THAWED... PT 6

source: graphicriver.

Hi darlings,


I hope you guys are doing great. I have thought about you everyday that I was gone. We've got so much to talk about but before we get there, I'd like to drop THAWED (Part 6) here for you. A lot of people reached out to me, asking for it and I'm sorry it took so long.


Just in case you're just hearing about Thawed, it's an amazing, unconventional Nigerian love story that you don't want to miss out on. I'll drop links to the previous episodes before posting the 6th part so that those who have some catching up to do can do just that.


Here we go:
THAWED (PT 1)
THAWED (PT 2)
THAWED (PT 3)
THAWED (PT 4)
THAWED (PT 5)

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THAWED (PT 6):

“Edi where have you been? Aniekan and Edidiong have been trying to call you. Ehn? And why do you look so harassed?” my mother started as soon as I walked through the door. “Mummy good morning.” I mouthed barely audibly. “Are you okay?” he tone changed after she took a good look at me. “I am just really weak.” “Ewo! Nwa m, oya sit down” she moved the teddy bear Didi must have kept on the sofa unto another chair. I hit the seat with a moan. “Mummy where are the girls?” I asked, straining to hear their voices or the sound of the T.V. “Aniekan is rounding up her packing. Edidiong is helping her out. They probably got tired of waiting for you” “I’m sorry. Things took an unexpected turn and I just couldn’t get here any faster. The pang of hunger I felt seemed unfair to me given that I had had something to snack on not too long ago. Perhaps I’d feel better after a short nap.

After I had gotten back from the café, I had asked Nana to go get dressed while I waited for her. Unfortunately, I slept off and Nini who I was really bothered about did not deem it fit to wake me up cuz she got carried away by some movie. So I woke up really late and mad as hell. The kids got a major dose of scolds and of course, I blamed my mum too, for not waking me up. I still felt like shit so driving was the least of the available options. The house was as quiet as a graveyard with everyone staying out of my way. I tried to yell two drivers into making the trip but the ol’ sports just wouldn’t budge. With the hostel mistress calling me incessantly and getting ignored consistently, I knew I had one last call to make.

“I hoped this call would come sooner” he said smugly without bothering with greetings. “I got home, slept off and now, I’ve got to get her to school one way or another cuz there’s no way she’s missing exams tomorrow because her mum had a crappy weekend.” “That’s okay. I’ve got some time to spare. Is the coffee shop good for a meeting place?” I wonder why he sounds amused. Anyway, I wouldn’t indulge him seeing as there were more pressing matters on my mind. “Yes, that’s fine. My car.” I said placidly. He seemed not to mind my tone, said he’d see me in ten minutes and hung up. I quickly got Aniekan’s duffel bag into the car and made sure she was properly dressed. Didi cried, insisting that she’d come with us but at this time, I wanted to be careful about how much of me Amanze had access to and that includes my children. Why the hell can’t I even drive my daughter to school? I mean Ogun state is just around the corner. As soon as another bang went off it my head, I remembered why. There was no way I could drive considering how I felt. I bribed Didi with 5 granola bars and a bar of Toblerone and all was well in the kingdom.

I parked right outside the coffee shop twenty minutes later. I didn’t see his car, assuming the one I saw at the fuel station is his only car, and I kinda doubt that. So I told Nini to sit tight while I went in to check if Amanze was already waiting. He sat with ear phones plugged in, and a copy of some Japanese manga in his hands. This guy is just something, I thought as I walked towards him. He had his back to me and as soon as I stretched out to tap him, he turned and smiled. “I could smell you. That’s beautiful way to announce one’s presence.” “Whatever you say” I retorted as I turned towards the door. In a second, he was beside me, taking long strides towards the exit. “This is Aniekan right?” “Yes. Everybody calls her Nini.” “Hmmm…I like Aniekan or Annie” he said as he held the door open for me. “Do you ever stick to the books?” I asked dryly. I felt like crap and did not have enough in me for witty banters with Amanze. I walked to the front passenger’s seat and let him take the wheel. He got in, adjusted his seat to his comfort and then turned to Nini. “Hi Annie. I’m Amanze. I’ve heard so much about you.” “Good evening. My name is Nini. It’s nice to meet you” said Nini looking up from her Manga. I almost laughed. I knew Nini would insist on being introduced as Nini. “You read Mangas too?” he asked with genuine interest. “Yes. There really cool. I read the girly kind but my brothers like the ones filled with fights and blood. Boys are so weird.” “I know we are. So what class are you in?” “I am in JS 1” she replied proudly. She lets everyone know that she’s no longer in primary school. “Guys let’s get going. We don’t have time.” I said interrupting their conversation. This guy had a way of just making everybody get comfortable with him. “Yeah…let’s.” he started the car smiling to himself. Nini quickly went back to her manga. After a few minutes, I noticed him look at Nini through his rear mirror and smile to himself. I felt my stomach tug at me some, and then pushed all thoughts away from my mind as I faced the window.

The trip must have been interesting. I could sort of hear Aniekan and Amanze chatter away in my sleep. I was just too tired to register anything going on and although it wasn’t the most comfortable sleep, I was glad that I could close my eyes for a minute. Unlike I expected, he didn’t wake me up now and again to ask for directions. “Edima, we’re here.” I opened my eyes to find us at my daughter’s school. Nini was already trying to get down. “Hold up young woman.” I said still trying to boot. “Let’s pray” I said not mind whether or not our guest would be uncomfortable. I prayed over my daughter and got off to have a word with the matron. From the corner of my eye, I noticed Amanze helping her get out the duffel bag from the trunk of the car. This man is trouble I thought as I made my trip to the next block of buildings. On my return, I saw Amanze and Nini practicing some weird kind of handshake. Trust Aniekan to learn these things fast. “My friend come and get going” I said as I dragged her into a hug, partly to stop them from doing whatever it is they were doing. I kissed my daughter on the forehead and whispered blessings to her. As if on cue, I heard the click of a camera. “What was that for?” I asked a bit cross. This time he didn’t look amused or naughty. “Twenty years from now, you’ll treasure this picture more than almost everything. So you do not get to be mad.” Where did all this seriousness come from? I returned my attention to Nini as I let her go and watched as my baby walked towards what she’d call home for the next two months. The boys could not come to say hi. This wasn’t visiting hours and there was nothing I could do to change the minds of those in charge. I had given Nini a bunch of stuff for I got into the car and quickly wiped off a stray tear before Amanze would get into the car.

