Untitled
When I spit "shuwo?" Throway from my mouth, I no come know but the way my brother man bin dey para dey voke, I taya sootey, I no blame myself again.
I dey my lane, dey siddon for my dormot when trouble dey use torch light with duracell battery dey find me! E reach the stage wey me I surrender arms begin come dey wither for the matter. I feel like to shout "na me shoot bird make I'm mama fly?! Abi na I'm be the handiwork wey I go carry take dig my papa grave?!" When I para reach full circle, I siddon for corner think am say as the thing dey take do me like so, e for get why.
As provoke don commot for my center, I fit siddon use tongue wey no be my mama own to speak...
First and foremost, I came to the startling realization that of late, I think of one particular person far more than I care to admit.
Her name?
Nneka!
To get her off my mind, I packed a hand luggage and hopped on a bus going to Cally from B-side. My reason again?? When I think of it now, I am not so certain.
One thing I am certain of is that while seated between two idiots getting high on cigarettes and cough syrup and a girl who's annoying phone beeped every other second I came to the realization that if I were to decide to, there'd be many ways to kill her!!
My name is Tabitha Swahita Tahilita, welcome to the insanity!!
- Tabby
Thursday, December 30, 2010
Saturday, October 9, 2010
Entry 36
HOME SONG
It began like an apparition then gradually, it became real, and I could feel. I heard him speak, his voice a silent whisper “look at me tabby” he said, “hold me with your eyes.” My mind went blank, I could barely stand. He was on his knees now in front of me, his head bent as though in prayer, touching, stroking, a little at a time, and then more. The throaty moan resounding in my ears probably came from me, I couldn’t care less. All I could do was… feel.
Slowly he stood up, his fingers gradually burning a trail on my skin. He was caressing my arms, causing heat to radiate from places I could barley phantom. I held onto his arms, trying to make sense of what I was saying. “No, no don’t, don’t yes. No, yes, please, oh yes! Please no”. For a brief second, he stopped touching me; I felt a whimper escape my lips. Opening my eyes, I was drawn to his; he was staring at me, with that questioning look, seeking permission to proceed, silently asking if I was sure of what I was doing. Without a word, I stood on my toes and wrapped my hands around him bringing my body to him in offering and gave an answer to the unspoken question. He was calling me again; somehow, his voice didn’t fit our present mood. It was older, stern and disapproving.
“Tabitha, tabby! Young lady, I am talking to you” with a start, I got up.
Day dreaming in class according to the kind Prof. was a behavior that was very “unbecoming”. To the amusement of the class, he asked me to either share the dream with the rest of my colleagues (obviously over my dead body) or do extra assignment.
I chose the latter.
On my way home, I thought of mother.
No matter how far I wander, no matter how fast I run, no matter how hard I try; it always becomes about her. First it was the juggling of the ‘dashes’ next it was battle for her life with breast cancer [really, everyone is at the risk of it and thankfully, early detection does go a long way in preventing it] chemotherapy and radio-treatment (which she is responding very well too), love and support.
Buh, now, it is a brand new story.
Breaking news, I am getting a father!!
How do I feel about this?
Ask me.
For so long, it has been just me and her.
My best friend, my sister and most importantly, mother; my mother. Now, she has someone else in her life, someone ‘probably’ more important than me; A significant other.
When I think about it, I wonder how it all works out.
How is it possible to find and choose someone, one man? From the lot of the “so many fish in the sea” what makes you sure you are not making the ‘greatest’ mistake of your life? What then becomes of you after you make ‘that’ solemn vow to remain faithful, trust, honor and cherish for the rest of your lives? Buh, does making those vows give one certain immunity from temptation, sin and the unmentionable cravings?
All this musings are giving me a headache, but, before I sign out, am making this note to self. What on earth is this new trend and poison “Alomo bitters/ Hausa chewing stick” about? The word “Eferebor” comes to mind! The wise ones once said that “if you do anyhow, you go see anyhow!!”
Well, what do I know? I am just Tabby!!
- Tabby
End of entries 25 – 36
It began like an apparition then gradually, it became real, and I could feel. I heard him speak, his voice a silent whisper “look at me tabby” he said, “hold me with your eyes.” My mind went blank, I could barely stand. He was on his knees now in front of me, his head bent as though in prayer, touching, stroking, a little at a time, and then more. The throaty moan resounding in my ears probably came from me, I couldn’t care less. All I could do was… feel.
Slowly he stood up, his fingers gradually burning a trail on my skin. He was caressing my arms, causing heat to radiate from places I could barley phantom. I held onto his arms, trying to make sense of what I was saying. “No, no don’t, don’t yes. No, yes, please, oh yes! Please no”. For a brief second, he stopped touching me; I felt a whimper escape my lips. Opening my eyes, I was drawn to his; he was staring at me, with that questioning look, seeking permission to proceed, silently asking if I was sure of what I was doing. Without a word, I stood on my toes and wrapped my hands around him bringing my body to him in offering and gave an answer to the unspoken question. He was calling me again; somehow, his voice didn’t fit our present mood. It was older, stern and disapproving.
“Tabitha, tabby! Young lady, I am talking to you” with a start, I got up.
Day dreaming in class according to the kind Prof. was a behavior that was very “unbecoming”. To the amusement of the class, he asked me to either share the dream with the rest of my colleagues (obviously over my dead body) or do extra assignment.
I chose the latter.
On my way home, I thought of mother.
No matter how far I wander, no matter how fast I run, no matter how hard I try; it always becomes about her. First it was the juggling of the ‘dashes’ next it was battle for her life with breast cancer [really, everyone is at the risk of it and thankfully, early detection does go a long way in preventing it] chemotherapy and radio-treatment (which she is responding very well too), love and support.
Buh, now, it is a brand new story.
Breaking news, I am getting a father!!
How do I feel about this?
Ask me.
For so long, it has been just me and her.
My best friend, my sister and most importantly, mother; my mother. Now, she has someone else in her life, someone ‘probably’ more important than me; A significant other.
When I think about it, I wonder how it all works out.
How is it possible to find and choose someone, one man? From the lot of the “so many fish in the sea” what makes you sure you are not making the ‘greatest’ mistake of your life? What then becomes of you after you make ‘that’ solemn vow to remain faithful, trust, honor and cherish for the rest of your lives? Buh, does making those vows give one certain immunity from temptation, sin and the unmentionable cravings?
All this musings are giving me a headache, but, before I sign out, am making this note to self. What on earth is this new trend and poison “Alomo bitters/ Hausa chewing stick” about? The word “Eferebor” comes to mind! The wise ones once said that “if you do anyhow, you go see anyhow!!”
Well, what do I know? I am just Tabby!!
- Tabby
End of entries 25 – 36
Sunday, October 3, 2010
Entry 35
VOODOO DOLLS II
Revealing all the intimate details is just short of LETTING THE fabled CAT OUT OF THE BAG (I wonder who put it in there in the first place) to remain in focus, I’d make like Hansel and Gretel and leave trails of crumbs bits at a time, until the final event.
They say ice-cream wins the standing award for best comfort food and is the sure means of drowning all and every man-related-sorrows-et-al but, when ice cream is what causes the ‘matters arising’ buh, what gets the position for 1st runner up?
I blame him, no, wait! I blame them. [Long pause then scream] where on earth is that killer doll ‘Chukie’ when you need him?!
So, after the hellish heart breaks and all, I decided I had-had enough and deleted all the ‘toxic male’ contacts from my phone (an act which from now, I seriously advice against, look what happened because I did!) and decided to start afresh. So, when I received the sweetest text message ever from an unknown number claiming upon enquiry to be “a secret admirer” I couldn’t help but feel flattered and encourage the thread.
It wasn’t until after about a week of casual messages, flirting and exchange of smiley’s that the rectangular nut on the left side of my brain clicked into place and it occurred to me to ask; “who is this…”
Enter: the wild card
It was one of those days when I was feeling blue (I performed badly in my test slash project work NNEKA!!) I made up my mind that ice cream, cake and candy would go a long way in adding vibrancy to the dull color of my mood and proceeded to carry out that plan. I choose to go to the restaurant outside of school for the change of scenery. I brought the ice cream successfully alongside the cake. Then on an impulse, I decided to add a bottle of coke to the menu and was struggling to balance holding a now melting cone of ice cream, my purse and the tray containing the cake and coke long enough to reach the nearest empty seat when an idiot chose that moment to turn with the force of Hades and bump into me! Turning my shirt front into a canvas for the finger painting of “Ice cream in pictures!!” To make matters worse, when my head stopped spinning and I realized the ground wouldn’t open and swallow me then and there, I looked up to confront my assailant only to come face to face with him.
I knew the idiot, strike two from my past…
The thing with hooking up with an old flame and letting the fire burn brightly is that, at the back of my head, I know how this particular flame burnt out. The soggy ashes that remained, the choking fumes and the marathon of events that followed.
The only grounds for a rematch should be that both parties are ready to start afresh.
Is he willing to go through the hassle of wooing me once again?
Is he ready to admit to who did what and apologize for those blind stabs which cut deep?
Would he accept my apologies, forgive and be willing to forget?
Seriously, sending Chuckie to deliver a "hand-crafted-message" (if you know what i mean) would seem more likely.
[Why do I keep thinking of Chukie?]
These days, I find myself sensing more of Nneka than I see, am guessing I have been away from church for too long.
The witches hut isn’t so far off anymore, and am not certain how that particular story ended.
To avoid defeat as a result of being caught unawares, I’d ask the basic question. One which when answered would settle a whole lot of confusion and guide me to the straight path of focus that I badly need. One which people should ask themselves every now and then.
A simple question, a question (when answered) that leads to the can-do-coaches; when and how?
One sentence, four words: what do I want?
- Tabby
Revealing all the intimate details is just short of LETTING THE fabled CAT OUT OF THE BAG (I wonder who put it in there in the first place) to remain in focus, I’d make like Hansel and Gretel and leave trails of crumbs bits at a time, until the final event.
They say ice-cream wins the standing award for best comfort food and is the sure means of drowning all and every man-related-sorrows-et-al but, when ice cream is what causes the ‘matters arising’ buh, what gets the position for 1st runner up?
I blame him, no, wait! I blame them. [Long pause then scream] where on earth is that killer doll ‘Chukie’ when you need him?!
So, after the hellish heart breaks and all, I decided I had-had enough and deleted all the ‘toxic male’ contacts from my phone (an act which from now, I seriously advice against, look what happened because I did!) and decided to start afresh. So, when I received the sweetest text message ever from an unknown number claiming upon enquiry to be “a secret admirer” I couldn’t help but feel flattered and encourage the thread.
It wasn’t until after about a week of casual messages, flirting and exchange of smiley’s that the rectangular nut on the left side of my brain clicked into place and it occurred to me to ask; “who is this…”
Enter: the wild card
It was one of those days when I was feeling blue (I performed badly in my test slash project work NNEKA!!) I made up my mind that ice cream, cake and candy would go a long way in adding vibrancy to the dull color of my mood and proceeded to carry out that plan. I choose to go to the restaurant outside of school for the change of scenery. I brought the ice cream successfully alongside the cake. Then on an impulse, I decided to add a bottle of coke to the menu and was struggling to balance holding a now melting cone of ice cream, my purse and the tray containing the cake and coke long enough to reach the nearest empty seat when an idiot chose that moment to turn with the force of Hades and bump into me! Turning my shirt front into a canvas for the finger painting of “Ice cream in pictures!!” To make matters worse, when my head stopped spinning and I realized the ground wouldn’t open and swallow me then and there, I looked up to confront my assailant only to come face to face with him.
I knew the idiot, strike two from my past…
The thing with hooking up with an old flame and letting the fire burn brightly is that, at the back of my head, I know how this particular flame burnt out. The soggy ashes that remained, the choking fumes and the marathon of events that followed.
The only grounds for a rematch should be that both parties are ready to start afresh.
Is he willing to go through the hassle of wooing me once again?
Is he ready to admit to who did what and apologize for those blind stabs which cut deep?
Would he accept my apologies, forgive and be willing to forget?
Seriously, sending Chuckie to deliver a "hand-crafted-message" (if you know what i mean) would seem more likely.
[Why do I keep thinking of Chukie?]
These days, I find myself sensing more of Nneka than I see, am guessing I have been away from church for too long.
The witches hut isn’t so far off anymore, and am not certain how that particular story ended.
To avoid defeat as a result of being caught unawares, I’d ask the basic question. One which when answered would settle a whole lot of confusion and guide me to the straight path of focus that I badly need. One which people should ask themselves every now and then.
A simple question, a question (when answered) that leads to the can-do-coaches; when and how?
One sentence, four words: what do I want?
- Tabby
Wednesday, September 15, 2010
Entry 32
IN THE HOOD
Unlike that gorgeous, handsome, honest-to-G*d-talented-music-marvel (real name withheld) when I wake up in the morning, I not only brush up my teeth, I have my bath and put on clean clothes as well!!
Walking through the porthole infested streets that snake around my area, (although times without number, I curse the government officials that collect millions of naira with the promise of good roads and more only to fall short of expectations once again) there is this something at the pith of my stomach that perks up with pride whenever I move through the shameful occurrence that we call roads.
On the street where I live, there is a sense of belonging that makes each step I take a confident stride, these people would drop what they were doing and come to my aid, these ones would stick their necks out for me if the situation requires it. These are my people, these are my own.
Whatever name you decide to call our members; the general class of students or the more specific genus of hustlers, g-men, tilĕ’s, code breakers or Barbie dolls. There is just something about that sets them apart.
Buh, there is daytime life and nighttime life on my street.
Seriously, the same girl you see with knee length skirt and mary-amaka blouse clutching her books tightly around are chest at dawn is the same babe you would see ‘strutting her stuff’ from 6pm in the evening (that same day).
With backsides that can stand beer bottles, long legs that go all the way and make you rethink the word “bridging the divide” and/or ample bosoms that could literally put a stop to world hunger, these girls would look for every and any excuse to wear those killer outfits and torment the ‘boys in the hood’ . Be it borrowing notes form the next block, getting noodles [and suya/ meshai/ moi-moi or that special on code “ingredient” I can’t write on paper for fear that pound would see] from Mallam down the road, or even to pack their clothes form the lines on a sunny day turned cloudy. You have got to love them!!
Our men are not ones to be left out as they too they show themselves. They migrate from crazy hair cuts to outfits that shock and shoes bound to cause a stir. If you have got a ride that ‘sparkles’ YOU ARE THE MAN!
Once in a while, when things get too dull, they’d throw a block party and of course, I’d get an invite. There I’d meet the longest standing couples, the Bonny and Clyde couples [and the Chris and Riri type too], the reigning ladies and they men that serve them and the occasional dude that has a ‘skirt’ fetish.
Paul doesn’t see what the big deal is about my street, if he doesn’t get it, then it’s too bad for him [buh, I can’t believe I prefer him to Faruk. Did I just admit that aloud? Yikes!]
Ibiela left unsupervised in the area is like putting a pretty shinny object in front of a female and asking her not to touch.
I don’t talk to everyone on my street, (I am Tahilita Swahita duh!) I have to still form, front and all that, it is expected; the unwritten code. Every now and then, we’d see ourselves outside, ‘in the world’ on cue, we’d both nod. Acknowledging the fact that each other’s presence has been recognized and noted.
Plain Dash (mother’s new beau –I can’t believe she left teacher dash for him, she is greedy and doesn’t care about my future!! Besides, I think he is way too young for her, I blame it on that movie where they keep going on about how it is empowering to date a younger man, if I set eyes on the team of producers, directors and script writers eh… I hope for their own good they don’t have cats) has a business office not too far from where I stay, so every now and then, we play the could-be-related-if-things-workout-game.
By default, he is also one of us.
No day is the same in my habitat. The drama that unfolds each moment is like scenes from the documentary “student life”. I wouldn’t trade it for the world. If given the chance, I would change nothing! These events, these memories are all exclusive and only happen [like Durella would say…] IN THE ZANGA!!
- Tabby
Unlike that gorgeous, handsome, honest-to-G*d-talented-music-marvel (real name withheld) when I wake up in the morning, I not only brush up my teeth, I have my bath and put on clean clothes as well!!
Walking through the porthole infested streets that snake around my area, (although times without number, I curse the government officials that collect millions of naira with the promise of good roads and more only to fall short of expectations once again) there is this something at the pith of my stomach that perks up with pride whenever I move through the shameful occurrence that we call roads.
On the street where I live, there is a sense of belonging that makes each step I take a confident stride, these people would drop what they were doing and come to my aid, these ones would stick their necks out for me if the situation requires it. These are my people, these are my own.
Whatever name you decide to call our members; the general class of students or the more specific genus of hustlers, g-men, tilĕ’s, code breakers or Barbie dolls. There is just something about that sets them apart.
Buh, there is daytime life and nighttime life on my street.
Seriously, the same girl you see with knee length skirt and mary-amaka blouse clutching her books tightly around are chest at dawn is the same babe you would see ‘strutting her stuff’ from 6pm in the evening (that same day).
With backsides that can stand beer bottles, long legs that go all the way and make you rethink the word “bridging the divide” and/or ample bosoms that could literally put a stop to world hunger, these girls would look for every and any excuse to wear those killer outfits and torment the ‘boys in the hood’ . Be it borrowing notes form the next block, getting noodles [and suya/ meshai/ moi-moi or that special on code “ingredient” I can’t write on paper for fear that pound would see] from Mallam down the road, or even to pack their clothes form the lines on a sunny day turned cloudy. You have got to love them!!
Our men are not ones to be left out as they too they show themselves. They migrate from crazy hair cuts to outfits that shock and shoes bound to cause a stir. If you have got a ride that ‘sparkles’ YOU ARE THE MAN!
Once in a while, when things get too dull, they’d throw a block party and of course, I’d get an invite. There I’d meet the longest standing couples, the Bonny and Clyde couples [and the Chris and Riri type too], the reigning ladies and they men that serve them and the occasional dude that has a ‘skirt’ fetish.
Paul doesn’t see what the big deal is about my street, if he doesn’t get it, then it’s too bad for him [buh, I can’t believe I prefer him to Faruk. Did I just admit that aloud? Yikes!]
Ibiela left unsupervised in the area is like putting a pretty shinny object in front of a female and asking her not to touch.
I don’t talk to everyone on my street, (I am Tahilita Swahita duh!) I have to still form, front and all that, it is expected; the unwritten code. Every now and then, we’d see ourselves outside, ‘in the world’ on cue, we’d both nod. Acknowledging the fact that each other’s presence has been recognized and noted.
Plain Dash (mother’s new beau –I can’t believe she left teacher dash for him, she is greedy and doesn’t care about my future!! Besides, I think he is way too young for her, I blame it on that movie where they keep going on about how it is empowering to date a younger man, if I set eyes on the team of producers, directors and script writers eh… I hope for their own good they don’t have cats) has a business office not too far from where I stay, so every now and then, we play the could-be-related-if-things-workout-game.
By default, he is also one of us.
No day is the same in my habitat. The drama that unfolds each moment is like scenes from the documentary “student life”. I wouldn’t trade it for the world. If given the chance, I would change nothing! These events, these memories are all exclusive and only happen [like Durella would say…] IN THE ZANGA!!
- Tabby
Monday, September 6, 2010
Entry 34
NNEKA AND I
The story begins when a lump is involved or..., so they say.
Mother taught she had malaria.
Well, that was for just a little while. The next thing she noticed was “some form of rash” during the course of her treatment, once, it was proposed that she was having a parasite infection the doctors went ahead to douse her in antibiotics.
Now, armed with pamphlets and booklets on the subject matter, I am a full supporter of BSE otherwise known as breast self exam.
What do I know about it? The instructions are to do a BSE each month as well as a mammogram or clinical exam, BSE ideally is for all humans that sit to pee especially after hitting the age of 20 and counting. Done standing topless in front of a mirror, while lying down and even while in the shower!
Truthfully speaking, who really does that? Well, for the first 2 to 3 months, there is the ‘ginger’ and fanaticism but afterward, it slowly dies away, they loose interest. After all, the only places where people die of breast, ovarian or cancer of the cervix are movies with sad endings right? Wrong!
There is the tendency to be nonchalant about a particular cause until it hits close to home. Then, we’d start carrying placards, bills and that ‘do or die’ attitude.
The question is; why do we wait until it’s too late before we start preaching hell and brimstone? Why? I wonder.
Paul and Faruk [bless their hearts] are good guys with a-not-so-bad-likely-higher-percent-of-good intentions but like potted plants decorating the kitchen window, when I didn’t give either of them enough attention, love and nurture, they withered and died.
Once again, it’s back to being single.
