Posted in Bits and Pieces

The Alchemist

I came across this poem a while ago. I didn’t realise then what it meant. I didn’t realise that I would experience what the writer of the poem meant. I couldn’t relate properly to what the poet was feeling. Now I realise it’s meaning. Now I know the poet’s experience. Now, I can relate to the poet’s feelings. And now, it has become my favourite poem.

“I am a sculptor, a molder of form.

In every moment I shape an idol.

But then, in front of you, I melt them down

I can rouse a hundred forms

and fill them with spirit,

but when I look into your face,

I want to throw them in the fire.

My souls spills into yours and is blended.

Because my soul has absorbed your fragrance,

I cherish it.

Every drop of blood I spill

informs the earth,

I merge with my Beloved

when I participate in love.

In this house of mud and water,

my heart has fallen to ruins.

Enter this house, my Love, or let me leave.”

 

 The Divani Shamsi Tabriz, XXXIV

~ By Rumi

Hello you,

Yes you.

I’m talking to you.

You like to open everyone’s book, and when you do suceed in opening it, you don’t take responsibility for what happens after opening that book.

You just think everyone likes their books opened. You think everyone’s books should be opened. You never take into consideration how their closed books was their last line of defence. So if you break that down, don’t just fling them away like trash and move on to the next closed book.

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Posted in Bits and Pieces

A Letter to You

Use of strong and explicit language, please proceed at your own risk.

Dear phenomenal douche bag person,

I think I’ve had it up to here (insert my head with a hand pointed at my neck) with your bullshit.

I wrote this just for you. You know how my brain goes into hibernation if I were to wait for a conversation, and how it just locks itself when a conversation comes up and I do not have the password.

I knew something was up and you couldn’t just talk about it. Okay if you can’t talk about it, it’s okay to say something is up but I can’t talk about it. Remember I even asked you some days ago, what is up, that you’ve become weird, withdrawn. And you gave a crass answer.

You know I’m awake most nights. It’s weird but I know when you’re actually sleeping deeply and when you never leave the stage 1 in the sleep cycle.

You might not have been turning like I usually do when I’m restless but I knew something was disturbing you.

And I freaking tried to ask. That’s what is pissing me off more. Not that I didn’t notice, I asked you. Not once, not twice. Remember when I said you’re like me last year.

There were times I wanted to reach out at night when your back was turned but I stopped myself always worried that you’ll get angry. That’s the reason I always slept at the edge of my pillow closer to you.

I’m just wondering when we became reduced to this. Hiding what we’re suffering. There were so many things I wanted to tell you but I kept mute because you had become so absorbed in self-pity. I knew you were “suffering” in quote but you didn’t even talk about it. You didn’t even give a chance to talk about it. Coming in to sleep late, obviously sleeping in the mornings when I leave and when I return, avoiding me like a plague. You might not have known that you were avoiding me, but you fucking did. On the other hand maybe you were purposely avoiding me.

It really hurt. It did.

Okay. I think I got the parts that my brain would have locked up on me out. To be continued…

Kind Regards,

Alia, the weirdo.

Dear word press readers, I apologise for the strong language used. Sometimes, it is needful to use strong language.

Posted in Pinches of Salt

The End

Ecclesiastes 9:5-6 KJV

[5] For the living know that they shall die: but the dead know not any thing, neither have they any more a reward; for the memory of them is forgotten.

[6] Also their love, and their hatred, and their envy, is now perished; neither have they any more a portion for ever in any thing that is done under the sun.

I came in to work this morning, it felt different. It is a Monday. Usually I find happy faces, all those I hadn’t seen over the weekend. At least the greetings were cheerful. And also, it is a Monday. Monday mornings are usually full of jostling and bubbling. I wondered why.

Well I proceeded to my office and five minutes later, I got told that a colleague had died the prior night. To say, I was shocked is an understatement. He had an accident.

To put things in perspective, let me break this down in detail.

He came to work on Saturday, told his colleagues goodbye at the close of work and proceeded home.

