It’s my sister’s birthday!!!

Whoop!!!!

It’s my sister’s birthday today!! Whoop!! My darling big sister is a year older today (in case the ‘it’s my sister’s birthday’ didn’t get you jumping with glee, lol) and I’m so excited she’s alive and well, and happy, and a mother to the cutest baby in the world, my darling nephew Boo Boo!!

My darling sister and my boy!!!

Happy birthday big sister, welcome to a new year full of God’s blessings and favor and love and grace and peace and happiness and plenty money and good health and joy and promotions and fulfilment and more children (remember Momma wants five from you)!

We love you loads. We do. Now rock out!!! Whoop!!

 

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Ladies!!!! This thing called beef….

Recently I walked into a lounge with my cousin and his fiancée with a couple of friends and their partners too. Shout out to those who have already made the mental note about me being unattached, errr, that’s not what this is about!

A friend had just graduated and we wanted to make it a special evening for him. We were all dressed to the nines: new outfits and hair styles, I was on point! You know that moment when you look in the mirror and tell yourself: ‘choi! I’m fine sha!’ That’s how I felt, that I had trumped every potential hot babe in that lounge (because we ladies dress up for ourselves, not the guys).

We got to the lounge late, with the confidence of chubby penguins. The tables we had reserved had been taken over by some ladies who at the moment were giving us the dressing down of our lives with their eyes. My God! One of them looked at me with so much venom; if looks could kill her eyes would have wiped out my family using me as a point of contact!

Wish I could tell you about the champagne popping ‘competition/incident’ that followed; it was as hilarious as it was silly. Did I mention the ‘pepper eye’ was only for us chics? By the end of the night these ladies were grinding on the men but still rolling their eyes at us. I came away from that evening thinking, ‘ki lo de? Why do women hate/dislike/beef other women’? Why do we feel the next woman has to be the enemy even before we get to know them?

Before you absolve yourself of guilt, have you ever been among your peers (guys or girls) and the first (and probably only) comment you can offer after sizing up another female, has to be nasty? Every other lady has to be an example of what not to wear, sometimes even how not to be created? Are you in the ‘I get along more with guys’ club? Or the ‘if-she’s-rich-she-has-to-be-doing-something-wrong’ school of thought? Of course if it’s a guy he’s hard working, but a lady? Noooooooo.

Does every female look like a potential hawk waiting to snatch your innocent ‘she-made-me-do-it’ (in)significant other? Do you think the only reason the other lady is in your office is to take your job and so before the ink on her employment letter dries you make it your life’s goal to frustrate her out of the place?

It’s funny, but very sad too; when did we stop looking out for each other? I stumbled on some research in The Economist where researchers tried to find amongst other things, which would hurt a prospective female employee more, a CV with a photo or not. Conclusion? “Old fashioned jealousy led women to discriminate against pretty (female) candidates”. Seriously?

Straight talk ladies, quit it! And I have a few ways to help.

1. If there’s something you find you’re beefing another lady for, 80% of the time it’s because you don’t have it. So get it and move on, or realize you can’t get it, and move on!
2. Know this: you appear petty, unappealing, and insecure when you go on this hate route around guys. They might laugh at your nastiness but trust me, you’re less a lady in their sight.
3. Deal with yourself: sometimes all the hate is a manifestation of deeper issues; get help before it gets out of hand.

Have I said all women are perfect, that I haven’t been hurt (severally) by my lady friends? No. But hating on a total stranger? Beneath me. The golden rule doesn’t isolate gender. We shouldn’t.

 

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Just a thought…

Ladies, have discussions with your intended, explore his mind, his perspective, etc. So you don’t end up with an Abati, or even worse, FFK.

PAIN

Pain
Beyond human imagination
Pain
That breaks the soul
Pain
Transcending comprehension
Pain
This is that pain

Pain
Ripping hearts apart
Pain
Like a mighty explosion
Pain
Shards lying about
Pain
This is that pain

Pain
The inexplicable torture
Pain
Can’t tell a soul
Pain
How much more, how much longer
Pain
I feel that pain

CAIRO TO ABUJA

Catch up on the London to Cairo trip gist here. I advise that you go read that one, and then come back for this one. Ok?

So, I got to our departure gate thirty minutes to the time, making me one of the first people to board the bus taking us to the tarmac. Can I say the distance between the departure lounge and the tarmac is almost a trip in itself? I enjoyed it anyway, and I took a few pictures too!