Nneka came to the house to see mother, I was touched. Whatever bonds her and mother developed during those trying months, it is deeply embedded and keeping her by her side.
I am not complaining, for once I look forward to her visits. It feels good to have someone to hold, someone to share my fears and worries with.
Predisposing factors of cancer include age, genetics, family history, delayed childbirth, alcohol and smoking amongst others, I wonder which of them placed mother at a higher risk.
I am told that a sure way to prevent cancer is to do a regular BSE (If I were menopausal, I’ pick a day of the month to do it. If I am not [obviously] I should set a regular date for my BSE preferably a few days after my period ends “when hormone levels are relatively stable and breast are less tender”) and live a healthy life (with our rodent infested restaurants, deficient garbage disposal and [can I add?] bad roads. I wonder what a ‘practical’ definition of healthy would be).
For now, I am hopeful. I lost father before I was old enough to miss him terribly. I love mother, she is my guiding light, protector and driving force.
I am scared, so scared.
I am scared of what tomorrow might bring, scared of losing my mother, scared of being left alone in this rat race we ignorantly call ‘life’.
Nneka and i?
Miracles can happen.
- Tabby
The story begins when a lump is involved or..., so they say.
Mother taught she had malaria.
Well, that was for just a little while. The next thing she noticed was “some form of rash” during the course of her treatment, once, it was proposed that she was having a parasite infection the doctors went ahead to douse her in antibiotics.
Now, armed with pamphlets and booklets on the subject matter, I am a full supporter of BSE otherwise known as breast self exam.
What do I know about it? The instructions are to do a BSE each month as well as a mammogram or clinical exam, BSE ideally is for all humans that sit to pee especially after hitting the age of 20 and counting. Done standing topless in front of a mirror, while lying down and even while in the shower!
Truthfully speaking, who really does that? Well, for the first 2 to 3 months, there is the ‘ginger’ and fanaticism but afterward, it slowly dies away, they loose interest. After all, the only places where people die of breast, ovarian or cancer of the cervix are movies with sad endings right? Wrong!
There is the tendency to be nonchalant about a particular cause until it hits close to home. Then, we’d start carrying placards, bills and that ‘do or die’ attitude.
The question is; why do we wait until it’s too late before we start preaching hell and brimstone? Why? I wonder.
Paul and Faruk [bless their hearts] are good guys with a-not-so-bad-likely-higher-percent-of-good intentions but like potted plants decorating the kitchen window, when I didn’t give either of them enough attention, love and nurture, they withered and died.
Once again, it’s back to being single.
Nneka came to the house to see mother, I was touched. Whatever bonds her and mother developed during those trying months, it is deeply embedded and keeping her by her side.
I am not complaining, for once I look forward to her visits. It feels good to have someone to hold, someone to share my fears and worries with.
Predisposing factors of cancer include age, genetics, family history, delayed childbirth, alcohol and smoking amongst others, I wonder which of them placed mother at a higher risk.
I am told that a sure way to prevent cancer is to do a regular BSE (If I were menopausal, I’ pick a day of the month to do it. If I am not [obviously] I should set a regular date for my BSE preferably a few days after my period ends “when hormone levels are relatively stable and breast are less tender”) and live a healthy life (with our rodent infested restaurants, deficient garbage disposal and [can I add?] bad roads. I wonder what a ‘practical’ definition of healthy would be).
For now, I am hopeful. I lost father before I was old enough to miss him terribly. I love mother, she is my guiding light, protector and driving force.
I am scared, so scared.
I am scared of what tomorrow might bring, scared of losing my mother, scared of being left alone in this rat race we ignorantly call ‘life’.
Nneka and i?
Miracles can happen.
- Tabby
Wednesday, August 25, 2010
Entry 31
BEER BUDDIES
With deep sorrow in our hearts but profound gratitude to G*d for a life well spent, we regret to announce the death of- G*d forbid bad thing!!!
Although the thought has crossed my mind on several occasions and truly, I hope to make heaven but, the thought of actually dying is not a topic I actively linger on.
Take for example my incidence with the “unholy hooligan”…
I was reading for my exams, occasionally going across the block to Suashi’s (my classmate I only talk to during exam period) room and she to mine until it got to the point when I stopped asking “who is it” when there was a knock on my door.
Later that night, I was feeling sleepy and decided that listening to 2face’s old album (the one with that track ‘ole’) would keep me awake. I had skipped to track 8 and made halted attempts to swing my tired waist to the rhythm when there was a hesitant knock on my door.
I knew it was Suashi and wondered why she was knocking like a hungry rat that had just finished paying child support. Still I asked who it was and her response was “Tabby it’s me, don’t open” buh, did I hear wrong or was Suashi knocking and telling me not to open? Thinking it was early-distress-examination-related-syndrome and not heeding the warning, I pulled back the bolt and swung the door open only to come face to face with the ugliest sight I pray to ever behold. It was a masked marauder with his right arm around her neck and a gun nestled snugly on her temple.
The first thing that came to my head was that the devil had become man and was staring right at me. Without thinking, I pointed a finger at him and began to pray. I was commanding the devil to flee from my presence and telling him that the light was no place for darkness, I was getting close to speaking in tongues (am not sure if it was the effect of the prayers that got to him or not) when the ‘human’ flung Suashi at me and cocked his gun.
Unfazed, I continued to ‘kabash’ urging G*d to send down fire and brimstone. He advised Suashi to shut me up else, she would be the next to die after me. When she got up, she tripped on the chord of my reading lamp, pulling it out of the socket and throwing the room into darkness. Before our assailant became royally pissed, we rushed to switch on the fluorescent light and told him it was an accident. Not believing either of us, he pointed the gun from me to Suashi then back to me before letting out a warning, he was like: “I’d shoot somebody”. On hearing him, I began my prayer session again, this time praying that the lord would receive my soul because I was so sure that I’d be the first target he’d choose to ‘X’. Suashi’s whimpering and tears finally got me to shut up. Luckily, I left my phones and laptop at Faruk’s the only thing of value were my jewelries and barely worn Nike sneakers. He took them and left [tears].
Suashi fainted while I stood rooted to the spot not believing that my zodiac sign pendant was really gone.
He came on two other occasions gradually turning me into a nervous wreck until Faruk suggested I buy a crate of beer and invite him to rest for a while before going about his ‘business as usual’ the next time he came. He was like, there could be a huge probability that the guy liked me but, lacked the proper approach to get to me.
After the 3rd attack, I figured there might be truth to what Faruk said and went ahead to buy the beer.
Lucky me, he must have discovered a more attractive and willing host than me because after I loaded my fridge with a crate of beer, I never saw him again.
He had succeeded in turning me into a nervous-jumpy wreck, flinching each time I got a knock at my door after 8pm, making sure there was always beer in my fridge and double checking my bolts every other hour.
If I ran into a doctor in that state, he’d have booked me into the nearest ward for people with mental illness with a possibility of cerebral shock. Imagine me, death by anxiety?
Buh, who cares if he never returned to ‘break bread’ over the bottles of beer I had purchased for him? I know I don’t!
Its good riddance to bad rubbish!!
- Tabby
*special edition
With deep sorrow in our hearts but profound gratitude to G*d for a life well spent, we regret to announce the death of- G*d forbid bad thing!!!
Although the thought has crossed my mind on several occasions and truly, I hope to make heaven but, the thought of actually dying is not a topic I actively linger on.
Take for example my incidence with the “unholy hooligan”…
I was reading for my exams, occasionally going across the block to Suashi’s (my classmate I only talk to during exam period) room and she to mine until it got to the point when I stopped asking “who is it” when there was a knock on my door.
Later that night, I was feeling sleepy and decided that listening to 2face’s old album (the one with that track ‘ole’) would keep me awake. I had skipped to track 8 and made halted attempts to swing my tired waist to the rhythm when there was a hesitant knock on my door.
I knew it was Suashi and wondered why she was knocking like a hungry rat that had just finished paying child support. Still I asked who it was and her response was “Tabby it’s me, don’t open” buh, did I hear wrong or was Suashi knocking and telling me not to open? Thinking it was early-distress-examination-related-syndrome and not heeding the warning, I pulled back the bolt and swung the door open only to come face to face with the ugliest sight I pray to ever behold. It was a masked marauder with his right arm around her neck and a gun nestled snugly on her temple.
The first thing that came to my head was that the devil had become man and was staring right at me. Without thinking, I pointed a finger at him and began to pray. I was commanding the devil to flee from my presence and telling him that the light was no place for darkness, I was getting close to speaking in tongues (am not sure if it was the effect of the prayers that got to him or not) when the ‘human’ flung Suashi at me and cocked his gun.
Unfazed, I continued to ‘kabash’ urging G*d to send down fire and brimstone. He advised Suashi to shut me up else, she would be the next to die after me. When she got up, she tripped on the chord of my reading lamp, pulling it out of the socket and throwing the room into darkness. Before our assailant became royally pissed, we rushed to switch on the fluorescent light and told him it was an accident. Not believing either of us, he pointed the gun from me to Suashi then back to me before letting out a warning, he was like: “I’d shoot somebody”. On hearing him, I began my prayer session again, this time praying that the lord would receive my soul because I was so sure that I’d be the first target he’d choose to ‘X’. Suashi’s whimpering and tears finally got me to shut up. Luckily, I left my phones and laptop at Faruk’s the only thing of value were my jewelries and barely worn Nike sneakers. He took them and left [tears].
Suashi fainted while I stood rooted to the spot not believing that my zodiac sign pendant was really gone.
He came on two other occasions gradually turning me into a nervous wreck until Faruk suggested I buy a crate of beer and invite him to rest for a while before going about his ‘business as usual’ the next time he came. He was like, there could be a huge probability that the guy liked me but, lacked the proper approach to get to me.
After the 3rd attack, I figured there might be truth to what Faruk said and went ahead to buy the beer.
Lucky me, he must have discovered a more attractive and willing host than me because after I loaded my fridge with a crate of beer, I never saw him again.
He had succeeded in turning me into a nervous-jumpy wreck, flinching each time I got a knock at my door after 8pm, making sure there was always beer in my fridge and double checking my bolts every other hour.
If I ran into a doctor in that state, he’d have booked me into the nearest ward for people with mental illness with a possibility of cerebral shock. Imagine me, death by anxiety?
Buh, who cares if he never returned to ‘break bread’ over the bottles of beer I had purchased for him? I know I don’t!
Its good riddance to bad rubbish!!
- Tabby
*special edition
Friday, August 20, 2010
Entry 27
WHEN FISH JUMP
I hate the rain- I hate the rain- I hate the rain- I hate the rain (I hate the season), I hate the rain! Buh, I hate the freaking rain!!
In movies, the guy and the lady might walk under the rain, sing love songs while looking into each others eyes and tra-la-la; it would seem oh so romantic but, really, try that in 9ja na?
Not only would you catch a bloody cold, your 10,000 Naira and above ‘Brazilian’ hair would be gone in the wind! This is not including the time and energy that would be spent on doing the extra laundry or the ruined leather shoes that weren’t water repellent!
I wasn’t such an anti-rain person until the storm settled above my roof and brought along with it horrible evil clouds. It looked through the list of all the citizens of earth and decided to send thunder and lightning to the household of my friend Ivy.
My beloved friend Ivy!!
She is in pain, she is hurting.
I am at loss for what to do.
I have thought of almost every and anything to do to cheer her up but, none is working. Each attempt only leaves me feeling powerless, useless… weak.
How do you cheer up a soul that has lost its will to live?
A while back, I was saying how much fun weddings were, how it brought me Stanley and all; the joy and the hopes, the dreams, magic and miracle of two people finding themselves and making that solemn promise: “till death do us part”.
How was I to know that Ivy would never attend another wedding without tears in her eyes? Petunia, Ivy’s elder sister that had crazily put off having a ‘white’ wedding until after she had a first baby, the same petunia that threatened to sue the doctor for confirming her pregnant then going ahead to tell her the sex of the child [she said he ruined her surprise] .
The very same person!
She was planning a wedding for late august, three months after the baby was due.
I keep asking; why wasn’t the wedding done last year after the native law just like normal people would do? I can’t explain how or if that would change anything. What I know is that Ivy is inconsolable, Petunia’s husband is devastated and her parents…
Funny, daring, ‘evil’, crazy, amazing Petunia! Petunia who gave herself various traditional names from Dumebi, Omozele, Omawumi, Ekene to Aisha and even Chi-chi! [She did it to spite her parents for naming her after a flower]
Petunia.
She was the life of the party, eager to please more so to help. Just like that, sweet kind petunia is dead.
Here today, gone tomorrow.
She had malaria, everybody has malaria right? I mean, I have malaria at least twice a year or more. Yet no one can bear witness me writing tabs from the ‘great beyond’.
Why her? Why malaria? Why Petunia?
I can’t cry, I badly want to do that, but I can’t; I have to be strong. Ivy needs a friend to lean on, Ivy needs me.
Bad enough that the morning of the same ill fated day, results for the session were released and it so happened that I had done badly in not 1, 2 but 3 core courses.
Weighing 4 credits each, I had an ‘E’ in two of them and the 3rd was a missing result. I was biting my nails and brooding when Ivy burst into my room howling like a baby.
It’s raining again, buh, I so hate the rain!
So far, I have learned that malaria kills between 1-3 million people each year and it is spread by the female anopheles mosquitoes. Although it is a sickness associated with poverty it very well may be the cause of poverty! Imagine our future leaders and brains dying at the age of 10 who where lies the nations hope?
Aside from cerebral malaria killing younger children within 8- 48 hours, if left untreated it can cause anemia coma and ultimately… death.
Petunia is dead.
The intensity of rain has increased, at this moment I need to be with Ivy; I tried convincing her to go home but she refused. She insists on staying in school to read her books.
I am afraid for her.
When she feels I am not watching she stares into space while tears run freely down her cheeks.
Imagine losing a sister and an unborn niece at the same time.
Petunia had a brief illness, don’t we all?
She was complaining about the regular malaria symptoms (fever, shivering, joint pain etc) but after a couple of days she felt better and decided to make a dash to her mother in-laws place to discuss about the wedding caters (besides she was missing the old lady and was itching to see her).
Early that morning, she began her journey to the woman's place of residence.
All through the 4 hour trip, she felt well and fit (Her husband had instructed his driver to turn the car around and bring her home if his wife should let out even a little sneeze).
It was later that night after calling him and her parents to say that she had arrived safely that she began convulsing and throwing up.
Each time she came up for air, she screamed; “help my baby!”
She was rushed to the hospital and placed on I. V.
She died that night.
The stupid rain wouldn’t stop falling! I am sure all the mosquitoes are busy doing 'the bunny hop' and breeding waiting for their next victim to attack.
I want do hit somebody, I want to hit something, badly!!
Who am I to blame?
- Tabby
I hate the rain- I hate the rain- I hate the rain- I hate the rain (I hate the season), I hate the rain! Buh, I hate the freaking rain!!
In movies, the guy and the lady might walk under the rain, sing love songs while looking into each others eyes and tra-la-la; it would seem oh so romantic but, really, try that in 9ja na?
Not only would you catch a bloody cold, your 10,000 Naira and above ‘Brazilian’ hair would be gone in the wind! This is not including the time and energy that would be spent on doing the extra laundry or the ruined leather shoes that weren’t water repellent!
I wasn’t such an anti-rain person until the storm settled above my roof and brought along with it horrible evil clouds. It looked through the list of all the citizens of earth and decided to send thunder and lightning to the household of my friend Ivy.
My beloved friend Ivy!!
She is in pain, she is hurting.
I am at loss for what to do.
I have thought of almost every and anything to do to cheer her up but, none is working. Each attempt only leaves me feeling powerless, useless… weak.
How do you cheer up a soul that has lost its will to live?
A while back, I was saying how much fun weddings were, how it brought me Stanley and all; the joy and the hopes, the dreams, magic and miracle of two people finding themselves and making that solemn promise: “till death do us part”.
How was I to know that Ivy would never attend another wedding without tears in her eyes? Petunia, Ivy’s elder sister that had crazily put off having a ‘white’ wedding until after she had a first baby, the same petunia that threatened to sue the doctor for confirming her pregnant then going ahead to tell her the sex of the child [she said he ruined her surprise] .
The very same person!
She was planning a wedding for late august, three months after the baby was due.
I keep asking; why wasn’t the wedding done last year after the native law just like normal people would do? I can’t explain how or if that would change anything. What I know is that Ivy is inconsolable, Petunia’s husband is devastated and her parents…
Funny, daring, ‘evil’, crazy, amazing Petunia! Petunia who gave herself various traditional names from Dumebi, Omozele, Omawumi, Ekene to Aisha and even Chi-chi! [She did it to spite her parents for naming her after a flower]
Petunia.
She was the life of the party, eager to please more so to help. Just like that, sweet kind petunia is dead.
Here today, gone tomorrow.
She had malaria, everybody has malaria right? I mean, I have malaria at least twice a year or more. Yet no one can bear witness me writing tabs from the ‘great beyond’.
Why her? Why malaria? Why Petunia?
I can’t cry, I badly want to do that, but I can’t; I have to be strong. Ivy needs a friend to lean on, Ivy needs me.
Bad enough that the morning of the same ill fated day, results for the session were released and it so happened that I had done badly in not 1, 2 but 3 core courses.
Weighing 4 credits each, I had an ‘E’ in two of them and the 3rd was a missing result. I was biting my nails and brooding when Ivy burst into my room howling like a baby.
It’s raining again, buh, I so hate the rain!
So far, I have learned that malaria kills between 1-3 million people each year and it is spread by the female anopheles mosquitoes. Although it is a sickness associated with poverty it very well may be the cause of poverty! Imagine our future leaders and brains dying at the age of 10 who where lies the nations hope?
Aside from cerebral malaria killing younger children within 8- 48 hours, if left untreated it can cause anemia coma and ultimately… death.
Petunia is dead.
The intensity of rain has increased, at this moment I need to be with Ivy; I tried convincing her to go home but she refused. She insists on staying in school to read her books.
I am afraid for her.
When she feels I am not watching she stares into space while tears run freely down her cheeks.
Imagine losing a sister and an unborn niece at the same time.
Petunia had a brief illness, don’t we all?
She was complaining about the regular malaria symptoms (fever, shivering, joint pain etc) but after a couple of days she felt better and decided to make a dash to her mother in-laws place to discuss about the wedding caters (besides she was missing the old lady and was itching to see her).
Early that morning, she began her journey to the woman's place of residence.
All through the 4 hour trip, she felt well and fit (Her husband had instructed his driver to turn the car around and bring her home if his wife should let out even a little sneeze).
It was later that night after calling him and her parents to say that she had arrived safely that she began convulsing and throwing up.
Each time she came up for air, she screamed; “help my baby!”
She was rushed to the hospital and placed on I. V.
She died that night.
The stupid rain wouldn’t stop falling! I am sure all the mosquitoes are busy doing 'the bunny hop' and breeding waiting for their next victim to attack.
I want do hit somebody, I want to hit something, badly!!
Who am I to blame?
- Tabby
Friday, August 13, 2010
Entry 26
WHEN FISH FLY
Like so, after all my years of begging, cajoling, blackmail and threats to put myself up for adoption to better and more caring parents with the answer being adamantly no, it finally took the intervention of mothers gentlemanly boyfriend captain Dash…
(- CAPTAIN DASH – an honest to G*d naval officer. I have never seen a man look so gorgeous in gray hair! If I were X years older and half as hot as mother, captain Dash would change to Captain Tabitha’s!! I'd brand him with my initials; T S T and like the proud owner of a pure breed, I'd show him off to all who care to look! I believe it should be against the law somewhere for a man to look that handsome! Before I get carried away on captain Dash and his criminally good looks, I’d stop and get back to me!)
… Like I was saying, it finally took the intervention of ‘her’ boyfriend to get her to budge.
To make matters worse, I was not even aware of her plans neither was C D (my pet name for captain Dash he is cute!! Mother filled an online form for herself and me then surprise-surprise on Easter Monday she was like “guess what Swahita, we are going to the United State embassy next week. I’ve booked an appointment for the both of us for Tuesday. If you are given a visa, we’d spend your next holiday at Vegas!! Wouldn’t that be fun?”
Buh, I was happy and gingered at the prospect of becoming a ‘been-to’ but, 5 days later, cooling my heels at the super cold US embassy while waiting for my number to be called up I began to think about the wisdom of my ways.
