tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-83744525127722625812024-03-08T05:02:54.956+01:00Chronicles of DaniaSomeone once wrote this about me: "My name is Dania. I live in a world where the humans are not allowed...now I'm caught in the mix where i eat, sleep and I'm expected to even marry.
I JUST WISH THESE HUMANS WOULD LEAVE ME ALONE."
I've decided to let the humans in. A little.'Daniahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02536331859925053569noreply@blogger.comBlogger15125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8374452512772262581.post-79619949405685755462014-07-17T20:14:00.002+02:002014-07-17T20:14:16.571+02:00HomeI've decided to come back. Some people say that to know where one is going, one needs to go back to the where one is coming from. Some others say that to understand the present, one needs to revisit the past.<br />
<br />
Personally, I'm not sure why I'm back. Perhaps like the prodigal son (while debating the use of the word 'prodigal' because I know its true meaning, which is quite different from popular beliefs, it occurred to me that its opposite form is 'frugal'. One would think that it should be 'Antigal' instead. But alas, the English language is what it is), I have 'come to myself'. Assuming I still know who that is. So how about we start from the known to the unknown, ey?<br />
<br />
God loves me.<br />
I know that He does.<br />
I have decided to love Him back. More than anything, or anyone else in the world. This might involve giving up stuff, but hey, what is love without sacrifice ehn?<br />
I'm a suit by day. An extroverted suit. Needless to say, 'Dania is struggling; Ada is winning and 'Dania is struggling.<br />
I used to enjoy writing one time. Now I like the idea more than the act itself. <br />
Writing this now, feels like the old times when writing was fun. I wrote this in five minutes and edited in ten. Lord, I miss that. The last time that happened was when I wrote Nimble probably about a year ago. <br />
So maybe coming back was a good idea.<br />
<br />
<br />
A lot has happened in the time I've been away. Maybe this comeback will be a tell all, or a map of the future. We'll just have to wait and see.<br />
<br />
As in the beginning of this journey over three years ago, I lay no claim to sanity or political correctness. I'm just full, and I need a place.<br />
<br />
Hello again.<br />
<br />
'Dania.'Daniahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02536331859925053569noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8374452512772262581.post-25365779106330787462011-04-21T11:11:00.000+02:002011-04-21T11:11:49.606+02:00KILL ME. NOW.<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><i>Hey Guys,</i></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><i><br />
</i></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><i>Two things:</i></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><i>1) It is with heaviness in my heart and deep sadness that i make this announcement. I have given in. I have sold out. I'm moving my blog to Wordpress :'( I was hoping to hit a particular number of page views before i moved but...</i></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><i>Blogger served me well but Wordpress is more mobile and comment friendly and i want everyone to be able to express their opinions easily. Its still basically the same address, only a change in the domain (www.chroniclesofdania.wordpress.com). I'm moving all my old posts there as well so if there was a post you were unable to comment on previously, you can do it there.</i></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><i><br />
</i></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><i>2) In honour of Blogger who welcomed me into Blogosphere with arms wide open and showed me the ropes, i will b posting one last story here. I will move it to Wordpress as well in 3days. Its a bit longer than usual so please bear with me. Thank you all for reading and following and commenting and commending. </i></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><i><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><i>Enjoy.</i></span><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
My name is Adanna.<br />
<br />
And I remember.<br />
<br />
<br />
I remember thinking how much trouble I could get into. But the alcohol I’d had earlier was still very much in effect. I peeped out from my vantage point beside the gate. Still no sign of <i>Him</i>. I wondered where <i>He</i> was going at past 1am on a Saturday morning.<br />
<br />
I remember looking at my Kenneth Cole watch and remembering how <i>He'd</i> given it to me on my 20th birthday last year. <i>He</i> was definitely to blame for my addiction to male timepieces. Since that first day <i>He</i> let me take off his watch and put it on my dainty 6yr old wrist while sitting in <i>His</i> lap, I never looked back. <i>He</i> had ordered the latest limited edition Jacob&Co for my 21st next month. I was pretty excited<br />
<br />
I remember peeping in again and wondering if I should just take the risk and go inside. I had come back from the party and was about to knock on Yahaya's window when all of a sudden the main gate started opening. I quickly took cover behind the gate, praying that the shadows and darkness would cover me, thankful that the <i>Vogue</i> had tinted windows and praying that whoever was driving it out wouldn't feel the need to look through their rear-view mirror for whatever reason.<br />
<br />
I remember almost dying when the car suddenly stopped midway through the gate and <i>he</i> stepped out. <i>He</i> walked back into the house. In hindsight, <i>he</i> looked pensive that night. <br />
<br />
That was my first time of sneaking out of the house for a party. I felt terrible at first but when the drinks started flowing, I forgot about it. I loved my parents but they could be a bit prudish sometimes with their unreasonable curfews. It was bad luck that school was out of session and I had to be at home but there was no way in this world I was missing Teni's party.<br />
<br />
I remember hearing a rustling in the small patch of grass along the wall, not too far from where I stood. I turned back and saw something crawling stealthily toward me. What is...WHAT??? A snake??? I didn't even think about it, just did the first thing that came to my head. I ran into the backseat of the <i>Vogue</i> and slammed the door. After about 2minutes of crouching on the car floor, i realised my foolishness. I was about to open the car door when I heard <i>His</i> voice calling Yahaya to come and close the gate. <i>Oh wow. I'm really doomed now.</i><br />
<br />
<br />
As he drove off, I tried to not breathe so <i>He</i> wouldn't hear but I didn't have to worry; <i>He</i> turned on his stereo.<br />
<br />
Fela. <i>He</i> played his Fela CD that night.<br />
<br />
<i>He</i> drove for a while. A very long while.<br />
<br />
I remember the car finally stopping.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> <i> </i></span><i>He</i> came out. Thankfully, <i>he</i> didn’t set his alarm. I waited for about 5minutes and then I came up from the floor and looked outside the window. No one in sight. Just a large open field of some sort. Empty, save the other cars lined up on the right of the <i>Vogue,</i> and the white nondescript bungalow a few meters in front.<br />
I stepped out of the car. <br />
<br />
The first thing I noticed was the quiet. It was eerie. I moved a few steps forward and looked around but I couldn't see a road leading to the field. Crap. I had hoped to find a taxi to take me back home. I still had my <i>vex money</i> with me. But no, it was just grass and sand all around me. <br />
<br />
I remember thinking maybe I should go back in the car and wait? But for how long? I remember the other voice that said I should move towards the bungalow. Find out what was going on. Maybe a party? But in this kind of place? An orgy perhaps?<br />
<br />
<br />
The hand that grabbed my neck was cold and rough.<br />
<br />
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><br />
</i><br />
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Ambrose sighed heavily. He had to do it. He couldn’t let them take her. Not her. He almost died of shock when they brought her in. Now he was just sad. He had made other sacrifices in the past, yes. His mother had been the hardest. But she was old and well past her prime. His nephew? Well that had been hard too but his sister was still young. Still fertile. She would have more children. And she did, three now. But this one? This was his Ada. His Adanna. His angel. He remembered her storming up and down the house like the princess that she was in his watches. She was always stealing his watches. He could not let this one go. He was tired a lot lately. Not the physical tiredness of a man after a hard days work. But the bone weariness of one who had gotten everything he ever wanted only to find that it wasn’t enough. He was still searching. For what, he was yet to know. Maybe this was it. He remembered the sermon in church on Sunday. Perhaps if he prayed, God would still have him. He sighed.<o:p></o:p></i><br />
<br />
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><br />
</i><br />
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Okpaka smiled. Okiriwo had sent him the answer in his usual way. He had been a bit worried about this one. He had seemed a bit sluggish, uncertain even, in their recent meetings. He knew he had reason to worry when he had questioned his authority in their last meeting. He knew he would have to go but he had to figure out how without unsettling the others. And now he had his answer. He saw the way he was looking at her. Weakling. He would choose to go. They really did not have to kill anyone. But for this one, his time was up. He smiled.<o:p></o:p></i><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
I remember the voices. I remember the words. <br />
<br />
“Has to pay…”<br />
“Either her or you...”<br />
“You understand.”<br />
“<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">I understand.”</b> <i>His</i> voice.<br />
<br />
I tried to move but I couldn’t. Tried to speak.<br />
<br />
“She’s awake. Remove the blindfold.”<br />
<br />
I remember the hand. It was still cold.<br />
<br />
When my eyes adjusted to the light I looked around. An wished I didn’t.<br />
<br />
I was bound, hand and feet, to a table. On either side of the table stood men dressed in white; four on the left and three on the right. <i>He</i> was on the right. I knew. My eyes brushed past <i>him.</i> I didn’t make contact. Couldn’t. At the head of the table, on a raised pedestal, sat an ordinary looking fat man. At his feet, lay two young girls. They looked my age. They were naked. His left foot slowly rubbed on the right breast of one of them, and his right foot did the same to the left breast of the other girl. They both had dreamlike expressions on their faces. I looked up into his eyes and he smiled. I snatched my eyes away. Those eyes. God I remember those eyes. Those were no ordinary eyes. And the smile.<br />
<br />
I finally looked at <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Him.</i> My mouth was still tied but my eyes asked the question that summed up all my questions: <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">What is this? WHAT IS THIS???<o:p></o:p></i><br />
<br />
The one at the head of the table spoke. “It is time. You know what to do”<br />
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">He</i> nodded. Then <i>he</i> walked to him, slowly, shoulders hunched, and the one at the head gave him a dagger.<br />
<br />
I remember sweating.<br />
<br />
He walked to me. Looked at me for a few seconds. Then bent and kissed my forehead.<br />
<br />
I remember looking straight into his eyes.<br />
<br />
He stood up straight and raised the dagger. Aiming at my chest.<br />
<br />
I remember the cold. It wasn’t hot anymore.<br />
<br />
I remember shutting my eyes as he brought down the knife.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
And then i was in my bed. I opened my eyes slowly; afraid to move, afraid to breathe. I looked around at the familiar surroundings. The clock on the wall in front of me read two minutes till 7a.m.<br />
<br />
Water. I need water. <br />
<br />
It was a dream. It was a dream. I still didn't move, save the trembling.<br />
<br />
7a.m.<br />
<br />
I heard the doorbell. Then I heard my mother’s scream. <br />
<i><br />
</i><br />
<i>Stay. Don’t get up. Don't move. Just stay in bed.</i><br />
<br />
I got out of bed and walked downstairs. I could not feel my legs.<br />
I saw my mother on the floor, my siblings and the house help around her. All crying. I saw the policemen standing, looking quite foolish. I asked them what happened.<br />
<br />
They said <i>He</i> had been in an accident. <i>He</i> was dead.<br />
<br />
I almost laughed out loud.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
The funeral was two days ago. I haven’t shed a tear. I’m numb. I can’t feel shit. Do I tell my mother? What do I tell her? That the man she loved and trusted for 22 years was a…<br />
Do I tell me siblings? That the man whom they loved and looked up to was a….<br />
<br />
Was i even sure? Wasn't it just a dream?<br />
<br />
What do I tell myself? That the man whom I loved with all my soul was in the occult?<br />
That I, because of a stupid party, had killed <i>Him</i>. My daddy.<b><i> I had killed my daddy</i></b>.<br />
<br />
I picked up my Jacob&Co watch. It arrived that morning. I studied the intricate design of red, yellow and blue diamonds inside. It was beautiful.<br />
<br />
<br />
I smashed it against the wall.<br />
<br />
<br />
<i style="background-color: red;"><br />
</i><br />
<i style="background-color: red;"><br />
</i><br />
<i style="background-color: white;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: red;">Dania's thoughts: Sigh. So. To tell the rest of her family or not?</span></i><br />
<div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div>'Daniahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02536331859925053569noreply@blogger.com25tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8374452512772262581.post-17453333359011346502011-04-13T04:13:00.002+02:002011-04-13T04:51:56.560+02:00NO.He moved over her, anchoring his weight on his elbows. She sighed. It had been a long day and she really just wanted to sleep. He began to kiss her lips and she decided to let him, at least for a while. She splayed her fingers on his bare chest, and kissed him back. Maybe if she put some effort into it, he'd let her be when she said it was enough.<br />
<br />
She sighed in her head. She really should have just gone back to school with Motunde when they had finished at Surulere. But she'd promised him she was coming over and he'd kept calling. Plus she'd called Stella who had said there was still no light at school. For the third night in a row. <i>At least I'll be able to sleep for more than 3 hours without battling mosquitoes and excruciating heat</i>, she thought to herself as she made her way to his place at about 11:30pm.<br />
Only for her to get here and meet darkness. Great. Just great. At least in school, she'd have slept without having to share her bed with anyone. She really hated sharing beds. <i>I wonder what will happen when I'm married.</i> She smiled at the thought.<br />
He started trailing kisses down her neck and she shifted uncomfortably. Okay dude, time to sleep. She didn't even understand him sef. One second he was calling and asking where she was. The next, he was angry and berating her at the gate for coming so late and now he was kissing her. She could sense he was still angry though. There was a certain roughness in his kisses.<br />
She tried to push him away. He didn't budge. She turned her face away from him. He turned it back.<br />
<br />
"Ohi, I'm tired. I want to sleep." He didn't answer but instead moved to her left breast and started to suckle through the top she was still wearing.<br />
<br />