On his way home, he got called by Mr X’s wife that Mr X was gravely ill and had refused to go to the hospital. He probably called his wife and his kids. He probably said to the little kids “daddy won’t be home early today, daddy will get you something on his return”; his wife probably already making dinner and him promising to return early so as to eat the food while it’s still hot. He is just going to take sick Mr. X to the hospital. That’s the kind of man he was or at least he appeared to be. Selfless. He probably came back home tired after the day’s job and still wanted to take his sick friend to the hospital. You see Mr X was both a colleague and a friend.

He successfully took Mr X to the hospital and he got on a bike, because it is quicker, so that he can make it home in time for dinner. Halfway through the journey… BOOM!!! His bike had collided with a car. No helmets to protect him, no metal shield by his side; as his head hit the road with a thud. He made it to the hospital, but he didn’t survive it.

I am just thinking about the call his young wife received. He was supposed to eat with the family that night.

I am thinking about the call his immediate colleagues received. It cannot be. They only just said goodbye to him. He was supposed to show up at work the next day.

I am thinking about the call the organisation received. He had just attended a surprise party thrown for the General Manager before going home. Everyone was happy; eating and drinking.

I am just thinking about Mr X’s wife. Do you think she will forgive herself for being the one that made him leave his family at that particular time?

I am just thinking of Mr X, do you think he’ll forgive his wife and himself for indirectly causing his friend’s death? Do you think he’ll be able to face his colleagues again?

That could have easily been me. I use a bike to and from work almost everyday. The bike drivers are very rough and erratic in their driving. As a matter of fact, I entered a bike driven by such a driver this morning to work.

Death always has a way of putting things in perspective. I would like to believe that he died happy. I would like to believe that in his final moments, he wasn’t thinking about how he should have apologised to his wife for their morning fights. I would like to believe he wasn’t thinking of the harsh way he treated a junior colleague.

His chapter is over. His curtain has been drawn. His candle is burnt out.

Life is too short.

Live everyday like it is your last.

Be kind to others.

Do not have regrets.

Never carry over fights; either to sleep at night or to work.

Breathe.

Posted in State of Mind

How To Incite Murder – Episode 1

Please give me a few minutes while I cuss out my neighbours….

So we share a generator; it is the responsibility of all to care for that generator. We get petrol for it, oil for it etc. These buffoons had collectively decided that I should be the designated petrol buyer. I wouldn’t mind as much if they made other efforts concerning this particular generator of ours.

Sometime this week I decided to ignore them. I didn’t buy petrol, didn’t lift a finger for three days. Oh you can be sure they got the drift and went to get petrol.

Fast forward till today. I switch on the generator by 7:30pm and see that the petrol is not gonna last up to three hours. I switch it on anyway, I mean they are closer to it, I am sure they can put it off when the time comes. I mean, I trust them to.

Approximately at a couple of minutes past 10pm I presume, the generator began to make a sound showing that petrol is exhausted. I was already asleep, so obviously I didn’t know what was going on.

These big-headed, self-rigteous douche bags did not move a muscle at the noise. Luckily, somewhere in my dream, I heard the sound, so I jumped out of my dream and ran all the way downstairs like a woman, crazed to turn it off.

I do not know how long it had been going on for before I turned it off, because it was already at it’s dying stage to turn off automatically by the time I reached it.

And then, I heard it, the lot of them cackling like abandoned peacocks in the Serengeti.

So these fools were all awake?

So these fools heard this and did absolutely nothing?

So these fools, five of them, made me almost fall down the stairs?

Even I, was asleep and heard the generator noise in my sleep. I was having a good dream… yeah, that kind of dream.

And this daft children were all laughing and chatting, less than five feet away from the generator.

When I finally switched it off and did the changeover routines, they all came to the window to ask me a stupid question with a tiny patronising voice that would not even arouse an oyster.

“What’s the problem?”

Like the lot of them had never had a generator in their homes before and didn’t know how it sounded when petrol finished.

Oh help me Jesus!

