGHT
Are you in the Americas?,
Or are you somewhere in Sydney?,
Wherever you are dear Mrs Right,
I beg you,do come quickly,
Oh please come quickly!,
The weather in Lagos is cold,
It gets pretty lonely sometimes,
And I have no one to hold,
Dear Mrs Right,
Everyone loves a good cook,
But I want more,
I also care about how you look,
Please be very intelligent,
The type to never skip classes,
Also be very light-skinned,
With a nice pair of glasses,
You must be very attractive too,
With well-shaped hips,
Certainly a good kisser,
With well-framed lips,
An artist in the kitchen,
A warrior in the sheets,
My best friend at public functions,
A lady in the streets,
A very devoted arsenal fan,
You should never be rude,
Always come home early,
Because I don't joke with my food,
Aside from taking road trips,
I'm a lover of pure art,
I want you to be gentle,
With words that soothe my heart,
Sometimes I could be a bit lazy,
I get unbearable when I'm angry,
Most times I keep a straight face,
I don't think straight when I'm hungry,
I tend to get jealous sometimes,
It's my way of showing that I care,
You might not always have me around,
But for you I'll always be there,
I don't care what others say,
Calling you an apparition,
They think you're not real,
A figment of my imagination,
I'll fantasize during the day,
And dream about you at night,
Until I have you in my arms,
My darling Mrs Right.
Chuks Asoegwu
07011918203
Friday, April 4, 2014
Untitled
Shoutout to the people who have pestered me for not posting for a while. I wont mention names: (namely @tonydoe78 @Walt_Shakes and @iloVeMizJay).
Some more posts coming up, including guest posts from Chuks Asoegwu.
This is an excerpt from a novella that should be out soon. As of now, still untitled.
One night in Dolpin estate, Ikoyi, three shots ring out, lodging bullets in the head, heart and groin of General Obajimi . The family tells outsiders it was thieves. But each of his three children and wife have different recollections and accounts. None of which are lies. So which is the truth?
Dear Diary,
I’ve started keeping you today because I feel like I need to document these times, for my sanity, and for the truth. None of us have been the same. Bobo has taken to religion like a duck to water; it’s his way. As I write, his fierce ‘amens’ rent the air at sporadic intervals. He is listening to a message from some prophet on his ipod. He’s trying to purge his mind and memory. We all want to.
Tara’s way is shopping and sex. Lots. ASUU is on strike so there’s nothing else to do. Mummy gives her all the money she wants. Sometimes she remembers me. Like today : "Knife Obajimi, you should thank daddy wherever he is, for giving you a big sister like me, and dying so I’d have all this money to buy you things like this”. She handed me cookies and a novel. The Electric Michelangelo by Sarah Hall. I’ve always liked reading. She figures this will be my way.
Mummy’s way. Well mummy’s way is nothing new. I don’t know how long exactly, but it’s been at least 6 months before daddy died when I came home from school almost an hour after school started. My Asthma had started again. I went to my room but the inhaler had finished. I knew there would be more in the provisions box in her room so I went there. He was standing with his back to me, naked.
She was on her knees in front of him, eye level with his groin. His hand was on her head, goading. He grabbed her hair and pulled her head away, then towards him. Her eyes were closed. He was groaning like a wounded animal.
I just needed them to move, they were in front of my inhaler.
I tried to see if I could manage the remains of my inhaler. I had no idea when they would finish, it seemed to me like they were still on appetizers. I went to Chemist’s shop, bought an inhaler and went home. About an hour later mom finished and came into the parlor. She almost fainted when she saw me. “what are you doing here, didn’t Musty drop you at school?” I told her I’d had an attack. Her mouth stopped mid-question when she saw the pack of the new inhaler on the chair. Her face fell.
Some hours later, outside my room, I heard them arguing. He was telling her to be strong. That she would do it if she loved him. That this was a sign, that I was eventually going to find out. She entered my room and told me she had something to explain. I didn’t want to hear it, so I explained to myself for both of us. “Daddy is never around, always beating you when he is. You fell in love with our houseboy”. She recoiled like she’d been slapped. Truth did that. She bit her lip as she turned to go. She wanted to Euphemize it, make it more of a fairy-tale. Make me too young to be so blunt. Afterall I was only fifteen. I went into her room after she’d left and took all my inhalers.
