UNPRECEDENTED
*dancing* my birthday is coming, my birthday is coming!
Buh, I love to make me believe I am a love child sometimes. I mean, its not easy to be born in the month of February.
February is a very special month because for one, its the only month that can decide the number of days it'd have. Two its the month for lovers and three? ITS THE MONTH I WAS BORN! Ideally if I had been born September, October or November, I'da been sure my parents did the \umbalumba/ in the month of February (on St. Valentine's Day maybe?) But, since I WAS BORN February, I might have been conceived on any regular day when my daddy decided to play hooky and call in sick from work and blah-blah-blah.
I wish my daddy were still alive, it's been almost 10 years since he's been gone but it doesn't make me miss him any less.
Sean is a great person, a great dad even but, he is not my daddy.
I get so scared when sometimes, I can't remember certain stuffs about my daddy, like the way his eyes would light up when he laughs at a funny story, how he's eyes would twinkle by candle light in the darkness when we sat making shadow people while 'watching and waiting' for NEPA to return power. I am afraid that soon, my daddy would become another face in my picture album.
Birthdays are depressing.
On the bright side, I got a call. *wink*
Out of the blue, one Engineer Tom proposed a birthday fiesta for me.
I wouldn't bother too much on how he knew my birthday or what 'birthday fiesta' entails. My only pause is the unanswered question: does this dude understand the meaning of being married? As in the for-better-for-worse-and-eyes-only-for-you kindda thing? Maybe if am feeling generous, I'd spare a lesson in "love and mutual respect" for him. That aside, let the games begin! February 4th can't come soon enough.
Right after February 14th, lovers day. Although not my birthday (thank G*d) it still pulls quite a measure of weight.
Right after Christmas and Easter, comes the next best day for massive sales and market movement.
From rushing to boutiques to purchase killer dresses with 'a touch of red', to planning the perfect day and finally doing last minute shopping for 'thoughtful' gifts for 'that special one' *batting eyelashes* (yeah right)
Buh, people become so caught up with the business aspect of the day that they lose focus of what St. Valentine Day really is about. Buh, talk a walk to any popular shopping complex say two days to the Saints feast. Believe me, your center of gravity would tilt just a teeny bit. There'd be so much cute little red hearts, Cupid's hanging from strings and glossy red balloons that you'd be sure to "see red". Granted am not forming Saint Tabitha (buh the lady prophet from the bible is enough 'holy Tabitha' to last for a while) and denouncing all little velvet boxes and candy treats geared towards getting me all "musshied" up in knots buh, getting musshied up is good! (He had better send me loads of red boxes or else...)
My point is that, it is Valentines Day after all!
A time for love and affection, right?
So, rather than worry if I'm going to get "any" or not, I should concern myself with positive means of sharing and giving.
One funny fact about the day is that the feast contains vestiges of both Christian and ancient roman tradition!
The feast begun in a bid to Christianize the pagan 'Lupercalia' festival (-some sort of fertility gig that the ancient Romans had going, it involved a couple of dead dogs and goats, I wouldn't want to linger too much on "that" topic) so, the big guns gathered in the place of meeting and were like: since the birds were already having a fun swing at the month of February as the month of coupling (picking mates and pairing up) why not the humans too? Hence a day was born!
The Catholic Church recognizes 3 saints named Valentine (all of who were martyred) one a priest at Rome, one a bishop and the last lived and died in Africa (yippee).
At this point, I'd like to confess that I am quite confused. When I begun this entry, I had it in mind to preach fire and brimstone on all who took advantage of the Feb. 14th propaganda but that was when I was seated all by myself in the reading hall. I looked up to discover this 'fruit of the earth slash brown sugar' he's looking quite edible seated all by himself with his head bent into a book. I tried to ignore him but with the way my pulse has been ticking and all the blood pumping in my ears, to do so any longer would prove disastrous (to my health that is). So it being the month of love after all, I'm going to close this educational books of mine and shimmy down the hall.
Exams starts like tomorrow but who cares right?!