“Are you good?” he asked still looking at me with a healthy dose of seriousness. I was in no mood for this man’s intensity. “Allergies” I lied swiftly. “You should be driving” I added impatiently. No, I should calm down. I was directly and indirectly letting him see too much. I quickly willed myself to stop being emotional. “Thank you for doing this” I said with a small smile as calmly as I could manage. He just nodded and started the car as the engine purred to life. We were quiet for most of the journey apart from a few comments from me here and there. We just kept nodding or handing me half-baked smiles. The traffic jam as a result of people returning to Lagos for work, from redemption camp and Canaan land was building up rapidly and soon, we barely moved for seconds before stopping for minutes. I was still facing the window with my shades on. It was a few minutes passed six and although it wasn’t dark yet, it was definitely not the moment for wearing shades. I took a gulp of water and replaced the bottle in the holster. Just as I was about to return the hand to my lap where I picked it up from, Amanze took it. I tried to pull my hand away but instead he interlocked our fingers and smiled. “Edima relax. This won’t hurt. I hear holding hands helps with relaxation and that’s just what you need.” I stopped fighting and turned to the window as I drifted into sleep.

“We are here.” I woke up with my hands still in Amanze’s. It was dark already. How had he managed to drive with just one free hand? “What time is it?” I asked. “Time enough for you to grab a meal.” That was when I noticed where we were; right in front of Nri. “What are we doing here?” I asked genuinely surprised. “I don’t know where you live so I figured you could eat something so that you could be strong enough to drive yourself home.” I took my hands back and this time, he didn’t oppose. I popped a mint in my mouth and took a sip of water. “Fine. Thank you.” “Right. We should get going. They won’t serve the food here.”

I am back here, I thought as I sat trying to feign aloofness. This was my first time back at Nri after I swore to forget her and her amazing food, and of course, her owner as well. More than anything, I couldn’t wait to eat. The Lord knows I deserve a good meal after the kind of crappy weekend I’d just had. The place was still as beautiful as I remember. Nothing had really changed. The air was sweet and heavy with something floral. The light was subtle yet bright enough to cast beams on the brown shiny wooden surfaces here and there. And jazz flowed from the speakers… absolutely amazing. The place wasn’t packed with people; just about four couples, each pair looking dreamy as they spoke with each other between mouthfuls of whatever piece of heaven they had ordered. I sat alone, waiting for him. He came back with a bottle of wine and two glasses. We got a space for two at one of the cubicles so it was really secluded…private. There was a chair, more like a high sofa, for two and a table both facing the window. So we had to sit on the chair together. I was so tired that I sat leaning forward and resting my elbows on the table with my thumbs to my temples. “You can lean on me, you know?” he offered as he plopped down beside me. “I’ll be fine. I just need to go to bed.” “Here. You’ll feel better.” He said calmly handing me a glass of wine as though he didn’t hear me. “I can’t do any alcohol.” I said still retaining my position. “You should learn to trust some more.” I sat up and took a long gulp. “What are these made from? They taste so different.” I said barely audible as I leaned back on the sofa. “Cherries. You know, I’m beginning to get worried. Is this just fatigue or do you need to see a doctor? Is there anyone I can call to come drive you home?” “It’s just my mum and I don’t want her worrying about me. I’m sure the grubs will make me feel stronger.” I took more sips of the wine as we both sat silently, staring into the night.

“The weight you bear is beyond you Edima. You’re not fine anymore.” “What?” I asked half surprised, half trying to comprehend if he really just said that to me. “It’s been a long day my dear. You should be too tired to play pretend.” He said quietly as he took a sip from his glass. “I am okay.” “You’re not. I saw it the first time I saw you. I thought it was just passing through; that maybe some French wine would help some. I was wrong.” He continued. “I feel like I want to help you…but I don’t know if I can or if it’s in my place to do so.” I turned to face him this time. “You don’t know me Amanze. Nobody’s just an easy puzzle to unravel.” “I know Edima. You are not easy and I’m yet to decide on whether you should be unraveled.” Somehow, his words just did not sound like lines, if you know what I mean. He looked pretty serious, like he did when he took the picture of me and Nini. I stuttered a little and just shut my mouth. “Dinner’s here.” I said in the bid to clear the air. I had rice and some kind of curry sauce with little chunks of goat meat. It was so good and I really felt better. Amanze had a chicken salad and continued to sip on Cherry wine, all the while staring at me with an intensity that made my skin burn while I did my best to think of anything else but him. As soon as my meal was finished, I grabbed my phone and stood to leave. He stood up as well and led me to the elevator without any word. The ride down was short and the journey to the dark spot where my car was parked was even shorter. This all felt familiar; me walking to my car, trying to will myself to want to forget this same man. The difference was he was right here, walking with me and just being unintentionally unforgettable. “You don’t look like you want to see me anytime soon” he said as we came to a stop by the door of my car. How does he sense these things? “Thank you very much for today…with Nini and everything else.” “It’s okay. Thanks for letting me help.” He said as he held the door open for me. I started to get in when he grabbed my arm gently. “You could use some of this.” With that he pulled me into a bear hug. How could a person see everything but how he was part of the problem. I clung to him, his scent- he smelled like heaven. I held unto the possibility of what danced round my mind as misty as it may seem. And he hugged me right back. I disentangled myself from him and got into my car. He stood with an arm on the roof of the door looking at me like he always did. I fumbled with my keys a little and ignited the engine. He leaned in. “Will you be alright?” “I will be.” And our lips met. This time, the shock reverberated through my body. What business did I have doing this? My heart was thumping erratically, threatening to break out of its cage. Amidst all this chaos, it was a gentle kiss. I could taste the cherry wine on his tongue and the need that flowed through him too. His hand came up to my face, gently positioning fingers at the base of my neck. I made sure not to touch him. I knew I’d lose it if I did so I just gripped the steering wheel tightly as I let him literally take my breath away. Despite his gentleness, I could sense…taste an urgency, a demand and a kind of solemnness from him. Then he stopped without pulling away. “I really want to be sorry about this.” He whispered gruffly. He pecked me on my forehead and walked away, relaxingly, with both hands in his pockets. “Shit!”

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I hope things are getting as interesting as you hoped they would. I would really really love to hear what you think. The romantics are probably in a good place while some other people might feel like hitting some sense into her. Yes? Hahaha...  I'm sure people like Duru and Mang Okafor will have interesting opinions.

