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 3

I have no proprietary rights to this photo. Unknown source

My life fell back into place except that my palette kept craving the exquisite meals from Nri- that’s the name of the restaurant where I met him- and my mind kept replaying jokes and witty banters from that evening. It’s been over a month and I have succeeded in not being able to forget Amanze- contrary to my plans. I am grateful for my ego that has prevented me from walking into that restaurant and making a big fool of myself. I also thank common sense for not letting me ask for his phone number that day. I have tried to push that meeting out of my mind and life like I promised myself I would but each time I pass that building on my way to work, I can’t help looking up to the window where I last saw him. Of course, he has more important things to do than stand all day waiting for me to pass by. Only idiots like me- married idiots- go around looking up at windows to find non-existent people. The strangest thing however, is that that vase never left the window sill and it always had different flowers in it. Like I said before, that man was too smooth for his own good. Anyways, I knew better than to come any closer than I already was. Besides, my husband came home about four days after I met Amanze.

Truthfully, I was glad to have him home. Amidst all my complaints and heartache, I must have forgotten to mention that I love my husband. I am not sure about being in love with him but I do not believe that love is just a feeling. I chose to love him so I do. He certainly doesn’t awaken my butterflies but he holds the keys to some of my best memories and of course, I made four amazing humans with him. That means something in my books. So he came home after months of being away for God knows what. At first, I was glad that he was alright but each time I remembered what he put me through during his absence, I grew mad at him. The striking thing is that when he was absent, I was fine. I was numb, remember? I didn’t care enough to be mad. I channeled all I had into being a mum, making good money, indulging my taste buds and just being another woman trying to remember what happiness feels like without allowing pain anywhere near her. I hadn’t even realized that there was anything to be mad at until another man reminded me of what it feels like to be noticed, indulged, taken care of and perhaps wanted. I didn’t care to feel all these things if I was not going to be allowed to have them. And that was maddening. Howbeit, I kept my cool. I have always been good at that. I took care of him and made sure he got to spend some time with the kids. Two years ago, we had a huge fight in which I clearly stated that I could tolerate being ignored but wouldn’t if thought he could do the same to my kids. I even threatened to give him a divorce and take full custody of my kids if he kept neglecting their paternal needs. By the time he got calls from two of my lawyers within three days, he knew that I wasn’t to be messed with on that matter. Needless to say, he made extra efforts when it came to the kids. He would always check his time when he was playing video games with the boy or excuse himself to take short phone calls when he was playing chess or monopoly with the girls but it was obvious he spent a great deal of himself trying to keep it up. If my kids were okay, then I would stay. We spent lesser time together; I guess he gave the kids what extra time he might have had for me but I was too frozen to be bothered.

This time around, I could feel myself creating more distance between him and myself. Usually, I’d put up a front and try to be all over him but I put in no effort this time. He probably sensed it and his play boy instincts were aroused. You know that primal trait that draws men to things that appeared inaccessible, that was probably it because I can’t think of any other reason why he came home one evening bearing a box of my favorite chocolate, midnight blue lace lingerie by Victoria secret and a pair of red bottom Loubs. The day before I was making my afro into two-strand twists in preparation for bedtime when he called me “Ima”. That’s the word for ‘love’ in Ibibio, our native dialect. He had just walked into our bedroom after spending some time with the kids. Eno, Nsikak and Aniekan had come home from boarding school for the weekend.  Eno and Kaka (Nsikak) are the boys and are older than Nini (Aniekan) and Didi (Edidiong) who’s the baby of the house. She’s just seven and she keeps me company and busy when the rest of the family are away. They couldn’t imagine not being able to see their day on his first visit in five months. Eddy had gotten them loads of stuff; books, games, clothing etc and they were elated. Yes, Eddy is my husband’s name. Actually, it’s Edikan but his friends and colleagues call him Edikan. I used to call him baby until it started to sound foreign and odd on my tongue. So I just joined others in calling him Eddy. Right! So he walked into the room and said “Ima, …” Frankly, I didn’t hear the rest of it because I burst into laughter. I found it absolutely amusing that a man would be away for five months, call weekly or even bi-weekly, doesn’t text, hasn’t called me anything but Edima in two years, hasn’t touched me in almost a year would return and suddenly call me his love after I’ve decided not to care about any of the above. He stood there gaping at me while I continued twisting my hair still amused. He must have been embarrassed because he walked into the bathroom where he stayed until I finished my twists and went to Didi’s room to read her Bible stories, as is our tradition.