LADUN (MRS OBAJIMI):
I wanted him to die. That i can admit this shakes me to my core. But what shakes me about it is the numbness I feel. My eye didn't 'clear' and 'remorse wash over me' as I felt the recoil of the bullet leaving the chamber. I did regret however, the fact that I'd shot his groin. which won't kill him, and I didn't have the guts to pull the trigger a second time.
You hate me now. You with your perfect lives judging me. The contented housewife who never wanted for anything. Who turns round to kill her husband. And she was from a poor home too. No wonder amidst such opulence she would fall for the houseboy. The houseboy!
Tara is out, i'm not nearly ready to start reining her in. Bobo has gone for vigil. The house is empty, only Nife and I are home. Just like that night. Eerie as hell. I go to her room . My hand is on the knob when I hear it. Stiffled crying. I wonder why she's crying. Probably for the wrong reasons. The bastard is dead i tell myself, wishing I could tell her too.
*takes a bow and struts off stage like a boss*
Please drop your comments and critiques,they wld be very appreciated.
Ff me on twitter @hapygypsy, I'm not yet important enough to not follow back.
Some more posts coming up, including guest posts from Chuks Asoegwu.
This is an excerpt from a novella that should be out soon. As of now, still untitled.
One night in Dolpin estate, Ikoyi, three shots ring out, lodging bullets in the head, heart and groin of General Obajimi . The family tells outsiders it was thieves. But each of his three children and wife have different recollections and accounts. None of which are lies. So which is the truth?
Dear Diary,
I’ve started keeping you today because I feel like I need to document these times, for my sanity, and for the truth. None of us have been the same. Bobo has taken to religion like a duck to water; it’s his way. As I write, his fierce ‘amens’ rent the air at sporadic intervals. He is listening to a message from some prophet on his ipod. He’s trying to purge his mind and memory. We all want to.
Tara’s way is shopping and sex. Lots. ASUU is on strike so there’s nothing else to do. Mummy gives her all the money she wants. Sometimes she remembers me. Like today : "Knife Obajimi, you should thank daddy wherever he is, for giving you a big sister like me, and dying so I’d have all this money to buy you things like this”. She handed me cookies and a novel. The Electric Michelangelo by Sarah Hall. I’ve always liked reading. She figures this will be my way.
Mummy’s way. Well mummy’s way is nothing new. I don’t know how long exactly, but it’s been at least 6 months before daddy died when I came home from school almost an hour after school started. My Asthma had started again. I went to my room but the inhaler had finished. I knew there would be more in the provisions box in her room so I went there. He was standing with his back to me, naked.
She was on her knees in front of him, eye level with his groin. His hand was on her head, goading. He grabbed her hair and pulled her head away, then towards him. Her eyes were closed. He was groaning like a wounded animal.
I just needed them to move, they were in front of my inhaler.
I tried to see if I could manage the remains of my inhaler. I had no idea when they would finish, it seemed to me like they were still on appetizers. I went to Chemist’s shop, bought an inhaler and went home. About an hour later mom finished and came into the parlor. She almost fainted when she saw me. “what are you doing here, didn’t Musty drop you at school?” I told her I’d had an attack. Her mouth stopped mid-question when she saw the pack of the new inhaler on the chair. Her face fell.
Some hours later, outside my room, I heard them arguing. He was telling her to be strong. That she would do it if she loved him. That this was a sign, that I was eventually going to find out. She entered my room and told me she had something to explain. I didn’t want to hear it, so I explained to myself for both of us. “Daddy is never around, always beating you when he is. You fell in love with our houseboy”. She recoiled like she’d been slapped. Truth did that. She bit her lip as she turned to go. She wanted to Euphemize it, make it more of a fairy-tale. Make me too young to be so blunt. Afterall I was only fifteen. I went into her room after she’d left and took all my inhalers.
LADUN (MRS OBAJIMI):
I wanted him to die. That i can admit this shakes me to my core. But what shakes me about it is the numbness I feel. My eye didn't 'clear' and 'remorse wash over me' as I felt the recoil of the bullet leaving the chamber. I did regret however, the fact that I'd shot his groin. which won't kill him, and I didn't have the guts to pull the trigger a second time.
You hate me now. You with your perfect lives judging me. The contented housewife who never wanted for anything. Who turns round to kill her husband. And she was from a poor home too. No wonder amidst such opulence she would fall for the houseboy. The houseboy!