Ok, so we boarded and the first thing I noticed was there were no personal entertainment systems on the plane. What??? On a 4 hours plus flight? Egypt Air just disgraced me there abeg. SMH! SMH (again, for good measure).

Since I was already feeling poorly (something I ate on the first leg of the trip had destroyed the peaceful equilibrium in my belly), I decided to sleep. Thank God there was a seat between a lady and I, and shout out to her for saving me a slice of cake, waking me up when it was lunch time, and even keeping a landing card for me! Quick question; do citizens of other countries have to fill out landing cards for their own countries? Just curious.

A bit of tatafo (gist) here that I didn’t include in the London to Cairo post. There was this lady who kept brandishing a British passport on every queue we were on. Started from the queue by the Immigration desk, she had the ‘red kpali’ in her hand, hand on her waist, and was probably playing ‘change your style’ in her head. She gets to the desk, brings out her Nigerian passport to be stamped, puts it back in her bag, and then continues with the flashing. We get to the last security check before heading for our gates. Apparently she’d been ‘almost strip searched’ like me so we got there about the same time. Again she brought out the Nigerian passport, got it scanned, and then whipped out the British passport again. Thought about it a few times since I got back; noticed she didn’t chat with anyone (I didn’t either) so what was all of that for? Did I miss something?

Anyway, I hated the second leg of the flight; I was so uncomfortable, nausea got worse with each passing minute, and it was all I could do not to cry, especially when the pilot announced that the temperature in Abuja was 37 degrees. What??? That’s 34 more than I left at the beginning of this entire trip!

Touched down safely (thank you Jesus), and as soon as we did the walk (IN THE SUN) from the plane to Arrivals, I started to retch. Made it to a safe spot and threw up everything even remotely connected to Egypt Air in my system.

Was doubled over (literally) in pain in the queue at Immigration and I’m very grateful to the officer who came over, took me to a seat, and then helped me sort out my passport. God bless you.

Ride home was uneventful. Tired and uncomfortable as I was though, soon as I saw my darling nephew Boo Boo, like Jacob in the Bible when he saw his son Joseph, my spirit revived! It’s good to be home! Thank God for a safe trip, for healing (I’m a lot better now), and for family!

Whoop!

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Kids Dramatize the Darndest Things

Reblogged from Second Lunch:

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I think around 4 years of age most of us can readily access long-term-ish memories and use them to surmise patterns about everyday life, for example, like how most kids eventually realize forks really suck when eating cereal, and how spoons don't really quite understand the intricacies of spaghetti. One prominent pattern that began emerging, for me, was the link between going to the Dr’s office and getting some sort of painful injection.

Read more… 970 more words

I totally loved this!! And I love this blog! While I never bolted from a doctor's office as a child, or demanded their credentials (don't think I had the time, I probably was too busy being afraid), I'm unashamed to say I still have a morbid fear of needles! It is the reason I don't have any other piercing, and the reason why I work very hard to suppress any discomfort I have! I remember the last time I had to take an injection (which was recently), before I started crying there were at least three people holding, and trying to calm me down! *sigh*

THIS IS NOT A COUNTRY

Nigeria Police Force (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Welcome to the month of April! Fourth month of the year 2012; that you’re here reading this is proof of God’s faithfulness, the miracle of yet another day!! Whoop!

April is a special month for me for many reasons; it’s my only sister’s birth month (happy birthday 19 days in advance Dokky), it’s the month before my birth month (start getting those pressies ready), and four’s a nice number (for lack of anything else to say)!

Wasn’t very happy yesterday though, and I’ll tell you in a minute. Earlier in the day I read an article by Chris Ihidero (my big uncle in this profession), where he all but washed himself clean of all the optimism he’s ever had for Nigeria. Titled, ‘why Nigeria won’t be great anytime soon’, this first part focused on the shameful state of the Nigerian Police Force; our so-called claim to security.

Now, even though I agreed 110% with everything he said, I’m a big (maybe even bigger optimist) so I thought, ‘Nigeria will still be great jor, and soon’! Little did I know I would eat my words before the end of the day!

About noon a friend got in touch to say his sister had been abducted the night before. She was forced into and then driven away in her own car by a bunch of hoodlums in one of the states of Nigeria.