That next day, I was literally astonished. All the signs were in place; my mouth was hanging wide open, my eyes were almost popping out of their sockets and Most of all, I was dumbfounded as I stared at Eddy holding out his presents to me. I certainly knew what to do with chocolate and Christian Louboutin shoes but what did this Mr. expect that I’d so with the oh-so-beautiful lace lingerie? Who told him that we still have that kind of chemistry? I must have been thinking for myself because he came unto me muttering under his breath about how he knew he must have hurt me all this years. I was quite disgusted. I picked up the box of chocolate, said “thanks” and headed for the door. Just before I left the room, I couldn’t resist turning back to mention how he didn’t hurt me because I didn’t give him the luxury of doing so. He stood there visibly shocked; he had never seen me react in that manner. He could feel the anger seething beneath the surface and the coldness underlined it just like I hoped it would. A few hours and twenty-four chocolates later, I returned to find him asleep after he had dropped a note on my pillow. The note said he got a call the previous day and needed to go to Ghana for three months for some mega project. He said he understood that I have made great sacrifices for us and deserved better. He said he just wanted the night to be special. After reading the note, all I could think was that he had no idea whatsoever about what I had or had not sacrificed. I went into the bathroom, washed my face and a few tear drops away and went to bed. I had imagined that someday, something would cause me to start feeling again but I had envisaged it would be him awakening the love and intimacy we shared, and I imagined it would feel good. I never thought I’d ever be open to pain again. Nobody told me that another man would crack the glass or that Eddy making advances at me would be repulsive rather than endearing. Nobody told me that what looked like a gesture that I had always prayed for in years past would feel like vomit thrown in my face. I could feel the ice melting and all the rage and pain that were frozen were frothing over the surface. The next morning, I decided to act as if nothing happened the previous night. I chose to give him the treatment I had always given him. I had always performed my duties in silence and without warmth. I could give everything except warmth; I didn’t have it to give anyways. I had run out of warmth almost five years before now. I helped him pack all what he would need, got the kids to calm down and drove us all to the airport. Just before he boarded, he gave the adults (that’s what we call the ones in secondary school) some money, hugged them tight and whispered something into Didi’s ears that made her stop crying. When he walked up to me, he was about to say what I sensed would be mushy so I stopped him from going any further. “You’re running late” I said and dusted the lapel of his jacket. I was about to go for a hug when he lifted my chin and kissed me. It was a long, bland kiss but I obliged him if that would leave me with some peace. He hadn’t kissed me in almost a year, and it felt like the entire flavor had been lost with time. 

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Hello darlings. I hope you love how the story is unfolding. Pt 4 is on its way. 

Anyways, I traveled home and it feels great to be with family. they are simply everything.

P.S- My laptop fell and some parts cracked and a few places got chipped. Its a Lenovo S400 Touch ideapad. I need to know if it's possible and what it'd take to change the carcass/casing/exterior. Its urgent. Kindly help me out. This laptop is my prime possession. More than half of me is literally saved in it. I have literally shed tears...and I need to do something asap. Biko....

I hope you are all having a great week.