Strange Lingua

*generator – a device that has been saving Nigerian’s lives since the 20th century. Found in almost every space that has a roof and people inside. Including homes, shops, salons, roadside umbrella stands etc.

Posted in Musings

The Mind; Her Mind; My Mind

I

Sometimes I imagine what life would have been like if I was born without privileges. If I was born without a silver spoon.

From last year, I began to experience the thing called “brokeness”. For most of the last six years, I always had enough, and when I didn’t have, all I had to do was place a call home. I wasn’t working and I was living in a fairly expensive city with high cost of living. My friends were both jealous and awed at the same time. I didn’t have any budget. I just spent money as I saw it. I didn’t have savings, because there was no need. Money never came to me unless it finished. I couldn’t give account of anything I spent my money on. Now I wasn’t extravagant, but I wasn’t frugal either.

So when “brokeness” hit me like a plague last year, I could not deal. To some, it was normal. To me it was hell. I found out that I could not adjust to certain things. I lost weight, my health suffered, amongst other things. This year, it is even far worse, except that I have come to enjoy it. I want it. I want to see life and the world at large through a different lens. I love clothes. I have so many of them. Or had. I hate to repeat clothes at work or anywhere. Even for an outing. But here I am, I haven’t gotten new clothes in ages and I am still alive. You see personally I cannot afford new clothes. I am broke. But I’m still alive aren’t I?

I am trying to be independent. I am trying to be normal. I am already the Nigerian lady in my age grade who has been having cheese, sausages and all things nice since I was a baby. I don’t want to be the Nigerian lady who is still having expensive things at the expense of others. You see, father dabbled into something he should not have dabbled into. So now salaries are unpaid, children are getting nearly kicked out of school and their parents are shareholders in the borrowers committee, the organisation is suffering, and the CEO still has no clue of the situation.

Now father has come again with talks of another degree. Still at the expense of others. No, thanks. I’d rather strive like evey other Nigerian my age. I am tired of worrying about father, his reputation and the organisation. I am tired of the looks I get when I say “oh I haven’t done this before.” Or “oh I haven’t tried that before”. Because apparently it’s normal for other people. I am tired of being that person. It is no fun.

So yes, I would have preferred to have had fifty kobo as spending allowance than eating smarties and goody-goody for fifty naira whenever I wanted. Yes I would have suffered, yes I might not have had food whenever and wherever I wanted, yes I would have gone to averagw schools. But at least I would have been happy. I would have had a semblance of a future goal. I would have been free from societal obligation and trying to maintain the perfect standard. I would have no midnight restlessness. And again, I would have been happy.

II

Can I have your number?

I want to be your friend.

I want to know you more.

The good Lord knows I hate this line. I absolutely hate this line. What’s up with Nigerian guys and I want to be your friend. Why don’t you just come straight out and say what you want straight up?

If I had a pound for every time I’ve been pitched that line since I have been back in Nigeria, my account balance wouldn’t be in a sorry state.

I would rather a guy walks up to me and says I want to have sex with you (obviously not at work because I could kill you for sexual harassment and not with a lewd sneer either) or I want to take you out on a date than shady lines like “I want us to know more of each other”, “can we be friends?” “Let’s hang out”.

It’s funny how they always change their tone from being friends to something else after I must have cajoled and threatened, the truth comes out.

Okay, maybe I am going to try out my theory and tell someone that I want them; body, mind and brain. And I’ll see how that works out and I’ll also see if it’s really difficult to just say those words.

Maybe they are afraid of rejection; everyone is. And so they probably think starting from friends will make me less likely to reject them. Please and please, I want to inform you that it doesn’t work that way. From the very beginning I almost know how my relationship with someone is going to turn out. I always know if it’s a conversation that will die a merciful death or continue. My instincts have been extra sharpened.

III

I first fell in love at 21, by 22 I had gotten my heart broken. I knew there was a reason I had never loved before. I don’t think I can handle all the emotions. I don’t think I can handle all the jealousy, hate, anger, sleepless nights, panic attacks and the list goes on.