I'm really glad to be here again. :)

Stay beautiful!

xoxo,

Nazzy

ON DECIDING TO BE BEAUTIFUL

So guys, here’s the thing. I have been drowning recently; drowning in the ocean of activities that make up my life. I have lost weight recently, acquired eye bags the size of Texas and broken down one or two times. Let’s not even talk about the needs vs pockets ratio.

Needless to say, contrary to my plans and hopes for starting the New Year, I haven’t been entirely happy lately. This has turned me into such a nag that I sometimes cringe when I start with these rants. At some point, it was okay to rant; I mean I have the right to. It’s me we’re talking about here. But somewhere along the line, I realized that I was actually becoming sad. In the two weeks, I have broken down in serious tears about thrice and shouted more times than I can count. My countenance became sour and every day, the ball of negative energy around me expanded and somehow got tighter.

I am not going to delve into some of the issues I have been dealing with since I do not have the privilege of being an anonymous blogger but here’s the deal: I HAVE CHOSEN TO BE HAPPY. I made a choice to be at peace with myself last year and by God’s grace, that turned out amazing. I was in my ACCA class on Saturday and whilst classes were going on, I was bus making lists of my immediate needs and attaching price tags to them. By the time I was done, I understood why some parents pop B.P pills after looking at their children’s lists.

After dwelling on these needs for quite some time, I decided that although it’s quite disappointing that I may not be able to afford all at the moment, they are not worth my happiness. So guess what, I dropped all that burden somewhere along Ojuelegba and moved on. I mean, when has God not had my back?

I retraced my steps and decided to uphold some of the decisions I made with taking good care of myself being one of those at the top of the list. So I thought you might want to hear some of my year-long resolutions. Note that I didn’t use the term “New Year.”

§  I decided to start zinging my water with lemons and other fruits. My citrus zinger water bottle is already "IN" and I’ve got tons of recipes waiting to be tried out. Yass Fit Fam!!!

§  I decided to start pampering my skin and believe me when I say that most of the things on that list were for my hair and face. Anyways, I walked into Montaigne Place and walked out with 3 bottles of awesomeness in a Clarins range.

§  I decided to stop being grumpy and get around to chores that I felt like are not in my jurisdiction. Like I won’t let myself be uncomfortable cuz I’m too pissed at you for not doing your job; I’ll go ahead and do what I can cuz I’ve got standards and there’s no way your smallness is messing with them.

§  I decided to eat fruits every single night; I need to have that healthy glow. Who knows? Shining bright like a diamond can get a girl a diamond. Lol.

§  I decided to stick to black soap…Yes, you heard me. I have been using Cussons Baby Soap for some years and as you all know, I’m a grown woman whose skin has grown-up issues plus my mum decided that she was done with my child support programme. So I discovered FOREVER LIVING AVOCADO BAR which is amazing and does a fine job of making me N1000 poorer every two weeks or so. Then I went to Akwa Ibom state for work and an old friend introduced me to this jar of black gooey sweetness called “ATONG.”

I’ll skip the details and jump to the part where I started using Dudu-Osun thereafter. So far, I’m loving it. It’s cleared some of the zits I had on my chest and back and the rest of my body is glowing. I was a bit skeptical about using it on my face and just stuck to my Neutrogena face wash. I also read reviews on Dudu-Osun online and many people had amazing stuff to say about it. I also learned that I can use it for my hair. Can I get a “Halleluyah”?

*REVIEW ON MY BEAUTY REGIMEN COMING SOON AS A VLOG*

§  I decided to be more disciplined. I want to remain a Risk Consultant and become a professional blogger/vlogger this year and these appeal to my discipline and sense of priority. I’ll have to work smart, write better, shoot better and just be more efficient generally speaking. I’d also have to make out more time for squats (and the dumbells for those just arrived...yayy!) and making salads and smoothies. You’re probably asking why I can’t fit the four lines above into 365 days without tackling discipline. Well, if you’ve set goals that you are determined to achieve this year and realize that the first the first month is always gone, you’d have the answer to your questions.

§  I decided to build a great reputation among most people I’d come in contact with this year. Basically just be a beautiful person on the inside and on the outside. I know I can’t do this alone, and am constantly asking for help form God.

I HAVE DECIDED TO BE A REALLY BEAUTIFUL PERSON ALL-ROUND OR ELSE WHAT’S THE ESSENCE OF BEARING A NAME THAT MEANS “BEAUTY COMES FROM GOD”?

Xoxo,

Nazzy

A POSTCARD FROM YIKPATA

I had heard stories about the NYSC Orientation Camp; stories of fun, adventure, frustration laden with bizarre experiences and even pain. Altogether, I was excited for it all. I had to have my own stories. I made up my mind even before it was time to leave for the camp that I’d get my own pound of exciting memories. As usual, my whole family would drop me off at the NYSC camp. I doubt that I’ll ever out grow out of that. I’m in early twenties and this stuff about growing up sucking keeps getting more real. The least anyone can do is not judge me for having my folks fuss over me like a 10 year old. That’s the only childish experience I can currently relate to and no, I’m not willing to lose that popsicle.

A few days earlier, my friend Moy had told me that in some camps, the soldiers coerce people to carry their boxes on their head while doing the frog jump simultaneously. Of course I laughed at the pictures she showed me. The voice of reason deliberately chose not to remind me that the same fate could befall me. That day, all plans made in preparation for my departure to camp just didn’t fall into place. My luggage hadn’t arrived from Ibadan, a host of essential items had not been bought, my parents did not feel the need to hurry, the Reverend Sister who came all the way from Owerri to help process my redeployment was already worked up and everything else just felt wrong. Everybody tried to proffer a solution and everybody rejected everybody’s opinion. Talk about being stuck! Eventually, we came up with a plan; I’d go with the Reverend Sister to camp without my luggage and then my parents will come later on bearing the things I’ll need for my 3-week stay there. It sounded fair to me and frankly, the day was far spent and so we had no alternative. The driver and orderly were to drop the Sister and me off at the motor park. However, we had a few errands to run first. I’ll just cut to the chase and spare you the details of how I got to print my call-up letter, take passport photographs and get money from the ATM. To say the least, if you need to get things done, in a hurry, get yourself a Reverend Sister. I had no idea that people in these parts have so much regards for the clergy people; all she had to do was say “Bless you” and crowds parted like the Red Sea.