xoxo,

Nazzy

THAWED Pt 2

                source: blenderartists.com

“I think it worked. May I sit please?” My mouth was full so I just nodded to the man standing before me. He sat comfortably and flashed a grin. I just kept on chewing slowly and waiting for him to say something but he simply said nothing. After I swallowed, I took a sip of wine, wiped my mouth and broke the silence. “Was the champagne from you” I asked with sincere curiosity. “Yes. It was and I think you certainly look happier. I’m hoping it’s the wine.” His gaze was piercing like when someone wasn’t getting a good look at something and was pouring more effort into looking at it. “It’s not just the wine. The food’s great too.” I replied in the bid not to give him all the credit for the beautiful evening I was having. Truthfully, I wasn’t happy just because of his gesture; I had bottles of Dom Perignon sitting in my bar at home but he definitely scored good points on the scale. I scrutinized him as he sat silent looking smug. He wore an adire jumper dominated by the color green and a pair of mahogany-brown loafers. He wore a plain gold chain on his right wrist and a TAG Heuer wristwatch I couldn’t help but notice on his left wrist. There were no rings and it wouldn’t be complete if I didn’t mention that he smelled like heaven on a man. Go figure. The last time I was this taken by a man’s scent, I was in university, he was my best friend and I slept hugging his jacket for months. Yes, the very same jacket and no, the scent didn’t leave. Don’t ask whether I washed it cuz I did not. Anyways, it’s needless to tell you that amidst his simplicity, he reeked of class. The kind of man you’d see standing in front of a hotel and ignore until the valet brought his car to him. He wasn’t strikingly handsome but I thought he looked pristine. He wore an afro trimmed at the sides, and neat side burns that ran down his profile to his beards. None of the bushy beard gang drama that seems to be in vogue was going on there. His eye brows were full and well aligned. His lips were full with an undertone of pink. I was able to take note of his height before he sat and he was quite tall; about my husband’s height. That means that without heels, I’d be just about four inches above his shoulder. His teeth were perfect; I always, always check out the teeth. So he wasn’t strikingly handsome but he had my attention alright. I caught myself studying staring at him and quickly thought of something witty to say.

Unfortunately, all I could muster was “So it wasn’t the man in the cubicle then?” “You must be good at math.” he replied visibly amused by what he figured must have been me trying to say something clever. I laughed at myself. Apparently, he had caught me and his sarcastic retort didn’t go unnoticed. I might enjoy this conversation, I thought and decided to drop my defenses and have this potentially interesting dialogue. “I like sarcasm on a man who knows how to wield it.” I said honestly in between mouthfuls. Of course I went back to my meal. “Yes? I guess we’re different. I like it coming from dogs. Its special cuz they can’t talk” he laughed lightly. I offered him some of my wine but he declined politely; something about not interrupting a lady’s greatness. “So you’re not the guy from the cubicle” I said giving him a cue for some proper introduction. “No I’m not. That’s Mr. Eno. He’s a regular. He probably doesn’t look it but he’s not big on wine. He’s more of a fruit juice-shakes kinda guy.” “I find it interesting that you’ve told me everything about that fine young man and you haven’t even dropped your name by mistake.” How did he even know who was a regular and who wasn’t? I was pretty sure he wasn’t in the room when I tried to find who the gift was from. He laughed and shook his head. “My apologies ma’am. My name’s Udoka Amanze. I hail from Imo state and I absolutely love your smile.” This time, he didn’t smile, as if he was trying to convince me that that wasn’t just another pick up line. This guy was too smooth for his own good. “I’m Edima and I’m married.” He caught the not-so-subtle hint and leaned back. “Of course. Your ring is quite visible. I mean, that diamond is nearly blinding. If it helps, I used to be married.” He said with a shrug. I almost asked what happened with his marriage and caught myself before it fell out. It was none of my business. “You must be proud of your home. Tell me about it. Any kids?” I liked how he asked these sensitive questions with a touch of innocence and a great deal of sincere curiosity. At least, that’s how it seemed. Thank God he specifically mentioned the kids because I certainly didn’t want to talk about my husband. “Yes, I have kids. Four. Two soldiers, two princesses” I could literally feel myself glow. I never spoke about my kids without that glow spurring from the pride that made my heart swell. “Four? Who would have thought?” he asked surprised. “You barely look as though you’ve had any. It’s really admirable” he complimented. “Well, if I keep coming to this restaurant, I won’t be able to keep it up for long. The food is amazing. You probably know that. I mean, you know the regulars…and you sent me wine without being visible. You either stalking the people here or you definitely know your way around her and how to go unnoticed while you’re at it.” “Yes, the food here is amazing but I’m sure you can handle it. And no, I don’t stalk people here. The cameras just make it easy to see what goes on here” he pointed at about two lenses that had gone unnoticed before now. “That explains it. So you work here. Chef?” I thought he had the sophisticated air of Chefs. Maybe not. Maybe I was just lavish with my graces tonight, probably from lack of attention. “Yes, I work here but I’m not a chef.” Honestly, he was quite easy to talk to. We talked about food, my kids, politics in Imo state, how married folks in Lagos forget many times that they are married and how husbands are never caught because they can blame their late homecoming on the traffic on the third mainland bridge. There was a lot of laughter and a few awkward moments of prolonged eye contact and seconds of silence. He was very accessible; it felt like he was holding nothing back. On the other hand, I was trying not to give away too much about myself and honestly, it was pretty exhausting. Somewhere in the middle of our conversation, a woman,probably in her sixties, walked up to our table. Apparently, she was here for him and I could see the admiration she had for him in her eyes. "Mr Amanze, thank you for the other day. I don't know what I'd have done without you" He just grinned at her and said "Now you're embarrassing me. You deserve better ma'am. You should order today's special...on the house of couse" "Very well son. God bless you" and she laid a hand gently on his shoulder before moving to one of the empty tables towards the end of the room. Something about that little exchange moved me. It was obvious that he had done something for the lady that she considered a great deal while he on the other hand didn't consider it as such. He was a helper and I couldn't ignore that. Of course, I didn't ask what it was about; it was none of my business. He carried on with the conversation as if there was no break at all. We talked about places we had both traveled to. We even found out we had two mutual friends and that we both hate popcorn. After about two hours and not a few glares from customers who probably taught we should get a room, I checked my iphone screen to see what time it was. He also turned to his wristwatch and we both smiled. “I should get going” I said, secretly wishing there was more time. I was surprised at myself for thinking that. I was not in the habit of enjoying the company of men; I barely let them close. I didn’t even really notice them. The special ones were like cute dogs; notice them, flash them a smile and forget once they walked past me. But this night, this man had put a crack in my castle of ice. It was probably for the best that the evening had come to an end. There was certainly a reason, I stayed away from craving all this warmth and it was probably for the best. I suddenly couldn’t wait to leave. What was I even thinking at first? I was married with responsibilities and I couldn’t afford to have this particular man around me. That’s right, this particular man.