Tara is out, i'm not nearly ready to start reining her in. Bobo has gone for vigil. The house is empty, only Nife and I are home. Just like that night. Eerie as hell. I go to her room . My hand is on the knob when I hear it. Stiffled crying. I wonder why she's crying. Probably for the wrong reasons. The bastard is dead i tell myself, wishing I could tell her too.
*takes a bow and struts off stage like a boss*
Please drop your comments and critiques,they wld be very appreciated.
Ff me on twitter @hapygypsy, I'm not yet important enough to not follow back.
Friday, March 14, 2014
#ItooamHarvard
So, hopefully there will be a flurry of activity on here for a while. Posting a sneaksneak peek of my novella thus weekend, it should be out by the end of the month as an eBook.I've also got a some articles and another short story coming up real soon so *in the voice of any Nigerian celebrity * "don't touch that dial" Before that, though, I stumbled on this campaign by 63 black Harvard students about guest what....RACISM.
"Hol' up a bit" I said to myself. Isn't it Harvard Asin the quintessential peak of academia and learnedness where everyone has obviously evolved past such nonsense? Surely they didn't mean on campus? The campaign was in response to, among other things, an article by a white female student that had been published in which she said and I quote because it wouldn't be as delicious any other way: "Admitting black people into schools like Harvard is like teaching a blind man to be a piloy". Don't you just wanna lick your lips and read that again.
The project can be found on tumblr using the hashtag #itooamharvard . Its pictures of Harvard students holding small boards on which are written things they've been told or reactions to things they've been told. There's more where this came from but these are the ones I found yummiest:
Well you're definitely not a Malteser!
"Hol' up a bit" I said to myself. Isn't it Harvard Asin the quintessential peak of academia and learnedness where everyone has obviously evolved past such nonsense? Surely they didn't mean on campus? The campaign was in response to, among other things, an article by a white female student that had been published in which she said and I quote because it wouldn't be as delicious any other way: "Admitting black people into schools like Harvard is like teaching a blind man to be a piloy". Don't you just wanna lick your lips and read that again.
The project can be found on tumblr using the hashtag #itooamharvard . Its pictures of Harvard students holding small boards on which are written things they've been told or reactions to things they've been told. There's more where this came from but these are the ones I found yummiest:
| Are you sure? But you look Jamaican. Someone play her Jasi by BankyW just to be sure. |
 |
| Tell me what's that you're holding? Read it out to me. |
You mean you're listening to Enya? What? Really? *snatches your headphones to be sure*
 |
| Coz you know,that's what birthday candle wishes are for. |
 |
| No really, you're like Oreos, white on the inside. Speaking of Oreos: |
Well you're definitely not a Malteser!
 |
| Awww mehn, how's Hollywood going to fill its sassy black supporting actress quota? |
#teamlaiskin
Washerey joo.
I hear there are more campaigns for other universities including Yale and Cambridge . Oh goody.
Friday, March 7, 2014
GUEST POST: THE MIRACLE THAT IS LUPITA NYONG'O
These days I find myself watching a lot of TV.Not necessarily because of the eye-catching programs or for lack of what to do at that moment,these days you would be amazed at the amount of untapped knowledge that could be found in that electrical box.
This week I was watching the Oscars on the E channel and I saw someone very beautiful-beautiful not because of her gorgeous sky blue dress(which according to her reminds her of her native Kenya),beautiful not because of her great smile and incredible gait;her beauty is really inexplicable(even though she's very flat-chested),but beautiful because she is Lupita Nyong'o!
Nyong'o was born in Mexico City, Mexico to Dorothy and Peter Anyang' Nyong'o, a college professor turned politician in Kenya.It is a Luo tradition to name a child after the events of the day, so her parents gave her a Mexican name, Lupita (a diminutive of Our Lady of Guadalupe).She is of Luo descent on both sides of her family, and is the second of six children.Nyong'o identifies as Mexican-Kenyan.Her father was the former Minister for Medical Services in the Kenyan government. At the time of Lupita's birth, he was a visiting lecturer in political science at El Colegio de México in Mexico City and her family had been living in Mexico for three years.
Nyong'o moved back to Kenya with her parents when she was less than one year old,when her father was appointed a professor at the University of Nairobi.She grew up primarily in Kenya, and describes her upbringing as "middle class, suburban".At age sixteen, her parents sent her back to Mexico for seven months to learn Spanish.During those seven months, Nyong'o lived in Taxco, Guerrero, and took classes at the Universidad Nacional Autónoma de México's Learning Center for Foreigners.