So how did I fall in love?

It’s a really funny story actually. Growing up, I had this tough hide or maybe pretended to have one. I had difficulty trusting or telling anyone something even a tiny bit personal. So I always had this fantasy that the one person who listens, the one person who I am able to trust, the one person I can tell everything without restriction is “The One”.

So with this young man, I started off. At first, I was my normal pretentious, superficial self. But with time the walls kept caving in, crumbling until like the wall of Jericho, it went down flat. And then I began to fall in love. It was no longer a case of my childhood fantasy about “the one”. It was proper love. Racing pulses, girlish excitement kind of love. I felt the electricity in our touch. The Mills and Boons novels kind. For some reason, I thought he felt it too. The longing and the yearning I felt. In his arms, I found calm, sleep and peace. That’s love right. I cannot remember the exact moment I fell in love. Okay, I lied. I can. But all I know is I have never felt this way with anyone. No, not this long.

How I got my heart broken…

Well, I discovered to my greatest shock that he didn’t feel it too. I was just another piece of puzzle solved. Another riddle that had been explained. Another girl he had made “whole”. I thought I was special. The thought of being special finally to someone made me all gooey. Was I angry? I think I was more astonished at the time. So I tried to play it down in my characteristic way by saying naughty things. Seconds turned into minutes, minutes to hours, hours to days, days to weeks and I realised it really was true. Between those days when reality dawned on me; there will be a few hours of reconnecting and then I’ll feel content or linger to a small tiny shred of hope. But it always soon passed. It became as if I was grasping for straws. There was no electricity, there never was. All the words he uttered that made me fall in love in the first place were just empty. Now I think about it, I think he just liked new shiny things. The excitement of opening each layer and finding something new. All my layers have been opened, I have nothing new to give anymore. Now, between us, there is nothing.

You know this thing they say is true. When you get your heart broken, you find it difficult to love again. I am almost sure that I would never be vulnerable, I would never be open, I would never trust someone this much ever again. It’s always been me all this while. True that I get sad during valentines or all those special holidays, but it passes. And I get happy later on. But a broken heart… I am not sure I am ever going to be happy again. I am not sure things will ever be the same again both in my life and between us.

P.S As I am writing this post, I am not actually curled up under covers licking icecream like someone who just got heartbroken. I am actually having Borscht soup. Boy is it nice! And do you know why? Because I’m transitioning back to the phase before I met my love. I think that did my heart and physical body fine.

I am also overhearing my neighbours discussing about me in their self-righteous way and being generally stupid and selfish and I’m trying not to commit murder. So help me God.

Posted in Bits and Pieces

My Apologies

I am sorry. I watch the light get dimmer from your eyes everyday. I watch the curved smile I’ve come to love fade slowly from your lips. It pains me that I cannot do anything about it. I can only say I am sorry.

I know you keep saying it was your decision. But I really am sorry. Unfortunately I am filled with regret and can’t let it go. I know I am now walking in tiptoes around you. I am unsure of what to say or what to do. You don’t laugh so loud and heartily anymore.

You remind me of me last year. You’ve become closed off. You answer “I am fine” to everything and really it’s either you’re lying to me or I don’t know you very well and you really are a broody individual.

You are not a disappointment. I really just want you to know that. It’s my fault. I didn’t think of the pains the future will bring before I tried to take you out from your comfort zone. If I was to turn back time I wouldn’t let you do it again. I am sorry you’re not feeding well. I am sorry your temper is growing shorter every day. I am sorry you long for home. It’s all my fault that you are not with them right now. I know these are just words to you. But I really mean them. I wish I could be braver to say all this in person without stumbling or falling over. Maybe I will. No, I won’t. I’m afraid if I say it you will feel that I’m treating you like an egg. So this will just be what it is. Another forgotten note on my diary.

Now I know the reason for this moodiness runs deeper than this recent turn of events. But at least if the present was good, you wouldn’t have felt the gloomy future this badly

I miss you.

I miss talking to you.