“You suddenly look uneasy” he said breaking into my thoughts. “No, I’m fine. I just need to get home to my baby girl. Thank you for the wine. Have a lovely evening.” I said rising. I didn’t wait for him to say anything. I picked up my bag and left him at the table. The ride down the elevator felt long with me replaying the entire evening in my head. A pang of fear struck me in the chest. There was something different, wonderful and scary about this man. And I chose to stay away. Just before I got into my car, I looked up at the building and there he was looking down at me with my flowers still sitting on the window sill. I got in, started the car and as soon as the engine purred to life, I drove away without looking back. I had decided; I was going to forget Udoka Amanze and gosh, I’d miss their recipes.

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Hello Readers. I hope you enjoyed the second part. Sit tight and look out for the this part. Click here to read THAWED (Part 1) if you haven't read it. I'd love to see your comments with respect to how the story is unfolding...

P.S- This was supposed to be flash fiction and although it might be slightly longer than intended, it will be a short one. Brace yourselves for impact.

I hope you all had a beautiful holiday.

xoxo,

Nazzy

GREEN BLACK GREEN

GREEN, BLACK, GREEN.

How else can the singer sing?

How else can the writer write?

How else can the angry people demonstrate?

How else can we say what we’ve always said?

How else can we cry since reddened eyes, sore throats and bowed heads haven‘t said enough?

Silence…

Have you ever thought to give me an answer?

We are liars.

The flag has made us liars.

There is nothing green about a land covered with the brown goo of decaying bodies.

There is nothing white about souls that have lost innocence and water themselves with the tears of men.

There is nothing green about a land whose rivers are stained red with the blood of men whose sins were their attempt to do well.

There is nothing white- pure- about leaders who protect their children while the children of the poor are left to cannibalistic men like them, as prey.

There is nothing green about a land whose people have the same skin color yet find themselves repulsive because of more subtle differences.

There is nothing white about the soot-stained hearts of people who thrive on the ashen state of their neighbors, bruises of their wives and frustrations of their husbands.

There is nothing green about a land from which kindness seldom sprouts; a land dominated by the vices springing up everywhere like brown fungi.

There is nothing white about corruption; its blackened claws shredding hope, dreams and lives.

There is nothing green in this new kingdom save for the vegetation whose leaves are slowly turning yellow and brown.

Perhaps, for the sake of lifeless trees, we should let the green in the flag be.

There is nothing white at all; nothing white about a nation whose people’s words and actions scorch each other’s faces like the sun rays as they fall through the depleted ozone layer.

There is no white at all for even hope and the clouds are being darkened by unearthly sin.

