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
Saturday, October 9, 2010
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
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