I miss your deep sighs and the way your brows furrow when you are worried about something.

I miss the stupid jokes we laughed at.

I miss the perverse thoughts we almost always had.

I miss holding your hands. Yeah as ironic as it sounds. But holding your hands and feeling the warmth and harshness of your palm reminded me that you were still alive and that there was hope.

Maybe you were right. Maybe I shouldn’t have tried to change fate. Maybe being closer geographically is really a bad thing. Or maybe some of my bad luck had rubbed off on you. I am sorry.

Dear Readers,

I was finally brave. I showed this to its owner. I think life is too short to keep things hidden.

Love,

Alia.

Posted in Uncategorized

One Saturday Afternoon

Good afternoon folks.

You won’t believe what is happening right now. I am sitting in the front row seat watching a show of madness. This show is titled how to pull 14.9 tonnes metric super heavy duty loaded truck with another 11.9 tonnes metric heavy duty empty truck out of a drain using a 10inch rat-eaten cord.

This play began at approximately 1:24pm GMT+1 and happened right outside my bedroom window.

First try, engine revving, fingers crossed… and go… no, nada, nope. Not even a bulge before the cord came sliding off the tow truck.

Second try, spanner holding the cord in place, feet on the gas pedal, and go…. Nope. I can hear the cord saying “not today Satan, not today.”

A couple more tries. Same result. I was wondering what sort of dim-witted folks these are. Insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting a different result. I mean, do they realise that towing a Toyota Aygo still requires an iron chain and a car with a weight slightly higher than it is.

What was funny to me was that for every time they started the tow truck and moved a few inches, and the rope fell out, they always put their hands on their head. Let’s be clear that the smaller weighted truck had a little crane in it. I mean… how much stupider can they be? I was beginning to think that all of them must be slightly inebriated to all act on that level of stupid.

1:57pm, the cord has snapped in two. Ha! Haha! Hahahahahahahaha!!!!

At 1:58 pm the driver of the smaller weighted truck received sense and left. Praise Jesus!

3:38pm. They have finally received partial sense. They’re back with another heavy duty truck however this time around with a crane and a towing chain. It’s partial because it is still a truck with half its size in weight.

4:38pm. Another truck. I cannot be a witness to this level of idiocy. I am leaving to have my chicken and chips and receive a breath of fresh air.

7:23pm, I am back. I enjoyed my chicken and chips thanks for asking.

I think my prayers on behalf of their brains has finally worked. As I see that they unloaded the bags of cement on the truck and were able to pull it out of the drainage.

Now the hullabaloo is over, I need to ask a few questions.

1. How in God’s good name did the truck manage to enter into the drainage in broad daylight?

2. Why did the truck driver decide to leave the road and drive dangerously close to the drainage?

3. What exactly was the plan with the 10 inch cord? Who uses a cord to tow anything? Let alone, a heavy duty truck.

4. Why is a truck of this size allowed into the estate when it is clearly not a construction truck?

5. Why didn’t they lighten the truck first before trying to tow?

Nigeria surely is an interesting country.

Please keep scrolling to watch an excerpt from this show.

Posted in Pinches of Salt

Africa and Marriage – The Beginning and The End (2)

Dear Diary, I am forming a terrible habit again. Writing on paper before transferring to this space. I mean it is really risky since I do not have a safe. Anyway, my phone was busy and I had to continue this post.

I think my life is like a never ending book. Often when writing, I find myself referring back to things I see or experience on a daily basis. So I started writing this post almost immediately after the first part was published. My apologies for waiting this long. So I had a conversation with my boss recently and it went something along the lines of;

Boss: Alia, are you married?

Me: No, ma’am.

Boss: Why? What is taking so long? You are a beautiful and decent girl, I am sure it wouldn’t be that hard for you to find someone. (The irony of this statement though).

Me: I need to be financially independent and stable to a certain extent before I think about taking the plunge.

Boss: It doesn’t really matter my dear, as long as you’re working. I know the economy is terrible now so it’s good for both partners to be working, however do not base your marriage schedule on it because your husband will be pitching in more financially.