From what I could see, a blond chick [that looked no more than 18 give or take 23] calls you up, asks you personal questions, gets you to admit to your worst fears then kindly tells you that your request has been denied because ‘the fat cow jumped over the moon’ or in other words; “you don’t have sufficient emotional attachment”. I mean, what does that mean? How emotionally attached do have to get for a visa to the US? Should I go get a ‘hubby’ at the pet store because I want to spend 2 weeks of my life spending mine and mothers money on a card table in Vegas? Should I strive to work for Adenuga just to I’d be a respected citizen good enough for the blond with blue eyes?
Last I checked, we were advised to invest in what we loved; work with professions we were comfortable with not what we 'think' would impress others.
Come to think of it, Nigeria is my country. Warts and all, I love the bugger. What makes Minnie blue eyes think that ‘I’d shoot and sky?’ to think that they pay rent, that they are tenants in my country and still have the audacity to embarrass me because I dared to dream.
William Bell, Albert Einstein and (would you believe?) Mr. King jnr were all dreamers!
As I suspected and prayed to avoid, by the time it got to my turn, I was all nerve and bones. I got the blue eyed blond [I wish I got the red haired guy with gray eyes. He seemed much nicer and cuter too!] I was so nervous that my teeth were clattering while my fingers shook [or was it because of the air conditioning? Buh, the place was so cold, I can imagine “when hell freezes over!!] I stuttered when she asked me for my name and what I did for a living, I asked her to repeat the question, twice! (Mother was hovering about. from the look of things, am sure she assumed Mother was a pimp shipping me off to the US for G*d knows what function)
At the end of it all, I got a letter that said I didn’t have sufficient emotional attachment to allow them give me visa but however, it would be okay if I take some time off to take stock of my life and come back again for another shot. [In my words of course!] I was so sad.
This was the first time I looked forward to something so bad only to be told NO! Because my nose wasn’t the proper shape or whatever reason she could dream of. I cried until my throat was hoarse, I refused to talk to mother somehow, I blamed her!
It was captain Dash who whisked me off my feet dragging mother along, that brightened my day. He took us on a ship cruise! He is so cool! I wish him and mother would have a ‘more serious’ arrangement. I never bothered with his real name but I’m sure it would be something sexy and suave.
Talking about whisking mortals away, I spotted xxx and xxx at one ‘koro’ giving each other tongue paints.
Hum, small world!
- Tabby
Like so, after all my years of begging, cajoling, blackmail and threats to put myself up for adoption to better and more caring parents with the answer being adamantly no, it finally took the intervention of mothers gentlemanly boyfriend captain Dash…
(- CAPTAIN DASH – an honest to G*d naval officer. I have never seen a man look so gorgeous in gray hair! If I were X years older and half as hot as mother, captain Dash would change to Captain Tabitha’s!! I'd brand him with my initials; T S T and like the proud owner of a pure breed, I'd show him off to all who care to look! I believe it should be against the law somewhere for a man to look that handsome! Before I get carried away on captain Dash and his criminally good looks, I’d stop and get back to me!)
… Like I was saying, it finally took the intervention of ‘her’ boyfriend to get her to budge.
To make matters worse, I was not even aware of her plans neither was C D (my pet name for captain Dash he is cute!! Mother filled an online form for herself and me then surprise-surprise on Easter Monday she was like “guess what Swahita, we are going to the United State embassy next week. I’ve booked an appointment for the both of us for Tuesday. If you are given a visa, we’d spend your next holiday at Vegas!! Wouldn’t that be fun?”
Buh, I was happy and gingered at the prospect of becoming a ‘been-to’ but, 5 days later, cooling my heels at the super cold US embassy while waiting for my number to be called up I began to think about the wisdom of my ways.
From what I could see, a blond chick [that looked no more than 18 give or take 23] calls you up, asks you personal questions, gets you to admit to your worst fears then kindly tells you that your request has been denied because ‘the fat cow jumped over the moon’ or in other words; “you don’t have sufficient emotional attachment”. I mean, what does that mean? How emotionally attached do have to get for a visa to the US? Should I go get a ‘hubby’ at the pet store because I want to spend 2 weeks of my life spending mine and mothers money on a card table in Vegas? Should I strive to work for Adenuga just to I’d be a respected citizen good enough for the blond with blue eyes?
Last I checked, we were advised to invest in what we loved; work with professions we were comfortable with not what we 'think' would impress others.
Come to think of it, Nigeria is my country. Warts and all, I love the bugger. What makes Minnie blue eyes think that ‘I’d shoot and sky?’ to think that they pay rent, that they are tenants in my country and still have the audacity to embarrass me because I dared to dream.
William Bell, Albert Einstein and (would you believe?) Mr. King jnr were all dreamers!
As I suspected and prayed to avoid, by the time it got to my turn, I was all nerve and bones. I got the blue eyed blond [I wish I got the red haired guy with gray eyes. He seemed much nicer and cuter too!] I was so nervous that my teeth were clattering while my fingers shook [or was it because of the air conditioning? Buh, the place was so cold, I can imagine “when hell freezes over!!] I stuttered when she asked me for my name and what I did for a living, I asked her to repeat the question, twice! (Mother was hovering about. from the look of things, am sure she assumed Mother was a pimp shipping me off to the US for G*d knows what function)
At the end of it all, I got a letter that said I didn’t have sufficient emotional attachment to allow them give me visa but however, it would be okay if I take some time off to take stock of my life and come back again for another shot. [In my words of course!] I was so sad.
This was the first time I looked forward to something so bad only to be told NO! Because my nose wasn’t the proper shape or whatever reason she could dream of. I cried until my throat was hoarse, I refused to talk to mother somehow, I blamed her!
It was captain Dash who whisked me off my feet dragging mother along, that brightened my day. He took us on a ship cruise! He is so cool! I wish him and mother would have a ‘more serious’ arrangement. I never bothered with his real name but I’m sure it would be something sexy and suave.
Talking about whisking mortals away, I spotted xxx and xxx at one ‘koro’ giving each other tongue paints.
Hum, small world!
- Tabby
Wednesday, August 4, 2010
Entry 33
MOTHERS AND DAUGHTERS
I woke up with an eerie sense of foreboding to the dying sounds of the radio presenter’s voice. Although I did not hear what was said, I felt I had heard him say it a thousand times and more. Instinctively, I knew that knowing what the words were would ease the panic that threatened to choke me with fear and soothe my feeble nerves. But, what was it?
I decided to have my bath and go for lectures; I got a call from Faruk immediately I stepped out of the shower (Since my incidence with those useless-good-for-nothing armed robbers, he checks in on me every other hour. Buh! I shouldn’t have told him I was traumatized, he is acting like a nanny now!)
My day went by in a haze.
I kept on trying to recall that which I could not phantom, the feeling that something has happened before or something is going to happen, something that would shake the foundation of your existence if not prevented. Is that déjà vu?
In class, I laughed with my friends; I teased some of them, buh! I even got picked on by ‘Mr. Lecturer’ yet somehow, it felt as though I wasn’t there, I wasn’t present, an observer; how poetic.
Faruk thinks he is the cause of my withdrawn state, he also thinks the armed robbers are to blame. I tried convincing him otherwise but, he wouldn’t listen to reason.
Finally, so there would be peace; I told him that he was the cause. I lied that I was mad at him and needed some space.
He believed that [boys!]
I was depressed and feeling claustrophobic. I tired different legal means to get rid of the feeling (I got dolled up and left campus, I went to the shopping complex and strutted my stuff in front of eligible/capable looking [hopefully] bachelors, I even took myself out for chicken and chips with ice-cream) all to no avail.
Disappointed, I sighed in defeat.
On my way back to school, I passed a billboard advertising a radically different drink.
That cheered me up a bit, maybe it was because the guy on the poster reminded me a lot of one of Mother’s past boyfriends, maybe it was the shape of the bottle. Maybe it was just maybe. Whatever the case, for that moment, I enjoyed happiness.
It was when my phone rang and the caller ID read Dr. Dash that I felt my heart slam on the walls of my chest.
TROUBLE!
I remembered.
The words of the radio presenter that had failed my memory all day came in a rush. The words were clearly voiced, it was like he stood behind me, held me by my shoulders and whispered fiercely into my ears; “every woman is at the risk of breast cancer, examine yourself today.”
My heart rate quickened.
I am needed at home, Mother is ill.
- Tabby
I woke up with an eerie sense of foreboding to the dying sounds of the radio presenter’s voice. Although I did not hear what was said, I felt I had heard him say it a thousand times and more. Instinctively, I knew that knowing what the words were would ease the panic that threatened to choke me with fear and soothe my feeble nerves. But, what was it?
I decided to have my bath and go for lectures; I got a call from Faruk immediately I stepped out of the shower (Since my incidence with those useless-good-for-nothing armed robbers, he checks in on me every other hour. Buh! I shouldn’t have told him I was traumatized, he is acting like a nanny now!)
My day went by in a haze.
I kept on trying to recall that which I could not phantom, the feeling that something has happened before or something is going to happen, something that would shake the foundation of your existence if not prevented. Is that déjà vu?
In class, I laughed with my friends; I teased some of them, buh! I even got picked on by ‘Mr. Lecturer’ yet somehow, it felt as though I wasn’t there, I wasn’t present, an observer; how poetic.
Faruk thinks he is the cause of my withdrawn state, he also thinks the armed robbers are to blame. I tried convincing him otherwise but, he wouldn’t listen to reason.
Finally, so there would be peace; I told him that he was the cause. I lied that I was mad at him and needed some space.
He believed that [boys!]
I was depressed and feeling claustrophobic. I tired different legal means to get rid of the feeling (I got dolled up and left campus, I went to the shopping complex and strutted my stuff in front of eligible/capable looking [hopefully] bachelors, I even took myself out for chicken and chips with ice-cream) all to no avail.
Disappointed, I sighed in defeat.
On my way back to school, I passed a billboard advertising a radically different drink.
That cheered me up a bit, maybe it was because the guy on the poster reminded me a lot of one of Mother’s past boyfriends, maybe it was the shape of the bottle. Maybe it was just maybe. Whatever the case, for that moment, I enjoyed happiness.
It was when my phone rang and the caller ID read Dr. Dash that I felt my heart slam on the walls of my chest.
TROUBLE!
I remembered.
The words of the radio presenter that had failed my memory all day came in a rush. The words were clearly voiced, it was like he stood behind me, held me by my shoulders and whispered fiercely into my ears; “every woman is at the risk of breast cancer, examine yourself today.”
My heart rate quickened.
I am needed at home, Mother is ill.
- Tabby
Monday, July 26, 2010
Entry 29
BODMAS
3:47am
Bracket of division multiplication and subtraction… [or something like it].
Okay really, I am absolutely beginning to wonder about myself and weddings! It is beginning to cause raised eyebrows within my head!! It’s like every time I go for one, I come back with a 2nd other. Buh this time, I got two others!!
(drumrolls)Enter: Paul and Faruk.
Paul is the cousin of the bride (now newlywed now wife) and Faruk was my ride home.
I was late for the wedding (blame it on bad roads, traffic and impatient Nigerian’s) and lost my initial ride to the venue. After much shuttling and vehicle transfer, I finally made it to the venue.
There I was standing by myself feeling sorry for me and so left out and there he was looking sinfully male! There was eye contact and a nod of acknowledgment there and then, I decided that I’d talk to him even if it was the last thing I do.
Just as I was about to open my lips to let out the word “hi” a pretty petite and gorgeous looking ‘plastic’ bundled into his arms and placed a noisy kiss on his cheeks.
I quickly swallowed the unspoken words and thanked G*d I hadn’t done anything stupid only to discover that he had a (not just) girlfriend (but a possessive one at that).
He turned my way, I stood very still and begun pretending that I was invincible.
I was convinced that I had succeeded until I felt a light touch on my shoulder [sigh].
The ‘touch-er’ asked what I was doing standing all by myself in the middle of the hall with my eyes closed.
Realizing telling him the truth would make a very bad 1st impression; I shrugged and mumbled something about a bug and flowers.
He said his name was Faruk and asked if he could stand with me. We chatted for a while and I got to find out that the gorgeous ‘plastic’ was the sister to Paul; the G*d crafted Adonis I had missed. I cursed and bit my finger, what was wrong with that girl? Why on earth would she be showing so much affection for her brother like that, in public for that matter, buh!!
Ah well, I got Faruk; a final year student in the faculty of arts sensitive and playful.
He was my consolation prize.
Being that he lived not too far from my place in school and he had to drop off a few things at his place before returning to town that same day, I stuck around so, he’d give me a ride home.
That same day(lying belly up on my bed and wondering about the possibility of trees taking over the world) hours after the wedding, I got a call from an unknown number with a male voice.
After much begging and promises to do unspeakable things if he’d tell me who he was, he confessed that he loved my smile and was heartbroken because he didn’t get the chance to talk to me.
“Paul!”
After silencing the alleluia chorus that had let out in my head(buh, I was talking to Paul! Paul didn't think I was invincible, Paul 'dug' me), I asked if his sister would approve of him talking to another woman describing her behavior as a little bit curious.
He laughed it off saying that she hadn’t seen him in a while hence the affection and suggested that if I spent some time with her, I’d discover she was a fun person.
After I said no thanks, he asked me to be his girlfriend [just like that!] without thinking, I said yes! We talked for a while longer and then there was a knock at my door.
I promised to see him as soon as I could then raced to open the door...
Standing on my corridor looking very out of place, handsome and at the same time cute was Faruk, a plastic bag from a popular supermarket and a bunch of flowers [all artificial though... the flowers I mean].
He couldn’t stop thinking about me and drove all the way from town to see me!
That is like the sweetest thing a guy can do at this day and time.
Geez, I hate weddings!!
- Tabby
3:47am
Bracket of division multiplication and subtraction… [or something like it].
Okay really, I am absolutely beginning to wonder about myself and weddings! It is beginning to cause raised eyebrows within my head!! It’s like every time I go for one, I come back with a 2nd other. Buh this time, I got two others!!
(drumrolls)Enter: Paul and Faruk.
Paul is the cousin of the bride (now newlywed now wife) and Faruk was my ride home.
I was late for the wedding (blame it on bad roads, traffic and impatient Nigerian’s) and lost my initial ride to the venue. After much shuttling and vehicle transfer, I finally made it to the venue.
There I was standing by myself feeling sorry for me and so left out and there he was looking sinfully male! There was eye contact and a nod of acknowledgment there and then, I decided that I’d talk to him even if it was the last thing I do.
Just as I was about to open my lips to let out the word “hi” a pretty petite and gorgeous looking ‘plastic’ bundled into his arms and placed a noisy kiss on his cheeks.
I quickly swallowed the unspoken words and thanked G*d I hadn’t done anything stupid only to discover that he had a (not just) girlfriend (but a possessive one at that).
He turned my way, I stood very still and begun pretending that I was invincible.
I was convinced that I had succeeded until I felt a light touch on my shoulder [sigh].
The ‘touch-er’ asked what I was doing standing all by myself in the middle of the hall with my eyes closed.
Realizing telling him the truth would make a very bad 1st impression; I shrugged and mumbled something about a bug and flowers.
He said his name was Faruk and asked if he could stand with me. We chatted for a while and I got to find out that the gorgeous ‘plastic’ was the sister to Paul; the G*d crafted Adonis I had missed. I cursed and bit my finger, what was wrong with that girl? Why on earth would she be showing so much affection for her brother like that, in public for that matter, buh!!
Ah well, I got Faruk; a final year student in the faculty of arts sensitive and playful.
He was my consolation prize.
Being that he lived not too far from my place in school and he had to drop off a few things at his place before returning to town that same day, I stuck around so, he’d give me a ride home.
That same day(lying belly up on my bed and wondering about the possibility of trees taking over the world) hours after the wedding, I got a call from an unknown number with a male voice.
After much begging and promises to do unspeakable things if he’d tell me who he was, he confessed that he loved my smile and was heartbroken because he didn’t get the chance to talk to me.
“Paul!”
After silencing the alleluia chorus that had let out in my head(buh, I was talking to Paul! Paul didn't think I was invincible, Paul 'dug' me), I asked if his sister would approve of him talking to another woman describing her behavior as a little bit curious.
He laughed it off saying that she hadn’t seen him in a while hence the affection and suggested that if I spent some time with her, I’d discover she was a fun person.
After I said no thanks, he asked me to be his girlfriend [just like that!] without thinking, I said yes! We talked for a while longer and then there was a knock at my door.
I promised to see him as soon as I could then raced to open the door...
Standing on my corridor looking very out of place, handsome and at the same time cute was Faruk, a plastic bag from a popular supermarket and a bunch of flowers [all artificial though... the flowers I mean].
He couldn’t stop thinking about me and drove all the way from town to see me!
That is like the sweetest thing a guy can do at this day and time.
Geez, I hate weddings!!
- Tabby
Wednesday, July 21, 2010
Entry 30
QUE EST PANDORA?
Public service announcement: I formerly known and addressed as Tabitha blah-blah-blah now wish to be known and addressed as Aisha.
Reason?
Some no good men (two of them) sitting on overturned beer crates a few meters from the road bored as hell and seeking activity happened to spot me sitting pretty on an okada.
They decided they had hit jackpot and went ahead to ‘collect’
There was a slight traffic jam and it was drizzling, I had covered my head and shoulders with a black shawl to prevent it from getting wet and was minding my business until the two (possible drunken) men mistook me for an active northerner and took to calling me… Aisha.
At first, I did not realize I was the one they were referring to but at their persistence, curiosity got the better of me so, I stole a backward glance to see who the “Aisha” was.
As soon as I turned my busy-body-head, they tasted victory, their plan had worked.
They jumped up in jubilation and blew whistles at me. Clapping ecstatically, they begged me to forget my destination and come join them.
With a “no thanks” and much relief (the road had cleared enough for my ride to move) I wove them an apology and was on my way.
If only everything ended happily like that but its life, what can I say?
Just a few days before, on Sunday to be precise, I was served my most embarrassing moment in my life on a platter of ‘righteousness’.
Buh! Who would have believed that I Tabby [slash Aisha now] could be bounced form church? Me, moi, meh, buh, myself!!
The charge?
Found guilty of wearing trousers to church.
Even though there was a full dress on top of the said ‘trousers’ a crime was a crime, my dressing was inappropriate, the verdict? Banishment!! My accuser the usher led me out of church with a proud smirk on her face.
It is not that any part of my G*d designed luscious body was showing oh, no flashing thighs, no excess cleavage, and no low waist line, nothing of that sort.
They said I wore a trouser; the oxford dictionary calls them leggings and market women know them as tights.
Tights!!
Because I wore tights beneath a dress to prevent myself from showing too much ‘skin’ I was punished for my consideration and escorted from the premises.
Since when do peoples openness to the word of G*d vary based on the appearance of other individuals who have come to church to worship?
Are they telling me that, should I feel the urge and go ahead to call on my father while attending a lingerie exhibition, he wouldn’t answer my prayers?
I went to church to seek the face of G*d, I was feeling down, I needed G*d’s love and I felt like I was getting it.
Only for one overzealous woman slash church warden to take it upon herself to extract me from my blissful haven just because she decided I ‘would be’ a distraction.
Isn’t that devilish of her?
Come to think of it, possessed people eh, they are still children of G*d right? So it goes to say that said ‘people’ can stand for a while in his presence unaware of their status and still manifest right?
So, there is a huge possibility, a probability of 1 in 10 chances of her being a minion of Nneka.
I know what I’d do; I’d say a prayer for her.
Her plan was to escort me to the back of church and tell me to wait then later, return with more wardens to embarrass the light out of my day.
Lucky me, I hacked her format.
After begging G*d to forgive me for not being bold enough to confront her head on, I fled.
Buh, I wish I had stood my ground.
Ah well, there is always next Sunday (with an added bonus; Paul promised to go with me for service! Standing beside him in church, should that usher manifest, let me see how she’d have the mind to pull the same stunt twice!! )
- Tabby
Public service announcement: I formerly known and addressed as Tabitha blah-blah-blah now wish to be known and addressed as Aisha.
Reason?
Some no good men (two of them) sitting on overturned beer crates a few meters from the road bored as hell and seeking activity happened to spot me sitting pretty on an okada.
They decided they had hit jackpot and went ahead to ‘collect’
There was a slight traffic jam and it was drizzling, I had covered my head and shoulders with a black shawl to prevent it from getting wet and was minding my business until the two (possible drunken) men mistook me for an active northerner and took to calling me… Aisha.
At first, I did not realize I was the one they were referring to but at their persistence, curiosity got the better of me so, I stole a backward glance to see who the “Aisha” was.
As soon as I turned my busy-body-head, they tasted victory, their plan had worked.
They jumped up in jubilation and blew whistles at me. Clapping ecstatically, they begged me to forget my destination and come join them.