The journey to Yikpata, Kwara state (where the NYSC camp is situated) was the most uncomfortable I’d embarked on in a while. The Sister and I had to sit in front together. Hey, I must add that she is ‘not’ a slim woman. After about 2 hours and 15 minutes, we arrived at camp. Oh, I felt the rush. Ripples of adrenaline crept up my spine. At this point, I couldn’t figure out if it was a good or bad feeling. Photographers stood around, calling out to me in the bid to make some money off me. Soldiers were everywhere wearing scowls and frowns as though scary faces were some kind of welcome sign here in camp. Just ahead of me, people were in a straight line, squatting with their boxes on their heads. I smiled to myself; I guess I was lucky not to have carried any luggage. I quickly joined the line and easily lifted my handbag to my head as I squatted. As expected, a soldier picked me out. “Hey, you there! You think you are smart abi? Wey your box?” My voice suddenly became thin. “It’s on its way sir”. “See this girl oo! Are you okay? What do you mean by that?” Silent prayers escaped my head to God’s, I hoped. “I had to hurry down here. The car with the box is not here yet. I’ll come get it as soon as it arrives…” Before I could even complete the statement, the soldier standing at the beginning of the line started yelling. “Oya Corpers, una dey hear me? As soon as I say move, all of una go start to dey frog jump until una reach that mama there”, he said in a hoarse voice pointing at a slim female soldier just a stone throw away. I began to sense that this wasn’t going to be so funny after all. As usual, the Reverend Sister had worked her magic and disappeared into the crowd ahead of us. The soldier gave his command and we all began to frog-jump towards the female soldier who was dancing to a song some corps members before her were singing. After about five jumps, I felt my sandal snap. I gasped as an “ah” escaped my lips. This was going to be some story.

By the time we got to where the female soldiers were, we were separated into two groups. Apart from the female soldiers who looked like normal girls I’d walk by in the market, there was a man clad in a brown uniform I later discovered was the man-o-war uniform. He was slightly handsome and fair, with a beautiful smile. However, he wore his pants so high and his manhood was bulging through his pants in a fashion that implied it was suffocating. I couldn’t understand why anyone would wear such thick clothing and still have so much revealed. Of course I could not afford to snicker; I had no plans of compounding my issues. They asked the group before us to sing and sway to a song with the lyrics “Oh Oh Oh… We are the monkey. We are the Chimpanzee.” I cannot explain the measure of bliss their faces exuded as these corps members sang those words grudgingly. It was funny up until the soldiers asked the group to squat with their boxes on their head because they were not satisfied with their performance. I think my group took a cue from that because when it got to our turn, it sounded like a choir. I contributed with my rich alto as we sang with feigned enthusiasm. We even clapped and danced, all in a bid to avoid more severe punishment. We were then asked to bark, bleat, meow, moo, squak, bray and the list goes on. I don’t know why we struck them as animal material. Eventually, we were asked to carry those boxes on our heads while squatting. You know that look you have when you’re thinking ‘why did I just waste all that effort?’ Well that’s what we all had. I was already doing back flips in my head when one soldier noticed that all I had on my head was a handbag that weighed not more than a box of cereal. “Kai Mama! You think say you get sense abi? Wey your box?” I gave him the same explanation I had given the soldier at the last check point but apparently, this dude cared more about me. “Oya carry that other mama box. You give am your other box” he said directing the latter order at a girl ahead of me who had two boxes. I went to the girl to carry the box only for the girl to hand me the bigger, heavier box. The look I gave her could literally paralyze her on that spot. “Sister, abeg mind yourself. Na wa oo” I hissed as I snatched the lighter box from her. Of course, since I couldn’t yell at the soldiers, I redirected it to the poor girl who was trying to maximize the opportunity to give herself a breather. Well, I choose not to be her means of relief. Did she think I was some kinda Dwayne Johnson that came to camp to lift burdens off tired heads? Mtchew. Anyways, after the soldiers had tortured us to their fill, they released us. Since, I didn’t have a box, I explained myself to a police officer who was supposed to search my luggage for any contraband. He let me in and I was given a pass. I dragged myself along in sandal-induced limp until I got to a place with queues that reminded me of the children of Israel as they passed through the Red Sea. I took the one on my right since it was closer to me. People on the queue either wore a smile or a frown. The ones who were smiling were probably the ones who found their earlier experience funny and most likely were discussing it with the person next to them. The ones frowning had to be the ones who like me, had spoilt shoes, chest pain or something ugly to think about as a result of the earlier event. I joined the latter group. Where was the Reverend Sister anyway? I began to turn to every direction in search for her. I recognized a few people from my school on the queue and unconsciously began to look out for any of my friends. Call me lucky, cuz I found one; Dolly. The smile I put away returned to my lips as I called out to her. She had just arrived and was the last person on the other line. I limped over to her and exchanged hugs and pleasantries. We soon started to talk and laugh over our earlier encounter with the soldiers. She gave me a pair of slippers and put me out of my misery. I told her I had to find the Reverend Sister. I soon found her in a building I later learnt was the OBS building. She had introduced herself to the man in charge and was making inquiries about how she could speed up my registration process and commence my redeployment process. I told her about Dolly so that she could include her in whatever process would speed up our registration process. I returned to the line where Dolly constantly asked me to shut up because I found myself singing or humming the “we are the monkey” song I dreaded just minutes ago. We talked about so much as the line steadily got shorter. It got to our turn and we had ourselves put in the same room. Sister called me out and introduced me to two men who were supposed to help me make my stay easier. Something told me that I would not have any need for them and in the long run, I didn’t.