That was the evening of Friday the 30^th, Saturday the 31^st her car was found outside a lounge in another part of the town. Amongst other things found in the car were shoes (not belonging to her), and blood (not belonging to her too in Jesus name)!

The Police were notified. They dropped by the house on Saturday and in my opinion that’s as ‘useful’ as they’ve been.

To the part that made my blood boil (and almost curdle). After they were informed her car had been found, they asked HER BROTHER to tow the car to their station.

Did I mention they would only declare her missing after 24 hours? ‘Standard procedure’, they said.

#THISISNOTACOUNTRY

Run through these scenarios with me; there are witnesses to her violent abduction, you’ve found her car and you still need 24 hours to declare her missing? What other evidence do you need in the name of everything pure? A ‘go-ahead’ note from her captors? Or for goats and chickens on the street to tell you they witnessed it as well, since you don’t believe the human beings or no one has the presence of mind to adapt rules to peculiar situations!! Jeez!!!

Then, whatever happened to protecting the sanctity of a crime scene? And then, her brother (who is obviously distraught and traumatized by his sisters’ disappearance) should bring the car to the station? For what!!! The car should just be towed to the station for you to impound so you can charge for its release later right?

In these days of Boko Haram (which in your extreme usefulness/intelligence you have been unable to quash), no one gave a thought to checking to see if the car had been rigged with explosives? Noooooooooo. Yet you’re happy to cause traffic with the laughable mirrors you stick under cars of hapless human beings going to the cinema in the name of ‘searching for bombs’.

#THISISNOTACOUNTRY

I’m so angry! Maybe because this hit close to home, or maybe because it’s dawning on me that WE ARE NOT SECURE!

We have prayed, gotten in touch with the SSS and all our ‘big friends’ in the Police Force to get on it (because of course your case only gets attention if you know ‘someone’). When I think however that it is these half-baked (or raw), under-paid, ill-equipped minions who’ll be charged with expediting action on this matter, I realize that our only hope is in God.

Please say a prayer for her.

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10 Easy Ways to Improve Your Life Today

Reblogged from BA Expat:

Changing or improving your life doesn't have to be a long, frustrating, drawn-out process. I'm always in search of the smallest changes that yield the biggest returns, and below is my collection of quick tips that can make your life easier, more fulfilling, or just less of a pain in the ass.

Try one or two of these and tell me how great they worked.

Read more… 1,549 more words

I read this post first the day after Valentine's Day, when I was bored to death and in need of something that wouldn't remind me of my single status. Addict that I am, I went on Wordpress and looked under the recommended tab. I wasn't big on reading an expatriate's diary at first I must confess but his titles had a way of beckoning I couldn't turn down. I was happy I came on to the site when I read '10 easy ways to improve your life today'. Which of his tips spoke directly to me? I'll tell you, but only after you've shared yours! Enjoy!

#DearFutureHusband

Did you have a nice weekend? Did too! Start from having a fabulous week; bestie came to Birmingham for a few days and we had a lot of fun! From catching up, to seeing a movie (‘In Time’ was amazing), to the workshop at Apple, to endless shopping (bet you thought I wouldn’t get here), boy did we have fun!

Bestie and I shopping!

For the weekend, I popped with my flatmate to her aunt’s for her baby’s dedication. I had promised about a month ago that I’d come to help (plus I’d bought the train ticket already) so I went. Was it a lot of work? Definitely! Did I enjoy helping out? Of course! By the way, I nearly  missed my coach but that’s another story, one you probably should have heard too many times to be excited or amused about. Two major downsides to the trip sha, I missed service at my home church, and secondly (less important) a John Grisham novel I was reading didn’t exactly end the way I thought it would. *sigh*

Anyways, so I’m on the train home after my very eventful weekend (past  8.30pm), and suddenly the peace and quiet is shattered by the entrance of five heavily made up teenagers, one of them with enormous hips (or hips that don’t lie). Apart from the fact that I was disgusted by the amount of noise the urchins whipped up, I wondered where they were headed to, at that time. ‘Maybe home’, I thought, trying desperately to ignore the ruckus and concentrate on my novel. I was sure they weren’t headed home because of the transformation two of them underwent in a few minutes of them being on the train. Hijabs (the hair and face covering Muslim ladies wear) were lost, revealing long, flowing, already styled tresses of beautiful hair, no doubt well prepared for this time. Different hues of red touched already glossy lips, and in no time they all looked ready to model blood red lipstick for Elizabeth Arden or Revlon.