With a “no thanks” and much relief (the road had cleared enough for my ride to move) I wove them an apology and was on my way.
If only everything ended happily like that but its life, what can I say?
Just a few days before, on Sunday to be precise, I was served my most embarrassing moment in my life on a platter of ‘righteousness’.
Buh! Who would have believed that I Tabby [slash Aisha now] could be bounced form church? Me, moi, meh, buh, myself!!
The charge?
Found guilty of wearing trousers to church.
Even though there was a full dress on top of the said ‘trousers’ a crime was a crime, my dressing was inappropriate, the verdict? Banishment!! My accuser the usher led me out of church with a proud smirk on her face.
It is not that any part of my G*d designed luscious body was showing oh, no flashing thighs, no excess cleavage, and no low waist line, nothing of that sort.
They said I wore a trouser; the oxford dictionary calls them leggings and market women know them as tights.
Tights!!
Because I wore tights beneath a dress to prevent myself from showing too much ‘skin’ I was punished for my consideration and escorted from the premises.
Since when do peoples openness to the word of G*d vary based on the appearance of other individuals who have come to church to worship?
Are they telling me that, should I feel the urge and go ahead to call on my father while attending a lingerie exhibition, he wouldn’t answer my prayers?
I went to church to seek the face of G*d, I was feeling down, I needed G*d’s love and I felt like I was getting it.
Only for one overzealous woman slash church warden to take it upon herself to extract me from my blissful haven just because she decided I ‘would be’ a distraction.
Isn’t that devilish of her?
Come to think of it, possessed people eh, they are still children of G*d right? So it goes to say that said ‘people’ can stand for a while in his presence unaware of their status and still manifest right?
So, there is a huge possibility, a probability of 1 in 10 chances of her being a minion of Nneka.
I know what I’d do; I’d say a prayer for her.
Her plan was to escort me to the back of church and tell me to wait then later, return with more wardens to embarrass the light out of my day.
Lucky me, I hacked her format.
After begging G*d to forgive me for not being bold enough to confront her head on, I fled.
Buh, I wish I had stood my ground.
Ah well, there is always next Sunday (with an added bonus; Paul promised to go with me for service! Standing beside him in church, should that usher manifest, let me see how she’d have the mind to pull the same stunt twice!! )
- Tabby
Wednesday, July 14, 2010
Entry 28
NO TIME
So now, I am late for class. My assignment (which I actually DID all by myself with no form of ‘dubbing’ whatsoever) is still in my bag never to be submitted. Why because? Stupid, foolish, selfish-minions-of-Nneka aka NEPA slash power holding company of Nigeria: PHCN decided to withhold power at the last minute leaving me with no decent clothes to wear! I had to go through my junkie clothes to find a manageable tee that I didn’t have to iron and skin tight ‘dirty’ jeans to wear
[if madam Alabi should bounce me out of her class for ‘inappropriate’ dressing eh, I’d find all the NEPA officials residing in this state and piss on their cats!
Only yesterday, I met Sado well, not met per say I introduced myself to him. He has the most beautiful voice I have heard in real life! Buh, my classmates have so much talent (especially Sado).
There is a girl that sells jewelries, she is good! Buh, she can convince a celebrate monk to pierce his belly button, date that super thin Hollywood celebrity and wear studs on his tongue, then there is another ‘bolder’ girl.
Her wares are 'more exotic' panties, thongs, strings and lingerie’s.
When I was through blushing, I finally built up the nerve to look at them.
They were gorgeous though.
It was while I was trying to keep a straight face whilst wondering if a particular leopard patterned thong would be a snug fit that I heard him.
The class boys were at it again, they were singing a song by some dead artist (which usually annoys me and never fails to propel me shout out my opinion, loud enough for them to 'shut up!!') but when he joined in the chorus, I was stunned to silence.
I had to listen and now, I am an official lover of dead musicians!
Mothers new boyfriend teacher Dash is a lecturer in my faculty (only G*d knows how and where she met him, teachers are very much not her type).
I wonder if I learn his name and play nice, he’d ensure that school for me becomes a breeze.
I mean, ‘friends with benefit’ doesn’t always have to be only between 'said' friends buh I think?
Children of said friends should every now and then receive dividends, they should benefit too!
Shucks! I just got to class, madam Alabi is already there. Does she fly? [There goes my assignment, next time, I am so dubbing!!]
Ah well, it could have been worse! I’d scout around and look for the bright side, maybe I’d bump into Sado.
- Tabby
So now, I am late for class. My assignment (which I actually DID all by myself with no form of ‘dubbing’ whatsoever) is still in my bag never to be submitted. Why because? Stupid, foolish, selfish-minions-of-Nneka aka NEPA slash power holding company of Nigeria: PHCN decided to withhold power at the last minute leaving me with no decent clothes to wear! I had to go through my junkie clothes to find a manageable tee that I didn’t have to iron and skin tight ‘dirty’ jeans to wear
[if madam Alabi should bounce me out of her class for ‘inappropriate’ dressing eh, I’d find all the NEPA officials residing in this state and piss on their cats!
Only yesterday, I met Sado well, not met per say I introduced myself to him. He has the most beautiful voice I have heard in real life! Buh, my classmates have so much talent (especially Sado).
There is a girl that sells jewelries, she is good! Buh, she can convince a celebrate monk to pierce his belly button, date that super thin Hollywood celebrity and wear studs on his tongue, then there is another ‘bolder’ girl.
Her wares are 'more exotic' panties, thongs, strings and lingerie’s.
When I was through blushing, I finally built up the nerve to look at them.
They were gorgeous though.
It was while I was trying to keep a straight face whilst wondering if a particular leopard patterned thong would be a snug fit that I heard him.
The class boys were at it again, they were singing a song by some dead artist (which usually annoys me and never fails to propel me shout out my opinion, loud enough for them to 'shut up!!') but when he joined in the chorus, I was stunned to silence.
I had to listen and now, I am an official lover of dead musicians!
Mothers new boyfriend teacher Dash is a lecturer in my faculty (only G*d knows how and where she met him, teachers are very much not her type).
I wonder if I learn his name and play nice, he’d ensure that school for me becomes a breeze.
I mean, ‘friends with benefit’ doesn’t always have to be only between 'said' friends buh I think?
Children of said friends should every now and then receive dividends, they should benefit too!
Shucks! I just got to class, madam Alabi is already there. Does she fly? [There goes my assignment, next time, I am so dubbing!!]
Ah well, it could have been worse! I’d scout around and look for the bright side, maybe I’d bump into Sado.
- Tabby
Tuesday, July 6, 2010
Entry 25
WHEN FISH PRAY
I didn’t realize I was screaming in my sleep until I opened my eyes and heard the dying sound of my voice.
Buh, G*d forbid bad thing o!
I looked warily about my room, leaned forward to raise the edge of my blanket then looked under my bed. Making sure that what I assumed to be a dream was definitely ‘really’ a dream…
I was coming home from a ‘night out’ then suddenly, up ahead; standing motionless at the very entrance to my street was a form that bore a striking resemblance to Nneka.
Before my eyes, the likeness turned into a lizard and began to stare menacingly at me.
As a normal [rational] Nigerian would do, first of all, I took a step back, looked both ways then pulled off my sandals and began to run (I didn’t want to wait and hear stories of how “dem shoot bird the mama come fly”)
The lizard chased me!!
I was being chased by a lizard.
It was when we both stopped momentarily to let an elderly looking dog riding an ‘okada go across the road that I noticed the lizard was now standing on its tail hands outstretched poised to push me into a hole [that suddenly materialized from thin air].
It succeeded!
In a blink of the eye, I was falling head first, hands flaring about into a hole that went on forever. I let out a confused cry and began to scream. I screamed as I continued to fall further into nothingness and I kept on screaming until I bolted into a sitting position (or, did I land on my bed?)
I opened my eyes.
Funny enough, I was not sweating. Does the absence of sweat mean that it wasn’t a nightmare? What are the parameters for classifying dreams into their various categories?
School is boring and slow, sometimes, I am tempted to set the girls hostel ablaze then seat back and admire my handiwork.
The sight of girls scurrying about in circles and the appeal of watching would-be-macho-super-hero boys storming in to the rescue would be enough excitement to last for say one week?
Buh, it would really be something but, I think I remember reading or hearing somewhere or so that arson is a punishable offense [sigh] there goes my genius plan!
Rumor has it that results would be posted soon. I wonder how mine would turn out.
Last session was a bit too ‘dramatic’ for my liking but, I don’t expect to fail (who ever does?)
5:47am, it is still ‘a bit’ too early to ‘wake up’ so, after I say a prayer for protection against ‘politically inclined’ animals [who else would want to kill for no just cause?], double check to make sure my windows, doors and curtains are firmly shut and my house hold is in order, I would have a brief nap before I eventually arise to conquer the day.
Night –night
- Tabby
I didn’t realize I was screaming in my sleep until I opened my eyes and heard the dying sound of my voice.
Buh, G*d forbid bad thing o!
I looked warily about my room, leaned forward to raise the edge of my blanket then looked under my bed. Making sure that what I assumed to be a dream was definitely ‘really’ a dream…
I was coming home from a ‘night out’ then suddenly, up ahead; standing motionless at the very entrance to my street was a form that bore a striking resemblance to Nneka.
Before my eyes, the likeness turned into a lizard and began to stare menacingly at me.
As a normal [rational] Nigerian would do, first of all, I took a step back, looked both ways then pulled off my sandals and began to run (I didn’t want to wait and hear stories of how “dem shoot bird the mama come fly”)
The lizard chased me!!
I was being chased by a lizard.
It was when we both stopped momentarily to let an elderly looking dog riding an ‘okada go across the road that I noticed the lizard was now standing on its tail hands outstretched poised to push me into a hole [that suddenly materialized from thin air].
It succeeded!
In a blink of the eye, I was falling head first, hands flaring about into a hole that went on forever. I let out a confused cry and began to scream. I screamed as I continued to fall further into nothingness and I kept on screaming until I bolted into a sitting position (or, did I land on my bed?)
I opened my eyes.
Funny enough, I was not sweating. Does the absence of sweat mean that it wasn’t a nightmare? What are the parameters for classifying dreams into their various categories?
School is boring and slow, sometimes, I am tempted to set the girls hostel ablaze then seat back and admire my handiwork.
The sight of girls scurrying about in circles and the appeal of watching would-be-macho-super-hero boys storming in to the rescue would be enough excitement to last for say one week?
Buh, it would really be something but, I think I remember reading or hearing somewhere or so that arson is a punishable offense [sigh] there goes my genius plan!
Rumor has it that results would be posted soon. I wonder how mine would turn out.
Last session was a bit too ‘dramatic’ for my liking but, I don’t expect to fail (who ever does?)
5:47am, it is still ‘a bit’ too early to ‘wake up’ so, after I say a prayer for protection against ‘politically inclined’ animals [who else would want to kill for no just cause?], double check to make sure my windows, doors and curtains are firmly shut and my house hold is in order, I would have a brief nap before I eventually arise to conquer the day.
Night –night
- Tabby
Thursday, July 1, 2010
Entry 10
TRUTH OR DARE ?
Truth or dare? Those words seem playful right? Wrong! From the wrong mouth, you could find yourself walking under the scorching sun to either the office of the SUG vice president or that of the director of welfare to get forms for the sessions MBGC contest and weeks later, you could find yourself strutting your stuff on the stage jelly kneed before a panel of judges.
If you aren’t careful, you’d find yourself quarreling with your beloved boyfriend on a daily bases until he threatens murder because he doesn’t approve of you being recognized as the Most Beautiful Girl on Campus.
“So Tabby, what would it be; the truth or a dare?” those were the exact words spoken to me at Von’s birthday party.
It was that one-of-a kind party you’d ask yourself years later “did I really do that?!” To put the ‘z’ in crazy, we decided to serve ‘bolĕ, fish with palm oil sauce’ instead of the regular rice and cold drinks.
Although there was the familiar beer and soft drinks hidden in the fridge, it remained hidden for a long time still.
To show the guests that we meant business, there was a huge gourd of palm wine complete with calabash cups at the entrance of the house[the venue for the bash]!
Someone spiked the punch with vodka, innocent me, the drink was ‘sweet’ I drank like a fish filtering the much needed oxygen from water.
THAT was what lead to my downfall.
At the end of the day, I found myself [drunk as I was] trying to weasel out of a dare to go for MBGC competition.
As my luck would have it, Nneka my ‘bosom buddy and lifelong pal’ was present too and G*d bless her, she had everything on tape so, there was no way I could use the ‘it wasn’t me’ line.
I ended up being chaperoned to follow through with my deal to do the dare or forfeit and pay the not so available sum of 6,500 naira.
Buh, when I found out there was going to be a car involved for the winner, I didn’t feel so threatened anymore.
I said to myself “Tahilita dearie, it’s just a bloody form you are going to be filling, what was the worst that could happen.” right?
The thing is that [I should have known better] anything Nneka puts her mind to doesn’t always come out at its best.
The target for the demonic missile[correction: her demonic missile, "HER" being Nneka of course!] was I and Stan.
It began with snide comments and little arguments from Stanley [Nneka had educated him on the behind the scene actions between participants of beauty pageants and the judges] naturally, he disapproved.
I tried to straighten him out and tell him there were exceptions but, he wouldn’t listen, he was being a child.
By the time I scaled through the first stage of the MBGC competition, he outright forbade me to participate.
Can you imagine that?! [Abi the bros put ring for my finger give me belle before?]
When I discovered he was ‘intimate’ friends with not just ordinary yahoo boys but the ‘yahoo plus’ boys (a secret he had kept from me for so long), I decided that ‘his order’ was the final straw that broke ‘this camel’s’ back (there is no way I’d pay musical chairs with a dude that pledged allegiance to some river goddess slash marine spirit. Ewhew!)
Buh, my participation in the competition was the latest buzz on campus and doubled with the jist that I and the most ‘eligible bachelor’ on campus were having family problems (hum... I wonder who fanned that particular smoke) by the time I won the not so popular contest, my name turned to a house hold name, the ‘meshai’ (bread and egg) sellers renamed all the girls ‘aunty Tabitha’ as for Stanley, I told him that if anything should happen to me even if it was as little as the package of my ‘brazilian hair’ weavon that went missing, he would have a lot of people to answer too, and I meant it.
He came to his senses a few days afterward and has been trying to get us back together.
Am still peeved and have decided to take a break from 'relationships' in all its assorted forms.
I miss Stanley so much, especially when we run into each other at the girl’s hostel [me with Ivy, him with his new 'Tile'] or when I go out to eat at ‘our’ favorite hang outs.
Still, I have to be strong and use my head to reason this one out; if one of his ‘runs’ should go wrong and something happens to me, what would they write on my obituary, what would become of my mother? How I wish he was still my precious crush, then I could spend all day wishing he’d turn my way. [Sigh] life is so full of it.
- TABBY
Truth or dare? Those words seem playful right? Wrong! From the wrong mouth, you could find yourself walking under the scorching sun to either the office of the SUG vice president or that of the director of welfare to get forms for the sessions MBGC contest and weeks later, you could find yourself strutting your stuff on the stage jelly kneed before a panel of judges.
If you aren’t careful, you’d find yourself quarreling with your beloved boyfriend on a daily bases until he threatens murder because he doesn’t approve of you being recognized as the Most Beautiful Girl on Campus.
“So Tabby, what would it be; the truth or a dare?” those were the exact words spoken to me at Von’s birthday party.
It was that one-of-a kind party you’d ask yourself years later “did I really do that?!” To put the ‘z’ in crazy, we decided to serve ‘bolĕ, fish with palm oil sauce’ instead of the regular rice and cold drinks.
Although there was the familiar beer and soft drinks hidden in the fridge, it remained hidden for a long time still.
To show the guests that we meant business, there was a huge gourd of palm wine complete with calabash cups at the entrance of the house[the venue for the bash]!
Someone spiked the punch with vodka, innocent me, the drink was ‘sweet’ I drank like a fish filtering the much needed oxygen from water.
THAT was what lead to my downfall.
At the end of the day, I found myself [drunk as I was] trying to weasel out of a dare to go for MBGC competition.
As my luck would have it, Nneka my ‘bosom buddy and lifelong pal’ was present too and G*d bless her, she had everything on tape so, there was no way I could use the ‘it wasn’t me’ line.
I ended up being chaperoned to follow through with my deal to do the dare or forfeit and pay the not so available sum of 6,500 naira.
Buh, when I found out there was going to be a car involved for the winner, I didn’t feel so threatened anymore.
I said to myself “Tahilita dearie, it’s just a bloody form you are going to be filling, what was the worst that could happen.” right?
The thing is that [I should have known better] anything Nneka puts her mind to doesn’t always come out at its best.
The target for the demonic missile[correction: her demonic missile, "HER" being Nneka of course!] was I and Stan.
It began with snide comments and little arguments from Stanley [Nneka had educated him on the behind the scene actions between participants of beauty pageants and the judges] naturally, he disapproved.
I tried to straighten him out and tell him there were exceptions but, he wouldn’t listen, he was being a child.
By the time I scaled through the first stage of the MBGC competition, he outright forbade me to participate.
Can you imagine that?! [Abi the bros put ring for my finger give me belle before?]
When I discovered he was ‘intimate’ friends with not just ordinary yahoo boys but the ‘yahoo plus’ boys (a secret he had kept from me for so long), I decided that ‘his order’ was the final straw that broke ‘this camel’s’ back (there is no way I’d pay musical chairs with a dude that pledged allegiance to some river goddess slash marine spirit. Ewhew!)
Buh, my participation in the competition was the latest buzz on campus and doubled with the jist that I and the most ‘eligible bachelor’ on campus were having family problems (hum... I wonder who fanned that particular smoke) by the time I won the not so popular contest, my name turned to a house hold name, the ‘meshai’ (bread and egg) sellers renamed all the girls ‘aunty Tabitha’ as for Stanley, I told him that if anything should happen to me even if it was as little as the package of my ‘brazilian hair’ weavon that went missing, he would have a lot of people to answer too, and I meant it.
He came to his senses a few days afterward and has been trying to get us back together.
Am still peeved and have decided to take a break from 'relationships' in all its assorted forms.
I miss Stanley so much, especially when we run into each other at the girl’s hostel [me with Ivy, him with his new 'Tile'] or when I go out to eat at ‘our’ favorite hang outs.
Still, I have to be strong and use my head to reason this one out; if one of his ‘runs’ should go wrong and something happens to me, what would they write on my obituary, what would become of my mother? How I wish he was still my precious crush, then I could spend all day wishing he’d turn my way. [Sigh] life is so full of it.
- TABBY
Tuesday, June 29, 2010
Entry 24
TAHILITA AND THE DRAGON
Would anyone believe I almost forgot how beautiful the setting sun is?
My phone keeps ringing, but I wouldn’t pick it.
I know who the caller is; I gave him a caller tune, long before I decided he was my special one.
My throat feels sore; it’s from all the crying.
These are supposed to be happy days for me, buh! I should be relieved, I should be rejoicing, I should be doing the remix of the ‘garala’ dance!!
I fought my addiction to drugs, it wasn’t an easy task (I shall remain forever grateful to my special one) but instead, I am hurting inside, inside, I am cold.
I feel so cold.
I had always known he had another side to him but, I had refused to live in fear of that, things were going so well for us, I thought to myself ‘this is it! I have finally found him; I have his missing rib, we’d complete ourselves.’ still on some level, I was waiting for the other shoe to drop.
How it ended, I never would have expected it in a million guesses...
Lying, cheating, stealing, either one of those, compared to this, they are a forgivable minor offenses! Worse off, I was labeled the guilty party, I was labeled the thief, I bore the stigma, me.
I didn’t ask him for anything, i didn't make any demands. All I wanted was for him to be true to me (i guess that is too much to ask from him, from any man).
In the face of a mere trial, he swung back his neck and struck, he hit me, he hit me hard, he hit me where it hurt the most.
If I close my eyes, I can still see the spite in his face, his disappointment and the accusing fingers pointed at me. I can hear the hurtful words he spat.
The tears that run down my cheeks feel hot against my skin, what makes them boil? Is it anger or pain?
I don’t want to linger on clouds from the past the bottom line is that it is over, I wish it ended some other way but, ‘no regrets’ right?
Me and my special one? Over!
To cut the long story short, his passport, flight ticket and some American dollars went missing, without even asking or checking, he dragged me by the throat and accused me of doing away with it. He said I was still an addict and was pretending to be clean so I’d get him to trust me again.
Buh, trust.
He embarrassed me, had me arrested and beaten up by the police.