We got to our room and met about six other girls, three of which were from our university. That automatically set us at ease; better than staying with total strangers. The three girls weren’t exactly my friends back at school but we’d certainly get around that during our stay there. The other girl in our corner wore a straight face and after failed attempts to come up with an impression about her, I forgot about her. She turned out to be Tayo, a very pleasant, funny girl who would never give up her sleep even though the soldiers were breathing fire down her back. Someone was already sweeping out the room so we just chose bunks and decided to proceed to find foams. Before we could even walk out of the cubicle, a soldier came in to the hostel yelling stuff I couldn’t understand. I however heard her counting numbers and knew it was code for “Get the hell outta here or get punished”. Of course, we ran like there were lions behind us. Since we couldn’t return to the hostel immediately, Dolly and I decided to go and continue our registration process. We followed other people who we assumed were going to the same area as us. We found out that we had to be at different places because we had used different medium for the initial NYSC deployment registration. Thankfully, I was a step ahead because I did mine online so while Dolly stayed on the first line we got to, I proceeded to the other one. I quickly saw my schoolmates: Lolade, Sade and O. Lolade and O. are my old friends who I had planned to come with before my plans went sour. It was really surprising that they were still on the line at about past 4pm. Of course they let me join them on the queue. No one really had the conscience to take the last position on such a queue when you had the option of literally moving yourself up by a day. Yes, because some people on that line finally had to wait till the next day to complete the registration. After about 40mins of standing on a spot, we decided to go get lunch. We were sure that we’d return to the line almost unchanged. Along the way, my roommate in 400 level decided to go get foams. I got two, one for myself and the other for Dolly. I will not inflict your imagination with the pain of describing the state of the foams we got. At this point, I was making silent prayers for my skin who cannot speak for itself. On our way out, we bumped into the Reverend Sister. You have to applaud the way the lady disappears and reappears without a sign. You’d think she’s worked there for three decades and knew all the nooks and crannies. She suggested that we return to the line so I followed her back to where I was coming from. As usual, she usual, she worked her magic and in 10 minutes, I was done with my registration. I received my state code and platoon. I was in platoon 6 so I proceeded to the platoon stand to claim my uniforms. The uniforms I received had to have been made for Sumo wrestlers; Nothing else explains the unreasonably large size of the wears. I gave them to a seamstress who introduced herself as Mummy Simbiat. She said she’d amend a pair of trousers and jacket for N1000. Talk about the Zimbabwe inflation. The shoes I got had to have been for Jack’s giant. Why in the name of snow white did they ask us for our measurements during the online registration of they knew that it was literally useless? I figured everyone was meeting other people trying to find someone with a size they wanted and who wanted what they had as well. Apparently, trade by barter survived right into the 21^st century. Quite frankly, I couldn’t care less so Sister and I decided to go get some food. I had some rice I hoped would not be what I had to eat every day. By the time we were done eating food worth roughly #400 in regular canteens, we got a bill of #760. Haha… At this point, I knew I was in for it.

My parents called to say they were at the entrance of the camp. Like I said before, I don’t know if the sister has some canine traits that aid her with trails but she took me through a winding path in the bush till we got to the entrance of the camp. I was truly glad to see my folks; like some part of me was seeing saviors. I got to them with ease, showing my pass to men in uniform, some of who remembered me as the girl without any luggage. I was glad they did; it meant I was not going to be asked to lift the box to my head. On my way out, I saw my friend Tolu carrying his box on his head. I just had to laugh. Camp really humbled people, I thought as he wore a grin at the sight of me. I had to mouth to him to stop grinning before he became the scapegoat for the soldiers who would do anything to make a show of anyone. I retrieved my box fro my parents after narrating to them how everything had been so far. They laughed and encouraged me to be brave and try to enjoy myself despite how things were. The box they brought me was big and heavy. It’s a flaw I have; I just don’t know how to pack light. “Adanne, how will you be able to carry these things on your head? Aren’t they too much?” my dad asked with concern. I quickly told him I had carried someone else’s box earlier on and showed him the pass I’d show any soldier who tried to make me go through all of that again. After a few minutes, I turned to leave with my very heavy box and pillow. I could barely drag it along. Who could, with all the glassware, water bottles and tons of white T-shirts and shorts? Its funny cuz I couldn’t think of any stuff to jettison. Anyways, I kept dragging my burden along the serrated dry ground. The policemen let me pass as soon as I showed them my pass. Just as soon as I got comfortable, a soldier called out to me. “Corper carry that box on your head, now!” I was just about to explain myself when a female soldier who was closer to me faced me. “Are you deaf? C’mon carry that thing on your head! Oya Oya” I tried to explain to her that besides the fact that the box was really heavy, I had already carried a box on my head earlier on. “Ehen? And so? No be you pack am. C’mon carry am. When you go dey pack load like say na your husband house you dey go, you no sabi abi?” She yelled. I looked back at my parents staring at us in horror. My aunt had her hand to her chest as she watched the female soldier try to lift the box to my head. Of course she had a hard time doing that, who wouldn’t? By this time, the policemen at the previous checkpoint had come forward to plead on my behalf. Trust soldiers to be bullheaded; the soldier insisted that I carry the box on my head. I was already close to tears as I struggled between taking slow steps and swallowing the lump that had formed in my throat. After about five labored steps, the pillow sitting on top of the box fell. I stood looking at the soldier before me with a plea in my eyes. She bent to pick the pillow up for me. “Please sir. Help me beg the men; you know its really heavy” I begged as she replaced the pillow. I was beginning to see Jesus’ journey to Calvary in a new light. The only reason I think she released me is that she knew how heavy the box was having had several failed attempts at carrying it to my head. “As soon as I bring it down, just start running. Do you hear me?” She admonished. “Yes ma” I exhaled heavily in relief. As soon as the box hit the ground, I took off. I had no time to look back at my family and register the relief that must have crept into their faces.

The most adventurous part of the day had passed by. I hung around with friends, got dinner and bought a few essentials at the mammy market. You’d think I had everything I needed and more with how big and full my box was. It was a good night, finding old friend and sticking together while exploring the environment together. I called Akin, who by the way is becoming my personal human diary. He’s the perfect optimist so he went on about how I should relax and make the best out of whatever would be thrown at me. Amidst the complaints that filled conversations, I was grateful to be there. It was an achievement of some sort; another milestone had been reached.

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Hi guys!! I hope y'all are good. I know I still owe y"all the 5th part of THAWED. It's coming right up but I thought we could all make use of a good story that actually happened while we wait for THAWED 5.

Anyway, this is a true life story of my first day at NYSC Camp. I wrote it as soon as I left camp; the memories were still fresh. I hope it made a great read. Those Happy Golden Years!!!!

Of course we'd all love to hear your tales from camp or frankly, any adventurous tales at all.

Cheers, 

Nazzy

THAWED. Part 1

                                                                      source: blenderartists.com

I am numb. I do not feel pain and that’s the only reason I’m thriving. This has nothing to do with physical pain; I have a really low threshold for that one. After my fourth child, I decided I could not deal with labour pains again. Give me some credit. If three are a crowd, then I certainly pushed boundaries with four. I am not here to talk about my kids so let’s move on.

Last week Tuesday was my 15^th wedding anniversary. I expected nothing to happen and I wasn’t disappointed. When you expect too much for so long and get absolutely nothing every time, you learn to look away when the ice cream van passes through. My husband isn’t a bad man. I wish I could say he was so that there’ll be justification for my feelings. He’s just a bad husband and a caring but absent father.