Nyong'o landed her breakout role when she was cast in 12 Years a Slave immediately before graduating from Yale with an MFA in 2012.The film was released in 2013 to great critical acclaim. Nyong'o received rave reviews for her performance and was nominated for several awards including a Golden Globe Award for Best Supporting Actress and two Screen Actors Guild Awards including Best Supporting Actress, which she won.On March 2, 2014,she won the Academy Award for Best Supporting Actress, becoming the sixth black actress to win the award, the first African actress to win the award, the first Mexican actress to win the award, and the first Kenyan to win an Oscar.She also became the fifteenth actress to win an Oscar for their debut performance in a feature film.
Nyong'o currently resides in Brooklyn. She is fluent in her native Luo, English, Swahili and Spanish.On February 27, 2014, at the Essence Black Women In Hollywood luncheon in Beverly Hills, Lupita gave a speech on black beauty. Lupita talked about a letter she received from a young fan who stated she was unhappy with herself until she saw the actress on the cover of a magazine. In her speech Lupita talked about the insecurities she had about herself as a teenager; growing up as a dark skinned black girl, women that looked like her were barely portrayed in the media and when they were, they were not deemed as being beautiful. She said, her views about herself changed when she saw South Sudanese supermodel Alek Wek become successful.
"When I saw Alek I inadvertently saw a reflection of myself that I could not deny,” she added. “Now, I had a spring in my step because I felt more seen, more appreciated by the far away gatekeepers of beauty".
Need I say more?.With all the bleaching,fakeness and mediocrity flying around in Nollywood,I say it would take something really special for any of our own to match Lupita's feat...Oh well...what do I know?.
Chuks Asoegwu (07011918203). Find him on twitter
GUEST POST: GOOD PEOPLE GREAT NATION
Today's post is a guest post by prodigal writer and poet Chuks Asoegwu. If you ever want to guest feature your work, its as easy as contacting me. My lazy self welcomes you enthusiastically. I will be featuring two of his works today; this poem, followed by an article, and more subsequently. Enjoy, comment, share!
Good people great nation,
Where knowledge is not might,
Where we can't read for 30 minutes,
Yet we would gladly club all night,
Good people great nation,
To illegality we comply,
Where darkness is a norm,
Where we jubilate at power supply,
Good people great nation,
Where our leaders have no shoes,
Yet they trample on our rights,
And give us things we didn't choose,
Good people great nation,
Where politicians steal by day,
And robbers by night,
Yet they all go to church to pray,
Good people great nation,
In the north its insecurity,
There's a guy with billions on his head,
And even he claims religious purity,
Good people great nation,
With so much oil in the south,
A people so richly blessed,
Yet they feed from hand to mouth,
Good people great nation,
Where we never miss a feast,
They even want to break away,
At least that's in the east,
Good people great nation,
Where morality is as forgotten as faxes,
Its the wild wild west yo!,
Where people don't pay their taxes,
If we only run our mouths,
Without sacrificing for our generation,
That's all we will ever be,
Good people great nation.
Follow Chuks Asoegwu @chuks_ea on twitter
Good people great nation,
Where knowledge is not might,
Where we can't read for 30 minutes,
Yet we would gladly club all night,
Good people great nation,
To illegality we comply,
Where darkness is a norm,
Where we jubilate at power supply,
Good people great nation,
Where our leaders have no shoes,
Yet they trample on our rights,
And give us things we didn't choose,
Good people great nation,
Where politicians steal by day,
And robbers by night,
Yet they all go to church to pray,
Good people great nation,
In the north its insecurity,
There's a guy with billions on his head,
And even he claims religious purity,
Good people great nation,
With so much oil in the south,
A people so richly blessed,
Yet they feed from hand to mouth,
Good people great nation,
Where we never miss a feast,
They even want to break away,
At least that's in the east,
Good people great nation,
Where morality is as forgotten as faxes,
Its the wild wild west yo!,
Where people don't pay their taxes,
If we only run our mouths,
Without sacrificing for our generation,
That's all we will ever be,
Good people great nation.
Follow Chuks Asoegwu @chuks_ea on twitter
Sunday, February 16, 2014
TODAY I RANT : THE STATE OF EVE VS CAREER WOMAN.
