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

AVOIDANCE AND IDENTITY WAHALA

Let me start by agreeing with @tilola; Misery is having a story with no medium to tell it or no audience to tell it to. I have been miserable. The mouth in my brain has been itching to say something but my fingers have refused to do their job. They haven’t found the keyboard attractive lately. That’s not the sad part. The disheartening part is that my blog traffic has experienced a slight drop. From where I stand, it means that I’ve been leaving my readers out in the cold and some have decided to stop knocking on my door. I apologize immensely. Please come back oo. Without you, there’ll be no blog; I might as well read my pieces on my laptop while imagining voices in my head saying, “Oh my goodness! You’re such an amazing writer”. If you guys want me to employ a doorman, I will.

So I’ve meaning to do this post for some time now. A few months ago, I wrote an article for to do this post for some time now. A few months ago, I wrote an article for YOU MAGAZINE. The item was about “the dos and don’ts for a first date”. It was a decent piece. I didn’t say anything you haven’t heard before. There was recurring talk on being modesty, dressing right, not having sex on the first date, being yourself and blablabla. When the edition was released, my sister called and was gushing about how she loved the piece and how my parents taught it was cool. Since, everyone was cool with the article, I relaxed and forgot about it. I was in school at that time so the editor sent copies of the magazine to my house.

On getting home, it was one of the first things I was shown. I was glowing with contentment. After a few days, my mum called me for one of those disturbing heart-to-heart talks. My dad was present as well. At that point, I knew that something real was about to go down. The conversation started with questions on the next step I would be taking with respect to my career. In response, I dropped the bomb that I wasn’t interested in getting a masters degree in econometrics which my dad has always dreamed about. I did not get the outburst I had expected. My dad just went cold and quiet although I’m sure the Nigeria-Biafra war part 2 was going on right inside of him. My mum was obviously bothered about something less trivial and so didn’t stop to process my lack of interest in “our dream plan”.

Mum: I heard you are now a professional writer and that you even write on the internet.

Me: Emmmm….Yes ma.

(She gives me that downward yimu that Nigerian mums come up with when they mean to say “hmm! Okay oooo” *note the tone*)

Mum: I saw the article you wrote for that magazine. I’m not saying it wasn’t nice o. As a matter of fact, I was so proud that I took it along with me everywhere I went, but after reading it over and over again, I stopped. Yes, I stopped. Writing is very nice but one must be careful about the style of writing she adopts, especially a young, unmarried girl like you. See that your magazine article baa, I did not like the style. You had little business writing about something like that. Don’t you know that people reading it will be thinking that this girl has “experience”. Ehen, they’ll be thinking that you have experience and it’s not good for your reputation as an unmarried well bred girl. You can write about these things after you have gotten married and had kids.

At this point, my head was spinning. What does “experience” even mean? How does writing a decent article about dating lead to the conclusion that I have a wealth of sexual experience or that I have dated everything that owns a pair of boxers? After all, my only reference to sex in the article was a ‘don’t’. At first, I wanted to get mad at my mum but I realized that I she was only trying to protect me from the society and its identity wahala. A society that judges people based on baseless assumptions. A society that is quick to draw faults out of the well of people’s actions and pure intentions. A society that devours you while pretending to save you from drowning in the sea of its own shallow minds. I just couldn’t wrap my head around the situation.

I know that it’s probably justified to evaluate people based on the proceeds of their thoughts but if we are gonna do that, then we must take a critical look at the whole picture. We must consider the motives and the exact message that the writer intends to pass across. People need to stop helping others think. A person is only responsible for what he says; you are responsible for what you make out of the speech or writing. Like Chimamanda Adichie says, “A single story will create stereotypes and the problem is not that stereotypes are untrue, but that they are incomplete”. I mean, you can’t go around thinking that Nazzy is some kind of slut because she wrote an article on dos and don’ts of first date. It’s just plain stupid and illogical.

One thing that has battered many individuals and households in African societies is the issue of “avoidance”. Avoiding the truth, the unconventional, the awkward facts, will only drive us towards lies. There’s no solace in running from the truth and hoping that bumping into it tomorrow will not wreck your world. We live in a social order where people make every conscious effort to stay away from issues that are inevitable, in the bid to… Honestly, I don’t even know what the point is.

Parents won’t talk to their kids about sex because, well, it’s a sin and at the end of the conversation lurks the devil waiting to send you straight to the abyss. The first time I used the word ‘sex’ in a sentence while talking to my mum, I almost threw up in my mouth and it was obvious that she felt uneasy as well. Why is that? NEWS FLASH: There are bad friends, pornographic sites and movies and let’s not forget terrible house helps who are willing to “educate” your kids on your behalf. Oral tradition in Africa has worsened the issue; there are a thousand and one versions of what would happen to you if a boy touched you, literally. Even if these dudes are some kinda King Midas that makes everything they touch pregnant. Let’s push sex aside.

There are a whole lot of controversial and sensitive yet important issues that should be talked about. Your ability to relate to these things especially when you learn from other people’s stories and experiences is what gives you a complete story which is a stronger platform to build your life on, than half-baked single stories.