Me: *rolls eyes repeatedly silently*

Boss: My son is in Germany. He is doing very well. He is currently applying for a permanent stay… (I’m sure you all can figure out how this ends)

Me: Ma, I am engaged.

Boss: (shocked face) Oh really! Ehya! How old are you? When are you getting married? Where is he? What does he do?

Me: (Repeats answer given three replies ahead and answers other questions).

Boss: Okay. Remember it is good for a lady to get settled quickly, as our biological clock is ticking.

Me: Getting married now doesn’t mean I will still have kids immediately.

.……………………………………………………..

Okay. Newsflash! I am not engaged. I am terribly single like that strand of hair lying in the centre of your pillow in the morning. Not for lack of trying or for lack of being asked out. Okay, I must confess, I have a terrible taste in men. I am not sure I have a particular taste actually. All I know is I do not fall for the kind that ladies love. I do not fall for the charming or the hopeless romantics. Infact, I avoid them like a plague. Which is quite weird, because they’re first class attention givers and I am an attention seeker.

But here’s the deal though, I do not think I am going to get married. Most ladies dream of the day they’ll walk down the aisle but for me, I am having a hard time day dreaming about anything. I have tried though. I have a wedding planner book, dedicated wedding planning notes on my gadgets, I have even selected a few songs. But for some reason it’s all just superficial. I’m just doing it because I like to plan things way ahead.

For me, marriage has always been a license to have unrestrained sex without facing condemnation, at least in Africa. I have never really thought about it as an institution for companionship, friendship, etc. I would prefer personally to have a live-in partner. If my mother should read this blog, she will be repeating “The Blood of Jesus” severally. I am sorry mother. Now here’s why I am not sure I am going to get married.

1. I am not a wife material as per African standards. I am arrogant, stubborn and I do not know how to cook compared to most African ladies. I’d rather not cook. Cooking bores me. Did I also mention that I have no respect? I talk before I think. I also do not know my local language.

2. I am picky. I do not know my problem particularly. But with men and relationships I am put off by a lot of things. Now marriage means tolerating said things in the long term. Yikes!!!

3. I am terribly short fused. Marriage makes people even shorter fused. And when kids are involved… No comments.

4. I have a difficulty in communication and talking about my personal feelings. I like to draw every intimate detail of someone’s life out of them but I have severe difficulties talking about same intimate details of mine. Do not get me wrong when I say I have a difficulty in communication. If you step on my toes, I will step on yours right back and break your phalanges just for good measure. I am talking about heart-to-heart conversations. Every time I try, the words get jumbled up and stuck in my throat. I heard somewhere that marriage is all about communication. Well, I am lacking.

5. African men and their pointless godfather complex. Some may say I’m not qualified to talk because I haven’t got a pair of testicles. But I am, because I have lived with, interacted with and dated African men. Why do African men have the godfather complex? A godfather is any man who serves as a sponsor for a CHILD at baptism. With emphasis on CHILD.

To be continued…

Posted in Uncategorized

з Днем народження

By this time last year, what was I doing? Oh yes, stressing over my younger sister starting university. I was stressing so much that I actually forgot your birthday. My bad!! This year is not much different from last. I am still stressing over my sister and university but I didn’t forget your birthday this time around. Let’s make a toast shall we?

*clears throat repeatedly*

*holds fictional wine glass*

I am not a wordsmith like you are but surely you will forgive me because with every sentence I write, I can see my ego melting like an icecream left in Sokoto sun.

Our meeting two years ago was per chance or maybe fate was being magnanimous that day. I really didn’t believe that we would last this long. I admit I am a terrible person and you’re not much better (it’s your birthday sha, so you’re forgiven). It’s a miracle we have survived this long without killing each other. Yes, the thought has crossed my mind a few times. Your neck actually looks so lovely to place in a chokehold.

*clears throat again*

Okay seriously, I have changed a lot since I met you. I have learned a lot from you from philtrums, to tinea versicolor, to relationship building, to self-esteem et cetera. I have also had more scars since I met you; courtesy of my first bike ride.