The question would be, where were these ladies headed, at this time of the night? And before you ask what I was doing/where I was going, I already explained above; I was heading home after a hard, yet very pleasurable day. And yes, I gave the girls at least 10 years on their ages, and where I’m from it is not best practise to question you elders! *sticks tongue out*

I imagine they told their folks they were going to have sleep-overs at each other’s house, and knowing parents wouldn’t check, met up somewhere, and disappeared.

Not acceptable. Full stop.

Or worse, as kids in these parts are wont to do, they would have ‘battled’ their parents for the right to go out, for whatever reason. I say battled because not only do I watch episodes of their lives on TV, I was at a friend’s when her younger sister (a very beautiful 14-year-old) tried the ‘this-is-the-land-of-the-free-and-the-brave-and-children-have-the-right-to-say-whatever-they-want’ on their mom, a lady from the Western part of Nigeria. Of course it didn’t end well, and if there had been an award for the parent with the fastest reflexes, walai this mom would have gotten it! I’ve never seen a slap that fast; the way she silenced her eye-rolling, rough-necking daughter.

Makes me wonder about my own upbringing and how my husband and I will raise our children. I’ve come to understand that are God’s gifts, and we are only caretakers. And I plan to take care of my own very well I tell you!

So, #DearFutureHusband, together we will

• Raise our champions (what my dad calls us) in the knowledge and fear of the Lord, us, and their society.
• I don’t believe this ‘times have changed’ gist; crap, crap, mega crap. Some values are ageless, respect inclusive. Certain things will NOT be acceptable, like having our 14-year-old out in the streets/in trains with their friends at 10pm.
• Ensure that to the best of our ability, our kids have a brilliant education. And lots of fun while they’re at it.
• Most importantly, show them every day that we love them (to the moon and back), and that their welfare (and wellbeing) is uppermost in our hearts.

Loving you in advance,

Your Future Wife.

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WHAT TO GIVE DADDY THIS YEAR?

What’s the best gift you can give to someone who has given you everything? Someone you love, adore, someone you know you’re fashioned after? Someone who’s set the bar so high up for his kind sometimes you wonder if anyone will ever get there? In simple English, what do I give my dad for his birthday?

So it’s my daddy’s birthday tomorrow (13/10/2011); normally I would put this up on the day but I need your help because I want to do something a little off for him this year, and I’ll be needing your help to pull it through! It was a little difficult deciding to do this for him, and at a point I must admit I actually felt stumped! Three years ago, I sang him a song at church, and bullied/cajoled my darling elder brother to play the piano for me. The year after that I wrote him a poem, ‘The Best Man‘, originally published in my Facebook notes but later on this blog. The year after that (last year), I wrote an ‘open letter to my father’ on Facebook but also on this blog as well.  So unless I would be writing him a drama or penning his biography, I knew I had pretty much run out of art forms. Till I chanced on this idea.

Now my siblings and I were all in the country in August and so we pulled off a family dinner and photo-shoot for Momma’s birthday; it was amazing, and was an evening we’ll all remember for years to come! Plus the pictures were great too!

Swag's still intact! Both parents!

The thing is, two of us are out now, and the third person isn’t even in town on the day! How do we throw in some excitement for daddy’s birthday then? It’s out of the question that a party will happen (well, not completely out of the question, we just won’t be there). I was just throwing around in my mind ideas that would get him really excited on the day. What to do? What to do?

By the way, it’s safe for me to rant here because even though my darling daddy reads my blog (and promptly calls to correct any errors I might have made), with benefit of hindsight I know he won’t be here anytime before his day so we can do all the scheming here!

Ready? So this is the plan. In addition to all the gifts we got him, I want thirty people to call and sing happy birthday to my daddy; twenty in Nigeria, and ten outside Nigeria, from any part of the world. Thirty people, not only because it’s a modest, achievable number for 24 hours, but also because it is one of the numbers in the equation that will give the age he’s attaining if multiplied by a certain even number.  I hope to God I didn’t confuse you! Lol!

So that’s it, 30 people to call and wish my beloved daddy a very happy birthday on my behalf. You can sing, rap, anything, just say happy birthday to the man I adore! Can you help? Leave a comment here, or tweet at me and then I’ll give you the number to call. Mega thanks in advance!

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