PS: I’M CURRENTLY
TOYING WITH THE IDEA OF A SECOND BLOG ,WHICH WILL BE A LOT LESS SELF ABSORBED
THAN HAPYGYPSY AND MORE RADICAL AND TINS. OR I MIGHT JUST DO THAT ON HERE. THIS
PIECE WILL BE ONE OF SUCH ARTICLES FOR “SELEKE” (TENTATIVE TITLE FOR NEW BLOG)
IF I GO ON WITH IT.PARDON ME IF I AM NOT AS WITTY AS USUAL, I’M A LITTLE TOO
BALLISTIC FOR THAT. DO DROP YOUR COMMENTS.ABOUT THE ARTICLE AND WHETHER OR NOT I SHOULD START A SECOND BLOG.
After sharing the grace in church today I remained in my
seat, seething and barely able to keep still. This was usually the part where
the whole congregation bowed their heads and thanked God for the word they had
just heard and asked for the grace to obey and all. I bowed my head, but no
such words could come out. The only thing I could blurt out was “God you can’t
possibly mean this can you? I stood up and was walking towards the door when
the usher tried to stop me, asking that I at least let the ministers file out.
Everyone else was still seated and basking in piousness.
A few months ago I had come home angry as well. We’d had an
interactive session that somehow degenerated into a men versus women debate and
in listing the uses of women; everyone who talked kept listing bathing the kids,
cooking, etc. not one reference to the fact that women too worked. That was
just foreplay. Today we had something like that, the topic was “strengthening a
marriage’’. The anchor was a rather successful businesswoman. You know; the
type that everyone always invited to their events so that if nothing else, they
would receive some money as an apology for her absence. The one whose children everyone
gave treats so they could be in mommy’s good books.
She had been a sort of role model to me because she dressed
well and quite frankly, I never saw her with her husband. I actually at a point
thought she was a widow or separated. That Sunday months ago it took a bit of
nudging to recall my jaw when she’d taken the mic and said same as everyone
else. After I came home that day though, my brother said something which I
thought was very wise in response to my anger. “If men really treated women as
they should, there wouldn’t really be any need for women like me to have to
react this way to every perceived chauvinistic statement because in actual fact
there wouldn’t be any”. But then, the most important word in that sentence is
the first.
Anyway, career woman began to give her two kobo on the matter
and each point she made just made me want to rocket out of my chair and hang
her for all crimes against womenfolk. Please find below counts I hereby bring
against her.
1 Her opening statement was that to make a marriage work,
there should be a 70-30 ratio. 70 of course, being the woman’s thanks for being
saved from the evil clutches of spinsterhood and upgraded to domestic/sexual
staff.
2 Next was that the man
is the head and the woman is the neck and a woman should never try to be the
head or make the big decisions. I.e even if he is incapable of making a
decision on which hand to wipe his butt with. “a woman is made to be under a
man” she said, finishing the good old mantra with “I don’t believe in all that
women liberation stuff”. I refuse to even comment.
3 On stoking the fire in the loins. Women should stop tying
wrapper, should wear sexy underwear and not go to hug him with the smell of
onions and pepper if they are still in the kitchen cooking his dinner when he
comes back from work. Because you know, it puts off a man to smell what he’s
going to eat in a few minutes and even when he expands to almost three times
his initial weight and looks like one huge blob of cellulite slouching in the
chair, it is still her duty to look like Beyonce and smell like Chanel Noir. i.e
after arriving from work and taking care of the kids and cooking and bathing,
before he comes. Because if you don’t do these, it will be YOUR fault when he
cheats, NATURALLY. At this point I was
wondering if at the end she was going to tell us this was all an ad for a super
wife drug.
4 On conflict resolution: Do not dare argue during an
argument, for he is the head. Wait till he calms down, prepare his favorite
meal then give him a good backrub and apply to be heard. This way she informed
us, women too can get to make decisions. Let us break out the celebratory drums
people. I’ll have a glass of Champagne.
THE PIECE DE RESISTANCE:
Someone asked what you should do if your husband tells you
to shut up. Her reply and I quote “if your husband tells you to shut up, I myself
am telling you to shut up. Didn’t I say you should not argue with him? If you
tell him shut up back and he slaps you don’t come and report to pastor o!” I
mean, because obviously you caused it. Look what you did. Now go put an icepack
on your black eye and think on your sins.