<i>Ok, this isn't funny</i>. His right hand snaked down to undo the button of her jeans and pull down her zipper.<br />
<br />
"Stop Ohi." She was starting to panic.<br />
<br />
"Wait. Just wait."<br />
<br />
"Wait for what ehn? I said stop!" She started to struggle as he tried to pull down her jeans but he pinned her down easily. She was no match for his gym enhanced body.<br />
<br />
"Just wait, stop struggling."<br />
<br />
She paused. She remembered he'd told her before that struggling just spurred him on. He took of the jeans. He tried to take of her panties. He'd never taken off her panties before. She was fully panicked now.<br />
<br />
"Ohi! What are you doing? Leave me alone, i told you I'm a virgin!" She latched onto her panties. He slapped her hands away. She couldn't see his face but she could feel the intensity of whatever emotion he was feeling.<br />
<br />
<i>Oh God! What do i do? Do i scream? He lives alone in a bungalow. His next door neighbours to the left and right are companies. His house is cut off. If i scream, no one would hear. Plus I'm scared of him now, he's so... there's no telling what he might do. Besides, the first question anyone would ask is what I'm doing at his house at this time of the night.</i><br />
<br />
Her panties went off.<br />
<br />
<i>Oh God! Please, I'd do anything, just get me out of here. I promise to never get myself in this kind of situation again!</i><br />
<br />
He parted her legs.<br />
<br />
"Please! I beg you Ohi, in the name of God, please....NO!!!"<br />
<br />
And then he was in. No preambles, meandering, nothing. One swift thrust and he was in.<br />
<br />
She screamed. She wasn't sure which pain she felt more. The one in her heart or the one in her deep. The tears started.<br />
<br />
Thrust.<br />
<br />
<i>Maybe i do deserve it.</i><br />
<br />
Thrust.<br />
<br />
<i>Afterall, I came to his house, I wasn't forced.</i><br />
<br />
Thrust.<br />
<br />
<i>Maybe its what I even wanted?</i><br />
<br />
Thrust.<br />
<br />
<i>God please make him stop.</i><br />
<br />
Thrust.<br />
<br />
<i>Its so hot. This room is so hot.</i><br />
<br />
Shudder.<br />
<br />
He pulled out. She curled up in the fetal position and let the tears come fully. He stretched out his hand to her. She recoiled.<br />
<br />
"Come, lets go take a shower."<br />
<br />
The tears came harder.<br />
<br />
"COME NOW!"<br />
<br />
She sobbed louder.<br />
<br />
He went to take a shower.<br />
<br />
He came back and met her as he left her: fetal position, still sobbing. He got in the other side of the bed and pretty soon she heard his snores.<br />
<br />
The tears would not just stop.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
The next morning, he acted like nothing had happened. Didnt mention it, wasn't even sober around her or anything. Just his normal self. The only reference he made to it was when he pulled off the sheets from the bed and said to her without turning, "You were a virgin after all." That was it.<br />
<br />
<i>And so in some twisted way, i convinced myself that it wasn't what it was. I couldn't bring myself to accept that i had been...couldn't even say the word. His not acknowledging it in any form, made it easier for me to convince myself that it wasn't what i thought it was.</i><br />
<i><br />
</i><br />
<i>We were together for long after that.</i><br />
<i><br />
</i><br />
<i>It wasn't until long after we broke up that i faced the truth. He was ill and i went to see him. We were still friends. He 'playfully' joked about how my sleeping with him again would cure his illness. I laughed it off. Playfully. And then:</i><br />
<b><i><br />
</i></b><br />
<b><i>"Maybe i should just rape you, after all that's how i got it the first time."</i></b><br />
<i><br />
</i><br />
<i>I froze. Time froze. </i><br />
<i><br />
</i><br />
<i>I was raped. It wasn't all in my head.</i><br />
<i><br />
</i><br />
<br />
<br />
<i>I hate you. You bastard. I hate you.</i><br />
<i><br />
</i><br />
<br />
<i>I forgive you.</i><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<div style="color: red;"><i>'Dania's Thoughts</i></div><div style="color: red;"><i> </i></div><div style="color: red;"><i>Ladies: Fire Burns. Always has, Always will.</i></div><div style="color: red;"><i><br />
</i></div><div style="color: red;"><i>Gentlemen: There seems to be this misguided opinion that when a woman says no, she doesn't really mean no. Listen to me. Carefully. <b>If she says no, she means no</b>. Don't be her self appointed interpreter and take it upon yourself to prove her otherwise. You are not in her head. No matter how much you think you are, you are not. Even if she doesn't mean no, let her say it herself. Stop this madness.</i></div><i><br />
</i><br />
<i><br />
</i><br />
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<i><br />
</i><br />
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</i>'Daniahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02536331859925053569noreply@blogger.com41tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8374452512772262581.post-82445041434337878122011-04-08T21:51:00.002+02:002011-04-13T03:46:23.494+02:00The Smart Kids.<div style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">Okay, lets talk politics.</span></div><div style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
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</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><i>It doesn't matter if you don't take an interest in politics; <b>politics will take an interest in you.</b></i></span></div><div style="font-family: inherit; text-align: right;"><span style="font-size: large;"><i>-Pericles</i></span></div><div style="font-family: inherit; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i><b> </b></i></span></div><div style="font-family: inherit; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i><b> </b></i></span></div><div style="font-family: inherit; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i><b> </b></i></span></div><div style="font-family: inherit; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i><b> </b></i></span></div><div style="font-family: inherit; text-align: left;"><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: small;">For about 3 months, I've listened to (and made) various comments on all the politics going on in the country (Nigeria) at the moment. Twitter has a way of making people seem learned including the serial retweeters, the band-wagoners, the people who like to always have a differing opinion et all. Every Emeka, Tunde and Ibro has an opinion. This is a good thing. I won't lie, its been fun. Especially with all the debates and monologues. From all the registration drama to the various campaign ads and strategies, to the nodding episode to the various debates and then to the postponement. </span></div><div style="font-family: inherit; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: inherit; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;">It seems to me like there are about three schools of thought that have emerged. <a name='more'></a></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: small;">The first, are the ones who believe that Nigeria is a hopeless cause, and that nothing can be done about it. The second, believe that even though the situation seems bleak, they should not give up and still perform their civic duty. To fulfill all righteousness. The third, like the first, believe that its a hopeless cause but will still go ahead and vote anyway. These are the ones that make statements like "At the end of the day, Jonathan will still win and we all know it. Vote for him so that your vote won't be wasted." These are the ones that irk me the most. </span></div><div style="font-family: inherit; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: inherit; text-align: left;"><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">I listened to all the presidential candidates during the debates. Did i see the perfect candidate? No.</span></div><div style="font-family: inherit; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: inherit; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">I think Ribadu is a tad too proud.</span></div><div style="font-family: inherit; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;">I think Buhari may be a bit too rigid and set in his ways.</span></div><div style="font-family: inherit; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;">Shekarau <b>sounds</b> good but i wonder if that's all there is to it, 'Sound'</span></div><div style="font-family: inherit; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;">Dele Momdu? Too much of a business man and nearly not as knowledgeable as I'd like.</span></div><div style="font-family: inherit; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;">Goodluck Jonathan? I will get to that in a minute.</span></div><div style="font-family: inherit; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;">Pat Utomi, Dr Dara and Mrs Ndok (I like to call them The Smart Kids): Intelligent but will they withstand the enormous pressure that goes with The Office?</span></div><div style="font-family: inherit; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;">Chris Okotie -_-</span></div><div style="font-family: inherit; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">So no, no perfect candidate. Will I vote one of them? Definitely.</span></div><div style="font-family: inherit; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: inherit; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;">I believe every one has the right to chose whom they vote for. Everyone is entitled to their own opinion. However, some people need to be guided in the right direction. I'm not here to tell you who to vote. I myself haven't even made that decision yet. However, i can tell you who i'm not voting. Mr Jonathan. Not because i think he hasn't performed up to par since he stepped into office, which i think he hasnt. Not because innocent people are being slaughtered on the regular in Jos and he refuses to do anything decisive about it. Not because i think he belongs to a party that has overstayed its welcome. Not because he doesn't have any tangible substantial plan to move this country forward, which was obvious from his debate/monologue/soliloquy. No, despite all of these, i may still have added him to my list of 'considerables'</span></div><div style="font-family: inherit; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">It was when he chose to not attend two of the three debates he was invited for that he lost any chance of winning my vote. Yes, not all the candidates attended all the debates, but he is the incumbent president. When the president of a country looks at an invitation by the youth of that nation to come and tell them his plans and decides not to honour it without any reason or apology? Flagrant disregard, no? And then to explain it away in a self 'debate' as a "communication gap"??? Seriously??? Come on!</span></div><div style="font-family: inherit; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: inherit; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;">But he's wise. He has the average masses in his pocket. The ones who don't have access to forums like facebook and twitter and the rest where they can sample various opinions and ideas. The one's who've never heard of Governor Shekarau. The one's who think "that Pat Utomi man speaks too much grammar". The one's who don't have access to watch the debates. The ones who watch but cannot understand half of what is going on. The one's who line up while the First lady doles out sleeping mats and provisions, while making statements like "I decided to share from the little i have" (Excuse me ma, but if your husband was doing his job properly you wouldn't have to share your 'little') These are the one's he's got. And they are the majority.</span></div><div style="font-family: inherit; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: inherit; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: inherit; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;">So what do we, the enlightened minority do about it? The ones who know better? Or should know better? We either shake our heads at their ignorance and our seeming helplessness. Afterall, they are smarter and better off than us with our fancy shmancy education...right? They have more power, even though Knowledge is supposedly power...yes? Some not only shake their heads but go as far as joining them. Afterall, if u can't beat them, join them. Like there's some prize for being with the majority. Like if you vote for someone and the person doesn't win, something bad'll happen so you better not 'waste your vote'. "Don't waste your vote voting for him, he can't win." <-----That statement right there makes me see red. I wonder how many people said that of President Obama of the USA.</span></div><div style="font-family: inherit; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: inherit; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;">I used to be part of the 'head shakers'. I remember when the laundry lady Iya Tope (Mama Tee, as i like to call her) came to iron one day during the registration period and she decided to register at a booth close to my house in Ikeja. She was frantically calling one of her friends to come quickly and register that she'd picked a tally number for her. I was quite impressed at her eagerness. Knowing that she lived at Otta, i asked her if she was planning to stay over at my house during the voting period to enable her vote. She said, rather offhandedly, that she wasn't planning on voting. I asked why and she said there was no point, that the person that was going to win was going to win. I asked her why she bothered to register and she said she just wanted to have the card. Awww, Precious simple Mama Tee, i thought. I shook my head.</span></div><div style="font-family: inherit; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;">I also remember how one Twitterian recounted his experience with a cleaner in his office. I remember laughing as he talked about how the guy said he was voting for Jonathan and not Ribadu because Ribadu was too thin and didn't look like a president. That the rest spoke too much grammar. I remember commenting and saying that while it was funny, it was also sad because that's probably what the average Nigerian was thinking. I shook my head.</span></div><div style="font-family: inherit; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: inherit; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;">Matter of fact i kept shaking my head right up until 29th March, 2011. The day the Smart Kids debated. I listened to Prof. Utomi, Dr. Dara and Mrs Ndok wow me with their substantial tangible ideas. Even when they had differing opinions and approaches on issues, each made individual valid points. But i knew i couldn't vote for any of them and it was frustrating. They didn't stand a chance. I hadn't even heard of two of them before that day. I shook my head. I kept shaking right up until the point Dr. Dara gave his closing statement. He specifically addressed the youth. He pointed out how he knew that he was the minority. He referred us back to Obama's campaign and how the youth were largely responsible for his victory. Organising community action through various platforms, social media particularly. Something began to stir in me. Maybe i'm not as powerless as i thought. Maybe i should've taken time out to explain to Mama Tee, why it was important for her to vote. Maybe she'd have gone on to convince her friends and even her husband who'd have told his friends. Maybe if the other guy had explained to the cleaner the error in his judgement, maybe he'd have convinced his fellow cleaners. Maybe if you'd actually volunteered your opinion when that cab driver was ranting...</span><br />