The land once filled with the scent of innocence as little boys and girls played is now overflowing with adults whose fangs and hands are bloodstained.

How did we let all that purity be eaten up by greed, corruption, death and war?

It is time to wash our linen clean.

Let all the tears and blood rid the land of the filth that destroys it.

Let us cleanse their souls with our thoughts and actions.

Let us give those who died unjustly the justice of making their sacrifices good.

Let us salvage hope and feed her strong, wretched as she may be.

Let us fight until we can look at our flag billow and feel pride instead of the misery and guilt that we have thrust upon ourselves.

Let us become what we lie to the world that we are.

HAPPY INDEPENDENCE DAY NIGERIA!!!

Cheers to "a brighter future"

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Don't get me wrong; I'm proud to be a Nigerian and I'm glad that things aren't worse than they are. I just think that sometimes, we need to tell ourselves the truth and stop celebrating mediocrity and things we know we don't have. Maybe today's for sitting down and thinking about what you can do to make our home better. Maybe today is for swallowing the hard pill so that tomorrow can be better.

BOWEN HARAM

I have been thinking of a more dramatic way to start this post but I think the tale itself is laced with enough drama. I am still shocked that what took place within the last 24 hrs was even a possibility. History was made today when the students of a missionary private university in Nigeria, Bowen University, Iwo, rioted and destroyed property in the school premises. Stories are better heard from the horse’s mouth right? Well, I am the horse because I am a student of the university.

Last night at about 9pm, I was happily chewing on my chocolate parago at a friend’s fiancée’s party when I heard from someone that boys were rioting at their hostels. Before we could wrap our heads around that, there was news of broken windows, car windshields, furniture etc. The group of students moved the demonstration to the main campus where most of the girls reside and began the demolition of shops and merchandise. Come and see free drinks ooo. Some girls all rushed out to witness it all while the rest who were locked in their hostels contributed with screams and songs like “solidarity for ever…” Classrooms and labs were also broken into and vandalized. All the cars and buildings at the administrative block were also vandalized. Eventually, at almost midnight, the cops were called to calm the situation down which they did with tear gas. However, the situation was not totally put to rest since there was still some unrest even up to 3am.

From all I have gathered, the students seem fed up with all the old and ‘new’ rules and according to them, unnecessary constraints associated with the new government. Lately, these university students have been made to adopt a feeding timetable that conflicts with their class schedules, thus adversely affecting their nutrition. I suppose a hungry man is an angry man. They have also been made to compulsorily take food flasks to cafeterias if food would be sold to them. All the previously existing rules seemed to be stiffened. Yesterday, news sprouted about new rules which included that all students should leave the hostels by 8am and return by 4pm, whether or not they have classes. Meanwhile the cafeterias must not accommodate them unless it’s their ‘mealtime’. Where are these students supposed to stay? Under the sun? Another rumor also came up about a suspected increment in the school fees. “What happened to the #540,000+?” they asked. I also heard one about ‘D’, ‘E’ and ‘F’ grades all amounting to a carry-over. In short, I’d say the explosion was caused by stored up anger and frustration on the part of the students. The students have complained of a whole lot of unfavorable conditions and treatments all to no avail. They probably just needed the additional lack of light and water for 4 days to trigger it.

As early as 6am, all students trooped out to the main campus to feed their eyes as well as negotiate with the school authority on the release of some students who were arrested as well as convey their grievances. The dialogue was unfavorable, hence, the continuation of the protest and even a little more vandalism. The students refused to stop saying that they would not back down until their peers who were arrested are released. The whole thing stretched out till about 3pm when the school management passed a memo saying that the school was to be closed down temporarily till further notice, and that all students should leave the campus effective immediately. Unfortunately, I think those students are yet to be released.

So my people, that’s how I landed in Ibadan. Honestly, I never believed that Bowenites (the generation changers) would ever gather the liver to even complain out loud let alone riot and destroy stuff. I guess the highest form of madness is born by anger. Someone may say that violence isn’t always the answer; while I agree with that, I think that the students had to prove a point and since diplomacy had failed them in times past, took the laws into their hands. We all know how youths can be. Again, while I feel that vandalism and violence are not ideal, I also think that these private schools should be responsive to the yearnings of the students and should cut down on the unnecessary rules and constraints. These students are human and are grown ass adults so while they mean to teach and discipline them, some respect would do. Feed a man till his too full and he just might puke on you.