Incase you are of the incorrect notion she was attacking
women alone, she did drop a few nuggets for the men :
1 Obviously its her duty to always apologize but try to
apologize some times, behind closed doors of course, so your manly pride is
intact. She did say this. She really did.
2 Appreciate her, don’t tear her down with your words. For
the same reasons you’re nice to a housegirl, so she doesn’t spit in your food,
obvi.
I should note that this talk was punctuated and ended with
enormous applause, even from where the single youths were sitted. So I mean,
our future is secure. I live in a very rural part of Lagos, Nigeria. So a good
number of the women listening to this aren’t educated or learned. Thus career
woman is an icon of sorts. Many of these women are probably being mistreated and
this is the guidance they get, from a woman who in their eyes has it all, with
the full import of religion behind her. The mistreatment of women as dictated by our tradition is being endorsed
and reinforced by the only solace of the common man : religion.
How, does one
begin to combat the many layers that have made this sacrilege sacrosanct? The helplessness I felt was the
reason for my rage. The knowledge that such religiously enforced misleading is happening virtually everywhere in the country, and millions of women are not allowed to consider having it otherwise.
The knowledge that there was nothing I could do about it,
being neither married nor a pastor, thus
I could neither claim having experience nor God on my speed dial so I could call him in
their presence to answer the question that is the title of one of my latest
books : “does God hate women?”. I think not, but in this court, I have no
evidence. So I rant.
Follow me @hapygypsy on twitter.
Follow me @hapygypsy on twitter.
Saturday, January 25, 2014
"What's on your mind?"
Sitting ON my writing desk in the living room, I would like to say I am watching the breathtaking view of sunrise. I am not. I am staring at the ike anobi mosque opposite my house, trying to use the laws of attraction to damage their loudspeakers beforehand. I have failed. The "Allahu Akhbars" have begun.
After navigating past my lustful thoughts about Ryan Gosling and Haagen Daaz ice cream to the dank corners of my mind and back, I remained uninspired. So I fell back on the golden rule of social media : over sharing.Here's a tale from the adventures of hapygypsy, written in more characters than status updates will allow. Maybe a little embellished, but then again that's why you watch reality tv.
Ask and.......OH SHOOT! YOU ACTUALLY MIGHT BE GIVEN!
Few days to the end of last year I woke up in a mid life crisis. Passing out from youth service was in February and I had this vision of myself : home and jobless and pretending to write but unable to because I was too broke to buy a Biro because it had been two months without #19,800. My bobo had dumped me because I could no longer afford the perfume I'd told him was my natural scent and was always stealing money from his discarded clothes.
Project that a few months further and its not a stretch to when I start accosting people on the road, telling them I just needed money to get home and crossing to the other side of the road for fresh prey a là that guy at Obalende. I moved like a robot to my iPad and began tapping the broken screen maniacally, searching for vacancies.
Two hours and multiple applications later,the fever broke and I was back to my hole ridden pajamas wearing slobby self. My family was relieved. But the past always catches up with us. Early this January I received a call inviting me for an interview the next day. The call came in late and I was sleeping over at a friend's that day. Suddenly I was feeling queasy and throwing up.I couldn't even remember what post I'd applied for, only that the range of vacancies I'd applied for was from astronaut to 'leaflet distribution intern' (I assure you that is an actual thing.)
The bobo came to pluck me and take me home early in the morning. He told me how great I would do and all the other things he is mandated to say while I said 'don't flatter me' and 'please go on' when he stopped. The mother helped me find the one pair of coordinating corporate clothes i possessed. I grabbed the briefcase I'd only bought because it was such a nice shade of brown leather and was Italian. Transformation complete. I got to the reception a few minutes early and tried to snoop around to find out what post I'd applied for. Finally I settled for that of the very confident guy sitting next to me.
I entered the room when it was my turn and was asked what job I'd applied for. It felt like Frank Edoho's hotseat. I got it wrong of course, but decided to go with it and be interviewed for that post anyway. After managing to answer a few questions without sounding like a total retard, they remarked on how utterly unimpressive my CV was, as compared to talking to me. I explained that it was put together hastily in my midlife crisis while assuring them I was okay now.
Then I was asked how much I wanted to earn and when I replied, I thought my interviewer was having a coronary. I reminded myself I wasn't talking to birthday candles and shortened my throat, but the damage was done. I left there with a drawing my fellow interviewee and newest friend had done of me when we were in the reception. At least I would have this narcissistic reminder of how I would be jobless for life, I thought.