- Tabby
Sunday, February 13, 2011
Monday, February 7, 2011
Entry 38
UNLIKELY
Seriously, I simply can’t decide which I hate the most; waiting at the dentist or waiting in the banking halls. Buh, which really do I prefer? One of them would cause me a short term pain and release me for a long stretch of pleasure plus killer smile the other would cause me a short time pain and--- and? Buh, I don’t know what I gain from banks.
Given, they keep my money for me, make me feel guilty when I go past my quota and are a general pain in the \whoohaa/ when it comes to honesty. Their customer service sucks, the cashiers need a lesson or two in being nice to customers and need I talk about the “cockroach letter” they send to you if by no fault of yours but due to the ingenious efforts of them “Y boys” you get robbed? Am so deep in hate with banks that I almost forgot what got me started in the first place!
Buh, I better clean up my act before next thing I know, I’d be taken in for questioning concerning the disappearance of certain bank staff. Ha! That would be so funny (but not such a bad idea though, i.e. making a staff disappear every now and then until they learn to be nice to people. They could name the act a form of ‘hands on protest’).
On the other hand, dentistry or hospitals as a whole are a ‘here or there’ kindda thing. There is a difference between private hospitals and teaching hospitals. For starters, Dr Dash (oops!) correction Dr. Eyikimi works at the teaching hospital and he is very good at what he does! I believe the problem of teaching hospitals lie within the system; the long wait, the lack of proper functioning materials and the fact that since its government work, the staff can decide to up and go on strike anytime not bothering that their patients might not be so cool with their streak of boldness. Whereas the private people are always available and are in tune to your needs et al (they even offer candy and lollipop in some cases) they can’t be compared to the teaching hospitals which offer an all round medical checkup even if you went to say the dentist for say… a toothache?
I guess after cursing and swearing for the doctors and staff of teaching hospital, I’d be among the first people to cast my vote for their continued existence (I can’t say I’d do the same for bankers though-> Die! Die! Die!! All my enemies die). They are a nice bunch, I envy their comradeship and the way they consult with “the higher authority” before going further on any treatment. My only fear is that if anyone of their staff or either one of the students being taught should mistakenly leave a ‘happy’ scissors in my tummy after an appendectomy, if I am lucky to walk away with my life, I can’t sue for negligence. Rather I should be grateful because after all, IT IS A TEACHING HOSPITAL “these mistakes do happen”.
Madams’ whimpering brings me back to the present, time for introduction.
Hello world, meet my little sister; Annabel Lilia Sean-Eyikimi.
Of late, I have come to realize that shrinks don’t really know how to control people and all that; most of the controlling done in this life is done by mothers and (funny enough) “Pinky”.
True Story:
Dr. Dash and mother visited orphanage children’s home made their rounds and were leaving when they noticed a baby by itself in a corner. The people in charge had put it aside because not only was the baby a “born throway”, according to them, it was an evil child destined to die. The baby had a hole in its mouth and was seen as a bad omen.
Mother thought otherwise and decided it was high time her and Dr. Dash (I mean Dr. Eyikimi Sean) had another child. A series of paperwork, background checks and months later, baby Annabel, Lilia Sean-Eyikimi was brought home.
My little sister!
She has cleft lip; her appointment with the dentist was scheduled for today. Sean had an important conference to attend in India and decided it could also double as an opportunity for mother to check with the doctors to make sure her cancer was in remission so he made arrangements for mother to travel with him. Not wanting their precious baby to miss her appointment, they put me in charge of taking Annabel to the dentist and supervising her treatment until they return.
Like I mind?! Hole in mouth aside, Annabel is still the cutest baby ever. Given the fact that she also got the mouthful names like yours truly, I can’t help but love her. So, rather than seat and be mad at the lacking state of things at the hospital, I can lose myself in the dream that one day I’d be so very rich, buy all the banks in Nigeria (apart from one- name withheld) and lease the buildings out to ‘mama-put’’s and bole roasters! They are obviously a whole nicer lot!!