I don’t recall the exact point at which I swallowed my pride and called mother all I know is that the pain was too much to bear, I wanted out.
She came to my rescue and told him to stop, that if he should even look at my shadow in his lifetime, life as he knew it would cease to exist.
She swore on my father’s grave that she would get him a one way ticket to the frozen center of hell after first ripping out his entrails and feeding them to rabid dogs. She meant it and he knew.
Mother was really pissed; I had never seen her that way.
Off course, she wasn’t happy about what I had gone through for the past months and she beat herself for not noticing how far off I had gone.
As for my special one, after all my cries and pleas for him to believe me, to trust me that I was innocent, (appeals that he turned deaf ears to) it took the intercession of a pastor and a repentant night guard to reveal to him that his money was stolen by the combined efforts of himself (the night guard) and the boy that laundered his clothes [the night guard was having spiritual problems, the pastor, ministered to by the holy spirit told him that if he ever wanted to progress in life, and be healed, he had to return the life he had taken and the money that went with it]. Shamed faced and repentant, my special one returned. He came to me with the story and an apology.
It was too late; the damage had already been done.
The damage is already done.
Forgiveness buh? I think not!
For a man that is not my husband, father or brother to put me in such a situation, for strangers to mark my body with strokes from a leather belt, for me to spend the night in a prison cell, forgiveness?
I have been through incredible things in my life but this is by far the worse, with time I’d heal, with time I’d forgive but now, I am just not ready.
The setting sun is so pretty, it gives me hope, the weather has suddenly turned chilly, it’s time to go inside the house, first, my face (mother must not find out I have been crying again).
I’d do mothers nails, we’d watch a movie together next week, I’d return to school.
Life goes on
- Tabby
[End of Entry 13 – 24]
Would anyone believe I almost forgot how beautiful the setting sun is?
My phone keeps ringing, but I wouldn’t pick it.
I know who the caller is; I gave him a caller tune, long before I decided he was my special one.
My throat feels sore; it’s from all the crying.
These are supposed to be happy days for me, buh! I should be relieved, I should be rejoicing, I should be doing the remix of the ‘garala’ dance!!
I fought my addiction to drugs, it wasn’t an easy task (I shall remain forever grateful to my special one) but instead, I am hurting inside, inside, I am cold.
I feel so cold.
I had always known he had another side to him but, I had refused to live in fear of that, things were going so well for us, I thought to myself ‘this is it! I have finally found him; I have his missing rib, we’d complete ourselves.’ still on some level, I was waiting for the other shoe to drop.
How it ended, I never would have expected it in a million guesses...
Lying, cheating, stealing, either one of those, compared to this, they are a forgivable minor offenses! Worse off, I was labeled the guilty party, I was labeled the thief, I bore the stigma, me.
I didn’t ask him for anything, i didn't make any demands. All I wanted was for him to be true to me (i guess that is too much to ask from him, from any man).
In the face of a mere trial, he swung back his neck and struck, he hit me, he hit me hard, he hit me where it hurt the most.
If I close my eyes, I can still see the spite in his face, his disappointment and the accusing fingers pointed at me. I can hear the hurtful words he spat.
The tears that run down my cheeks feel hot against my skin, what makes them boil? Is it anger or pain?
I don’t want to linger on clouds from the past the bottom line is that it is over, I wish it ended some other way but, ‘no regrets’ right?
Me and my special one? Over!
To cut the long story short, his passport, flight ticket and some American dollars went missing, without even asking or checking, he dragged me by the throat and accused me of doing away with it. He said I was still an addict and was pretending to be clean so I’d get him to trust me again.
Buh, trust.
He embarrassed me, had me arrested and beaten up by the police.
I don’t recall the exact point at which I swallowed my pride and called mother all I know is that the pain was too much to bear, I wanted out.
She came to my rescue and told him to stop, that if he should even look at my shadow in his lifetime, life as he knew it would cease to exist.
She swore on my father’s grave that she would get him a one way ticket to the frozen center of hell after first ripping out his entrails and feeding them to rabid dogs. She meant it and he knew.
Mother was really pissed; I had never seen her that way.
Off course, she wasn’t happy about what I had gone through for the past months and she beat herself for not noticing how far off I had gone.
As for my special one, after all my cries and pleas for him to believe me, to trust me that I was innocent, (appeals that he turned deaf ears to) it took the intercession of a pastor and a repentant night guard to reveal to him that his money was stolen by the combined efforts of himself (the night guard) and the boy that laundered his clothes [the night guard was having spiritual problems, the pastor, ministered to by the holy spirit told him that if he ever wanted to progress in life, and be healed, he had to return the life he had taken and the money that went with it]. Shamed faced and repentant, my special one returned. He came to me with the story and an apology.
It was too late; the damage had already been done.
The damage is already done.
Forgiveness buh? I think not!
For a man that is not my husband, father or brother to put me in such a situation, for strangers to mark my body with strokes from a leather belt, for me to spend the night in a prison cell, forgiveness?
I have been through incredible things in my life but this is by far the worse, with time I’d heal, with time I’d forgive but now, I am just not ready.
The setting sun is so pretty, it gives me hope, the weather has suddenly turned chilly, it’s time to go inside the house, first, my face (mother must not find out I have been crying again).
I’d do mothers nails, we’d watch a movie together next week, I’d return to school.
Life goes on
- Tabby
[End of Entry 13 – 24]
Friday, June 25, 2010
Entry 23
DEATH OF PANDORA
I woke up to find myself scantily dressed, legs and arms bound and lying in a gutter in an awkward position.
The first thing that occurred to me was how badly I needed a smoke. It took a while for it to dawn on me that I was lying almost naked in a gutter.
I screamed and tried to jump out.
Moving like a worm, I used my knees and elbows to crawl out of the gutter then struggled to rid myself of the ropes. The twigs and debris that fell to the floor as I tried to straighten out the not so present clothes gave me the creeps.
I had no idea whether it was early morning or late evening. I could taste bile in my throat and the chill that ran through my spine was not from lack of clothes.
Fear.
By G*d, I needed a smoke.
How had I ended up in the gutter?
The last thing I remembered, I had gotten away with stealing money from mothers purse and also selling my laptop in order to buy ‘quality stuff’ [it was a rip-off]. I realized soon enough that the money I paid for the stash wasn’t worth the quality; I was broke and needed my money back.
Ifeoma had promised to introduce me to some people who would deal mercilessly with the boys and get double my money back.
My head throbbed.
I ran my hand across my face and flinched in pain. Buh, my eyes were swollen.
Did I have a fight with Ifeoma or was I beaten? Did I fall into the gutter or worse?
I reached into my pocket and searched for my wallet, nothing. There was no form of identification on me, no phone and no loose change in the pocket of my once blue jeans [very unlike me]nothing.
I stood for a while, no direction, nowhere to go.
I began to wander then, after walking for a while, I spotted a row of houses with light burning at a distance. I limped in the direction of the house closet to me and knocked on the door. Lucky for me, the owner was a kind spirited man and did not question my appearance, after offering me a towel and water to wash up as best as I could, he loaned me his phone; I called my special one.
In minutes, he was there at the door begging to be let in. he trapped me in a tight embrace and kissed my swollen face. He said I had been missing for two days, he had been worried sick.
My special one tried to press some Naira notes into the kind stranger’s hand as a show of gratitude but, he turned him down.
We said thank you and made our way out.
Repeating “this has to end” like a mantra, he took me to his house.
He had been suspicious about my addiction for a while longer than I had tried to hide it. He trusted me and had initially waited in the hopes that (me being a reasonable person) I’d handle it on my own but seeing how I had endangered myself and caused him so much worry, he wasn’t taking chances anymore.
He locked me up in the bathroom with just a bottle of water.
I banged on the door begging to be let out.
I had broken into a sweat, I was shivering, my hands were shaking and goose pimples had erupted on my forearms.
Losing my mind, I needed a smoke. I needed something, anything! I begged him to give me a stick, just a stick for G*d’s frigging sake!
After I tore apart his bathroom cabinets and lockers, not finding anything to smoke or inhale and cut my finger on a broken glass I was pulled to reality.
It was the sight of my blood shining brightly on the white bathroom tile that made me pause.
I began to cry, I wanted to die! Why was this happening to me, why me? Why was I the one always having failed relationships, dead fathers and broken body parts, what did I ever do to deserve it? And now look at me, just look at me! I was a mess, my life is ruined!!
Where did I go wrong? Why me? Why? Why?! Why!
I had myself to blame, just me.
I single handedly choose to destroy my life and now, I was paying for it.
I had a wonderful life, people who loved me and the comfort of a home.
Was G*d watching? Did he see? Why didn’t he stop me? Could he see me?
I prayed to G*d silently through the hot tears burning down my cheek. Although I suspected he was fed up with me, I still prayed.
I am Tabitha Swahita Tahilita, I am an addict.
- Tabby
I woke up to find myself scantily dressed, legs and arms bound and lying in a gutter in an awkward position.
The first thing that occurred to me was how badly I needed a smoke. It took a while for it to dawn on me that I was lying almost naked in a gutter.
I screamed and tried to jump out.
Moving like a worm, I used my knees and elbows to crawl out of the gutter then struggled to rid myself of the ropes. The twigs and debris that fell to the floor as I tried to straighten out the not so present clothes gave me the creeps.
I had no idea whether it was early morning or late evening. I could taste bile in my throat and the chill that ran through my spine was not from lack of clothes.
Fear.
By G*d, I needed a smoke.
How had I ended up in the gutter?
The last thing I remembered, I had gotten away with stealing money from mothers purse and also selling my laptop in order to buy ‘quality stuff’ [it was a rip-off]. I realized soon enough that the money I paid for the stash wasn’t worth the quality; I was broke and needed my money back.
Ifeoma had promised to introduce me to some people who would deal mercilessly with the boys and get double my money back.
My head throbbed.
I ran my hand across my face and flinched in pain. Buh, my eyes were swollen.
Did I have a fight with Ifeoma or was I beaten? Did I fall into the gutter or worse?
I reached into my pocket and searched for my wallet, nothing. There was no form of identification on me, no phone and no loose change in the pocket of my once blue jeans [very unlike me]nothing.
I stood for a while, no direction, nowhere to go.
I began to wander then, after walking for a while, I spotted a row of houses with light burning at a distance. I limped in the direction of the house closet to me and knocked on the door. Lucky for me, the owner was a kind spirited man and did not question my appearance, after offering me a towel and water to wash up as best as I could, he loaned me his phone; I called my special one.
In minutes, he was there at the door begging to be let in. he trapped me in a tight embrace and kissed my swollen face. He said I had been missing for two days, he had been worried sick.
My special one tried to press some Naira notes into the kind stranger’s hand as a show of gratitude but, he turned him down.
We said thank you and made our way out.
Repeating “this has to end” like a mantra, he took me to his house.
He had been suspicious about my addiction for a while longer than I had tried to hide it. He trusted me and had initially waited in the hopes that (me being a reasonable person) I’d handle it on my own but seeing how I had endangered myself and caused him so much worry, he wasn’t taking chances anymore.
He locked me up in the bathroom with just a bottle of water.
I banged on the door begging to be let out.
I had broken into a sweat, I was shivering, my hands were shaking and goose pimples had erupted on my forearms.
Losing my mind, I needed a smoke. I needed something, anything! I begged him to give me a stick, just a stick for G*d’s frigging sake!
After I tore apart his bathroom cabinets and lockers, not finding anything to smoke or inhale and cut my finger on a broken glass I was pulled to reality.
It was the sight of my blood shining brightly on the white bathroom tile that made me pause.
I began to cry, I wanted to die! Why was this happening to me, why me? Why was I the one always having failed relationships, dead fathers and broken body parts, what did I ever do to deserve it? And now look at me, just look at me! I was a mess, my life is ruined!!
Where did I go wrong? Why me? Why? Why?! Why!
I had myself to blame, just me.
I single handedly choose to destroy my life and now, I was paying for it.
I had a wonderful life, people who loved me and the comfort of a home.
Was G*d watching? Did he see? Why didn’t he stop me? Could he see me?
I prayed to G*d silently through the hot tears burning down my cheek. Although I suspected he was fed up with me, I still prayed.
I am Tabitha Swahita Tahilita, I am an addict.
- Tabby
Monday, June 21, 2010
Entry 22
IF I WERE A BOY
I discovered that whenever me and my neighbor Ifeoma do ‘that thing’, I get so hungry, it’s like the more I drag, the emptier my stomach becomes, buh, there has to be a way for us to channel it into a weight loss program.
We have decided to try it out for a week and see if there is any change [Ifeoma is the one who needs to lose weight, me? my special one likes me just the way I am and so do I!].
Gosh, Ifeoma is so cool, I like her personality, character and style. She sees what she wants and goes for it. She doesn’t let anyone or anything stand in her way, not even the weather!!
I ran into Brian, [Von’s boyfriend whom I consider the catch of the century] he looked so distraught. He said that Von had given him an ultimatum: all her friends have one (a BB phone) therefore, she wants one too. Either their boyfriends or their ‘Aristo’ brought theirs for them. Now, she was the only one left out and was not okay with not belonging.
She said that it was either he didn’t love her enough or he was seeing someone else.
My heart went out to him on one hand because, he really loves the girl and has been known to go to crazy lengths to make her happy [imagine unmarried university undergraduates wearing matching outfits to church and parties? It has to be the cutest thing since dogs in purses] but on the other hand, I called him an idiot! Did he not know what he was getting into when he asked an ‘It’ girl out? Now would not be a very good time to remind her that he was a dependent; just an ordinary university student surviving on the cast-offs from his parents.
I laughed at the thought of Von telling her next boyfriend [should they decide to break up] that she left him because although he was faithful, loving and honest, he couldn’t get her a ‘BB’.
Mother is upset because I prefer now to hang with Ifeoma than even pick her calls. Buh, it not my fault though.
Mother is driving me insane! She is too needy for my liking abeg. Tabby, where are you? Tabby your classmates say you do not attend lectures, Tabby why are people saying you owe them money? Tabby why wouldn’t you come home? Tabby, Tabby, Tabby arrgh!!
She should get herself a hobby or something.
At the moment, it’s just my special one that I am concerned about. He doesn’t understand what me and Ifeoma are trying to accomplish, it is not like we are smoking for the highness or something like that [she quit for crying out loud!!] we are just testing out a theory.
He has turned me into a petty liar now because I’d rather lie to him than see a frown on his adorable face.
One more week and I am through with all things to do with inhalation and I mean it!
- Tabby
I discovered that whenever me and my neighbor Ifeoma do ‘that thing’, I get so hungry, it’s like the more I drag, the emptier my stomach becomes, buh, there has to be a way for us to channel it into a weight loss program.
We have decided to try it out for a week and see if there is any change [Ifeoma is the one who needs to lose weight, me? my special one likes me just the way I am and so do I!].
Gosh, Ifeoma is so cool, I like her personality, character and style. She sees what she wants and goes for it. She doesn’t let anyone or anything stand in her way, not even the weather!!
I ran into Brian, [Von’s boyfriend whom I consider the catch of the century] he looked so distraught. He said that Von had given him an ultimatum: all her friends have one (a BB phone) therefore, she wants one too. Either their boyfriends or their ‘Aristo’ brought theirs for them. Now, she was the only one left out and was not okay with not belonging.
She said that it was either he didn’t love her enough or he was seeing someone else.
My heart went out to him on one hand because, he really loves the girl and has been known to go to crazy lengths to make her happy [imagine unmarried university undergraduates wearing matching outfits to church and parties? It has to be the cutest thing since dogs in purses] but on the other hand, I called him an idiot! Did he not know what he was getting into when he asked an ‘It’ girl out? Now would not be a very good time to remind her that he was a dependent; just an ordinary university student surviving on the cast-offs from his parents.
I laughed at the thought of Von telling her next boyfriend [should they decide to break up] that she left him because although he was faithful, loving and honest, he couldn’t get her a ‘BB’.
Mother is upset because I prefer now to hang with Ifeoma than even pick her calls. Buh, it not my fault though.
Mother is driving me insane! She is too needy for my liking abeg. Tabby, where are you? Tabby your classmates say you do not attend lectures, Tabby why are people saying you owe them money? Tabby why wouldn’t you come home? Tabby, Tabby, Tabby arrgh!!
She should get herself a hobby or something.
At the moment, it’s just my special one that I am concerned about. He doesn’t understand what me and Ifeoma are trying to accomplish, it is not like we are smoking for the highness or something like that [she quit for crying out loud!!] we are just testing out a theory.
He has turned me into a petty liar now because I’d rather lie to him than see a frown on his adorable face.
One more week and I am through with all things to do with inhalation and I mean it!
- Tabby
Thursday, June 17, 2010
Entry 20
JUST ME
Hum… who would have thought life could be so sweet? Me and my special one went to _ _ _ [would anyone believe me if I said church?] buh, that’s where we went to on Sunday.
Yup, church!!
Together in the presence of G*d, me and him? It felt so good! Afterward, we went to have cake and ice-cream at some ‘coded’ joint in town. If the stalk of flower he gave to me wasn’t a fake rose, I would have started to cry because obviously it would have been proof that these past weeks have been a dream. Still, I pinched myself to be sure and flinched at the pain I felt [phew].
I finally decided to stop punishing myself and him [him being my special one of course!] for a crime we were both innocent of, if I made a mistake once and fell for a yam-faced-serpent-tongued-slimy-skinned-two-timing-square in the past, it does not imply that all men are yam faced dash- dash- dash [besides, I kindda love yam! Fried with salt, pepper and onion, it is uh-um delicious!!] so therefore I should go lock up myself in a shiny old castle complete with a dragon and a wicked step mother.
Even if I was to do that, according to myth, wouldn’t it still be a ‘prince charming’ that would come to rescue me? (Although I am yet to come across a myth that the princess put herself in chains willingly and got rescued buh, that isn’t the point am driving at) my special one IS my prince charming.
He is nice, sweet, and courteous, laughs at all my ‘dry’ jokes, keeps to time and doesn’t talk much. Although I suspect under his façade of calmness and serenity, there is a coiled up python ready to strike one day I shall not, would not live in fear of that day.
he has a slight dimple that twinkles when he scrolls and deepens when he smiles fully. It makes him oh –so cute!! [He hates it whenever I remark on how cute it is and tells me “cute guys are gay”] most of all, he is warm, he is yummy, he is fuzzy he is just grrh!!! I like being around him.
He bought me a pack of band-aids in an adorable gift box just so I’d have something ready when next I decide to harm myself (buh, I doubt that would happen since he seems to always sense when I need him the most and makes himself available).
Ah well, life indeed is sweet.
I have a test on Thursday and I am busy day dreaming about a man! Writing ‘he is my special one’ would definitely not give me the 1st class degree that we all desire!!
I would call him, if we spend some time together now then later in the evening, I could go to the hostel and read with Ivy. Sounds like a good plan to me!
Signed: Mrs. Swahita dash- dash- dash.
- Tabby
Hum… who would have thought life could be so sweet? Me and my special one went to _ _ _ [would anyone believe me if I said church?] buh, that’s where we went to on Sunday.
Yup, church!!
Together in the presence of G*d, me and him? It felt so good! Afterward, we went to have cake and ice-cream at some ‘coded’ joint in town. If the stalk of flower he gave to me wasn’t a fake rose, I would have started to cry because obviously it would have been proof that these past weeks have been a dream. Still, I pinched myself to be sure and flinched at the pain I felt [phew].
I finally decided to stop punishing myself and him [him being my special one of course!] for a crime we were both innocent of, if I made a mistake once and fell for a yam-faced-serpent-tongued-slimy-skinned-two-timing-square in the past, it does not imply that all men are yam faced dash- dash- dash [besides, I kindda love yam! Fried with salt, pepper and onion, it is uh-um delicious!!] so therefore I should go lock up myself in a shiny old castle complete with a dragon and a wicked step mother.
Even if I was to do that, according to myth, wouldn’t it still be a ‘prince charming’ that would come to rescue me? (Although I am yet to come across a myth that the princess put herself in chains willingly and got rescued buh, that isn’t the point am driving at) my special one IS my prince charming.
He is nice, sweet, and courteous, laughs at all my ‘dry’ jokes, keeps to time and doesn’t talk much. Although I suspect under his façade of calmness and serenity, there is a coiled up python ready to strike one day I shall not, would not live in fear of that day.
he has a slight dimple that twinkles when he scrolls and deepens when he smiles fully. It makes him oh –so cute!! [He hates it whenever I remark on how cute it is and tells me “cute guys are gay”] most of all, he is warm, he is yummy, he is fuzzy he is just grrh!!! I like being around him.