<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: small;">We are not as powerless as we'd like to think.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">You, privileged to have an education, a better understanding of things, you owe it to those who aren't as fortunate as you are, to enlighten them. Tell them how their lives will get better if they vote wisely. Show them the way. Get up, get out and vote. Don't just sit on your high chair, criticizing.</span></div><div style="font-family: inherit; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span><br />
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</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">Is it too late? Will it be enough? Will we get it right this time? Maybe, maybe not. But you don't stop trying. If not now, then maybe in 2015 when we have to elect again. But you just don't stop.</span><br />
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</span><br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #444444; line-height: 30px;">“No one makes a bigger mistake than he who does nothing because he can do only a little.” - Edmund Burke</span></i></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #444444; font-size: small; line-height: 30px;"><br />
</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #444444; font-size: small; line-height: 30px;"><br />
</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small; line-height: 30px;"><span class="Apple-style-span">The national assembly elections got moved. I see a lot of disparaging comments about INEC and Nigeria. Yes we don't like it. Yes, they should have been better organised. But we will still step out to vote. It may not be convenient, but we will do it. </span></span><br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small; line-height: 30px;"><span class="Apple-style-span">Bomb blast at INEC office in Suleja, Niger State. Youth Corpers killed. My friend's cousin may or may not have been involved. I'm outraged. Does this mean we should cower and let them have their way? Should we sit at home and let them win? Hell No! We channel this anger. We get up and say enough is enough. That's the only way we can honour those who lost their lives.</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small; line-height: 30px;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br />
</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small; line-height: 30px;"><span class="Apple-style-span"> You think it doesn't affect you? Wait till they put in place policies that make your life hell. Wait till they don't fix power and other infrastructure that can give you a higher standard of living. </span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small; line-height: 30px;"><span class="Apple-style-span">We pay the price now or we all pay a higher price later.</span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small; line-height: 30px;"><span class="Apple-style-span">And it shouldn't just end there. After they come into power lets monitor them; hold them accountable. Speak out when we see they're not living up to their manifestos. Let them know that they cannot just do as they please.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small; line-height: 30px;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br />
</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small; line-height: 30px;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br />
</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small; line-height: 30px;"><span class="Apple-style-span">As i write this, I'm witnessing my sister viciously take on my cousin on her wanting to vote Jonathan for presidency because "at least he's not an Hausa man". Apparently, she served in the North and she believes "Hausas are very tribalistic"</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small; line-height: 30px;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br />
</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small; line-height: 30px;"><span class="Apple-style-span">I'm proud of my sister. She's showing her the way. What about you?</span></span></div></div><div style="font-family: inherit; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div>'Daniahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02536331859925053569noreply@blogger.com20tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8374452512772262581.post-17346055556027657132011-04-05T02:13:00.002+02:002011-04-13T03:51:53.090+02:00Penthouse, Heartbreak Towers, Insecure Lane.<div style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">I saw it coming. </span></div><div style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">It's funny how they always think we don't know. Maybe it massages their egos to think that they're smooth, i don't know. We may chose to let it slide and not say anything, but we know. We always do.</span></div><div style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><a name='more'></a><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">This one was different. There'd always been others. But this one was different. He was different. He actually excused himself to take her calls. With the others, he'd cut the call or make it brief. He never had to excuse himself. This was one was important, meant something to him.</span></div><div style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">I could tell when he was going to see her. The other weekend i was at his place, in the evening, after one of the aforementioned excused phone calls, he had a shower, put on his 'nice clothes' and sprayed Black. Kenneth Cole's Black is my favorite male scent. He only wore it on special occasions. He was so excited. </span></div><div style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">Business drinks, he said. I didn't pursue it.</span></div><div style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">You see, when we first started, i took up post as the neighbourhood chairperson on Insecure Lane. Bolaji. Tall, fine, well spoken, financially stable, confident, witty, charming Bolaji. Scratch that, i wasn't the chairperson, i was the Realtor in charge of all the houses on the lane. </span></div><div style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">We had a lot of spats that time. One prolonged look at any girl who was giving him the eyes and we'd have our own little civil war. I was fiercely in love with him. I however came to the realsiation that i was giving myself unnecessary headache. He was a very attractive man and so the girls were bound to be drawn like moth to flame. Being the person he was, he was going to flirt with the odd one once in a while. But he was mine and he loved me. I knew it, he knew it, and he always made sure they knew it. Plus my constant nagging was beginning to push him away. I handed over the keys to my apartment and all the deeds to the houses and fled Insecure lane.</span></div><div style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">It wasn't always easy. But i learned to deal. He was almost everything i'd ever wanted and he loved only me. </span></div><div style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">We were happy. You know that couple that everyone looks up to? The perfect couple? The ones next in line for marriage? Yes, that's what we were. And it wasn't pretending. We were happy. Very very happy.</span></div><div style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">That time seems so far away now. That happy place seems so different from this bathroom floor. My insides hurt so bad, i don't think i can pull myself up.</span></div><div style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">When i realised she was different, i decided to snoop around a bit. I found out who it was, and my heart stopped. I can't compete with this now, Bolaji? She's flawless. Average heigth, dark skinned, long hair (no friggn' extensions, damn her!), slender (with a washboard stomach). Just the way he liked. All of a sudden my tummy seemed to mock me. It wasn't outrightly big, but it wasn't flat either. I'd definitely put on some weight since we started dating 2 years ago. And the hair. He didn't make a big deal out of it, but i knew Boalji was a fan of long natural hair. He liked to run his fingers through...he'd learn't not to anymore though; coming up against tracks in the hair wasnt always pleasant. I looked in the mirror and started to scrutinise my body inch by inch. And then i realised what i was doing. Damn you Bolaji! Damn you to hell for making me feel this way. What did i ever do to you?</span></div><div style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">It wasn't just her physical appearance though. She had a sterling reputation. The quintessential female. Successful, independent, good girl. And what's worse, they were in the same line of work. I could not compete with that. With all of it.</span></div><div style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
What to do? I did not know what to do. Confront him? Keep quiet and watch it for a while? Confront her? Get the girls to beat her up?</span></div><div style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">I decided to ask him.</span></div><div style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">"Ah come on babe, we're just friends. Seriously." And he dismissed it, with a light kiss to my forehead. </span></div><div style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">Oh God. Oh Lord God. It wasn't his answer. It was the way he answered. He wasn't lying. At least knowingly. He believed it. He actually believed they were friends. But i knew better. I KNOW him.</span></div><div style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">I decided to wait it out. Maybe just like the rest of the them, this one would fade. But deep down, i knew. This one was different. </span></div><div style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">I took up residence on Insecure lane again. This time though, i was a secret resident. I couldn't let him see; i didn't want to push him away. I could not imagine a life without him in it. I couldn't tell my friends or anyone. We were the Perfect couple; i needed to keep up that appearance. I watched him get distant. I watched "work get hectic". Even when he was there, he was never there. I was a mess inside. I wanted to scream at him. I wanted to ask him why? All i ever did was love him so why? But i couldn't, i was afraid. I didn't want to push him over the edge. I was afraid that if it came down to it and i asked him to choose...</span></div><div style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">Until today. I can't say exactly what happened, but i just snapped. My 'waiting it out' wasn't working, he'd just gotten more distant. I wasn't going to let some tramp- no matter how perfect she was- to come in and destroy my whole world. All of my plans, present and future, included him and i was not giving up on all of that without a fight. </span></div><div style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">I decided to surprise him. I had his key so even if he wasn't home, I'd wait. I'd finish up at work, pick up a few things at the supermarket and go to his place. I'd cook him dinner, and bring up the issue after dinner, over a bottle of wine. I'd ask him about it calmly and if he denied it, then I'd scream and shout. And if it came down to it, I'd beg. Yes. I'd cry and beg and grovel.</span></div><div style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">When i got to his house, i parked and sat in the car for a bit, gathering my wits about me. I was rehearsing how i was going to bring it up when his front door opened and he walked out. OMG! OMG! Is that a...Is that?? Calm down babe, think. Dammit, I'm done with thinking.</span></div><div style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: small;">"Ahn, Booboo, I was just coming to see you.” I ran to him shouting. He turned. I watched in dismay as the look on his face changed from shock to irritation in the space of one second. And then he quickly masked it with a smile. He'd never been good at faking a smile.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: small;"></span><br />
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: small;">“I...I had no idea”.<o:p><i><b> </b></i></o:p></span><br />
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: small;"><o:p><i><b>This hug is awkward. So awkward.</b></i></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: small;">“Where are you off to?”<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: small;">"I...err...Just drinks with friends..."<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit;"><i><b><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></b></i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i><b>Oh? Then why do you look so uncomfortable Bolaji mi?</b></i> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: small;">“What’s wrong baby?” I dropped the bags of stuff I'd picked up at the supermarket. I slipped my hands into his. I had to know if he was really holding what i thought he was.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: small;">“What’s this, Bolaji?” As i picked out the blue velvet box, my heart stopped. I'm not even sure how i managed to stay upright.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit;"><i><b><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: small;">No way. I'm not letting you go. Dammit Bolaji, you belong to me! I will not let you go.</span></b></i><br />
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: small;"> </span><br />
<br />
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: small;"><o:p>I opened the box.</o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: small;">“Oh my God!..Gosh Bolaji! You didn’t!”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: small;"></span><br />
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: small;"><o:p><b><i>You bastard! You doggone bastard, you are not going anywhere!</i></b></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: small;">“Awww baby...was this why you’d been acting distant since?” I put my head against his chest and let the tears flow. I couldn't let him see my face, he might figure that they weren't tears of joy. I wasn't sure for how much longer i could keep up the act.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: small;">"Will you marry me, Sophie?"</span><br />
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: small;"></span><br />
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: small;"><o:p><b><i>Smooth liar! You chose her! You were going to her! You didnt know where i was, you didnt call me! You were going to her.</i></b></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: small;">“Baby Yess! Oh yes! I’m sorry I didn’t let you ask me in the way that you were going to”<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: small;"><br />
<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: small;">After we hugged and kissed, i told him i had to go and tell the girls. He wanted me to stay, wanted us to spend some time together but i had to get away from him for a while. I needed to be alone; to think. The pretense was killing me. I told him I'd be back to spend the night. </span><br />
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: small;">On second thoughts, i decided i didn't want to be alone. So I called up the girls anyway, told them to meet me up at Swe. No it wasn't random. I knew <b>SHE</b> frequented there a lot. It was stupid and a one off chance and i didn't even know what i was going to do but but i hoped she'd be there tonight. </span><br />
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: small;">What are the odds, i thought as we walked in and i spotted her sitting at the bar. She looked like hell. Good. I felt worse.</span><br />
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: small;">A while after she left, I excused myself and came to the bathroom. I'd had just about enough of the fake laughter and smiling when my heart was breaking inside. </span><br />
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: small;">So now I'm here in the fetal position. I can't even cry out and scream like i want to. Like i need to. So i settle for silent tears. Silent screams.</span><br />