The bottom line is you changed my life (there! I said it. I am almost sure this will come back to bite me in the ass in the future). I cannot imagine how the past year would have been if you weren’t there. I am not sure you’re aware of the massive difference you made. Either way, thank you.

Thank you for being you. Thank you for being there. Thank you for the personal sacrifices you made. Thank you for stepping out of your comfort zone. Thank you for the long hour talks at odd hours. Thank you for the advice. Thank you for looking out for my family.

Happy Birthday CEO, may lines fall for you in pleasant places. No, scratch that. I know lines will fall for you in pleasant places.

Posted in State of Mind

CHOICES

Goodmorning.

Happy new month!

Happy Sallah!!

I think it would have been less of a bad omen if I was to start the month of September with positive, uplifting posts. However, this is one of those posts where I just write for the sake of expressing my feelings. Nothing special to see here today.

I didn’t think it was possible to have people around you and yet feel lonely, till this period that is. I am actually quite lonely. I feel like something is missing from my life. A spark of some sorts. A certain happiness that shows even if everything is going wrong. A comforting touch that just feels right. A kind of calm that can only come from deep within. Yeah, I know. Now I am just trying to avoid saying what I really should say.

I can’t, you see. I have too much ego plus there’s that fear of something else. Rejection. I don’t think I can cope with all that so the next best alternative for me to that is to choose my best friend, loneliness.

Well back to the point of today’s story. I have been thinking, long and hard about what I want out of my rather short time on earth. I thought I had a plan about the future. It was a rather grand plan. I wouldn’t call it impossible to achieve but it certainly is a really grand plan. But someone got me thinking; if I do somehow achieve that plan, if I am able to do that, what next? What will I now do for my remainder years on earth?

Obviously, I had no answer. You know since I was little, I had built all my dreams, hopes and aspirations around money, wealth and everything financial prosperity. I wanted to be very wealthy. I cannot begin to explain why it is important for me to be wealthy because it really is laughable. So I just recently discovered that every passion I had, every plan I had ever construed, every unfounded dream all had one thing in common. In them, was me daydreaming about being wealthy, well-known, rich, fearless, authoritarian, kick-ass… I have run out of adjectives to describe my picture in my daydreams.

So now I have to start thinking afresh. I have to start rethinking my choices. To be sincere I am not sure where to start from. I look around and I see the people I love the most already have concrete plans for the future with backups as well. I am trying not to feel inferior to them but it really isn’t working out well. There’s one thing I know however, I want to be happy. Whatever it is that I choose to do, I want it to be free from popular opinion. I want it to be something I’m doing for myself irrespective of how others see it. I want it to be free from parental choices. I hope it can be free from parental choices.

On a lighter note, I am back in the beautiful city where I am sure Yellow fever originated from (Lagos) with its blinding shade of yellow on every side. Do you know the irony of the post I put on about it a few months ago, a couple of days after putting that post on, I discovered to my astonishment that the house I was going to live in for the next one year had its walls painted bright yellow. Fate sure has a strange way of playing with someone’s feelings. Remind me never to criticise anything in the future.

Posted in Bits and Pieces

Joys of Motherhood

I want everyone right now, to stand up and put their hands together for all the females in the world. I mean who bleeds for five days and not die.

Well hello ladies and gentlemen, this is me yet again. So I have been thinking a lot about mother recently. I kept mentioning her in almost everything I did. So earlier this year (pardon me, this post is quite belated), I had the opportunity to have another read of “The Joys of Motherhood” by our very own Buchi Emecheta (May her soul rest in peace).

I never completely understood this book and the message it was trying to pass across until when I had a second read. I think about my mother whenever I remember Nnu Ego. You see just like Nnu Ego, mother gave up a rather promising career to take care of our home. I think that was right around the time she just had me.