Tuesday this week, I was sifting through my mail when I saw an offer of employment in my box. I regarded it as spam, knowing if I called the number someone would probably ask me to pay 9k into someone's account so I could secure the job, a la Michael who was supposedly my classmate at FRCN and had gotten me a job at Shell(I almost gawked that one sha). However I received a call the next day asking why i had not responded to my mail. I barely kept from blurting "are we joking here"
Having accepted the offer and set to resume to Thursday, I took a look at my hippy/misfit wardrobe and the fretting started, for worry abhors a vacuum. What should I wear on my first day, cause you know you don't want to look like the office slut, or granny, or the blonde one who thinks work is about showing off her latest shoes, how wide my smile should be when I'm being introduced, cause you don't wanna look too eager and easy to bully, or stuck up........ this just got real.
Please drop your comments about the drudgery of the corporate world etc like the cult I interviewed for last week, which I would tell you about later. Now I must stop, for "virtue has gone out of me".
After navigating past my lustful thoughts about Ryan Gosling and Haagen Daaz ice cream to the dank corners of my mind and back, I remained uninspired. So I fell back on the golden rule of social media : over sharing.Here's a tale from the adventures of hapygypsy, written in more characters than status updates will allow. Maybe a little embellished, but then again that's why you watch reality tv.
Ask and.......OH SHOOT! YOU ACTUALLY MIGHT BE GIVEN!
Few days to the end of last year I woke up in a mid life crisis. Passing out from youth service was in February and I had this vision of myself : home and jobless and pretending to write but unable to because I was too broke to buy a Biro because it had been two months without #19,800. My bobo had dumped me because I could no longer afford the perfume I'd told him was my natural scent and was always stealing money from his discarded clothes.
Project that a few months further and its not a stretch to when I start accosting people on the road, telling them I just needed money to get home and crossing to the other side of the road for fresh prey a là that guy at Obalende. I moved like a robot to my iPad and began tapping the broken screen maniacally, searching for vacancies.
Two hours and multiple applications later,the fever broke and I was back to my hole ridden pajamas wearing slobby self. My family was relieved. But the past always catches up with us. Early this January I received a call inviting me for an interview the next day. The call came in late and I was sleeping over at a friend's that day. Suddenly I was feeling queasy and throwing up.I couldn't even remember what post I'd applied for, only that the range of vacancies I'd applied for was from astronaut to 'leaflet distribution intern' (I assure you that is an actual thing.)
The bobo came to pluck me and take me home early in the morning. He told me how great I would do and all the other things he is mandated to say while I said 'don't flatter me' and 'please go on' when he stopped. The mother helped me find the one pair of coordinating corporate clothes i possessed. I grabbed the briefcase I'd only bought because it was such a nice shade of brown leather and was Italian. Transformation complete. I got to the reception a few minutes early and tried to snoop around to find out what post I'd applied for. Finally I settled for that of the very confident guy sitting next to me.
I entered the room when it was my turn and was asked what job I'd applied for. It felt like Frank Edoho's hotseat. I got it wrong of course, but decided to go with it and be interviewed for that post anyway. After managing to answer a few questions without sounding like a total retard, they remarked on how utterly unimpressive my CV was, as compared to talking to me. I explained that it was put together hastily in my midlife crisis while assuring them I was okay now.
Then I was asked how much I wanted to earn and when I replied, I thought my interviewer was having a coronary. I reminded myself I wasn't talking to birthday candles and shortened my throat, but the damage was done. I left there with a drawing my fellow interviewee and newest friend had done of me when we were in the reception. At least I would have this narcissistic reminder of how I would be jobless for life, I thought.
Tuesday this week, I was sifting through my mail when I saw an offer of employment in my box. I regarded it as spam, knowing if I called the number someone would probably ask me to pay 9k into someone's account so I could secure the job, a la Michael who was supposedly my classmate at FRCN and had gotten me a job at Shell(I almost gawked that one sha). However I received a call the next day asking why i had not responded to my mail. I barely kept from blurting "are we joking here"
Having accepted the offer and set to resume to Thursday, I took a look at my hippy/misfit wardrobe and the fretting started, for worry abhors a vacuum. What should I wear on my first day, cause you know you don't want to look like the office slut, or granny, or the blonde one who thinks work is about showing off her latest shoes, how wide my smile should be when I'm being introduced, cause you don't wanna look too eager and easy to bully, or stuck up........ this just got real.