He bought me a pack of band-aids in an adorable gift box just so I’d have something ready when next I decide to harm myself (buh, I doubt that would happen since he seems to always sense when I need him the most and makes himself available).
Ah well, life indeed is sweet.
I have a test on Thursday and I am busy day dreaming about a man! Writing ‘he is my special one’ would definitely not give me the 1st class degree that we all desire!!
I would call him, if we spend some time together now then later in the evening, I could go to the hostel and read with Ivy. Sounds like a good plan to me!
Signed: Mrs. Swahita dash- dash- dash.
- Tabby
Tuesday, June 15, 2010
Entry 19
MOTHERS, DAUGHTERS, HELMET’S?
Buh, this is so freaking funny! My mother, my only mother, my only beloved mother is dating an okada rider!! I am going for a 7 days prayer and fasting session on her behalf [right after I release my new album. It’s titled WOMAN tracks include: UNDERSTANDING WOMEN, THE GAMES WOMEN PLAY and PROUD TO BE A WOMAN featuring Weird. Within it lays the secret partway to all females. Psych!!]
She claims that he is a sailor (or was it a marine? Well, he wears a uniform and lives on a boat! Or ship? Buh, whatever!!) on leave and enjoying his new hobby but unfortunately for her, every time I run into him, there is some person or the other [I’d call them ‘passengers’ for short] seated behind him and clinging to his back for their dear life. Now tell me if there isn’t truth in believing what you see?
He rides a super cool power bike (I’d give him that) and carries passengers from point A to point B after he receives gratitude [payment] so, all things being equal, he receives returns for services rendered therefore… okada na okada!!
For the past few days, my mood has been cheerful and gay; I have been so happy! I feel like a burden has been lifted off my chest and finally, I can breathe again.
The secret? Max!
I never knew the day would come when I would think of him and wonder what it was that was so awesome about him in the first place…
So, on the night of the BE, I went out with him and we ended up hopping from one club to the other until the wee hours of the morning.
This time, when I was with him, I wasn’t the love struck air head that saw wedding colors and matching china whenever he opened his mouth to speak. When we hung out, I played the role of the silent observer.
For the first time, I listened to him talk, I watched him move. I studied the way he handled situations that sprung up.
Sometime during our night out, something clicked in my head and then, I understood.
Max, although a wonderful man-and-probably-the-best-thing-that-could-happen-to-age-defying-women-since-Botox was human after all! That was the simple truth.
I admit I’d never meet anyone like him again and what we had was special but to stop living for the sake of a man that thought for just himself was plain suicide and in my case, since there was no bomb attached to my nappies, no one was going to give my remaining relatives a huge chuck of money for my unquestioned devotion to the faith.
I admit I was madly in love with him, I accept the fact. After comparing the reasons why I should kill myself for him with the reasons why I shouldn’t I came to the conclusion that if my country did not fall apart because of a missing [now late G*d rest his soul] president for a few months then I too would not fall apart then die because of a certain “home grown” Adonis not even from Greece!
I let go of Max and now, I am free.
Mother’s okada rider boyfriend has offered to take me for a ride.
For the sick pleasure of watching Nneka’s face turn green with envy when she sees me with him and the anticipation of hearing ‘my jist’ on Ibiela’s network news, I told him that if he brought his bike to my school and dropped me at class and picked me up afterwards, I’d take him up on his offer!
- Tabby.
Buh, this is so freaking funny! My mother, my only mother, my only beloved mother is dating an okada rider!! I am going for a 7 days prayer and fasting session on her behalf [right after I release my new album. It’s titled WOMAN tracks include: UNDERSTANDING WOMEN, THE GAMES WOMEN PLAY and PROUD TO BE A WOMAN featuring Weird. Within it lays the secret partway to all females. Psych!!]
She claims that he is a sailor (or was it a marine? Well, he wears a uniform and lives on a boat! Or ship? Buh, whatever!!) on leave and enjoying his new hobby but unfortunately for her, every time I run into him, there is some person or the other [I’d call them ‘passengers’ for short] seated behind him and clinging to his back for their dear life. Now tell me if there isn’t truth in believing what you see?
He rides a super cool power bike (I’d give him that) and carries passengers from point A to point B after he receives gratitude [payment] so, all things being equal, he receives returns for services rendered therefore… okada na okada!!
For the past few days, my mood has been cheerful and gay; I have been so happy! I feel like a burden has been lifted off my chest and finally, I can breathe again.
The secret? Max!
I never knew the day would come when I would think of him and wonder what it was that was so awesome about him in the first place…
So, on the night of the BE, I went out with him and we ended up hopping from one club to the other until the wee hours of the morning.
This time, when I was with him, I wasn’t the love struck air head that saw wedding colors and matching china whenever he opened his mouth to speak. When we hung out, I played the role of the silent observer.
For the first time, I listened to him talk, I watched him move. I studied the way he handled situations that sprung up.
Sometime during our night out, something clicked in my head and then, I understood.
Max, although a wonderful man-and-probably-the-best-thing-that-could-happen-to-age-defying-women-since-Botox was human after all! That was the simple truth.
I admit I’d never meet anyone like him again and what we had was special but to stop living for the sake of a man that thought for just himself was plain suicide and in my case, since there was no bomb attached to my nappies, no one was going to give my remaining relatives a huge chuck of money for my unquestioned devotion to the faith.
I admit I was madly in love with him, I accept the fact. After comparing the reasons why I should kill myself for him with the reasons why I shouldn’t I came to the conclusion that if my country did not fall apart because of a missing [now late G*d rest his soul] president for a few months then I too would not fall apart then die because of a certain “home grown” Adonis not even from Greece!
I let go of Max and now, I am free.
Mother’s okada rider boyfriend has offered to take me for a ride.
For the sick pleasure of watching Nneka’s face turn green with envy when she sees me with him and the anticipation of hearing ‘my jist’ on Ibiela’s network news, I told him that if he brought his bike to my school and dropped me at class and picked me up afterwards, I’d take him up on his offer!
- Tabby.
Thursday, June 10, 2010
Entry 07
VAVAVOOM
I remember telling mother she looked ‘okay’ by the time she applied the fourth layer of makeup to her face. THAT was my mistake; I guess the ‘okay’ was the word that propelled her to reach for the tube of lipstick again.
I should have used words like ravishing, breathtaking, sexy, appealing or drop dead gorgeous.
Not feeling in any particular mood, I donned on ‘buba’ and ‘wrapper’, clasped a set of mother’s antique beads and chains around my neck and unceremoniously tied the matching ‘gele’ on my head.
Since mother was looking so glamorous, there was no need to compete with her and turn up looking like a pride of exotic birds for the wedding of a groom whose last name neither she nor I remembered.
Meanwhile, if she did not stop manipulating the contours of her face soon, she would end up looking like a ‘suicidal raccoon’. Luckily, Dr. dash arrived right on time!
After the bazillion hours long wedding, exchange of vows and blah, blah, blah, I stood outside holding mothers handbag for another 45minutes waiting for her to take pictures with every one; ‘friends of the bride’, ‘friends of the groom’, ‘classmates of the bride’, ‘classmates of the groom’, ‘alumni’, ‘ashewebi’s’, ‘ladies in pink’, ‘village groups’ and all other protocols (lousy excuse to delay hungry guest like myself from getting to ‘item 7’ if you ask me). Finally, she was through and walking to my side only to be stopped midway by an extremely tall and huge lady who was trying 'too hard' to look 20 years younger than her obvious age.
Buh, I mean! After you get to a certain age, miniskirts and tank tops are just not for you! Especially if you are a well rounded Nigerian woman with forearms that tend to be flabby and thighs that 'saw' better days Yuck!
I turned away in disgust and fanned my face with my fingers. Mother didn’t look uncomfortable though, she enthusiastically returned the hugs and kisses of ‘not so hot grandma’ and completely forgot I was there; tired and hungry! They walked up to me, she stared from my face to mothers and after a moments pause, was like “Gosh Lilly, you didn’t tell me you had an elder sister! Your mother must have been one strong lady. I mean giving birth to not one but two beautiful girls!”
As fake as her accent was, she was also an idiot! I rolled my eyes, grabbed the wedding invitation from mothers hand and spat out as I turned to leave “she is my mother!” (obviously, she hurt my feelings!! why would I be THE elder if we were siblings?) I walked away in search of Dr. Dash.
G*d save me from such women and their wahala abeg.
I didn’t see Dr. Dash by the car, I wondered where he was but was given temporary relief; instead of the missing Dr. Dash, about a foot away, leaning on another car and looking like he owned the world was Stanley! When he noticed me I gave a small smile and wove.
He walked up to me, complimented my outfit and asked about ‘the dog that was sent to the butchers’. I laughed and told him that ‘the dog’ happened to have a map of the city tattooed on its body; it broke out of the butcher’s cage and had gone in search of its missing elder brother.
After a photographer caught us together and took our picture, he brought me a much appreciated stick of ‘fun blast’ ice-cream. I told him I was now officially his servant! (Hum… me and Stanley?) Turns out weddings are a nice venue for hooking up with single attractive men.
- TABBY
I remember telling mother she looked ‘okay’ by the time she applied the fourth layer of makeup to her face. THAT was my mistake; I guess the ‘okay’ was the word that propelled her to reach for the tube of lipstick again.
I should have used words like ravishing, breathtaking, sexy, appealing or drop dead gorgeous.
Not feeling in any particular mood, I donned on ‘buba’ and ‘wrapper’, clasped a set of mother’s antique beads and chains around my neck and unceremoniously tied the matching ‘gele’ on my head.
Since mother was looking so glamorous, there was no need to compete with her and turn up looking like a pride of exotic birds for the wedding of a groom whose last name neither she nor I remembered.
Meanwhile, if she did not stop manipulating the contours of her face soon, she would end up looking like a ‘suicidal raccoon’. Luckily, Dr. dash arrived right on time!
After the bazillion hours long wedding, exchange of vows and blah, blah, blah, I stood outside holding mothers handbag for another 45minutes waiting for her to take pictures with every one; ‘friends of the bride’, ‘friends of the groom’, ‘classmates of the bride’, ‘classmates of the groom’, ‘alumni’, ‘ashewebi’s’, ‘ladies in pink’, ‘village groups’ and all other protocols (lousy excuse to delay hungry guest like myself from getting to ‘item 7’ if you ask me). Finally, she was through and walking to my side only to be stopped midway by an extremely tall and huge lady who was trying 'too hard' to look 20 years younger than her obvious age.
Buh, I mean! After you get to a certain age, miniskirts and tank tops are just not for you! Especially if you are a well rounded Nigerian woman with forearms that tend to be flabby and thighs that 'saw' better days Yuck!
I turned away in disgust and fanned my face with my fingers. Mother didn’t look uncomfortable though, she enthusiastically returned the hugs and kisses of ‘not so hot grandma’ and completely forgot I was there; tired and hungry! They walked up to me, she stared from my face to mothers and after a moments pause, was like “Gosh Lilly, you didn’t tell me you had an elder sister! Your mother must have been one strong lady. I mean giving birth to not one but two beautiful girls!”
As fake as her accent was, she was also an idiot! I rolled my eyes, grabbed the wedding invitation from mothers hand and spat out as I turned to leave “she is my mother!” (obviously, she hurt my feelings!! why would I be THE elder if we were siblings?) I walked away in search of Dr. Dash.
G*d save me from such women and their wahala abeg.
I didn’t see Dr. Dash by the car, I wondered where he was but was given temporary relief; instead of the missing Dr. Dash, about a foot away, leaning on another car and looking like he owned the world was Stanley! When he noticed me I gave a small smile and wove.
He walked up to me, complimented my outfit and asked about ‘the dog that was sent to the butchers’. I laughed and told him that ‘the dog’ happened to have a map of the city tattooed on its body; it broke out of the butcher’s cage and had gone in search of its missing elder brother.
After a photographer caught us together and took our picture, he brought me a much appreciated stick of ‘fun blast’ ice-cream. I told him I was now officially his servant! (Hum… me and Stanley?) Turns out weddings are a nice venue for hooking up with single attractive men.
- TABBY
Tuesday, June 8, 2010
Entry 21
STILL ON THE MATTER
“Hi am Ifeoma, I am looking for camphor, do you smoke weed?” those were the first words said to me by my new neighbor Ifeoma. I would not call her new per say buh, she and I have been flat mates for over 8 months and had never known about each other’s existence until the intervention of a rainy night and her inability to get her hands on weed.
Although I was taken aback by her startling approach ( being used to the idea that neighbors in normal lands asked each other for a cup of sugar, a glass of milk, dash of pepper, spoon of salt and so forth but camphor? Weed?)
I happened to have an unopened packet of camphor which I had brought to place in my cupboard (to chase away Nneka’s little minions should they decide to nibble on my clothes). After I apologized for not having weed, I offered her the whole packet of camphor which she grabbed greedily form my hand and then disappeared(I believe I can fly!! He-he-he)
Days and weeks later, I thought I had dreamed the whole camphor slash weed affair until we started bumping into each other at odd places in school.
We never spoke though, just a slight nod to acknowledge each other’s presence.
It was a rainy night that played ‘cupid’ and brought us together again [Cockroaches are going to take over the world, and soon! I can feel it. They have been the one orchestrating all the recent kidnappings in 9ja I swear!]
Oh, where was I? Ifeoma, yes. So, while we were both trapped in the name [ha-ha, I wrote name. I was thinking rain. Name, rain, name. he-he-he, they sound alike] sorry, rain. I meant rain. While we were both trapped in the rain, she confessed that she didn’t know my name and wasn’t comfortable calling people ‘hey you’. I told her I was Tabby and followed her home.
We chatted for a while and got to know ourselves. My special one came calling so, I promised to see her some other time and left [ps, he doesn’t seem to like her, I wonder why… I see dead people he-he-he].
When it started raining this afternoon, I had that funny suspicion that I’d see her.
It wasn’t long before Ifeoma knocked on my door.
She was celebrating and did not want to be alone; today was the second month since she quit smoking and she decided to do a few sticks to prove that she was better than it, she had beaten her addiction. I invited her in and gave her a blanket to wrap up with (she looked cold). I sat and watched in awe as she expertly prepared, rolled the paper [lick, dab, roll, lick and woof-woof!! I am a dog. he-he-he] and lit the stick.
She offered me a drag, I initially said no! but later changed my mind; If she a final year accounting student with so much at stake could manage her addiction for so long then finally beat it then I Tabitha, a woman borne of a man with a mind so clear and a body untainted by such toxin could do much better than she.
I have better self control and a higher stamina than her. I can never get addicted to igbo, am I mad?!
Right?
Ifeoma passed out on my floor and seems to be sprouting another head he-he-he. [If I cut the other one away, would two grow in its place? If men don’t produce milk, why do they have nipples? Would she mind? Would she mind if I cut the 3rd head and more if they all sprout at the same time?] I don’t know if I should wake her because I can see my reflection on my wall, he-he-he it’s so funny.
Arrgh!!! There is a giant earth worm lying beside her, my light bulb is filled with worms, some fell on her. Splat-splat, eek!! I think I am going to throw up.
I am trapped! If only my room wasn’t airborne, I would have run out side to get some help.
Dear G*d, please help so we’d land safely; please help so we don’t crash.
- Tabby
“Hi am Ifeoma, I am looking for camphor, do you smoke weed?” those were the first words said to me by my new neighbor Ifeoma. I would not call her new per say buh, she and I have been flat mates for over 8 months and had never known about each other’s existence until the intervention of a rainy night and her inability to get her hands on weed.
Although I was taken aback by her startling approach ( being used to the idea that neighbors in normal lands asked each other for a cup of sugar, a glass of milk, dash of pepper, spoon of salt and so forth but camphor? Weed?)
I happened to have an unopened packet of camphor which I had brought to place in my cupboard (to chase away Nneka’s little minions should they decide to nibble on my clothes). After I apologized for not having weed, I offered her the whole packet of camphor which she grabbed greedily form my hand and then disappeared(I believe I can fly!! He-he-he)
Days and weeks later, I thought I had dreamed the whole camphor slash weed affair until we started bumping into each other at odd places in school.
We never spoke though, just a slight nod to acknowledge each other’s presence.
It was a rainy night that played ‘cupid’ and brought us together again [Cockroaches are going to take over the world, and soon! I can feel it. They have been the one orchestrating all the recent kidnappings in 9ja I swear!]
Oh, where was I? Ifeoma, yes. So, while we were both trapped in the name [ha-ha, I wrote name. I was thinking rain. Name, rain, name. he-he-he, they sound alike] sorry, rain. I meant rain. While we were both trapped in the rain, she confessed that she didn’t know my name and wasn’t comfortable calling people ‘hey you’. I told her I was Tabby and followed her home.
We chatted for a while and got to know ourselves. My special one came calling so, I promised to see her some other time and left [ps, he doesn’t seem to like her, I wonder why… I see dead people he-he-he].
When it started raining this afternoon, I had that funny suspicion that I’d see her.
It wasn’t long before Ifeoma knocked on my door.
She was celebrating and did not want to be alone; today was the second month since she quit smoking and she decided to do a few sticks to prove that she was better than it, she had beaten her addiction. I invited her in and gave her a blanket to wrap up with (she looked cold). I sat and watched in awe as she expertly prepared, rolled the paper [lick, dab, roll, lick and woof-woof!! I am a dog. he-he-he] and lit the stick.
She offered me a drag, I initially said no! but later changed my mind; If she a final year accounting student with so much at stake could manage her addiction for so long then finally beat it then I Tabitha, a woman borne of a man with a mind so clear and a body untainted by such toxin could do much better than she.
I have better self control and a higher stamina than her. I can never get addicted to igbo, am I mad?!
Right?
Ifeoma passed out on my floor and seems to be sprouting another head he-he-he. [If I cut the other one away, would two grow in its place? If men don’t produce milk, why do they have nipples? Would she mind? Would she mind if I cut the 3rd head and more if they all sprout at the same time?] I don’t know if I should wake her because I can see my reflection on my wall, he-he-he it’s so funny.
Arrgh!!! There is a giant earth worm lying beside her, my light bulb is filled with worms, some fell on her. Splat-splat, eek!! I think I am going to throw up.
I am trapped! If only my room wasn’t airborne, I would have run out side to get some help.
Dear G*d, please help so we’d land safely; please help so we don’t crash.
- Tabby
Entry 06
VOODOO DOLLS
My eyes must have been swollen and blood shot because I didn't notice when he came to seat beside me.
Even the sight of a dozen random guys ‘taking a leak’ outside on assorted spots for ‘target practice’ on my way to the library didn’t make me question them about their fascination with the ‘great out doors’ I mean, toilets were made for something!! I have been this way for about two-three weeks now.
All because of Max!
In Lagos, we promised to keep in touch and I told him ‘shun the consequences’ I’d come see him on more occasions than not buh, we were both caught up in the same fairy tale; I guess he woke up too soon.
For the first days, Max was the one to call me. He’d call me at dawn, before he went to bed and just because. Then later he’s calls became scarce; said he was busy, he said he came home tired. He said it was only people who were insecure that needed to be given a ‘reality pinch’ every time. Buh, I didn’t complain, I called him. I loved the sound of his voice, it reminded me of crisply baked chicken dipped in sauce; finger-licking delicious! but by the middle of week 2, I realized Max didn’t want me anymore.
To make matters worse, [I don’t know how she knew but I have learned the hard way never to doubt her] ‘Worldwide gossip machine’ Ibiela told me about one Nollywood celebrity’s latest boyfriend and would you believe it?
Out of the over billion population in Nigeria, Max happened to be the one! I called him and questioned him about it but, he neither denied nor confirmed the piece. He told me ‘Tabby cat, you are one special girl and there would never be one to replace you.’ now what type of statement is that?
I stopped calling him, I tried not to think of him but by G*d it hurts, it hurts so dam much. Even Nneka hasn’t said a word to me, I told no one about what happened in Lagos so, they don’t know what to make of my recent behavior. Mother was a bit concerned but Dr. Dash told her it is a normal pre-adult behavior (after asking me about my ‘pregnancy status’ and receiving a negative response) still, it didn’t stop me from crying when I thought I was alone.
Max? I hate him so much, I never want to see him again in my life.
I love him!
When he asked me about the dude on a piece of paper that I had been jotting on, I had to laugh. I had drawn several stick figures of Max with about a dozen daggers and knives stabbing almost every were 'vital organs' should have been. I wiped the tears away from my eyes and told him it was our dog; we just sold him to the butcher and I was having second thoughts. He shook his head and said he didn’t ever want to be the dog. He said the library was stuffy and asked if we could go for a walk. I shrugged and got up (walking was better than drawing stick figures of Max, killing them and crying). Most importantly ‘he’ was Stanley.