We met as though we were from a story book; actually, he bumped into me on my way from the library. Cliché? I know. Everything else followed just like you would expect it to. He was charming, caring, supportive and most of all, not too busy. Sometimes, I like to think that he still has all these things somewhere inside of him but I probably do not get to see them because he’s a busy man. He is busy being the CFO of one of the biggest retail chains in Africa and I wouldn’t be the insensitive wife standing in the way of that. Now would I?

At first, it was hurtful not seeing your husband in months, getting five phone calls in a week, getting flowers and chocolates on birthdays and holidays from the same delivery boy who begins to look at you with pity after some time. At first, I would cry from being alone, sex starved and invisible. It was horrible. To be fair, he grins at me whenever our eyes meet, and he takes me to his corporate dinners and plants wet pecks on my cheeks each time he introduces me to his elite friends. Oh and whenever I wear my afro in a huge puff, he always says “Nana, I like this hairstyle on you”. I haven’t heard “you’re beautiful” or “I love you” in ages so each time I want to hear a compliment, I quickly pack my afro into a huge bun. Weird? I know.

After some time, the pain stopped. I just stopped crying and trying to be visible. I accepted insignificance and channeled what strength I had left to my kids. I am a full time mum; the shop where I sell shoes and make-up is just a part-time venture. It’s for those days I don’t wanna stay holed up at home or for when I feel special enough to wear makeup and glam clothing. I like to take drives and I have an array of benz models to pick from and each time I hit the streets, I’m visible to everyone. I see it in their eyes the look of wonder as they appraise my hair, clothes, car, shoes and even kids. I do know how to put on a good show. But all of it doesn’t matter because the one person who’s supposed to see me only sees dollar bills.

I love fancy food. It’s one of the things that help me stay numb. The pleasure my taste buds experience when enveloped by strange, exotic flavors zaps through my body and fills the spaces that would otherwise have been filled with the pain. Bliss is the only word for it. My relationship with haute cuisine is the closest thing I have to a marriage. I used to work out a lot and take yoga classes so that I’d be fit and sexy and perhaps, visible and alluring. But again, I put that to rest. The other day, my last baby walked up to me and said “Mum, I think you should start going to the gym again. You might get fat and I don’t want that. My teacher says you are a hot mum and I want you to continue being hot”. I just stared at her with my jaws hanging wide. The next day, I called the gym to reactivate my membership card. I haven’t dropped by since then though.

So on this day, I sat at one of my favorite restaurants in V.I. It is on the 6^th floor of an 8-storey building and the view was amazing.  I love to look at Lagos from above and the waters are always a plus. I was waiting for my order to arrive: bacon-wrapped pork loin with peach and blue cheese stuffing. It took over an hour to prepare so I came prepared with a novel written by a veteran Kenyan novelist. Let’s not even start with my love for African literature. I had chosen a sit by the window and moved the vase of fresh flowers to the window sill. I loved how I caught a whiff of their scent each time the wind blew in. I caught my reflection in the glass hanging opposite me and was just thinking about how my kinky fro wouldn’t allow the wind to make my hair fly with it. I was just about to smile wryly to myself and turn back to my book when a waiter dropped a bottle and flute on my table. I looked up at him and he just smiled and handed me a small white piece of paper. He nodded and walked away. I looked at the bottle and it was a Krug NV Grand Cuveé. That’s a $200 bottle of champagne. I had only had it once and it was heaven. I quickly opened the note and it read “you look sad. People usually look happier drinking good wine. J.”  I looked down at my left hand. I was wearing my wedding ring and trust me when I say it’s far from unnoticeable. I wondered who would have sent me the bottle of wine. And did I really look that sad? I guess there’s more damage than I thought. I scanned through the room for anyone that looked like they just sent a strange woman an expensive bottle of wine. I am not sure there’s a way the person was supposed to look but I couldn’t pin down anyone. There were just a few people in the restaurant. As expected not everyone would be able to afford the internationally-acclaimed chefs that run the place, or the marbled tables and Italian leather chairs and sofas or even the expensive bottles of wine like the one standing right before me. I looked around more carefully this time. There were three couples and I doubt it came from any of the three men. There was a middle-aged woman around the corner and I am sure women don’t just buy each other expensive French wine on normal days in Lagos. Just as I was about to turn away, I noticed the group of cubicles towards the bar. They were half-hidden by pots of plants and china sculptures standing as though they were protecting that territory. This was my 7^th time in the restaurant and I had never seen people sitting in the cubicles. I guess I just assumed subconsciously that there’d be no one there. But there was in fact, a man sitting there smugly raising was I supposed would be chicken or turkey dipped in some fancy sauce, to his mouth. I am almost sure I saw him smile at me before he turned back to his meal. It had to be him. I

I turned back to my book but as you must have guessed, no words from this Kenyan jumped at me. I was surprisingly flustered. Usually, I pushed advances away with a kind of polite coldness that I could bet, felt worse to the receivers than the normal front they’d have expected the average woman would put up. But here I was thinking that this stranger was sweet. Nobody had done this kind of thing for me in years. The only person who once did was currently in South Africa and hadn’t reached me in three days.  Typically, I’d call the waiter and ask him to send the bottle back to the person who had sent it but instead I opened the bottle and poured myself some of that golden goodness. It was heaven in a bottle. I leaned back and opened by book. This time, the words flew at me crystal clear. If this John Doe didn’t want to introduce himself and thought I should look happy drinking excellent French wine, I guessed I could oblige him. Just then, my meal arrived and I dug in. I registered every sensation; the tenderness and moistness of the pork and the velvety feel of cheese sliding along me tongue. This was definitely worth every thousand I paid. Ed Sheeran’s voice flowed from the speakers and I grinned. It was the song “thinking out loud” and I think I just raced to the moon and back. Here, they usually played fancy genre of music that I personally cannot relate to but think are fit for the class of food and people they serve. I began to sing along in low tones in between mouthfuls. Gosh! I was in the mood. Everything was perfect in those moments and I held on.

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Hey there Negriville! I hope you had a good read. The second part will be published tomorrow or the day after. Kindly re-share the post, drop your comments and Tell us your own story if you think its related. Don't forget that you can comment as anonymous if you think the info you want to release is sensitive.