The English don too much. Fact is, I never experience this kain tin for my life. It was really a once-in-a-lifetime experience. I don’t mean to sound like I enjoyed it all but man……it was exciting.  If I had graduated before this event, I for just dey see pix on dp, dey read am for Linda Ikeji’s blog. Good timing ey? Lol. So today, our omo mummies turned omo ghetto. One thing I can say for sure is that nobody saw this coming. Not the school, not even the students. Today was supposed to be ‘cultural day’ with suya night to make things pop. I was even supposed to open the evening service with a prayer in Igbo *pops collar* Na wa oo. The generation changers sure triggered a revolution. We hope things are put under control soon so that the students can resume and continue with their studies.

Here are some pictures that will give you a LITTLE idea of what went down at BUI today.

DEAR NIGERIA...leave our boys alone!

Hello lovers,
I have been having some trouble trying to think of something interesting to grace this blog with. However,I have come to realize that as boring ad my life is right now, it has its perks and I will not hesitate to share my life in the fab lane with you.

So on Saturday morning, I woke up late and as hungry as my late dog- who was always hungry btw. Unfortunately for me, laziness outweighed hunger so I lay on my bed till I could practically hear my intestines snapping. The cafe close to my hostel is really famous for its horrible food so I didn't bother to compound my issues. Furthermore, I was in no mood for the biscuits and cereals in my closet so I was left with one last option- Garri. Yep! The life of a Nigerian student. I had the regular accessories: groundnuts and milk, so I decided to go get the garri itself from a friend

After I got it, I made a detour; had to see another friend briefly. I entered her room rather noisily and exchanged pleasantries with the roommates. My friend asked why I was having garri so early in the day and I was like, "we Nigerians are suffering ooo". She laughed and said she agrees with me. I complained of how bored I was and she happened to be thinking the same thing. She said that Nigeria is robbing us of everything including our boyfriends-that the economy is making it hard to find new boyfriends. We laughed hard and joked about how we shouldn't have turned down some of our eligible toasters since Naija is making it difficult to find good replacements.

After I left the room, I started analysing our very funny and baseless dialogue and came to the conclusion that many Nigerian forces are actually spoiling our parole *in quote* My points may be funny but are valid.

The economy is slowing down the rate at which people get rich- low standard of living and all that... We want rich boyfriends.
The labor economy is not booming; there are no job opportunities... We want guys with tush jobs and fat paychecks.
The Nigerian mosquitoes and sand flies are not relenting... We want boys with more skin than spots.
The health sector is crying for help... Do you know how many fine dudes are to ill to be toasting you?
The educational system is a mess... We want educated boys.
The Nigerian accent cannot be overlooked... We want boys who don't pronounce 'egg' as 'hegg' or 'bed' as 'bade' or even 'fifty' as 'pipty'. *ducks to dodge the stones being hailed at me by the tribes represented above* I'm Ibo btw.
Nigerian movies, please stop giving boys those dumb pickup lines... They're getting old, we want change.
The Nigerian girls are now tax collections... We don't want to scare these dudes away now, do we? They are neither your fathers not God.
Nollywood stop making all girls look like sluts.. We want boys who respect us, and see being what they see in movies when they look at us.
Many Nigerian mothers don't want to let go of their grown ass sons...We want independent men and not boys who use their mum's breasts as head rests.
Let's not forget the Nigerian notion of men over-dominating everything... Im not saying we won't be submissive but we don't want men who will hit us because we said 'hi' to a former classmate who happens to be a guy or men who feel so threatened by our success that they force us to discard our certificates and open boutiques in Balogun market.

I could go on and on.there are so many Nigerian forces denying babes of the right dudes. So whether you are a Nigerian girl, insect, politician, teacher, mum or even the economy, know that you have a role to play in letting us have our dream men.

Im still laughing as I type this but I like to think there is a good measure of sense in all I've written.

Dear Nigerian boys, we will really appreciate it if you could work on your physique, career, psyche, accent, romance skills, spiritual lives etc while we also work on being fab wives and mums. Many of you need to acquire more yards of marriage material. (That was a joke *grins*).

Call me crazy...
xoxo,
Nazzy