- TABBY
My eyes must have been swollen and blood shot because I didn't notice when he came to seat beside me.
Even the sight of a dozen random guys ‘taking a leak’ outside on assorted spots for ‘target practice’ on my way to the library didn’t make me question them about their fascination with the ‘great out doors’ I mean, toilets were made for something!! I have been this way for about two-three weeks now.
All because of Max!
In Lagos, we promised to keep in touch and I told him ‘shun the consequences’ I’d come see him on more occasions than not buh, we were both caught up in the same fairy tale; I guess he woke up too soon.
For the first days, Max was the one to call me. He’d call me at dawn, before he went to bed and just because. Then later he’s calls became scarce; said he was busy, he said he came home tired. He said it was only people who were insecure that needed to be given a ‘reality pinch’ every time. Buh, I didn’t complain, I called him. I loved the sound of his voice, it reminded me of crisply baked chicken dipped in sauce; finger-licking delicious! but by the middle of week 2, I realized Max didn’t want me anymore.
To make matters worse, [I don’t know how she knew but I have learned the hard way never to doubt her] ‘Worldwide gossip machine’ Ibiela told me about one Nollywood celebrity’s latest boyfriend and would you believe it?
Out of the over billion population in Nigeria, Max happened to be the one! I called him and questioned him about it but, he neither denied nor confirmed the piece. He told me ‘Tabby cat, you are one special girl and there would never be one to replace you.’ now what type of statement is that?
I stopped calling him, I tried not to think of him but by G*d it hurts, it hurts so dam much. Even Nneka hasn’t said a word to me, I told no one about what happened in Lagos so, they don’t know what to make of my recent behavior. Mother was a bit concerned but Dr. Dash told her it is a normal pre-adult behavior (after asking me about my ‘pregnancy status’ and receiving a negative response) still, it didn’t stop me from crying when I thought I was alone.
Max? I hate him so much, I never want to see him again in my life.
I love him!
When he asked me about the dude on a piece of paper that I had been jotting on, I had to laugh. I had drawn several stick figures of Max with about a dozen daggers and knives stabbing almost every were 'vital organs' should have been. I wiped the tears away from my eyes and told him it was our dog; we just sold him to the butcher and I was having second thoughts. He shook his head and said he didn’t ever want to be the dog. He said the library was stuffy and asked if we could go for a walk. I shrugged and got up (walking was better than drawing stick figures of Max, killing them and crying). Most importantly ‘he’ was Stanley.
- TABBY
Wednesday, June 2, 2010
Entry 16
PRAYING, JUMPING AND FLYING FISH
My leg hurts like mad dogs on stray cats! To make matters worse, I’m grounded. Who would believe that? Since when do parents ground their children? In Nigeria!!
Nneka and mother are now two peas in a pod (I suspect it was Nneka that put ‘that’ idea into mothers head).
Mother says I’m accident prone, she warns that all she needs is for me to come home with just one more scratch and that’s it for my university education! She says she’d have me home schooled or if she’s feeling generous, make me do online slash distance learning [from my room at home!!]
Buh, it’s not like I dig up manholes for myself, cover them with leaves and branches then happily dance makossa on top o, it was a simple miscalculation of step, popularly called ‘an accident!’ caused by a gang of bible carrying-I-would-not-say bullies.
Since I stopped attending fellowship, they have refused to let me be! They keep sending ‘outreach’ units and visitation committee to come and talk to me. I tell them that their way of communing with G*d does not ‘shiver me timbers’ buh, would they hear?
I was heading home when I got a call from sister Blessing; she said herself and brother Emeka were coming to my place I hurriedly told her that I wasn’t home unfortunately for me, sister Taiwo saw me leaving the lecture theater and was coming behind. So, instead of boldly telling them to ‘back off or I’d shoot’ like any reasonable person would do, I decided to cut expenses, take the chickens alley and dodge both parties. The only obstacle blocking my escape was a tree and a gutter. I should have followed the path which everybody was taking o! but because of my fast guy approach, I took it upon myself to jump over the gutter and follow the longer route home and so I did. There was no way I would have known that the pile of grass I had initially intended to land on was actually a ditch covered with a rotten plank.
I remember using catwalk to jump over the gutter then screaming ‘ouch’ and ‘ewo!’ when lying on the floor in an awkward position, the world began to spin.
The crowing point of my whole ordeal is that when I found myself lying on the hospital bed with one leg hanging in the air, I looked at my cast and had to smile. Every inch was signed on by members of NAG fellowship. The same people that caused me to have the fracture.
Now that I am crippled and can’t run and hide, I get lots of visits from particular ‘caring’ friends [all the time!!]. Guess who?
- TABBY
My leg hurts like mad dogs on stray cats! To make matters worse, I’m grounded. Who would believe that? Since when do parents ground their children? In Nigeria!!
Nneka and mother are now two peas in a pod (I suspect it was Nneka that put ‘that’ idea into mothers head).
Mother says I’m accident prone, she warns that all she needs is for me to come home with just one more scratch and that’s it for my university education! She says she’d have me home schooled or if she’s feeling generous, make me do online slash distance learning [from my room at home!!]
Buh, it’s not like I dig up manholes for myself, cover them with leaves and branches then happily dance makossa on top o, it was a simple miscalculation of step, popularly called ‘an accident!’ caused by a gang of bible carrying-I-would-not-say bullies.
Since I stopped attending fellowship, they have refused to let me be! They keep sending ‘outreach’ units and visitation committee to come and talk to me. I tell them that their way of communing with G*d does not ‘shiver me timbers’ buh, would they hear?
I was heading home when I got a call from sister Blessing; she said herself and brother Emeka were coming to my place I hurriedly told her that I wasn’t home unfortunately for me, sister Taiwo saw me leaving the lecture theater and was coming behind. So, instead of boldly telling them to ‘back off or I’d shoot’ like any reasonable person would do, I decided to cut expenses, take the chickens alley and dodge both parties. The only obstacle blocking my escape was a tree and a gutter. I should have followed the path which everybody was taking o! but because of my fast guy approach, I took it upon myself to jump over the gutter and follow the longer route home and so I did. There was no way I would have known that the pile of grass I had initially intended to land on was actually a ditch covered with a rotten plank.
I remember using catwalk to jump over the gutter then screaming ‘ouch’ and ‘ewo!’ when lying on the floor in an awkward position, the world began to spin.
The crowing point of my whole ordeal is that when I found myself lying on the hospital bed with one leg hanging in the air, I looked at my cast and had to smile. Every inch was signed on by members of NAG fellowship. The same people that caused me to have the fracture.
Now that I am crippled and can’t run and hide, I get lots of visits from particular ‘caring’ friends [all the time!!]. Guess who?
- TABBY
Tuesday, May 25, 2010
Entry 09
DON’T TOUCH IT!!
Although I get all cute and cuddly looking when I have it still, here lies the undeniable truth; we weren’t meant to be. Me and malaria? I don’t think our relationship would go very far.
It’s a good thing ‘amalar’ hasn’t reached the labs of our ‘industrious brothers’ and still works for me if not, it’s me and Nneka that would have been on the banks of bar-beach by now doing the ‘fire dance’. Why they’d even think of making fake drugs leaves me in a maze of wonder.
When I told Ivy I was taking ‘amalar’ for my malaria, she had this baffled expression and asked if amala was now a medicine and what was in it. Poor baby; she thought I meant the ‘food’ amala; funny!
Would you believe it? When Stanley found out I was sick, he got me a ‘goodie bag’ filled with chocolates, sweets and cookies plus an adorable teddy bear. Isn’t that awesome? Stanley has to be like the best boyfriend in the world!! Geez, I wonder where he has been all my life.
He stayed with me for most of the week and made sure I took all my medication on time (he wouldn’t even let me walk him to the door when he was leaving). He says he wishes he was the one sick and not me. Buh, he is so dreamy. Speaking of drugs, why is it that once someone has head ache and throws up once or twice we all assume its malaria and start self medicating? I believe that there are other (although not so cool) illnesses that manifest the same symptom. Seeing a doctor first before starting treatment gets my vote any day!
I think Stanley feels a bit guilty that am sick (and am doing nothing to ease his mind) because IT IS somehow his fault I mean, he has a car; enough money to spend and all but still, he made me travel to and fro because he was trying to prove a point. It’s the stress of the journey that allowed me to fall ill (I think).
In the bus, there was this girl that was probably in cloud nine because she sat next to a ‘cute bloke’. All the way, she was smiling and chirping like a bird. Once, I felt like using charcoal to color her teeth just so she’d shut up, arrgh!!
Buh, imagine telling a handsome guy old enough to travel on he is own that he is fine?! Duh, he has a mirror, he knows! I pray to G*d he gave her his number else, all her squawking and parroting would have been in vain. Buh, Nneka sent me a get well soon message. Hum… miracles really do happen!
Stanley is at the door, I have to go!
- TABBY
Although I get all cute and cuddly looking when I have it still, here lies the undeniable truth; we weren’t meant to be. Me and malaria? I don’t think our relationship would go very far.
It’s a good thing ‘amalar’ hasn’t reached the labs of our ‘industrious brothers’ and still works for me if not, it’s me and Nneka that would have been on the banks of bar-beach by now doing the ‘fire dance’. Why they’d even think of making fake drugs leaves me in a maze of wonder.
When I told Ivy I was taking ‘amalar’ for my malaria, she had this baffled expression and asked if amala was now a medicine and what was in it. Poor baby; she thought I meant the ‘food’ amala; funny!
Would you believe it? When Stanley found out I was sick, he got me a ‘goodie bag’ filled with chocolates, sweets and cookies plus an adorable teddy bear. Isn’t that awesome? Stanley has to be like the best boyfriend in the world!! Geez, I wonder where he has been all my life.
He stayed with me for most of the week and made sure I took all my medication on time (he wouldn’t even let me walk him to the door when he was leaving). He says he wishes he was the one sick and not me. Buh, he is so dreamy. Speaking of drugs, why is it that once someone has head ache and throws up once or twice we all assume its malaria and start self medicating? I believe that there are other (although not so cool) illnesses that manifest the same symptom. Seeing a doctor first before starting treatment gets my vote any day!
I think Stanley feels a bit guilty that am sick (and am doing nothing to ease his mind) because IT IS somehow his fault I mean, he has a car; enough money to spend and all but still, he made me travel to and fro because he was trying to prove a point. It’s the stress of the journey that allowed me to fall ill (I think).
In the bus, there was this girl that was probably in cloud nine because she sat next to a ‘cute bloke’. All the way, she was smiling and chirping like a bird. Once, I felt like using charcoal to color her teeth just so she’d shut up, arrgh!!
Buh, imagine telling a handsome guy old enough to travel on he is own that he is fine?! Duh, he has a mirror, he knows! I pray to G*d he gave her his number else, all her squawking and parroting would have been in vain. Buh, Nneka sent me a get well soon message. Hum… miracles really do happen!
Stanley is at the door, I have to go!
- TABBY
Monday, May 24, 2010
Entry 18
PANDORA’S BOX AND THE SHADOWS WITHIN
Everywhere was pitch-dark; I blindly searched for my phone and held it in my arms so the ‘real owners’ would not see the ‘sales!’ sign glowing from my bag and make away with it. That I did not have ‘BB’ pin to IM to friends did not mean I loved my humble regular phone any less.
Seated by the bar, I was wondering how on earth at this day and age they still had the heart to be ceasing light... and in a night club for that matter! Which kind temptation be that one? Who would they blame if person come ‘press spoil’? Buh, which way Nigeria, which way my country?!
Some guys were making noise at the far corner away from me trying to make up for the lack of music. I had to smile. I did not hear my phone ring, it was reading and counting by the time I put it to my ear but, once I heard “Tabby cat”, I did not need a caller ID to know who it was at the other end.
All at once, as though a dam had reached its elastic limit and burst open. I was overwhelmed by a flood of emotions. Joy, happiness, relief, anger, doubt, dread and something else, something vague... something I could not place a finger on.
"Caller ID: Max."
Max.
He asked if I was the sexy vixen seated all by myself at the bar. Said he was in town for the wedding of his buddy from secondary school and although he came for the ‘BE’ [the same one I was apparently attending] he was on his way to another venue. He spotted me on his way out of the club, said i was looking as bored as a widow spider listening to a politician campaign and decided to be my prince charming come charging to my rescue! He was waiting for me outside and asked me to come down so we’d run of to somewhere ‘more fun’.
Silly me, without a second thought, I found myself prancing towards the exits of the now lit [thank G*d for NEPA!] club.
When I caught a glimpse of my reflection on the mirrored doors of the entrance to the club, I stopped and turned away.
This was Max, the same Max.
Max that did not call me after all these months, Max that remembered me only when he had a pressing need, Max that believed I was a beautiful masterpiece created by G*d solely to help him with small favors, Max that surely would have heard about my accident and did not deem it fit to call.
Max.
The same Max that slashed open my chest, ripped out my heart and shattered it to a thousand pieces.
The same one that now had me acting like a show horse eager for a blue ribbon from the judges. I’d win it for him if given a chance, I would!
I shook my head to dispel the image of his smiling face from my mind and slowly made my way back into the club.
After a few steps, I stopped again.
If I didn’t see him now, I’d never know for sure. I would forever carry a torch for him with the believe that he is the best thing that ever happened to me.
No, i wouldn’t want that for myself. Whatever happened to my motto: NO REGRETS?
A cat has 9 lives right?
I made a dash for the restroom and studied my reflection in the mirror; perfect! I redid my makeup, brushed my hair and tightened the strings of my halter neck top. Wearing a confident smile, I walked past the glass doors and out of the club. Ready to face the reality of Max and bury this particular demon once and for all!
- TABBY
Everywhere was pitch-dark; I blindly searched for my phone and held it in my arms so the ‘real owners’ would not see the ‘sales!’ sign glowing from my bag and make away with it. That I did not have ‘BB’ pin to IM to friends did not mean I loved my humble regular phone any less.
Seated by the bar, I was wondering how on earth at this day and age they still had the heart to be ceasing light... and in a night club for that matter! Which kind temptation be that one? Who would they blame if person come ‘press spoil’? Buh, which way Nigeria, which way my country?!
Some guys were making noise at the far corner away from me trying to make up for the lack of music. I had to smile. I did not hear my phone ring, it was reading and counting by the time I put it to my ear but, once I heard “Tabby cat”, I did not need a caller ID to know who it was at the other end.
All at once, as though a dam had reached its elastic limit and burst open. I was overwhelmed by a flood of emotions. Joy, happiness, relief, anger, doubt, dread and something else, something vague... something I could not place a finger on.
"Caller ID: Max."
Max.
He asked if I was the sexy vixen seated all by myself at the bar. Said he was in town for the wedding of his buddy from secondary school and although he came for the ‘BE’ [the same one I was apparently attending] he was on his way to another venue. He spotted me on his way out of the club, said i was looking as bored as a widow spider listening to a politician campaign and decided to be my prince charming come charging to my rescue! He was waiting for me outside and asked me to come down so we’d run of to somewhere ‘more fun’.
Silly me, without a second thought, I found myself prancing towards the exits of the now lit [thank G*d for NEPA!] club.
When I caught a glimpse of my reflection on the mirrored doors of the entrance to the club, I stopped and turned away.
This was Max, the same Max.
Max that did not call me after all these months, Max that remembered me only when he had a pressing need, Max that believed I was a beautiful masterpiece created by G*d solely to help him with small favors, Max that surely would have heard about my accident and did not deem it fit to call.
Max.
The same Max that slashed open my chest, ripped out my heart and shattered it to a thousand pieces.
The same one that now had me acting like a show horse eager for a blue ribbon from the judges. I’d win it for him if given a chance, I would!
I shook my head to dispel the image of his smiling face from my mind and slowly made my way back into the club.
After a few steps, I stopped again.
If I didn’t see him now, I’d never know for sure. I would forever carry a torch for him with the believe that he is the best thing that ever happened to me.
No, i wouldn’t want that for myself. Whatever happened to my motto: NO REGRETS?
A cat has 9 lives right?
I made a dash for the restroom and studied my reflection in the mirror; perfect! I redid my makeup, brushed my hair and tightened the strings of my halter neck top. Wearing a confident smile, I walked past the glass doors and out of the club. Ready to face the reality of Max and bury this particular demon once and for all!
- TABBY
Friday, May 21, 2010
Entry 04
YOU TARZAN, ME RUN!!
To be honest with myself, if I were to plead my case in a court of law I’d take partial blame because as a matter of fact, I was jobless too but first,the judge? he’d have to hear me out;
There I was reading my books in a very uncomfortable but well lighted corner in class. It was 10:45pm, almost an hour since I had been at it when a curious gentleman seated in my front caught my attention. I decided to watch him for a while and would you believe it? After about 30 minutes or there about, he would stop reading, take out a pink comb from his pocket and comb his hair both ways. Always starting from the right and moving to the left. After he was through grooming, he would twirl his pen in the air for about 20 seconds before dropping it and resuming his reading. I don’t know if it was Nneka’s people of darkness that pushed me to action or if it was the joblessness itself but whatever it was, I found myself leaning forward to ask him 'how far' when he followed the same procedure for the 4th time in a row. As he turned to speak to me, I was over whelmed by the sudden urge to cry. My eyes filled with tears and at the same time, I wanted to puke his breath was bad as in bad!! Whether it was body odor or bad breath, i didn't want to know!! Men, who send me message?
I wove my hand and shook my head at him with the hope that he’d think I mistook him for someone I knew and ran out of the class, watery eyes and all.
When I returned, there was a student (...or man pretending to be a student; I can’t say if he was under the influence or not) in front of the class preaching.
i went to my seat and tried to resume my quest for higher knowledge. Buh! There I was red-eyed, battling sleep and struggling to read and this inconsiderate being was shouting at the top of his voice that hell was near.
I remember somewhere in the bible, there is a passage about there being a time for everything. So, him consuming my reading time and me praying to God for understanding; which of us was closer to hells gate? (Nneka could be the judge of that).
After 30 minutes of systems shutdown with no backup in sight. I packed my notes and padded off to the female hostel. I decided to sleep with my girlfriend Ivy tonight.
At the car park, there were still cars littered about; talk about oppressors! I was tempted to go and place my head on the glass of one of the tinted cars to see just what was so important that they couldn’t wait till dawn. Before I could give into my impulsive spirit, Ivy wandered outside and spotted me.
Hum… I guess now would be a good time to tell her about Thomas [well, the edited version of course!]
- TABBY
To be honest with myself, if I were to plead my case in a court of law I’d take partial blame because as a matter of fact, I was jobless too but first,the judge? he’d have to hear me out;
There I was reading my books in a very uncomfortable but well lighted corner in class. It was 10:45pm, almost an hour since I had been at it when a curious gentleman seated in my front caught my attention. I decided to watch him for a while and would you believe it? After about 30 minutes or there about, he would stop reading, take out a pink comb from his pocket and comb his hair both ways. Always starting from the right and moving to the left. After he was through grooming, he would twirl his pen in the air for about 20 seconds before dropping it and resuming his reading. I don’t know if it was Nneka’s people of darkness that pushed me to action or if it was the joblessness itself but whatever it was, I found myself leaning forward to ask him 'how far' when he followed the same procedure for the 4th time in a row. As he turned to speak to me, I was over whelmed by the sudden urge to cry. My eyes filled with tears and at the same time, I wanted to puke his breath was bad as in bad!! Whether it was body odor or bad breath, i didn't want to know!! Men, who send me message?
I wove my hand and shook my head at him with the hope that he’d think I mistook him for someone I knew and ran out of the class, watery eyes and all.
When I returned, there was a student (...or man pretending to be a student; I can’t say if he was under the influence or not) in front of the class preaching.
i went to my seat and tried to resume my quest for higher knowledge. Buh! There I was red-eyed, battling sleep and struggling to read and this inconsiderate being was shouting at the top of his voice that hell was near.
I remember somewhere in the bible, there is a passage about there being a time for everything. So, him consuming my reading time and me praying to God for understanding; which of us was closer to hells gate? (Nneka could be the judge of that).
After 30 minutes of systems shutdown with no backup in sight. I packed my notes and padded off to the female hostel. I decided to sleep with my girlfriend Ivy tonight.
At the car park, there were still cars littered about; talk about oppressors! I was tempted to go and place my head on the glass of one of the tinted cars to see just what was so important that they couldn’t wait till dawn. Before I could give into my impulsive spirit, Ivy wandered outside and spotted me.
Hum… I guess now would be a good time to tell her about Thomas [well, the edited version of course!]