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: small;">A part of me actually wished he hadn't proposed. Wished he had been honest. </span><br />
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: small;">But he did. I made him to. I cannot live without him. So now i have to live with him. Knowing. Knowing that i was second best. Knowing that he didnt choose me. </span><br />
<br />
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: small;">I've taken up full residence on Insecure Lane once again. This time i got the Penthouse Suite of Heartbreak Towers; with a clear view to Lonely Avenue, where this same minute on Side Street, another woman lies on a bathroom floor clutching her stomach in like manner.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: small;"><br />
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</span></div><div style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</div><div style="color: red; font-family: inherit;"><i><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: small;">Dania's Thoughts: Okay, there you have it. The third side. Goes to show there's always more than one side to a story. Funny thing is i know actual people who have similar stories, some even have been both Sophie and Obim at different times.</span></i></div><div style="color: red; font-family: inherit;"><i><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></i></div><div style="color: red; font-family: inherit;"><i><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: small;"><br />
P.S: I know oh, part 3 abi? I'd take that Nollywood pass now, thank you very much :)</span></i></div><div style="color: red; font-family: inherit;"><br />
</div><div style="color: red; font-family: inherit;"><i><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: small;">P.P.S: In case you didn't read the first two:</span></i></div><div style="color: red; font-family: inherit;"><br />
</div><div style="color: red; font-family: inherit;"><i><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: small;">Part 1: NO 1 Side Street, Lonely Avenue.</span></i></div><div style="font-family: inherit;"><i style="color: red;"><span style="font-size: small;">Part 2: On the Corner of 1st and Indecision.</span></i><br />
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<i style="color: red;"><span style="font-size: small;">Links at the top of the page. </span></i></div><div style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: small;"><br />
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</span></div>'Daniahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02536331859925053569noreply@blogger.com21tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8374452512772262581.post-3478140610630088702011-04-02T13:53:00.004+02:002011-04-13T04:07:25.530+02:00On the Corner of 1st and Indecision.<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i><span lang="EN-GB"><br />
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</span></i></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i><span lang="EN-GB">This is the second part of No 1, Side Street, Lonely Avenue. It was written by a guest writer. </span></i><i><span lang="EN-GB">Enjoy. <o:p></o:p></span></i></span></div><div align="right" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit; text-align: right;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i><span lang="EN-GB">‘Dania.<o:p></o:p></span></i></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
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</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i><span lang="EN-GB">Sophia- Wisdom (Greek)<o:p></o:p></span></i></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i><span lang="EN-GB">Obim- My Heart (Igbo)<o:p></o:p></span></i></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
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</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: small;">I didn't see it coming. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
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</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: small;">I hear people say that a lot, especially when "the shit" hits the fan. I wonder why no one ever asks the question, who does see it coming? Like</span><span style="font-size: small;"> are we </span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: small;">expected to see it coming? <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: small;">I think that statement ranks high up there with the likes of "It was the devil" and "I didn't know what I was doing"<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
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</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">D</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: small;">o murder victims "see" the bullets leave the nozzle of the guns that kill them? (When you're not in the matrix) Or do road accident victims, at the last moment, see the license plates of the cars that hit them? (Life is not TiVo/PVR)<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
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</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: small;">On the real though, I didn't see <i>her</i> coming. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: small;">Here's what I mean:<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><a name='more'></a></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
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</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: small;">I knew it wasn't lust. With lust, comes the wanting, the scheming and the seduction. But it was much different with <b><i>Obim</i></b>. Nkemdinobim. They all call her Nkem. I chose to call her Obim. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: small;">You know how some people talk about Love at first sight? Well, we were friends at first sight. The conversation was easy and light-hearted; the boundaries very easily set.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: small;">There was no particular turning point. From talking like we'd been buddies from a past life to the long conversations in which we drew parallels with each other. Almost naturally, we fell into spending time together and just “being.” With that came the companionable silences and the accompanying cuddling.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: small;">"Don't fall for me" I said once with our arms wrapped around each other. She stared deep into my soul and replied, "I won't." I knew it was a lie, even before she said it. Being with her was akin to spending time alone with myself. Literally. Perverted as that may sound, it’s true. I knew her too well and vice versa. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: small;">Which brings me to earlier today: we were a mass of limbs, warmth and carefree happiness on her couch. We said everything and then said nothing. In between one of those companionable silences, I slipped my phone out of my pocket. Something about the way her arms draped around my neck and her peaceful face appealed to my photographer's eye. She stirred and snapped at the sound of the camera, "Stop it!"<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: small;">"I don't want pictures of us floating around" she continued, snatching the phone and quickly deleting the picture. I won't lie, the way she spat the "us"</span><span style="font-size: small;">, </span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: small;">like being together was an abominable thing</span><span style="font-size: small;">,</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: small;"> stung me bad.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: small;">"Wow..." I said, "...that stings. Cuz I wasn't going to share that with anyone"<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: small;">She said nothing in return. Without a word more, I extricated myself, got up to wear my sports coat, and picked my briefcase. I kissed her forehead and walked away.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: small;">I was only just driving my car out of her apartment complex when my phone chirped. <i>Incoming Call: <b>Obim. <o:p></o:p></b></i></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b><i><span lang="EN-GB">"</span></i></b></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: small;">Hey"<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: small;">"Come back</span><span style="font-size: small;">.</span><span style="font-size: small;"> </span><span style="font-size: small;">P</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: small;">lease" <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: small;">"Ok"<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: small;">Faster than I left, I was at her door again. "You're mad and I feel bad. I'm sorry" She said, almost like it hurt to utter those words. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: small;"><o:p> </o:p></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">I sighed and said "I'm not mad babe. It just stings that you don't trust me."</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: small;">"What do you want from me?!" She screamed at me. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: small;">"Why won't you trust me babe? It stings that you don't trust me after all this", I said in the calmest of voices, taking her hands in mine. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: small;">She snatched her hands like I'd suddenly become leprous, "After all what? What is this exactly that we're doing?" I kept quiet, watching her. The dam had broken</span><span style="font-size: small;">;</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: small;"> there was much more still to be said. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: small;"><o:p> </o:p></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">She continued, "Stop it. Stop it! I'm not this person. I don't know how to be vulnerable. Don't ask me to trust you. What's the point? You have a girl who makes you happy, so where does that leave me?"</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: small;">I was stumped and couldn't fault her reasoning. I can't lie, I was torn. But I wanted her. She had no idea how much. But maybe, I was being a tad rash</span><span style="font-size: small;">?</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: small;"> <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: small;">"I'm sorry. I have no right to ask you to trust me. I'm really sorry."<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: small;">She cleared her throat. "Okay. So I guess we should revert to the way things were in the beginning"<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b><i><span lang="EN-GB">What?! You're not supposed to agree with me!<o:p></o:p></span></i></b></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: small;">"Okay. Let’s do that." I said in return<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b><i><span lang="EN-GB">Maybe I read her feelings wrong. </span></i></b></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: small;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: small;">"Yes, because if we continue on this path, we're<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: small;">headed straight for disaster."<b><i><o:p></o:p></i></b></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b><i><span lang="EN-GB">I guess I did read wrong. She doesn't even trust me anyway. </span></i></b></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: small;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: small;">"Yes, you're right."<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: small;">"Friends?"<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: small;">"Friends" she said with a look of resignation on her face.</span><span style="font-size: small;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">I </span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: small;">left there feeling like something had crashed to the ground and died.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: small;">So I stand here in my room caught between what I have and what fits perfectly. I'm pacing and thinking, torn between the two: Sophia and Obim. Knowing that that i have to choose and whoever I choose between both, will break two hearts - mine and the other's. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: small;">And then a glint from the stones set in the ring in the velvet box I'm holding seems to make my decision for me. I’d bought it on my last London trip. I hadn’t met her yet. Things with Sophia had been great and we had talked marriage even though vaguely; it was only a matter of time before I popped the question so I figured I’d get the ring. They had a discount.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
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</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: small;">I'm going to ask her. Which "her" you ask? <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
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</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span">I made to leave my apartment with my seemingly unshakeable </span>resolve<span class="Apple-style-span">, the beginnings of a speech in my head. "We started out as friends..." No, too cliché. "...I want to be more than your mirror image" Naah, too serious too quickly. </span></span><span style="font-size: small;">Its rash i know, and maybe not thoroughly thought out but I can't just let her go. We fit. Perfectly. Like bolt to nut. I've never seen that before and i may never see it again. </span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: small;">She totally wouldn't see it coming; </span><span style="font-size: small;">hell, I didn't see it coming. I</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: small;"> hope she says yes.</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: small;"> </span><span style="font-size: small;">I hope she takes the leap with me.</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: small;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: small;">I walked out of my apartment with the velvet box in one hand and my keys in the other.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: small;">"Ahn, Booboo, I was just coming to see you.” I heard her voice from behind me.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b><span lang="EN-GB">Sophia. <i>My girlfriend.<o:p></o:p></i></span></b></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: small;">“I...I had no idea” I said, turning around to give her a brief hug.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: small;">“Where are you off to?”<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: small;">"I...err...Just drinks with friends..."<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: small;">This contingency was not in the plan at all. She really wasn’t supposed to show up. I saw her looking at my face, and it was clear she was worried.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: small;">“What’s wrong baby?” She asked, dropping both bags of groceries in her hands. Her eyes were firmly fixed on my face as she tried to slip both of her hands in mine and met some form of resistance in my left hand. I tried at the last moment to slip the velvet box out of sight but it was too late<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: small;">“What’s this, Bolaji?” Sophia said as she retrieved the box from my hand. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: small;">I looked on at her in resignation, wishing I could rewind time. She opened the box. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: small;">“Oh my God!..Gosh Bolaji! You didn’t!” She cooed and all I did was smile back in return. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: small;">“Awww baby...was this why you’d been acting distant since?” She said again with her head on my chest and her tears of joy staining my shirt. And then in a split second, call it an epiphany if you will, I realized why this was where I ought to have been. Maybe, I'd been a touch rash, attempting to throw all I already had away like so.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: small;">"Will you marry me, Sophie?" I said finally, breaking the embrace and going down on one knee in one swift move. I collected the box from her and placed the ring on her finger. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: small;">“Baby Yess! Oh yes! I’m sorry I didn’t let you ask me in the way that you were going to”<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: small;">Maybe this is how the cards were meant to fall. Somehow, I feel that there’s a precious little I could have done about it.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: small;">Call me a bastard. I want you to; you won't be far from the truth. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