The new website/blog is practically ready and entries for the "bold enough" series are being compiled. Kindly send in your tales of love, passion, love, hurt, struggles and triumph. Be bold enough to have your story make a difference in lies all over africa and the world at large. 

The change we need lies in our mouths and inks.

xoxo,

Nazzy.

I COME KNEELING

**tiptoes into your day**

I do not even have the guts to come in here sounding all cheerful and righteous. I know I have disappointed many with my chronic absence sponsored by a host of reasons I'll give after I have been forgiven. I probably sound like a broken record but y'all should know that I do not lie to you...ever!! And this is not a lie when I say I have always wished to be more available but just couldn't help it.

However, I have resolved to keep you all in the picture from now on. I will make you all a part of my life; drop prose poetry and flash fiction from time to time, tell y'all about the little experiences and lessons that make the clock's tick-tocks worthwhile and even rant when NYSC and life try to shut me up.

I AM SORRY FOR BEING ABSENT FOR SO LONG. I know I'm not dealing with hard-hearted people so I'll now relax and say...

Wats up lovelies! E don tey...Oh and there's so much gist, I don't even know where to start from.

1. NYSC is coming to an end in a bit so I'm really bust tryna make sure I'll have a living to earn from afterwards. Masters is set for next year by God's grace, so I'm just tryna get into trainee programs and run one or two professional courses. Success doesn't come to people who sit down, fold their arms and pop chewing gums all day long.

2. Can you smell the coffee? If you can't, I'll save you the suspense. The Negrifille Blog is on its way to being overhauled, upgraded and established as a media platform for running several initiatives geared especially towards African women, youth, businesses/lifestyle. A new website is being created for that purpose. Expect new features, series and a youtube channel. Yes!!! And the most interesting part is that I do not intend to fly solo. Most of the features will be interactive and involve obtaining some form of feedback from you guys...Could be thru interviews, reviews, guest features etc. There'll be super exciting issues on both regular and controversial stuff. Full house people.
      I am super excited about all of it and look forward to having everyone be a part of it. I am still considering whether or not to do away with this particular blog..It feels like home and makes it really easy to access a wealth of bloggers on blogsville. Please advice me.
      I will return with more details about the features that we'll kick off with. If you've been a part of this, you definitely have stakes in the new world.
      P.S- Blogsville has its own special slot for a series involving bloggers. I hope y'all will be available because the world is ours and we'll seize it and recreate it with our pens.

3. Matters of the heart have been on my agenda of late. If you like gist, clean your ears and stand on your toes cuz this ine will come like a thief in the night.

4. Durulicious, I have missed you in a special way. Whenever I remembered this blog, I thought about you and how you've been checking in and pleading with me to come back. Well, here I am. Thank you.

5. Biko can someone advice me on the easiest and still very efficient video editing software to use? I have downloaded lightworks, avidemux, wondershare etc but I end up vexing and feeling dumb each time I try to figure them out. I need help biko...Ain't nobody wanna see sub-standard vlogs.

6. I have conceived the idea of writing a book.. Two, actually. One will be co-authored by someone else. Oh and I promise, y'all will be proud of me by God's grace. So wish me well and pray for me. Pay special attention to binding and casting out the spirit of writer's block.

7. Before the new website/blog is launched, I'll grace these pages will regular uploads that I hope will keep us all happy.

8. Welcome my darlings, to the second half of this new year. If you're reading this, you're not dead, and that's something to be grateful for. I wish you all life, health, wealth, wisdom, love and the grace of God in all ramifications. I love you all...

Thank you so much for being here. Now its my turn to be here.

xoxo,
Nazzy

TO PEOPLE WHOSE PRESENT ARE MY PAST

There’s so many things I’d love to tell the world; things I know and know not of, things I believe in and things I doubt absolutely, things I fear and things I confront courageously, things I succeeded at and the others that dubbed me a failure. These lessons are like a turbulent tide in my mind, seeking an outlet . . . seeking release.

This is to the children; youth; girls struggling with crushes, low self esteem, annoying mothers, overbearing fathers, ambition, rules and pain; people whose today are my yesterdays.

This is for girls struggling with things mama doesn’t understand. For girls whose pastors say to their mamas “Hey, your girl isn’t normal. You should get her to the deliverance sessions”, when all they are, is different.

This is for girls growing up alone even though everyone around her could lend a helping hand. This is for the girl putting up the façade of a tough exterior when the inside reeks of decaying flesh.

This is for the girls wishing they had what others had even though others didn’t have what they had; for little women straining to make snowballs from the mist.

This is for girls whose backs are broken from the weight of obligation; girls charred from the heat of juggling dreams that are not theirs.

This is for girls constantly looking in mirrors that only tell them that they just aren’t enough. This is for that lass who cannot admit that she loves a part of herself just because all eyes stare at that part with disdain.

This is for the girl who knows but is knocked down every time she dares believe that she’s more than breasts, buttocks and kitchen utensils. This is for the young women who walk faced down because their brown bodies cannot take the shape of an hour glass.

This is for girls whose realities are based on myth and mirages. This is for girls whose tear glands are strained from over-secretion.

Listen!

This is a new year. This is the dawn of a new era. This is a new life. This is time for a new “you”. At the beginning of Joshua’s ministry, God said to him, “Moses is dead, arise…” You are now at that point where God is saying to you “The old you is dead so arise.” This is the point where nothing else matters except what God has to say about you, unto you and through you. This is the time when you become who God has destined you to be and has programmed you to manifest.

Do I sound too spiritual? Well, this is time to be spirit-minded if the physical and all other realms in which you operate in will receive life. Many times, we try to write things like this with our wits and savvy but I’m convinced that what I have to tell you cannot be compared, by any standard, to what God has to say to you concerning the same situation.

If who your peers, your parents, that man and even you say you are doesn’t mirror what God has already said about you, you shouldn’t be listening to them. You must learn to rise above rumors, random opinions and heresy when you are concerned. You must define to yourself who you really are and must refute anything contrary to that.

You are better than your deficiency; that bad skin, bad relationship, guilt or even habit. You are brighter than the depression that eats deep into you or even the failures you have to show for your endeavors. You are exceedingly mightier than lack and the pain that tears through your heart each time you think about your problems. You are simply greater than who you have been no matter the reasons that justify the state of your past. You have the life of Christ in you and are created in the image and likeness of God. This means that all you have been subject to, are now to be subject to your own authority.