- TABBY
Thursday, May 20, 2010
Entry 05
WAKA DUKPE
Hi MTV! I am Swahita and this? This? This is definitely not my crib!! When the bus company advertised that their vehicles were the best choice to ‘travel in style’, I should have asked them to be a wee bit more specific. Buh, as uncomfortable as I am, I really don’t mind because why? I am in love!! This time, it’s different, it’s not like the time I was considering murdering someone’s aunty slash wife or wondering when the ‘second shoe would drop’. This time, I feel I feel…
as light as air! I feel like Mary Poppins dolling out spoonfuls of sugar, I feel like a politician going home with a Ghana-must-go-bag of money for seating in a very important meeting about nothing, I feel like the ‘Sylvester’ that got ‘tweety’.
I want to burst into song, I feel so la-la-la… gosh! I have never been happier. A passerby would mistake me for a woman that had been searching for a child for the past 12 years only to be told now that I am four months pregnant with triplets
(Even better than that).
His blessed and holy name is...
Max.
(If I were starring in an Indian movie, now would be a good time to break into a dance sequence).
Max, Max, Max. I looked at my wristwatch and counted; 2 hours, 30 minutes and 45 seconds.
I had been away from Max for that long only 2 hours yet it felt like longer. Max and I? here’s our magical story.
Once upon a time, there was a she-demon called Nneka, who also happened to pretend to be my friend sometimes, when she wasn’t possessed by the spirits of the outer realm, she was nice to me this story took place on one of such days...
Nneka was going for a show in Lagos sponsored by one of her oppressors, not wanting to leave me alone (so she could keep an eye on me) she invited me to tag along. Me as boring a human as I am and not having anything better to do decided to follow. [Of course we went via air; Nneka wouldn’t have it any other way]. It was my first time flying. After I got over my fear that we were going to crash, burn and die, I actually enjoyed the flight. On getting to Lagos, I was introduced to her latest ‘boyfriend’ and also his ‘associate’ I should have guessed (Nneka also doubled as a pimp). I decided to play along for a while and actually enjoyed the show. It was when I got fed up with the ‘associate’ calling me baby and asking how soon we could “leave here and go some place more private” that I offered to up and buy more drinks for myself and Nneka that I met him or more like bumped into him. I spilled half the contents of my drink on him and instead of me to apologize; I stood there gawking at him like he was the present Mr. President dancing on a pole at some exotic night club. He was unbelievably handsome (and I swear I could hear music playing from a distance). Whatever was on his mind, am not sure it was the same thought that was in my head next thing I knew, I was being dragged out of the arena by my elbow holding two paper cups of drink. I wonder how I must have looked but, funny enough, I didn’t struggle. To cut the long story short. The dude that dragged me out was Max, he thought I was his sick niece that he lost in the arena and he was taking me home. After exchanging apologies, (me for the spill, and him for the drag) I offered to help him look for her. We found her in the ladies toilet; she bore a striking resemblance to me and incidentally, we wore similar outfits but there was the obvious height difference (age too) how he missed that? I do not know. We finished the rest of the show together, Nneka’s drink forgotten; we sat in each other’s embrace like an old married couple. Max is the funniest, darkest, sweetest and craziest of guys I have met in my 21 years of life! Nneka and I were to stay in Lag. For 3 days, but by day two, I got fed up with her and her various sweaty palmed, almost bald headed RMD wanna be’s I told her I was going back to school, packed my things and moved in with Max it was the best one night slash day of my life and his 9 year niece turned out to be an interesting hostess. The end!! wait, i forgot... and they lived happily ever after. The End!!!
So, MTV, as rickety as the bus is, the cramp slowly climbing up my leg and filling me with the feeling that soon I would be a crippled wanderer doesn’t make me worry. Rather, it feels like the clutches of the wicked step mother dragging me away from my true love after the poisoned apple failed to work [romantic isn’t it?] it is one small price to pay because I know soon, me and Max would be reunited once more.
Oh and Nneka called to tell me she had added a day to her trip. The she left the man she was with and ‘upgraded’ to a better ‘Maga’ I don’t think me seated in the tightly packed bus would be a good venue to school and educate her on HIV, STD’s and the benefits of a one man one woman relationship (maybe there is an exception for hell spawns) buh, whatever! At the moment, all I care about is my dearly beloved.
- TABBY
Hi MTV! I am Swahita and this? This? This is definitely not my crib!! When the bus company advertised that their vehicles were the best choice to ‘travel in style’, I should have asked them to be a wee bit more specific. Buh, as uncomfortable as I am, I really don’t mind because why? I am in love!! This time, it’s different, it’s not like the time I was considering murdering someone’s aunty slash wife or wondering when the ‘second shoe would drop’. This time, I feel I feel…
as light as air! I feel like Mary Poppins dolling out spoonfuls of sugar, I feel like a politician going home with a Ghana-must-go-bag of money for seating in a very important meeting about nothing, I feel like the ‘Sylvester’ that got ‘tweety’.
I want to burst into song, I feel so la-la-la… gosh! I have never been happier. A passerby would mistake me for a woman that had been searching for a child for the past 12 years only to be told now that I am four months pregnant with triplets
(Even better than that).
His blessed and holy name is...
Max.
(If I were starring in an Indian movie, now would be a good time to break into a dance sequence).
Max, Max, Max. I looked at my wristwatch and counted; 2 hours, 30 minutes and 45 seconds.
I had been away from Max for that long only 2 hours yet it felt like longer. Max and I? here’s our magical story.
Once upon a time, there was a she-demon called Nneka, who also happened to pretend to be my friend sometimes, when she wasn’t possessed by the spirits of the outer realm, she was nice to me this story took place on one of such days...
Nneka was going for a show in Lagos sponsored by one of her oppressors, not wanting to leave me alone (so she could keep an eye on me) she invited me to tag along. Me as boring a human as I am and not having anything better to do decided to follow. [Of course we went via air; Nneka wouldn’t have it any other way]. It was my first time flying. After I got over my fear that we were going to crash, burn and die, I actually enjoyed the flight. On getting to Lagos, I was introduced to her latest ‘boyfriend’ and also his ‘associate’ I should have guessed (Nneka also doubled as a pimp). I decided to play along for a while and actually enjoyed the show. It was when I got fed up with the ‘associate’ calling me baby and asking how soon we could “leave here and go some place more private” that I offered to up and buy more drinks for myself and Nneka that I met him or more like bumped into him. I spilled half the contents of my drink on him and instead of me to apologize; I stood there gawking at him like he was the present Mr. President dancing on a pole at some exotic night club. He was unbelievably handsome (and I swear I could hear music playing from a distance). Whatever was on his mind, am not sure it was the same thought that was in my head next thing I knew, I was being dragged out of the arena by my elbow holding two paper cups of drink. I wonder how I must have looked but, funny enough, I didn’t struggle. To cut the long story short. The dude that dragged me out was Max, he thought I was his sick niece that he lost in the arena and he was taking me home. After exchanging apologies, (me for the spill, and him for the drag) I offered to help him look for her. We found her in the ladies toilet; she bore a striking resemblance to me and incidentally, we wore similar outfits but there was the obvious height difference (age too) how he missed that? I do not know. We finished the rest of the show together, Nneka’s drink forgotten; we sat in each other’s embrace like an old married couple. Max is the funniest, darkest, sweetest and craziest of guys I have met in my 21 years of life! Nneka and I were to stay in Lag. For 3 days, but by day two, I got fed up with her and her various sweaty palmed, almost bald headed RMD wanna be’s I told her I was going back to school, packed my things and moved in with Max it was the best one night slash day of my life and his 9 year niece turned out to be an interesting hostess. The end!! wait, i forgot... and they lived happily ever after. The End!!!
So, MTV, as rickety as the bus is, the cramp slowly climbing up my leg and filling me with the feeling that soon I would be a crippled wanderer doesn’t make me worry. Rather, it feels like the clutches of the wicked step mother dragging me away from my true love after the poisoned apple failed to work [romantic isn’t it?] it is one small price to pay because I know soon, me and Max would be reunited once more.
Oh and Nneka called to tell me she had added a day to her trip. The she left the man she was with and ‘upgraded’ to a better ‘Maga’ I don’t think me seated in the tightly packed bus would be a good venue to school and educate her on HIV, STD’s and the benefits of a one man one woman relationship (maybe there is an exception for hell spawns) buh, whatever! At the moment, all I care about is my dearly beloved.
- TABBY
Wednesday, May 19, 2010
Entry 02
HUM TUM (YOU AND I)
So what?! I lied. Everybody lies. I don’t know what brought up the discussion or how Dr. Dash and Kufre became fasts friends but, whatever the reason, somehow, my age came up during their conversation although he didn’t correct him or anything (score one for the doctor), after Kufre left, Dash reported me to mother who in turn asked me why I was lying about my age. I didn’t give her any answer. First, I don’t know how it concerns them or if my actual age would reduce the price of rice in the market/ heal Mr. President buh! Whatever their reason, if they are not selling, I wouldn’t by. My age is mine 24, 18 or 21 its mine to do with as I please. hum they should be happy I increased the age. I know one or more women who reduce their ages on a regular basis and let’s not forget footballers, football age? buh!!
So, Kufre and I went to hang out at the plaza I can’t remember what it was that brought up the fight between us but, I remember that it wasn’t my fault. By the time we arrived at campus, I told Kufre that I wasn’t going to sleep at either my place or his place; I said I was going to the girl’s hostel to hang out. He was like, I was still mad at him but I told him I wasn’t I just wasn’t feeling him at that moment. Besides, every now and then, a girl needed her space. I can’t remember where I read or heard it [probably one of those Christian magazines] but, they said that a girl should learn how to differentiate between her husband and her boyfriend. So, after stopping briefly at my room to grab my toothbrush and change of clothes, I made my way to the hostel. On my way, I spotted Nneka [I hope she didn’t see me though] she was seated in the back seat of a ‘discussion continues’ Honda. I guess she was going for her one of her many weekend rendezvous [her and her numerous ‘oppressors’]. I got to the hostel and made my way to my friend Ivy’s room. Along the way, I reviewed the rules for surviving in the hostel. One; never walk close to the edge of the passage because if anything from the higher blocks should fall on you, you have yourself to blame. Two; as pretty as they may look, do not touch flowers, shrubs or tree branches that do not go past your waist because after dark, they make nice spots for taking a leak/ pissing and finally three; if from 9pm, you see varied assortment of naked female body’s lined on the passage hurriedly taking their bath, do not ask why; the bathroom is believed to carry diseases so, there is no way u’d expect a future mother of nations and wife of husbands to bath there and pick up some alien life form. Ivy was in the room!! After exchange pleasantries, I sat on her bunk while she made noodles for me. From the next room, I could over hear a quarrel that was taking place. Corner ‘a’ girl had snatched corner ‘b’ girls boyfriend and corner ‘b’ girl was saying it was payback for when corner ‘a’ girl stole her sugar daddy. There was more shouting and then other voices joined the fight. I looked at my wristwatch and gasped. How time flies! It was a few minutes to ten. Ivy had run out of pure water and if I didn’t hurry, the small shop in the hostel ‘common room’ would close for the day. I grabbed a handful of change and raced out of ivy’s room, past the quarreling roommates and towards the direction of the ‘common room’. Too late! As I approached, the cute but smallish looking guy that insisted I call him ‘sweetheart’ (he was in charge of the ‘common room’ shop) was locking the door to the shop. I dodged away before I was spotted by him that I told him ‘hi’ and ‘bye’ on more occasions than I pleased did not mean I was shopping for ‘little people’ to love. The shop was closed so, I’d have to go out of the hostel to the one of the ‘table display’ shopping centers. No problem. I strolled out of the hostel and walked in that direction. Luckily, they hadn’t closed so; I got water, onions and some biscuits and went back to the hostel. Proceeding to ivy’s room, I noticed some girls in the volley ball court that weren’t there before. Two were holding unto the next and shaking in prayer on was rolling on the floor another stood over her like she was in the process of exorcising her while the last sat on the floor, legs spread in front of her with her hands on her head. My first thought was to take a picture of the scene but a little voice told me not to, who knows if it was really ‘exorcism’ they were doing, the ‘thing’ could pass through the camera lens and jump into my body. I knew neither I nor my beloved boyfriend Kufre would approve of that. I continued my journey until once again I was seated on ivy’s buck. The quarrel in the next room had taken a different tone. Also the voices were different this time, the issue was that there was a suspected witch in the room and if she wasn’t scared, she should let them use a stick of broom to flog her. I folded my hands under my head and leaned back on the bed. Whoever said life in the hostel was boring and monotonous?
- TABBY
So what?! I lied. Everybody lies. I don’t know what brought up the discussion or how Dr. Dash and Kufre became fasts friends but, whatever the reason, somehow, my age came up during their conversation although he didn’t correct him or anything (score one for the doctor), after Kufre left, Dash reported me to mother who in turn asked me why I was lying about my age. I didn’t give her any answer. First, I don’t know how it concerns them or if my actual age would reduce the price of rice in the market/ heal Mr. President buh! Whatever their reason, if they are not selling, I wouldn’t by. My age is mine 24, 18 or 21 its mine to do with as I please. hum they should be happy I increased the age. I know one or more women who reduce their ages on a regular basis and let’s not forget footballers, football age? buh!!
So, Kufre and I went to hang out at the plaza I can’t remember what it was that brought up the fight between us but, I remember that it wasn’t my fault. By the time we arrived at campus, I told Kufre that I wasn’t going to sleep at either my place or his place; I said I was going to the girl’s hostel to hang out. He was like, I was still mad at him but I told him I wasn’t I just wasn’t feeling him at that moment. Besides, every now and then, a girl needed her space. I can’t remember where I read or heard it [probably one of those Christian magazines] but, they said that a girl should learn how to differentiate between her husband and her boyfriend. So, after stopping briefly at my room to grab my toothbrush and change of clothes, I made my way to the hostel. On my way, I spotted Nneka [I hope she didn’t see me though] she was seated in the back seat of a ‘discussion continues’ Honda. I guess she was going for her one of her many weekend rendezvous [her and her numerous ‘oppressors’]. I got to the hostel and made my way to my friend Ivy’s room. Along the way, I reviewed the rules for surviving in the hostel. One; never walk close to the edge of the passage because if anything from the higher blocks should fall on you, you have yourself to blame. Two; as pretty as they may look, do not touch flowers, shrubs or tree branches that do not go past your waist because after dark, they make nice spots for taking a leak/ pissing and finally three; if from 9pm, you see varied assortment of naked female body’s lined on the passage hurriedly taking their bath, do not ask why; the bathroom is believed to carry diseases so, there is no way u’d expect a future mother of nations and wife of husbands to bath there and pick up some alien life form. Ivy was in the room!! After exchange pleasantries, I sat on her bunk while she made noodles for me. From the next room, I could over hear a quarrel that was taking place. Corner ‘a’ girl had snatched corner ‘b’ girls boyfriend and corner ‘b’ girl was saying it was payback for when corner ‘a’ girl stole her sugar daddy. There was more shouting and then other voices joined the fight. I looked at my wristwatch and gasped. How time flies! It was a few minutes to ten. Ivy had run out of pure water and if I didn’t hurry, the small shop in the hostel ‘common room’ would close for the day. I grabbed a handful of change and raced out of ivy’s room, past the quarreling roommates and towards the direction of the ‘common room’. Too late! As I approached, the cute but smallish looking guy that insisted I call him ‘sweetheart’ (he was in charge of the ‘common room’ shop) was locking the door to the shop. I dodged away before I was spotted by him that I told him ‘hi’ and ‘bye’ on more occasions than I pleased did not mean I was shopping for ‘little people’ to love. The shop was closed so, I’d have to go out of the hostel to the one of the ‘table display’ shopping centers. No problem. I strolled out of the hostel and walked in that direction. Luckily, they hadn’t closed so; I got water, onions and some biscuits and went back to the hostel. Proceeding to ivy’s room, I noticed some girls in the volley ball court that weren’t there before. Two were holding unto the next and shaking in prayer on was rolling on the floor another stood over her like she was in the process of exorcising her while the last sat on the floor, legs spread in front of her with her hands on her head. My first thought was to take a picture of the scene but a little voice told me not to, who knows if it was really ‘exorcism’ they were doing, the ‘thing’ could pass through the camera lens and jump into my body. I knew neither I nor my beloved boyfriend Kufre would approve of that. I continued my journey until once again I was seated on ivy’s buck. The quarrel in the next room had taken a different tone. Also the voices were different this time, the issue was that there was a suspected witch in the room and if she wasn’t scared, she should let them use a stick of broom to flog her. I folded my hands under my head and leaned back on the bed. Whoever said life in the hostel was boring and monotonous?
- TABBY
Tuesday, May 18, 2010
Entry 15
DREAMS
See me see wahala o! Wetin concern 'agbero' with over load? [Well, that is aside from the fact that the 'agbero' would still be the one to carry the ‘overload’ a fact which would and SHOULD affect the overall price for work done]
Still, since when did prayer meeting become a place to pick up girls and meet eligible bachelors?
Hello, worshiping G*d here?
I mean, at first, it was cute that them yahoo boys and cultist had surrendered their arms and sought the face of G*d but when grand mistress Nneka almost broke down my room door with the warning that I should tell my so called Christian sister to stay clear of her boyfriend else there’d be hell to pay I decided to sit up.
It occurred to me that my bible hugging tree buddies were not what they appeared to be.
Fanatics isn’t a word am too comfortable using.
...Because brother Simon never saw me at fellowship, he concluded I was a ‘worldly’ girl and made it a point of duty to do a special prayer session with the intention that my soul return to G*d.
...Sister Nwaka always preached to me about being my brother’s keeper yet she stood back and watched while my science project got soaked and destroyed by the rain. When I confronted her, she said she was praying at that moment besides, G*d probably had a reason for destroying my project.
It took all I had to stop me from hitting her over the head with the prayer book she was studying and throttling her there and then.
G*d had a reason for destroying my 5,000 Naira project which I begged her to watch for me? Buh!
I believe in G*d, he died for me, he loves me unconditionally a privilege I DO NOT THINK I deserve but still, he continues to bless me.
[ I was in a bus that ‘flew’ for crying out loud!]
I am alive today not by my doing but by the power of a being greater than I.
When ‘these people’ put on airs and nasty attitudes in the name of being part of the chosen tribe of heaven, it gets me so mad.
Buh, what makes them so different from the priest and Levite that had left the Jewish trader to die save for the Good Samaritan who turned the other cheek and bent to help?
Buh, this is me signing out of this foolish game of charades.
Buh, maybe I’d talk to Nneka about the idea and start my own church sef!
Now, I have to run else, I’d be late for choir practice!!
- TABBY
See me see wahala o! Wetin concern 'agbero' with over load? [Well, that is aside from the fact that the 'agbero' would still be the one to carry the ‘overload’ a fact which would and SHOULD affect the overall price for work done]
Still, since when did prayer meeting become a place to pick up girls and meet eligible bachelors?
Hello, worshiping G*d here?
I mean, at first, it was cute that them yahoo boys and cultist had surrendered their arms and sought the face of G*d but when grand mistress Nneka almost broke down my room door with the warning that I should tell my so called Christian sister to stay clear of her boyfriend else there’d be hell to pay I decided to sit up.
It occurred to me that my bible hugging tree buddies were not what they appeared to be.
Fanatics isn’t a word am too comfortable using.
...Because brother Simon never saw me at fellowship, he concluded I was a ‘worldly’ girl and made it a point of duty to do a special prayer session with the intention that my soul return to G*d.
...Sister Nwaka always preached to me about being my brother’s keeper yet she stood back and watched while my science project got soaked and destroyed by the rain. When I confronted her, she said she was praying at that moment besides, G*d probably had a reason for destroying my project.
It took all I had to stop me from hitting her over the head with the prayer book she was studying and throttling her there and then.
G*d had a reason for destroying my 5,000 Naira project which I begged her to watch for me? Buh!
I believe in G*d, he died for me, he loves me unconditionally a privilege I DO NOT THINK I deserve but still, he continues to bless me.
[ I was in a bus that ‘flew’ for crying out loud!]
I am alive today not by my doing but by the power of a being greater than I.
When ‘these people’ put on airs and nasty attitudes in the name of being part of the chosen tribe of heaven, it gets me so mad.
Buh, what makes them so different from the priest and Levite that had left the Jewish trader to die save for the Good Samaritan who turned the other cheek and bent to help?
Buh, this is me signing out of this foolish game of charades.
Buh, maybe I’d talk to Nneka about the idea and start my own church sef!
Now, I have to run else, I’d be late for choir practice!!
- TABBY
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