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</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: small;">Look out of your window stained with raindrops - the tears of heaven. I'm that man standing drenched, on the <b>Corner of 1st and Indecision; right off Lonely Avenue</b>.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
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</i></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i>So there you have it. Bolaji's side of the story. I strong armed my very talented friend, 'Jibola L (@JibolaL on twitter), to write it. I hope you liked it.</i></span></div></div>'Daniahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02536331859925053569noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8374452512772262581.post-70451953244910034062011-03-29T02:46:00.002+02:002011-04-13T03:54:26.923+02:00This Life That Was Given Me.11:30am<br />
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<i>Hin go soon come. Make i go baff, set my face. I hope say dis pancake go cover all dis marks dis time. </i><br />
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<i>*sigh* I taya. That last customa of yestahday, that man wicked so. I never see that kain before. And hin no wan pay extra oh after all d things hin wan make i do. Chai! Shey i go fit work today as my body hot so?</i><br />
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I no choose this kain life. I dey village with my mama and papa and Chisoro, Oby, Izunna and IK. Money no dey like that but we dey manage ourselves small small, papa wit him farmer work and mama wit her small market. Mama still dey pregnant with Ofunne and Me and Chisoro dey primary school when papa die. Dem talk say na strait bullet cause am when all them politics people dem dem dey fight. Uncle Amuechi collet papa land even tho i tell am say Me and Izunna and IK go fit take care of am. Hin talk say hin go help us, dey give us money from dia every mont. Story. Na so i come leave school oh, they help mama with hin business, make Chisoro and Oby continue for school. But as Ofunne come born, the load too mush so Chisoro con leave school like me, dey fetch water for people.<br />
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Na so we dey manage until 2 years, when Aunty Caro come village and she talk say she fit carry me go Lagos go work and collect plenty money. Mama no wan gree at first. She tink say na Akuna work Aunty Caro wan make i do. Aunty Caro say God forbid, that na sewing work. I tell my mama say make i go try. If no be sewing work, i go come back. E go better make i go try because we no fit survive the way we dey go. As soon as i talk am Ofunne start to cry. She neva shop. My mama come gree.<br />
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As we reash Lagos na, we go Aunty House. The house big ehn? I just dey look dey pray to God say one day, i go build house for my mama like dis. I go sow cloth come become the best sower in whole wild world. And i go build another house for Aunty Caro too, sake of say, na she bring me come. She carry me go my room, my very own room all for myself, i no believe am. She talk say make i do anytin wey she tell me and be a good girl and one day i will be big. I tell am say anytin she want make i do make she just talk am. She wan talk sometin when her fone ring. As she dey answer, i no even dey hear wetin she dey talk, my english no too good like this that time. She still dey fone when she con ask me my age. I tell am say 14. She look me one kain, like person wey dey gauge you, and then she come tell the person for phone 16. I think say na my sewing mistress. Maybe you no fit enter the school if you no reash 16.<br />
<br />
That night, after we shop finish, sleep dey cash me so Aunty say make i go my room go sleep, work go start tomorrow.<br />
I sure say i neva sleep reash 30mins when person bang open my door. I wan scream but persin grab me hol me for mouth, point me knife and talk say if i scream, hin go comot my tongue. Na so i just mute. Hin con ask me say where the madam of the house dey. I talk say i no know say i just come the house that night. Tawai! As i dey tink am now, i still dey feel the slap. Another man enter the room, com say that hin don find madam but hin no find the money. The one wey hol me talk say make hin go look for am make the other one stay here so that i go quiet. Hin send me another slap before hin comot. i fly reach the other side. As i dey lie there dey pray, i feel hand for my body. I slap the hand commot, na so the man slap me for face again, use one hand grab my breast inside my cloth. I com scream, hin com bring out hin own knife talk say e be like say i wan die. Hin con laugh one kain laughter, con talk so i never see anytin. Before i know wetin hapn, he commot hin troza and off my dress. I just dey scream dey scream dey scream. Nobody come.<br />
<br />
When hin finally stop, the other wan con back, come talk say he don "take care" of aunty Caro. I wan die for dia. Which kain bad luck i don bring. Aunty Caro wey wan help me, na so dem don kill am?? I tink i make small noise becos dey con look me at the same time. The one wey kill aunty caro con ask the other one "She fresh?" Hin no reply, he just smile, step back, and the other one come to me. This time i no fit shout.<br />
<br />
Them carry me leave the house that night. Talk say dem fit use me. They com lock me up for wan place wey i no even know. No bed, just mat for floor, no window, no light. Somebody dey bring food for morning and night time. I no know how long i dey there. At first i no dey shop but after, hunger one kill me. Sometimes dem dey come to me for night.<br />
<br />
One day, the man wey kill Aunty Caro (we dey call him Master Ben now) come my room. Hin talk say time don reach wey i sopose dey pay rent. I neva talk since dem bring me come, my voice no dey, so i no come answer am. Hin give me coret blow for mouth. My voice return. See miracle. I tell am say i no get any money. Hin talk say e mean i go work. I tell am say no need, that i fit just go back to village to my mama. Hin laugh. Say what about the rent and feeding wey i don dey owe since i dey here? And who go pay my transport to go village?<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
At first, customer dey complain say i no know wetin i dey do. Master Ben con ask Eliza to teach me. After the lesson, if anybody complain anything about me, i no go shop the next day and i no go collet my cut. I no to mind as i no dey intersted in the work but e get one dey wey one customer complain say i just dey lie dia no do anything. Eliza don warn me that night make i do well but the whole tin just tire me. I come back that morning by six, by 8 sharp Master Ben come room, tell all the girls make them go the other room, make only me remain. I wan die. As they come leave, Master tell me say my customer no happy. I talk say no be my fault say i sick. Him say you sick? I say yes. Hin say oya make we cure that sickness. He stand and open door wide. Ten men con enter the room.<br />
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<i>Make i go borrow panadol from Eliza. Hin no fit know say i sick.</i><br />
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<i>Wetin you talk? Why i no run? Omo no be say i no try.</i><br />
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Me and Lovet and Rita, we don plan one day, after the night work before day break sef, we no go go back house, we go work plenty, collect money go park. Rita wan go Kano, me and Lovet dey go East. As we reach park, dey find ticket, na so dem just grab me enter bus. Dem grab Rita too but Lovet escape. As we reach house, i hear Master Ben dey scream for phone "Caro! Caro! This girl dey give me headache" As i just hear am, my heart just die. So Aunty Caro plan all dis tin? I no even feel the pain from d beating wey i collet. Aunty Caro na hin plan all dis tin? I no wan believe am. Later that night, before we go work, Master Ben line us up for backyard. Hin signal somebody and dem carry out Lovet body. Hin no talk anytin, just look us well well. Then him say make we go work.<br />
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So na so i dey here. I just dey pity my mama. Wetin she go tink? Before, i dey tink say as Aunty Caro don die, she go tink say i don die too. One day, after that night wey i try run, wey i hear Master Ben talk to Aunty Caro, i con ask Eliza if she sabi am (Aunty Caro). She talk say na she bring am come Lagos too but in her own dem snatch her for park. She talk say she don see Aunty Caro in her car outside tru the window before. So now i no know. Maybe Aunty Caro go tell my mama say i don die.<br />
I don accept the life, don dey save small small. Some nights i see 3000, 5000, 7000 depending on how many customers i fit get. After Master Ben collet hin cut, i fit save like 500, 1000.<br />
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Maybe one day...<br />
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<i>12 go soon knack. I dey go Eliza room, go collet panadol. Hin no fit know i sick.</i><br />
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<i><b>Dania's Thoughts:</b> Almost everyday i see a joke about a hoe, some of them actually quite funny. But let us remember that some of them didn't choose that life for themselves. When you get over the 'wonderfullness' of her English, pause for a second and think about her plight. There are too many people in Nigeria, and indeed around the world with similar stories. Sex Slavery is very real.</i>'Daniahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02536331859925053569noreply@blogger.com24tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8374452512772262581.post-86098100300040285052011-03-22T01:55:00.002+01:002011-04-13T03:56:56.752+02:00No 1 Side Street, Lonely Avenue.No. I will not cry. I will not cry.<br />
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Open dammit! Calm down girl. Deep breath. Steady. Now slowly, pick out your key from the bunch and slide it into the keyhole. Like you do every night. Now go to the fridge, take out a beer. Okay two. Go to your room. Don't stop, don't think, just get into bed, drink your beer and wait for sleep to take you. Be merciful God. Let the sleep come early tonight. Please.<br />
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I need to pee. No i need to get back to sleep. If i pee, the sleep may not come back. Ignore it. Close your eyes, take your mind off your bowels and focus on sleep...<br />
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Damn, i need to pee.<br />
I sigh heavily as i trudge wearily to my bathroom because i know that the sleep will not come back.<br />
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<br />
I did not ask for him to love me. <br />
<a name='more'></a>The minute we met, i put him in the 'friend zone'. I wasn't looking for a guy and he had a girl. We were too alike anyway, it'd be awkward. Same mannerisms, thought and behavioral patterns, we even had mood swings at the same times. Birthdays, a few days apart. It would be like we were dating ourselves. Awkward much. *shudder*<br />
<br />
So we talked. And hung. And laughed. And talked more. And understood. Even in silence. We didn't always need the words. But there was never an emotional connection. Not like i was interested in him that way but even if i was, his thing with his girl was pretty serious. I wasn't a fool to expect him to leave her for me. I didn't even want him to do that, they seemed like they had a good thing going. It was just nice to know someone who understood me perfectly even when sometimes i didn't understand myself. That's all it was. So i was careful to never cross the line.<br />
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I really can't say when the exact moment was that we crossed the line. It wasn't the first time he kissed me. I didn't respond; i wasn't moved. If anything, it reinforced that we weren't supposed to be more than friends. He got the message.<br />
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Somehow we spent a few hours together on Valentine's day. Kiss me dammit, i remember thinking. Lol. What can i say, i was lonely and it was Valentine's. Even the monks would want to feel wanted i think. He didn't see it though, couldn't sense that it was what i wanted. I guess he had finally accepted his 'friend' status.<br />
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So how? How did we get to this point were i'm clutching my stomach on this bathroom floor? Me?? Invulnerable, detached me? I can't seem to stop heaving. Breathe girl. You're gonna start hyperventilating soon. Why does it hurt? It should not hurt.<br />
<br />
The second kiss was interesting. I responded this time. Not earth shattering but not bad. The third happened a few minutes after the second. I guess three times really is a charm. We were swept off our feet. Literally.<br />
<br />
Okay so apparently, we connected physically as well as mentally.<br />
Even then, we still kept things lighthearted. Unemotional. Or so i thought.<br />
<br />
Until yesterday.<br />
<br />
It was really very silly. I did something, he got a bit upset and walked out. I wasn't prepared for the way my heart felt when he walked out. Why did i feel like i'd just been sucker punched? What did i care if i'd hurt him. I didn't care. I shouldn't care. I called him back.<br />
<br />
"You're mad and i feel bad. I'm sorry", i couldn't say more. I was still trying to place all the emotions swirling inside me. Did i just say i was sorry? I never apologise outrightly. Never.<br />
He sighed heavily.<b> "I'm not mad babe. It just stings that you don't trust me."</b><br />
"What do you want from me?!" I screamed, trying to push him away. My little hands did not do any damage to his sturdy chest. He inched in closer.<br />
"<b>Why won't you trust me babe? It stings that you don't trust me after all this"</b>, he said in the calmest of voices, taking my hands in his.<br />
I withdrew my hands rapidly, "After all what? What is this exactly that we're doing?"<br />
I couldn't believe i'd just said that. We were friends. Just friends. We'd defined that from the beginning. I knew he had a girl. What did i expect him to say? I wasn't even sure what i wanted him to say.<br />
"Stop it. Stop it! I'm not this person. I don't know how to be vulnerable. Don't ask me to trust you. What's the point? You have a girl who makes you happy so where does that leave me?"<br />
As i said those words, i knew i'd done it again. The last time i'd asked a guy to choose, it didn't turn out well. The rejection had stung. I swore i'd never do it again.<br />
<br />