Please drop your comments about the drudgery of the corporate world etc like the cult I interviewed for last week, which I would tell you about later. Now I must stop, for "virtue has gone out of me".
Wednesday, December 18, 2013
To Whom It May And Mayn't Concern: My Open Letter.
If Nollywood can do it, so can I. Thus, since open letters are trending this season, short of doing something related to Mandela, as there's an over saturation of that, I present my open letter to all the people that have loved, wronged and dared to live on earth at the same time as me.
1 NEPA : all through the year you have toyed with my emotions. I have cursed, abused and tried using the law of attraction to bring back the light. So it is my hope that with every reader of this letter a witness, you will see the error of your ways. In the event that this prayer is somehow answered and I'm given 24/7 light, I'd also like for the sum of 103 million naira only, to be debited to my account. If you're going to make an unrealizable wish, might as well indulge.
2 To the guys I have met this year: I will take the liberty of recapping what we already know. That I am the total package, beautiful, intelligent and good in......the kitchen. However two captains cannot sail a ship. And this one has left shore since, in the hands of a capable sailor. Thus, I would appreciate if you refrain from telling me God will punish or judge me because I no do. To the ones who for fear of being friend zoned went from "hi" to "come spend a night at my place" in almost one breath, I'm sorry if I gave you the wrong impression, but rooms are only available in the friend zone district now. Feel free to check in or check front.
3 To my baby, Dr Olukemi Oluwagbemi. You are not getting any younger. Pls get married now while I am still around to vet your options. Frankly, I am quite tired to having to chase away the rather unsatisfactory toasters. Also, any money lying around the house does not automatically belong to you, the same way your covetous sons have applied that rule to any food they see. A couple Hollandia yoghurt incidents come to mind.
4 To Femi Fani Kayode and Dino Melaye: sirs, you are an inspiration. Nothing inspires the youth of today to rise up and fight the powers that be than the activism of those that used to be in such power. Dear Femoo, your classic " I was not a tribalist wen...." letter is written in cursive on my bathroom mirror. If Stella only had your oratory prowess! Oga Dino, your very apt description that included the statement " she said that she would give each side one breast to suck, and we are sucking it, we are sucking it very well" is my mantra for peaceful coexistence : "nipples ahoy!" . Grease to both your totally clean elbows.
5 To Chinua Achebe: I hate that I never met you, but unlike everyone else seems to be doing, I shall be consoled by reading your work and improving mine, not directing venom at your mentee Chimamanda, as seems to be all the rave now. Rest in peace.
6 To our thousands of dead brothers and sisters in the North: and I say this to include both the victims, and those so strongly faithful in their misguided beliefs that they were willing to kill and be killed. I hope you find peace. To the anserine ones who see this tragedy as a comical hot topic , including those who laughed at the "Oga at the top" scandal not even knowing why it was funny, more bubbles to your brain. Just don't wonder why you were unfollowed.
7 To Miley , Maheeda, and the Media : Guess what? We know you're women. Do not feel the need to prove the fact to us without doubt. I can also authoritatively tell you that we ALL know what a naked woman looks like, thanks to biology and shops apparently without enough merchandise to cover the mannequins in their show glass. Thus this mission of education you have set on, is as unnecessary as it is chivalrous, but your country thanks you. To the media, make up your mind if you want to educate or eroticize the people with your news.
8 To our artistes: you sunglasses indoors wearing, shiny lipped, ostentatious lot are the masterpieces of nature. Afterall you were given the talent that has now bloated you like helium balloons, or in the case of some, the talent to act like you're actually doing something. Please go ahead, I live for your faux pas, and the versatility you all apply to singing about money, cars, and women. And to the one who looks a lot like a racoon who joined the "big leagues" this year, you're proof God loves the animals too, please go on being a diva. As for the one who climbed stage wielding his crotch sheathed in white briefs, I'm just happy we didn't provoke you to unleash the dragon.
9 To the people I meet who inspire me, including the ones I haven't. Little people making big differences with little gestures. People who are brave enough to care in these times. To the ones like us all over the world, however few, it's comforting to know we're not alone. To the few women out there who are being strong and independent without banging everyone upside the head with the soiled title of " feminist" and it's now skewed interpretations, you make me proud everyday.
Rambling on would be taking the long suffering of my readers for granted, thus I finish.
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