You are beautiful   You are special      You are loved         You are wonderful

You are not abnormal       You are extraordinary     You are talented

You are wanted      You are strong       You are courageous                   You are visionary

You are bold          You are healthy      You are wealthy     You are excellent

You are appreciated        You are God’s beloved

INSPIRED

NYSC Camp, YIKPATA.

I sat with two older, smart men today and answered a bunch of questions being thrown at me as though it were an interview. The difference was that they were trying to know me, understand how my mind works and generally, just make good conversation. I was in the mood today. I answered questions I’d usually get defensive about as best I could. Do you know what I call good conversation? It is that talk laden with lessons and a truckload of laughter. I’m a sapiosexual person so sitting in the midst of two men bellowing with laughter and carting away tangible life lessons was absolute bliss. At some point, I mentioned that I am a writer/blogger and I was asked for my URL. One of them, instantly checked it out and I don’t know what particular article they were looking at- because I was on the other end of the table- but they looked at each other and blurted “What inspires you to write?” For some reason I couldn’t blurt out the answer to that question just as soon. I started rummaging through my mind for an inspired response. Well, I think I found one because I started giving them an answer, at least before one of them stopped me short. “You know this is not a TV show right?  What really inspires you?” Just then, one of them read through a line or two and then I realized where they were coming from.

Apparently, they had read a line addressed to mothers and some things I felt they were not doing right with respect to their teenage kids and thought that perhaps, I must have had a rough childhood. That must have been my inspiration. Of course I refuted that perception. I had a beautiful childhood despite the fact that I had a lot of drama with my mum during my teenage years. After a very remarkable discussion filled with practical instances of parent-children relations we had experienced, I left. Then I left and started thinking about what the answer to that initial question really is.

Here it is:

§  I am inspired by the reality that my thoughts, ideas and stories can color a life somewhere. I really don’t care about how it plays out but my creative juices flow turbulently each time it strikes me that my writing could be “it” for someone out there.

§  I am inspired by the stories, tales and impressions of writers before me, especially African writers. It intrigues me that the same heritage, people and world can birth accounts so diverse and rich yet so fundamentally alike. It makes me want to see where I fit in the picture.

§  I am inspired by freedom; the free reins given to the mind to communicate its strengths, weaknesses, fantasies, pains and inventions in any way it deems fit. The ease that comes with bearing burdens after they have been transferred to paper.

§  I am inspired by heritage; the quest to find and define who I am as it grapples with the foreign elements that strive to lay claim on a part of me.

§  I am inspired by my experiences. It’s amazing how some of the most potent words are birthed by reflections upon encounters, no matter how irrelevant they might have seemed at the time of occurrence.

§  I am inspired by love, beauty, nature and even evil. How can I not say anything about a world drowning in tides of tears as it loses its essence to darkness?

§  I am inspired by the thought of being called inspired.

I am grateful to my friends for asking me that question. The year is still young and this is a right time to define essence of who you are and what drives you. Remind yourself of why you do the things you love or ought to do. They could be the answers to the questions you’ve been asking for long.

Happy New Month…

Happy New Year My Lovelies.

Since you’re just seeing the first of me this year, I’m expecting the “happy new year” compliments and of course feedback on this post. So kindly drop your comments below.

Xoxo,

Nazzy.

GROPING FOR A MAGIC WAND

When it comes down to it, I do not believe in fairytales. I don’t because despite the need to believe in them- to at least put a damper on the harsh realities of a world laced with scary stuff like ebola- they seem too far away. I know that all fingers are not equal but why should I be the one to have the little finger? Do you see where I’m coming from? Everybody tries to dissuade me from having fantasies that spice up my desires because they seem to be sure that I’ll eventually be disappointed when I don’t get them meanwhile someone somewhere has that same thing as his/her reality. I really do not understand why having a primal need to satisfy some desires I consider basic are always made out to be building castles in the air. It irks me that whenever I relate my desires or aspirations, there is always someone to point out how unrealistic some of them are and to what extent I’ll live an unhappy life when eventually I don’t get them. I don’t get why I can’t be one of the few that actually dream, believe and achieve. After all, there’s hardly any wish that has never come true before in some era or form. Why does everyone try so hard to make you believe that wanting a good thing is wanting too much? Has the world and its people deteriorated so badly that shooting stars have ceased to be awe-inspired because people are sure that no matter how much luck hovers around them, a wish made on seeing a shooting star will never come true, not even by coincidence.

Fortunately or unfortunately, I can’t help it. I can’t help stopping my imagination from running wild or my heart from racing after it. I can’t help seeing a huge conglomerate when I think of my career. I can’t help seeing a tall, hardworking, god-fearing, sensitive, ambitious guy when I think of my future husband. I can’t help seeing a hundred postcards crowding my refrigerator from all the places I’d have visited. I can’t help imagining my kids to be awfully cute and smart with dimples and who knows, maybe that photographic memory Lexi from Grey’s Anatomy has. I can’t help thinking of wine, chocolate, sweet scents, roses, silk and cuddling when I hear the word ‘romance’ although the average Nigerian man might not even know that those things mean anything at all. I can’t help seeing myself as some “Nazzirella” sometimes. I just can’t fight the pure magnificence that these day-dreams spiked with little wishes try to sneak into my very ordinary life in which I’m being forced to always be prepared for gloom rather than for splendor.

This has little to do with idealism but I refuse to accept that I can’t possibly be one of those people that stand as exceptions to all the ugly life stories flooding walls of fame. It is pretty much ironic because I have really had very rough moments years and many might be of the opinion that I should know better. Perhaps I do. I know that there’s no rule that says I have to wallow in difficulty just because the planet needs someone with whom it’ll to prove others that this isn’t Disneyland. There’s no rule that says things don’t get better and stay better, at least for a good measure of time. For me, believing that luck, purity, dream-come-trues and just a little magic are non-existent is just surrendering to defeat. I see all the evil floating carelessly and dropping unto the laps of unsuspecting people but for the sake of my sanity, I just have to believe that there are magical ways devised by forces of nature that tilt that scale just a little in the bid to create near-balance. I just need to live without fearing that death could snag me the next minute even though I know that that is an inevitable fact. I need to find happiness and freedom in my thoughts without being reminded every time that they might not be potent enough to become tangible tomorrow. I believe in the God who says that the desires of the righteous shall not be cut off; He set no boundaries to that. Now note that there is a line between a mere fantasy and desires but there are no limits to both. Wisdom is profitable to direct.

Who shares my sentiments?