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px;">That story was almost funny. You know how you're driving on a legal lane and then someone on an illegal lane edges you out and before you know what's happening, you're the one who's illegal? I was the main chick. I'd known about previous side chicks but they were temps. They always faded after a while. But this one was different. I could tell. I asked him to choose.</div><div style="margin: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin: 0px;">Now i'd done it again. Or had i? Even if i had, did i want him to choose me? I didn't want him. I'm sure it would just be my ego that'd be bruised.</div><div style="margin: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin: 0px;"><b>"I'm sorry. I have no right to ask you to trust me. I'm really sorry."</b></div><div style="margin: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin: 0px;">Oh God, he's choosing her. Of course, what did you expect? Let it go girl, just let it go, don't say anything.</div><div style="margin: 0px;">I cleared my throat. "Okay. So i guess we should revert to the way things were in the beginning", i said in my most offhanded voice.<i> Say no. Say you want me. Pick me</i>.</div><div style="margin: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin: 0px;"><b>"Okay. Lets do that."</b></div><div style="margin: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin: 0px;">My heart stopped beating. It's over babe, let it go. He's made his choice. "Yes, because if we continue on this path, we're headed straight for disaster." <i>Come on. Tell me i'm wrong. Say you'd brave the disaster. Damn you, don't reject me.</i></div><div style="margin: 0px;"><i><b><br />
</b></i></div><div style="margin: 0px;"><b>"Yes, you're right." And he held out his right hand, "Friends?</b>"</div><div style="margin: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin: 0px;">I sat numb for minutes (or maybe hours, i couldn't be sure) on the couch after he left. And then suddenly, as if in a trance, i picked up my keys and drove out of my house. I ended up at Swe bar. I sat at the bar and ordered a shot of tequila. Keep it coming, i told the bartender, I needed to try and ease this...feeling. I couldn't call it pain. It wasn't pain. It couldn't be pain. </div><div style="margin: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin: 0px;">I looked at my watch, 06:30. The bar was relatively quiet at this time, except for the after work crowd that had started trickling in. There was a bit of commotion at the door and i turned and watched as a group of about five ladies walked in, one of them obviously the centre of attention. The rest seemed to be doting over her. I smiled sadly. I'd never been a part of a clique like that. I wasn't girly girly. Yes, i had a couple of girl friends but not the 'gossipy-borrow a pair of shoes' kind. These ones seemed particularly excited. Oh great, they picked a booth close to my spot at the bar. I remember thinking that i'd better hurry up and scram before their high pitched happiness started to irritate me.</div><div style="margin: 0px;">They ordered champagne because as one of them loudly announced, "They were celebrating".</div><div style="margin: 0px;">I ordered one more shot (my fifth) and asked for the bill as i unwittingly listened to them.</div><div style="margin: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin: 0px;">"So did you see it coming?", the fat one asked.</div><div style="margin: 0px;">The queen bee flicked her hair to the side and replied, "Not at all. I mean of course, Bolaji and I were headed for marriage but i had no idea he'd propose so soon", she stretched out her left hand and they all oohed and aahed over the engagement ring. I turned round to have a look, paying no heed to the voice in my subconscious that registered the name 'Bolaji'. Not bad. I turned back, threw back my shot, paid the bill and made to get up when the fat one again (that girl just would not shut up) said, "So in three months you'd officially become Mrs. Bolaji Atobajaiye!"</div><div style="margin: 0px;">I stopped dead in my tracks. It's not even possible. What were the odds? I got up and made as if i was walking past their table and stopped suddenly, squinting at the queen bee. "Hello, you look really familiar... Chidinma?"</div><div style="margin: 0px;">"No, i'm Sophia"</div><div style="margin: 0px;">Sophia. "Oh my bad, you just really look like an old friend. Congrats by the way, i overhead."</div><div style="margin: 0px;">"Thank you!", she beamed, "It was the most romantic of proposals! It happened about 2 hours ago and i'm still not over it! He..."</div><div style="margin: 0px;">"Err, i really have to go, i'm kinda in a hurry." She sure was chatty, this one. I didn't have the time. I had a phone call to make.</div><div style="margin: 0px;">"Oh i'm sorry! I've not been able to stop talking about it."</div><div style="margin: 0px;">"It's okay, i understand. All the best." I made a beeline for the exit. I didn't wait to get to my car, I dialed the number as soon as i stepped out. All the tequila seemed to have evaporated from my system.</div><div style="margin: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin: 0px;">"What's your girlfriends name?" I could not believe how calm my voice was. "Bolaji. I don't have the energy. I'll ask you one more time. What's your girfriend's name?"</div><div style="margin: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin: 0px;"><b>"Sophia."</b></div><div style="margin: 0px;"><br />
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</div><div style="margin: 0px;">And so once again, i'm here. At No.1 Side street. Permanent address? I guess you could say i saw this one coming, yes?</div><div style="margin: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin: 0px;">It should not hurt so.</div><br />
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</i></div><div style="margin: 0px;"><i>'Dania's Thoughts: Side chicks have feelings too.</i> </div><div style="margin: 0px;"><br />
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</div>'Daniahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02536331859925053569noreply@blogger.com17tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8374452512772262581.post-1165412836260016322011-03-15T02:02:00.001+01:002011-04-13T04:03:14.772+02:00*SIGH*<b>06:05pm</b> <br />
<br />
"Babe? Hey babe." Ahh. His Voice. Still has that calming effect even after three years of being together (Two years dating, one year married).<br />
"I'm okay, you?" Lord knows i'd kill for a hug right now.<br />
"Seriously babe, I'm okay. Just had a pretty long rough day."<br />
"Yeah of course, i'll tell you all about it when i get back but i'm not sure when that'll be." Eyes closed, i imagine him giving me a deep massage while i tell him how my boss has somehow gotten it into her head that I'm some kind of 21st century machine.<br />
"I know babe, i know but there's this meeting with those clients from China. You know they never stop working. I'll be back as soon as i can."<br />
*huge smile* *warm feeling coursing through my body* "Ahhh babe...how am i supposed to concentrate now....Alright, can't wait to get home. See you in a bit."<br />
"Love you right back my love." Now I really can't wait to get home. But first i have to get through this meeting. *sigh, picking up my ipad* I better get my Chun li on.<br />
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<b>09:17pm</b><br />
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I'm so exhausted. I drive out of the parking lot grateful that at least, the island-mainland traffic would've cleared at this time. Ah, i spoke/thought too soon. Of course. Trust this stupid Ajose street to surprise you<i>.</i> Hiss. I should call and tell him about the traffic since we spoke just before i left the office. Sigh.<br />
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<i>Car parked, i trudge wearily to the door and it swings open just as i reach for my keys. My smiling husband picks me up and shushes me with a deep kiss as i try to apologise for being home that late. "It's okay baby, its okay. Had dinner yet?" He places me down on a seat at the dining table which he's tastefully set for two. "Aww babe, you didn't eat yet?" He smiles, telling me he decided to wait. I almost cry as i open up the serving dishes and see their content. White rice, steamed just the way i like (a bit hard) served with a sauce of assorted vegetables and meats. Fried plantain on the side. Bottle of wine (White, even though he prefers red). "I know you're tired and would rather not talk now, so *picking up the stereo remote control* Babyface? At this point, i can only nod and think about how much I'm in love with this man this very minute. We eat in the most comfortable of silences as Babyface belts out 'Soon As I Get Home:</i><br />
<br />
<i>"I give good love</i><br />
<i>I'll buy your clothes</i><br />
<i>I'll cook your dinner too</i><br />
<i>Soon as i get home from work</i><br />
<i>I'll pay your rent</i><br />
<i>your faithful lover</i><br />
<i>Girl i'll treat you right and i'll never lie</i><br />
<i>Soon as i get home, soon as i get home..."</i><br />
<br />
<i>We're done and I make to pick up his empty plate and he stops my hand. "Don't worry about it babe. I've got this tonight.</i><i> Go on ahead and have a bath. I'll be with you in a bit". I try to protest (weakly albeit) and then i get shushed again. His style.</i><br />
<i>As i make my way from the dining table to the stairs that lead to our bedroom, my eyes catch something on the floor. I look down and see little white stickers with chocolate kisses printed on them, stuck on the floor. I go up the stairs and follow the stickers all the way to our bedroom door and then my heart almost burst as i see the final big sticker on the door: "I KISS THE GROUND YOU WALK ON". The tears did come this time.</i><br />
<i> </i><br />
<i>I step out of the bathroom, lean on the door for a bit and just stare at the six feet of sweet brown maleness staring right back at me. Waiting for me. "C'mere baby." Like i needed any invitation. I slide into the bed and he turns, takes off my robe, turns me over gently and starts to massage my shoulders. Gently. I feel myself slowly relax. His hands move slowly over my back, working their magic. And then his lips replace his hands...Sigh...</i><br />
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</i><br />
<b>10:12pm</b><br />
<br />
Sigh. Mustapha can like to open this gate already.<br />
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Car parked, i trudge wearily to the door and slowly reach for my keys. Sigh. Real life sucks. I open the door and see him sitting on the couch totally engrossed in the rerun of the game. He barely turns his head. "Hey babe". Hey, i reply and lean in for a kiss. I get the cheeks. He can not tear his eyes away from the game even though it is a rerun. Too tired to pick on the little things, i go on ahead and apologise for not being there to cook him dinner. "It's okay babe, just reduce the quantity of eba." I stop dead in my tracks. Surely, this can not be. In a carefully controlled voice i ask as casually as possible, "Oh you haven't eaten yet?" Now his eyes leave the TV screen. But only for a second to give me this 'what kind of question is that' look. I garner all my remaining strength, without a word, set my bag on the dining table and head into the kitchen. IS HE BLOODY KIDDING ME? He couldn't get soup from the freezer, throw into the microwave, boil some water and make some measly eba to eat? Sheeesh! Would it have killed him? Made him any less a man? Did he not think that i would be tired and maybe just maybe i would like my dinner served me for a change? I am so livid. I make the food in furious silence and set it on the table. I inform him that it is ready. Okay? Okay? Not thank you baby, i know you're pretty beat, i could even hear it in your voice when i called you four hours ago? I stomp up the stairs too tired to eat even though my last meal was about 10 hours ago.<br />
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I step out of the bathroom, lean on the door for a bit, exhausted, and just stare at the six feet of brown maleness staring right back at me. He has that glint in his eyes. I swear if he comes near me tonight. I slide into the bed, pull up the covers and lie on my side, backing him, hoping he'd get the message. He did. Again, i spoke/thought too soon. What is that i feel, his hand? I turn my head slowly and give him a look that put a face to the thoughts in my head: <i>If you do not want your hand severed, you would get it off of me right this minute.</i> If i wasn't too tired, i'd have chuckled at the look on his face and the alacrity with which he removed his hand.<br />
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He's not getting any for a week. Sigh. <br />
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</i>'Daniahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02536331859925053569noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8374452512772262581.post-47766832411551032472011-03-11T14:19:00.001+01:002011-04-13T04:04:29.791+02:00OLNSo I was going through my previous posts and I realised that the last three have been pretty serious. Like seriously, why so serious?? I'm usually not a serious person like that so those posts have me worried. Very worried. Like does it mean I am now an adult? Older and wiser and things? Does it mean my life is now serious? What does it mean??<br />
Anyway, I've decided to do a post that is not so serious. Only that I'm not sure exactly how that's supposed to go. So here's my first attempt. OLN (On a lighter Note): Take One.<br />
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I decided to look up the dictionary definition of 'blog' and this is what I found: "A shared on-line journal where people can post daily entries about their personal experiences and hobbies". <br />
If that's the case then I have failed on two levels. <br />
I don't post daily. Mainly because I'm not sure you people would be that interested in coming here every day. Or would you?<br />
Personal experiences and hobbies? Ha! Okay let me try to write about my experiences since the last post.<br />
<br />
I got an offer to write a column for a magazine. That's exciting. Will let you know which and where to get it once it hits the stands.<br />
I started my second 'first novel'. I think this one will come out before the first 'first novel' because it comes to me more naturally. It's pretty intense though. I'm looking at getting it published around September so look out for that.<br />
Let me see, what else… I almost went to Abuja.<br />
Oh yeah, I kissed a boy.<br />
Oh and I set up a home office. Complete with state of the art gadgets and equipment. Okay maybe not state of the art, but still very effective. I even have office hours, break time and things. I'm blogging from there right now. Hopefully, this will curb the laziness that has been a big hindrance to my writing. I figure if I plan to 'eat' from my writing then I best start to take myself somewhat seriously. So far so good, I must say. I've not come to work late yet, not been rude to my boss (even though this is not technically possible), and I have written a couple of good stuff.<br />
This is just Day One though.<br />
Erm… I think that's about it really. Let's see how I've done *scrolling to the top and reading through*<br />
Oh crap. This blogging thing (in the real sense of the word) may not be for me after all. <br />
P.S- It's kinda ironic that the day I decide to do an unserious post is the day this serious devastating Earthquake/Tsunami rocked Japan, the other countries on the Tsunami watch and indeed the whole World. *minute of silence for the lives that have been/will be lost* <br />
God help Japan.'Daniahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02536331859925053569noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8374452512772262581.post-44785191560936685272011-03-07T14:37:00.001+01:002011-04-13T04:06:26.916+02:00The Noses and Horses.22nd August 2006.<br />
5.00pm<br />
…TICK...TICK…TICK<br />
Green. Please God let it be green. Dear God…Tick, tick, tick…<br />
Blue.<br />
Shit.<br />
<a name='more'></a><br />
"Buife! Nwanyibuife!"<br />
"Yes mum!"<br />
"Are you okay? You've been in there for quite a while."<br />
"I'm fine mum."<br />
"Okay, I'm going to the supermarket, do you want to come along?"<br />
"No mum, I'm pretty tired. I think I'll just rest a while."<br />
"Okay, see you soon. Are you sure you're alright? You look a bit pale. Come let me feel your head."<br />