Recently, a young boy had a boil on his penis and came to me complaining about it. What caught my attention was that he did not refer to his penis as one but as “toto”. I asked him who had taught him the word and he said it was his mother. When I confronted her, she said I should leave the issue alone because the boy wasn’t old enough to know what a penis should be called. Before then, I had no idea that one had to wait till a certain age to be able to name some of his body parts. I had no idea that knowing the name of a part of one’s body could corrupt their mind. Now this kid will have a new revelation of what his penis is when he “finally grows” and of course, will experience changes during puberty. He may tend to be more curious about that part of his body than he should and might be misinformed in the process of trying to figure things out. I’m not a psychologist; I’m just saying. We hear these kinda stories about parents trying to protect their kids from things that they do not need protection from. Information is power, remember? Teach all that is true about a thing and in it will come the wisdom to do right by that thing. It’s simple.

When we avoid these issues, we give the victims the luxury of excuses to justify their shortcomings. When we avoid these issues, we condemn people who fall prey to these circumstances to a kind of isolation; a place where they are held bondage by their fears because self-expression or even a quest for solutions is forbidden by those who feel the need to nurse their self righteousness and hypocrisy. When we avoid these issues, we place a film over them; they become obscure grounds and people are misguided by barriers that exist only in their heads. When we avoid these issues, we exacerbate their repercussions while concealing the certainty of their occurrence. When we avoid these issues, we ignore those who are right in the middle of issues like sexual abuse, abortions, rape, homosexuality, domestic violence, female gender mutilation and a host of other “unholy issues”. What exactly are we trying to avoid by avoiding these things? When did hoisting a flag of ignorance become a criterion for dubbing a man righteous?

It is for the sole reason that a free mind today is regarded as wild, while feigned innocence is regarded as purity. After that talk with my mum, I considered opening another blog where I could write anonymously and possess the freedom to talk about any sensitive or controversial issue I deem fit. But no, I don’t want to be a faceless voice. I want you to listen and remember my face whenever you reminisce over my words. I don’t want to be the person that hides from the truth she speaks because people might think she’s probably lost her womb for writing about issues like abortion, or that she’s not wife material because she’s bold enough to speak against domestic violence. There is no honor in doubting your own words just because others believe in theirs. Let us drop the quest to be identified in “a certain way” that conforms to “a certain way” at the expense of a credible society.

I want to hear your take on the issue. I believe its something many Africans can relate to.

Cheers!!!

Final Year Midnight Tales

Its a beautiful Sunday night... Technically, it's a Monday morning, and while a host of normal people have their end-of-the-weekend sleep, I am up reading a perfectly tough course. Yes, I'm writing exams at the moment. Fun way to start my year!

I don't know who to blame... I have completed only the first chapter of my research project. Don't look at me like that. Its not that I'm lazy... maybe I am sometimes but here's the deal: My supervisor freaking put me on hold. Told me not to start the next chapter till she approved the first. I waited patiently, expecting my file back with a nicely written 'excellent job! Move to the next chapter'. Well, I got a handful of scribbles on each page which all boil down to redoing the chapter. And she deemed it fit to ask us to let her be till 2014. The lady is just diligent. Since I think it's her fault, I wonder why I ran and hid behind my friend when I almost bumped into her.
P.S- My friends are the type who have have finished their chapter 3 and keep talking about how they'll be done in a bit. Why would they do that to me? Talk about adding salt to injury. I'm happy for them but I'd rather be happy with them. *coughs*

I think I'm under a spell. I can't seem to stop talking about and craving weddings. Someone called me pathetic yesterday when she found out that I'm single. Biko tell her I'm normal; blame the society. As a girl, you're just programmed to start thinking marriage in your final year; whether or not you're ready. Bellanaijaweddings is my new fave iG page. All my friends are tired of hearing me say "Go and marry naa. Don't you want me to do asoebi this year?" It's not like I'm ready to get married or anything. Its more like...Truthfully, I have nothing to say in my defense. Blame my mum who won't let me rest with her incessant 'Early Marriages Are The Best' lectures. You don't even want to know about my cousin who is trying to hook me up with every medical doctor in Ibadan. She goes around promising them that I'll definitely give my consent and become their 'Mrs' as soon as I graduate. Stories that touch the left breast! Smh

I'm an over thinker, I think. Its still a couple of months to graduation and I already have the emotional 'how will my life be without my friends' moments. But really, this get-to-know-people-and-get-to-part-ways-almost-immediately business is getting old. Sometimes you look forward to the fresh start but then, are fresh starts really fresh?

Do you know how many final year events I have to attend this semester? I just pity dads this semester. The amount they'll spend on new dresses and accessories will probably be enough to start a building foundation. The joys of fatherhood! Is it easy to make your father a 'papa graduate'? Biko everything is business. Let them pay for the title jor.Lol. Still tryna figure out how to tax daddy as nicely as possible... Dear kids, don't over do it. As you can see, I consider my own parents before taxing them.

Hey! I saw one ultra cute dude today. Twas like in the movies. Lemme not even start with you guys. Finally it didn't matter cuz he is in his second year. Please don't tell me about emotional maturity. In these private unis, that's like an ss3 chic being with an js3 boy. *fast forward to the end*

So my business here is finished. I just didn't like that my blog was lying fallow... I hate to abandon you guys. Have I told you how much I love you guys? Forget that I don't know you on personal terms, you guys rock my world. I had to steal some time from my by-force sleep-combating I-must-make-an-A midnight prep time but you guys make it all worth it.
Ok Bye!
Wish me the best in my exams.... I need the best!

xoxo,
Nazzy