In this book you see, for those who haven’t read it yet, the plot reveals and celebrates the pleasures derived from an African woman fulfilling African “family responsibilities” in child bearing, mothering, and nurturing. However, there is a plot twist to this rather beautiful African tradition, the book additionally highlights how the ‘joys of motherhood’ also include anxiety, depression, and pain.

So back to mother, yes. A couple of months ago, I helped her reconnect with her former colleague and friend after more than two decades of being separated. Her friend was doing very well professionally. I saw it then; the unhappiness mother had so carefully masked under the achievements of her children, the wanton dreams left unfulfilled, the longing to time travel back to the past to change her decisions and most of all the regret. Maybe I am overthinking a little bit, but in the past I had always wondered if mother was truly happy. I believe I made reference of this for my mother’s day post.

Maybe the reason she acted the way she did was because she was anxious. She wanted us to succeed where she didn’t. I mean, mother was all smiles when she reconnected with her friend. I didn’t believe it was possible for my mother to be that excited and free and happy. I make a habit of observing the littlest of things about my family and I had never seen her this happy before. The strange thing is; she was both happy and sad. She kept telling me of how close their friendship was back then and also how her friend is working at the organisation they both had dreams.

It made me wonder if motherhood is really worth it. I guess it will be nice to have kids. I really do love children and want to have a few. But is it really worth me being unhappy for the rest of my life? Is my having a family going to make me force the “best” I couldn’t get for my children?

Am I willing to sacrifice my career and happiness for family? Everyone says it’s the right thing to do. So that your kids can have a semblance of a close relationship with you. I don’t think so. I mean if I could turn back time, I wish mother hadn’t stopped working. Personally, I feel the reason she gave up work isn’t fulfilled in my life at least. She afterall still feels disappointed in me and I still feel guilty about not living up to her expectations.

I need to stop feeling guilty and figure out what I want to do with my life or should I say what I want from my life. Well that’s a story for another day.

Ciao.

Posted in State of Mind

Entry 70 – 15/08/2017

9:34pm. I got into my flat not too long ago. I am completely and utterly fagged out from work. I’ve just worked for twelve straight hours without break. Not even a lunch break. My brain has gone on a temporary recession. My body is crying for mercy and my knee is killing me. Yes, I know. I do need to get it checked out. I dislocated my knee bone last week and I have not been to the hospital to check it out. Every step is a struggle and guess what? I have to climb loads of steps at work. Today in particular involved running up and down those steps. And of course, the daily dose of sexual harassment was taken; promptly at that as well. So my knee is worse than it was this morning. I have made a mental note to go get it x-rayed tomorrow before it leads to something else.

Oh yes, what was I saying. Sorry I’m a bit chatty today. It’s 9:34pm. I’m tired out from work. I curse my country, my work place and the peanuts I am being paid. I curse it all. I hadn’t had a meal all day. Not even breakfast. Only a few snacks I have taken. So, I am a bit grumpy. And then this message comes into my phone; from my protégé. If you’re a good and faithful follower, you will remember her from the post of March the 8th.

“I spent most of my day today thinking about my beloved.

I looked at how I’ve managed with this trip all by myself, from the onset with little or no help from people and I owe it all to her. Some will say its common sense but I learnt to be independent from her. I learnt to rely on nobody and expect the worst from people so that every act of theirs exceeds my expectation.

And when I look at how far I’ve come, I hear you say ‘well done, my daughter, you have learnt well'”.

I think I am good for something after all. *blushes severely* I lied. I know I am good for something. This her message to me spoke to my mind differently. I am not yet where I want but I am getting there. And curse as I may my work place. Stressed as I may be everyday for peanuts pay, it is unavoidably the starting point to where I am going. So I am back to my favourite Eminem’s lyric:

Hush little baby don’t you cry, everything is gonna be alright,

Stiffen that upper lip up, little lady, I told ya

Daddy’s​ gonna hold you for tonight

I know momma’s not here, and you don’t know why

I can feel how you feel inside

It might seem a little crazy, little baby

But I promise

Everything’s gonna be alright… “

Thank you OLA, you mean a lot to me. And you made my day today.