"No mum, I said I'm fine!" <br />
Fine. At this point, I'm not even sure what that word means. My life as I know it is over. Blue. I'm pregnant. I'm finished. How could this happen? How did I let this happen to me? Who do I tell? What do I do?<br />
Most importantly, how do I explain this?<br />
"You don't have to explain it", the voice said.<br />
What do you mean? I can't even think of aborting it. But then if I keep it, what do I tell my parents? "Mum, dad, congratulations you are about to become grandparents!" Yeah. Right. How about my church? My fellowship?<br />
I'm a leader in my fellowship for goodness' sake…I'm as good as dead. If I don't keep it, what do I tell God? How do I live with myself…Again, I'm as good as dead. So the question now is which death am I going to die? <br />
Calm down girl. Calm down, get out of this bathroom, into your room, then sit down and think. <br />
I managed it well up until the 'sit down and think' part. As I got into my bed, I just became numb. Couldn't think, couldn't feel, couldn't do much of anything. But suddenly, as if on cue, all of the feelings building inside me came rushing like a tornado. Confusion, guilt, fear, regret, apprehension, hatred; for myself, for the world, for no one in particular…the reality of what that simple color 'blue' signified, hit me. There was life growing in me. And then the tears came. In torrents. I sobbed hard like my life depended on it. I didn't even know when I moved from my bed to the floor and wept, clutching my pillow, till I was weak and had no strength left. I still couldn't think; my brain numb, body exhausted. I garnered all the strength I had left and crawled into my bed.<br />
<br />
23rd August, 2006.<br />
4.00am<br />
I opened my eyes slowly and wondered why they felt so heavy. I knew there was something bothering me and that was why I woke up but I couldn't place what it was just yet. It kept slipping out of my grasp like a teasing mosquito. And then I remembered. And wished I had died in my sleep. The baby. My baby.<br />
"It's not a baby yet." That voice again.<br />
But it will soon be.<br />
"But right now and for the next two months it won't be."<br />
So? What difference does that make?<br />
"You can do something about it now before it becomes a baby."<br />
No way, that's murder.<br />
"Is it? Really?<br />
Shut up! SHUT UP! Oh God! Oh God Lord. I know I should shut out that voice…<br />
"Think about it. No one has to know. If you don't do it, your life will be ruined. HOW WILL YOU FACE EVERYONE? It's the perfect solution. And you certainly won't be the first. Wake up girl! Look around! Everyone is doing it. Last semester alone, Motunde, your bunkie had two. She could give you the address of the place. Go with you even. Quietly. It's the way. The only way…"<br />
God says it's wrong.<br />
"Did He? Where does it say in the bible that abortion is wrong?"<br />
<br />
15th September, 2006.<br />
6.00pm<br />
I just got back from the doctor's. I just killed my baby. And I don't feel a thing. Except for the rawness and pain in between my legs. They didn't say it would be this painful. Thank God my parents have traveled. I crawl into my bed.<br />
<br />
16th September, 2006.<br />
1.00am.<br />
I woke up with a start. I'd been having a dream. A man in white was taking my baby from me. The baby was crying and I just kept screaming 'NO!'…my pillow was soaked in tears…I didn't want to think about it, couldn't allow myself to think about it. So I tried to go back to sleep. But sleep eluded me. I couldn't escape it any more. And so I gave in to the flood of emotions inside me. I wept. I wept like a baby for my baby I had killed. Nothing. Absolutely nothing could compare to the heartache I felt. I wished I could go back. I'd give anything to go back and get my baby. I'd gladly face the scandal. Yes it would have caused an outrage. But it would have been better than this. Anything would have been better than this. Why doesn't anyone warn you about the heartache? I couldn't sleep, couldn't stop crying, couldn't stop the guilt that was eating at me without mercy, couldn't even talk to anyone. Will I ever be able to pray again? How do I ever look into the eyes of my parents? How do I even go to church? <br />
My punishment had begun…<br />
<br />
15th September, 2016.<br />
2.00pm<br />
It's exactly 10 years after. My child would've been over 8years old. I still ache for my baby. I've made my peace with God. I have a Bsc. in Accounting and a Masters in Business Administration. I have a good job; I'm married to a wonderful man and have been blessed with two wonderful children. So I guess you could say my life is back on track. But I still ache for my unborn baby. I constantly ask God to take away the pain. Sometimes it feels like my heart will burst from the pain…if only I hadn't done it. <br />
<br />
<br />
'<i>Dania's Thoughts: The rate of abortions among young girls is alarming. Many of them make the decision for social reasons; they cannot face the world. The condemnation from society is at best, overwhelming. A friend of mine told me about how she went with a pregnant young girl to a hospital to register for antenatal care. She said that even the nurses looked at the girl with disdain and almost refused to attend to them. She (my friend, who's a bit older) had to whip out her Naija wѐrѐ (display of madness) to get proper attention.</i><br />
<br />
<i>Nwanyibuife's case is a classic example. At no point did she think about whether or not she wanted to keep the baby. All she could think was 'What would people say?'</i><br />
<i>I'm not saying that society should encourage premarital unprotected sex. I'm just saying that maybe we should step down from our self righteous judgmental horses once in a while and be human. Not everyone exercises good judgment but it doesn't make them any less human. People make mistakes. Every second. Let's not use our 'upturned noses' to push them into making more mistakes.</i><br />
<br />
<i>I have never been pregnant. But if I'd made a mistake while I was still in school (not now that I'm gradually freeing myself from the tentacles of societal expectations) and gotten pregnant, I cannot state categorically without flinching that I would not have aborted it. And that really, is what is scary.<br />
</i>'Daniahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02536331859925053569noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8374452512772262581.post-83364070615205410182011-02-27T23:51:00.005+01:002011-04-13T04:09:09.394+02:00To Think is To Differ<div class="MsoNormal"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">When I was born, my ears were pierced; I was a girl; that was the norm.<a name='more'></a><o:p></o:p></span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></i><br />
<i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Growing up, I was taught to always use my right hand. Using my left was rude.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></i><br />
<i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">I was told that looking at someone older than you in the face was disrespectful. <o:p></o:p></span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></i><br />
<i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Of course I had to be in the science class in Secondary school; that’s where the smart kids went, I couldn’t be allowed to waste that brain.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></i><br />
<i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">“Don’t argue with your teachers, do you want to get flogged? Are you talking back at me, you this devil child I carried in my womb for nine months?”<o:p></o:p></span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></i><br />
<i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">When I got a bit older, they said to steer clear of boys; they could give you babies and STDs. Now I’m out of school and apparently I'm of ‘marriageable age’.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></i><br />
<i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">“Don’t smoke pot, cigarettes or drink alcohol.” <o:p></o:p></span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></i><br />
<i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">I learned that giving your number to a guy without at least ‘forming’ first, made you look cheap.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></i><br />
<i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">“How can you not know how to speak Ibo? That’s a shame because it’s your identity.”<o:p></o:p></span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></i><br />
<i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">“Don’t you know you are a girl? You can’t move out of your parents’ house except you are moving to your husband’s house. What will ‘people’ think? They will look at you ‘somehow’<o:p></o:p></span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></i><br />
<i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Don’t talk too loud. Don’t wear your hair that way. Everyone’s wearing this. You can’t follow that career path. That’s not acceptable. Blend in. Fit in.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></i><br />
<i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Do this. Do that. But why? Because that’s the way it’s done. <o:p></o:p></span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Now I’m a little bit older (some might even call me an adult). And I think.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">I think that it’s ridiculously silly to discriminate against the left hand. There’s a reason we were made with two equal hands (in fact, my left hand is ever so slightly bigger than my right). They are both useful, none more special than the other. Ask the Southpaw. Or the One armed man.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">I think that looking at you in the face shows that I'm listening to you and that I actually hear you. I think looking at the floor shows timidity. Ask the young girl who didn’t get the call back after the interview for the marketing job (Although you should probably ask the interviewers; the poor girl would be clueless).</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">I think that I would have fit perfectly in the arts class; maybe I would have gone on to study psychology. Now I have a good degree in a course I am the least bit interested in.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">I think children should be allowed to voice their opinions a little more. Ask the woman who’s stuck in that loveless marriage. How could she tell them no? She had always done what they wanted.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Maybe I'm lazy, but I’d rather just give a guy my number than have to explain to him why not, or ignore him or fend him off. *shrug* Goodluck to him actually getting me on the phone. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">I think this business about a ‘marriageable age bracket’ is sadly ludicrous at best. At some point, when we're growing up (as girls), the misguided opinion that the good guys in this world will soon finish is ingrained in our subconscious and so we settle for the next available thing (which young Nigerian girl wasn’t told the story of the picky village princess who ended up marrying a snake in disguise?) I think that even if good guys are scarce, I’m a good girl. One of them will find me. And what's this business about some biological clock ticking??? As far as I’m concerned that's just a ploy by men to get women desperate. I think that you should hold out for what you want (As a guy or girl). Don't go settling with someone because you feel you’re getting old and you 'have to' and then spend the REST of your life in misery; wondering and wishing.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">I watched an episode of <i>House</i> once, where this boy’s parents could’ve sworn that their son wasn’t smoking pot because when he reached a certain age (I forget how old exactly), they sat him down in their living room and smoked a little pot with him to ‘demystify’ it. And they were right; the kid wasn’t smoking pot. Most young people do a lot of things out of curiosity so I think there may be some merit to their method. *shrug*<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">I think that every pair of <i>Jeggins </i>in the whole wide world should be gathered up together in one place and burnt. Offered as a sacrifice to the god of fashion or something. I own a pair. Somehow.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">I think that the different languages in Nigeria add to our problems. Take them away and the next guy on the street is just a Nigerian, speaking one language, with one voice. How can we ever be united when we don’t even speak the same language? When we still see ourselves as ‘That Warri man’ or that ‘Yoruba woman’? When the main criterion for running for political office is the region you’re from and not whether you can perform? Looking at the Biblical origin of languages, God introduced languages to bring confusion because he saw that as long as the people on earth were united, they could achieve anything.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="margin-top: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">I think we should take away the languages.</span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">I don’t want to live in my parents’ house till I get married. I’m looking at marriage in about 3/4 years and I would like to live by myself for at least a year, maybe two, before that happens. Not because I plan to have men sleep over or keep late nights. Truth is, a girl doesn’t need to leave her parents’ house to do any of that stuff. If she gon’ do it, she gon’ do it. I just want to live by myself. Frankly, I don’t give a rat’s ass about what ‘people’ think or if they look at me ‘somehow’. In other countries, it is shameful for a college (University) graduate to go back to living with his/her parents after graduation.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">I don’t even like earrings.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">But I cannot think these things. I am not allowed to. Because to think is to differ. And who the hell are you to be different???<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">There, I said it.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Shhhhh….. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div>'Daniahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02536331859925053569noreply@blogger.com25tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8374452512772262581.post-57153539443930383382011-02-19T21:39:00.001+01:002011-04-13T04:10:33.063+02:00MR. NO, MASTER. MISTER?<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 16px;">I’m not him.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12pt;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12pt;">My name is Seun Adams. I turned 23 today and I should be excited about it but I’m not. I’m not because exactly 10 years ago today, on my 13<sup>th</sup> birthday to be precise, my life as I knew it changed.<a name='more'></a><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12pt;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12pt;">I come from a regular Christian family of five; father, mother, two siblings. I’m the first child and only son. My family was very normal and loving. Being the only son (and the spitting image of my father), I was loved by both my parents especially my mother. Not like I was a spoiled brat or anything, cause believe me, I got just the right amount of spankings (from my father though; mum could never quite bring herself to hit me) to keep me in check. There was a lot of love in my home, everybody loved everybody else and we didn’t have any major problems except that my mum had a skin condition that made her go to the hospital a bit frequently. It wasn’t that serious though as she was never hospitalised; whenever the symptoms arose(bruises, cracks, dark marks), she’d go to the hospital and come back with her medication and salve for the bruises and in a couple of days she’d be as good as new. Any other issues we had were solved through prayers and discussion. Basically, we were the perfect family, if such a thing exists. Or so I thought.