- Tabby
Seriously, I simply can’t decide which I hate the most; waiting at the dentist or waiting in the banking halls. Buh, which really do I prefer? One of them would cause me a short term pain and release me for a long stretch of pleasure plus killer smile the other would cause me a short time pain and--- and? Buh, I don’t know what I gain from banks.
Given, they keep my money for me, make me feel guilty when I go past my quota and are a general pain in the \whoohaa/ when it comes to honesty. Their customer service sucks, the cashiers need a lesson or two in being nice to customers and need I talk about the “cockroach letter” they send to you if by no fault of yours but due to the ingenious efforts of them “Y boys” you get robbed? Am so deep in hate with banks that I almost forgot what got me started in the first place!
Buh, I better clean up my act before next thing I know, I’d be taken in for questioning concerning the disappearance of certain bank staff. Ha! That would be so funny (but not such a bad idea though, i.e. making a staff disappear every now and then until they learn to be nice to people. They could name the act a form of ‘hands on protest’).
On the other hand, dentistry or hospitals as a whole are a ‘here or there’ kindda thing. There is a difference between private hospitals and teaching hospitals. For starters, Dr Dash (oops!) correction Dr. Eyikimi works at the teaching hospital and he is very good at what he does! I believe the problem of teaching hospitals lie within the system; the long wait, the lack of proper functioning materials and the fact that since its government work, the staff can decide to up and go on strike anytime not bothering that their patients might not be so cool with their streak of boldness. Whereas the private people are always available and are in tune to your needs et al (they even offer candy and lollipop in some cases) they can’t be compared to the teaching hospitals which offer an all round medical checkup even if you went to say the dentist for say… a toothache?
I guess after cursing and swearing for the doctors and staff of teaching hospital, I’d be among the first people to cast my vote for their continued existence (I can’t say I’d do the same for bankers though-> Die! Die! Die!! All my enemies die). They are a nice bunch, I envy their comradeship and the way they consult with “the higher authority” before going further on any treatment. My only fear is that if anyone of their staff or either one of the students being taught should mistakenly leave a ‘happy’ scissors in my tummy after an appendectomy, if I am lucky to walk away with my life, I can’t sue for negligence. Rather I should be grateful because after all, IT IS A TEACHING HOSPITAL “these mistakes do happen”.
Madams’ whimpering brings me back to the present, time for introduction.
Hello world, meet my little sister; Annabel Lilia Sean-Eyikimi.
Of late, I have come to realize that shrinks don’t really know how to control people and all that; most of the controlling done in this life is done by mothers and (funny enough) “Pinky”.
True Story:
Dr. Dash and mother visited orphanage children’s home made their rounds and were leaving when they noticed a baby by itself in a corner. The people in charge had put it aside because not only was the baby a “born throway”, according to them, it was an evil child destined to die. The baby had a hole in its mouth and was seen as a bad omen.
Mother thought otherwise and decided it was high time her and Dr. Dash (I mean Dr. Eyikimi Sean) had another child. A series of paperwork, background checks and months later, baby Annabel, Lilia Sean-Eyikimi was brought home.
My little sister!
She has cleft lip; her appointment with the dentist was scheduled for today. Sean had an important conference to attend in India and decided it could also double as an opportunity for mother to check with the doctors to make sure her cancer was in remission so he made arrangements for mother to travel with him. Not wanting their precious baby to miss her appointment, they put me in charge of taking Annabel to the dentist and supervising her treatment until they return.
Like I mind?! Hole in mouth aside, Annabel is still the cutest baby ever. Given the fact that she also got the mouthful names like yours truly, I can’t help but love her. So, rather than seat and be mad at the lacking state of things at the hospital, I can lose myself in the dream that one day I’d be so very rich, buy all the banks in Nigeria (apart from one- name withheld) and lease the buildings out to ‘mama-put’’s and bole roasters! They are obviously a whole nicer lot!!
- Tabby
Thursday, December 30, 2010
Entry 37
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
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
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
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