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12pt;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12pt;">It was a normal day, or as normal as it could be considering that it was my thirteenth birthday and we were all excited, I especially. I mean it’s not every day that one officially becomes a teenager. Plus birthdays were really special in my house. I woke up that morning by 4.am (over excitement) which is way early for me as I usually have to be dragged or threatened out of bed and after tossing and turning on my bed for about 5mins, I decided to surprise my parents and wake them up for a change. As I crossed the sitting room that separated their rooms from ours, I heard muffled sounds meaning they were up already and my bubble burst a bit. Okay, so I wouldn’t wake them up but the fact that I was up would still surprise them. As I moved closer, the muffled sounds grew louder and I could distinctly make out my mom’s voice. It sounded like she was whimpering. Okay, maybe I should just go back to my room, I thought. I was a year older today yes, but I definitely wasn’t old enough to walk in on my parents making love. Gross. No child should ever have to witness that I thought, smiling to myself and turning back. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12pt;">And then I heard the piercing scream. That didn’t sound like pleasure. That was pain. My mother’s pain. As I charged into the room, the sight that greeted me is one that I will never forget. My mother was crouched on the floor, stark naked with blood streaming from more places than I care to think about. She was almost unrecognisable with all the bruises and stripes that covered her body. My father hovered over her, eyes gleaming, like a hunter about to pounce on its prey. His left hand was wound tightly around the end of a leather belt, the metal head dangling. His right hand. In his right hand, he held a blood smeared razor blade. I’ll never forget the look in my mother’s eyes that morning. She looked like a wounded soldier begging. Begging for her life. It was that look that jolted me out of my shock. I ran to her and put myself between her and my father. Then I looked up at him, silently daring him to touch either of us. I didn’t know what I would do but I was sure the rage in my eyes matched the one I could see in his. He looked like an animal. Like he was actually considering tearing me apart. And then he faltered. His hand dropped, the blade falling to the ground as if in slow motion. I’ll never forget the sound of the blade hitting the ground. Yes, I heard the sound. And then he, my father, grabbed his car keys and left. And that was the last we ever saw of him. That was also the beginning of my horror.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12pt;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12pt;">It wasn’t until much later that I learnt that my mother’s skin condition wasn’t medical at all like we'd been told. What I witnessed was the last of beatings that were almost as old as I was. They had started with a slap or two now and then ‘to keep her in check’ and like everything else, they escalated over the years. But the ‘blade mechanism’ I witnessed was a premiere and I was privileged to have a front row seat.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12pt;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12pt;">After the incident, my mum became very distant. I figured she just needed her space to get over the horror of it all. But I began to notice that she was distant to only me. My sisters, who didn’t know the whole story where closer to her than ever. I thought maybe she was a bit embarrassed that I witnessed the incident but when she started keeping my sisters away from me, I knew there was a problem. Like she was protecting them from me. I tried to ask her about it but she dismissed it as a figment of my imagination. I didn’t know what to do. We’d never been close to my extended family so there was really no one I could turn to. So I continued in silence. After a while my sisters and I were almost strangers. It felt like they had something against me.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12pt;">On the day I turned 14, the anniversary of the day my father left, my mother acted like nothing was happening. I had to remind my sisters that it was my birthday. After passing my mother for the umpteenth time, waiting in vain for her to wish me a happy birthday at least, I decided to confront her. I could understand that she would have mixed feelings but I was her son for crying out loud...<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12pt;">“Mom?”<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12pt;">“Yes?”<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12pt;">“It’s 7<sup>th</sup> of July. My birthday.”<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12pt;">“Oh. Happy birthday.”<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12pt;">“Oh happy birthday? Is that all you can say? Mom for crying out loud it’s my birthday!!!”<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12pt;">And then jumping out of her chair with so much venom and hatred in her eyes that I shrunk, she screamed at me...<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12pt;">“SO WHAT? IT’S YOUR BIRTHDAY, SO WHAT? You drove him away! You drove your father away a year ago! And you want me to celebrate? Celebrate what exactly? CELEBRATE WHAT?”<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12pt;">“But mother...”<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12pt;">“DON’T YOU DARE! Who is your mother? Me...?”<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12pt;">At this point I’m stunned. This woman. This screaming woman in front of me is my mother. My mother! I took a step towards her in an attempt to calm her down and she suddenly retreated and raised her hands in defence. As if trying to shield a blow.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12pt;">“For God’s sake mom...”<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12pt;">“No please. Stay away”, she whimpers. “Please no. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it. Please don’t hit me...please”<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12pt;">And then it dawned on me. She saw me as my father. And that was when the nightmare really began.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12pt;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12pt;">From that day, my mother alternated between thinking I was my father and blaming me for his departure. The departure of her beloved husband. She made my sisters scared of me, telling them how I could beat them up. During the periods when she blamed me, she would punish me by denying me food, money and sometimes shelter. When she thought I was him, she would be scared and would make sure she and my sisters didn’t come in contact with me. I guess at such times, it didn’t help that I was the spitting image of him. But was I to blame for that? It really hurt that my own mother would think me capable of being like that man. Or maybe I was? He is my father after all. I was living in a nightmare. Living with a deranged mother. Plagued by self-doubt. The church couldn’t do much and my mother vehemently refused medical help. When I turned 16, I decided that I’d had enough. I packed the little I had and left my house.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12pt;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12pt;">Now I’m 23. I haven’t done too badly for myself. I hustled my way through the rest of school and even have a small business of my own. I haven’t been able to sustain a relationship though. I’ve never really allowed myself to love. Everytime I start to have real feelings for a girl, I run. What if I’m truly like my father and I end up hurting her like he did my mother? What if I get married and my child witnesses what I witnessed as a child? That can’t happen; I won’t let it. And so I run as far and as fast as my legs would carry me. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12pt;">But I want to go home. I love my mum and my sisters and I miss them very much. But I can’t. And every year, on my birthday, I’m reminded of that dreadful day.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12pt;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 12pt;">Someone please tell my mum. I am not my father.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div>'Daniahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02536331859925053569noreply@blogger.com20tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8374452512772262581.post-172294407590863132011-02-18T05:27:00.001+01:002011-02-18T12:33:39.881+01:00OH NO HE DIDN'T!!!So Valentine's day has come and gone. Is it just me or was there an unusual amount of fuss attached to it this year? If I'd gotten one more, just one more, Valentine hamper BBM broadcast I'd have smashed my blackberry. I'm sure. Even though I didn't get a Range Rover (still can't get over that story), thankfully, i didn't have any 'Oh no he didn't' moment.' I received my fair share of gifts (as per hot babe na) and gave out a couple myself (yes a couple)<br />
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A few weeks before the day, I was at the home of one of my girlfriends an we were discussing the lamest excuses we'd heard from guys who were either too broke or cheap to do anything on the day.<br />
I particularly remember one of my exes who told me in Janauary that he didnt believe in Val's day. According to him, love should be celebrated everyday and not on one day. I actually thought he was joking and went ahead to EMPTY my bank account, borrow and even beg so as to be able to 'Val' him properly. A week before the day, when he was still preaching the same message, I told myself that he was just trying to give me a really big surprise (come on girls, you know how we deceive ourselves sometimes) so i continued putting my own plans together.<br />
On the 14th, even though we lived barely five minutes apart, feeling all romantic with myself, I sent his gift (the latest Hugo Boss perfume set) to his house via DHL. Later that evening, I showed up at his house dressed to the nines in this killer ensemble (which i had bought with my own money oh!), bearing a large box of expensive chocolate (Godiva), two cards (one witty and the other romantic. Both hallmark of course), a bottle of red wine (South African) and a large cake (Opindos). I then treated him to a three-course dinner at Jade Garden (which had just opened at the time) and paid for everything! All the while i kept telling myself that my 'big surprise' was coming. What can i say, it's been three years and I'm still waiting. And mind you, I was still an undergraduate then and the dude was working and earning major bucks *collective sigh*<br />
Looking back, I wonder why he accepted all my gifts and things if he truly didn't believe in Valentine's. You know what's funny though? I still stuck with the guy after that. Yeah i know, his jazz guy was a real bad guy. It wasn't until after his response to my period being late one time was that he was taking medication that made it impossible for him to get a woman pregnant, that i realised that if i didn't ditch the lying cheapskate I would end up dying an old maid, while him, happily married would say that his pastor told him that if he married me, he would die. Mscheew. And the amazing thing is, he was so convincing that I almost started to believe him. But this was the first I'd heard him talk about taking any form of medication and I'd spent time at his place a lot. Besides what kind of medication was that anyway? If there was anything like that then there wouldnn't be any unplanned pregnancies now would there???<br />
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Another common way to try to get out of Valentine duty is to pick a fight around the period. You'd think this is pretty obvious but you'd be surprised at how many dumb guys still do it. Another friend told me how her boyfriend did the exact thing. Picked their first major fight out of thin air five days beofre Val's and dragged it out to the 17th despite all her attempts at reconciliation.<br />
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Guys please. If you really can't afford to spend money on Valentine's day, don't insult us with the lame excuses and games. Explain the situation to your girl and buy her a nice card or something small (depending on your level of broke). Afterall, the day is really about love not money or gifts. If she leaves you as a result, then at least you know she wasn't really in love with you. But if you really have money and are just a cheapskate then i pray you fall stupidly in love with a gold digger who takes you for every single penny you've got. And all the ladies say...'Daniahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02536331859925053569noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8374452512772262581.post-26354400815552086532011-02-18T03:09:00.000+01:002011-02-18T03:09:43.112+01:00Welcome to my Very Own Madness.<span style="background-color: #f9cb9c;">Oh wow so I started a blog</span><span style="background-color: #f9cb9c;">. Interesting. Perhaps if I told you how this happened then you would understand why I think it is so.</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: #f9cb9c;">Its 2a.m, and I'm 'Skyping' with Irene discussing business (yes business) and then one of us (probably me but i refuse to admit it) asks the other if she's heard that a mutual acquaintance just had a baby (Yes we were discussing business). The other party hadn't heard and so we both proceed to Facebook to </span><span style="background-color: #f9cb9c;">peruse the aforementioned mutual acquaintance's wall for clues to confirm the story.</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: #f9cb9c;">Perusal over, I return to my Facebook homepage and see that one of the FABest magazines in town at the moment has a new blog post. Attracted by the cover picture I decide to click on the link. This is rather strange for me because before now I have never opened a blog on my computer before. True story. No I am not stale or anti-social and I don't know if there's plant life in Mars. I actually even enjoy reading. But somehow I just haven't. I have visited Bella Naija twice I think and NotJustOk once, both on my blackberry and within the past month. I didn't spend more than 10mins in either though (Oh come on, you can't use that to judge me and decide to leave here in 5). </span><br />
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<span style="background-color: #f9cb9c;">Anyway, so I open this magazine's blog, read the first line of the post, scroll up and down the page and then one little button catches my eye; Create Blog. All this while, I'm still actively discussing business with Irene. For some reason, I click on it and....</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: #f9cb9c;">I'm not even sure how this works. Or how its supposed to work. But it will be as fun and as unpredictable as the way it was birthed. I hope. A few stories here (fiction and otherwise), a few random thoughts there (Yeah I know, if you wanted to read my random thoughts you'd just follow me on twitter right? But the 140 character hiccup...). I'll start by posting a couple of stuff I've written over the years and then we'll go from there. </span><span style="background-color: #f9cb9c;">I may offend a few sensibilities and will be politically incorrect a lot of times.</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: #f9cb9c;">Enjoy.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: #f9cb9c;"> </span><br />
<span style="background-color: #f9cb9c;">'Dania.</span>'Daniahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02536331859925053569noreply@blogger.com6