ThAwEd... PT 5

Source: graphicriver.net

I dug out my keys and dragged my feet to the gate. I had parked outside the previous day in the bid to preserve some space to be used at the party. I unbolted the pedestrian gate as quietly as I could and let myself out. The air was moist and chilly. I quickly got into my car and heaved a sigh of relief. It was a Sunday and I silently promised myself a marathon sleep. I ached all over and could not help resting my head on the steering will. My phone buzzed. It was Eddie. I wasn’t sure I had the grace in me to spend what energy I had left on a husband who was as absent as grey hair on my head. I silenced the ring and put down my roof mirror. I hope that’s what it’s called. Anyways, I took some wet wipes from my pigeonhole and wiped my face clean of all the makeup that had formed a horrid mess on my face. I still had a bottle of water from the previous day and I gulped half of it down. I still felt very groggy and needed to get home as soon as possible before I passed out on the wheels.

The traffic was light and I was so grateful. I don’t think I would have been able to handle Lagos traffic. Somehow my mind drifted to coffee. A friend of mine had mentioned this place in Victoria Island that had spectacular lattes. I couldn’t remember the name but she said it was somewhere around Kofo Abayomi so I set out to find it. I drove around for five more minutes before I spotted the shop, I hoped. I grabbed my purse and picked up a pair of flip-flops from the backseat. The aroma of hot pastries and the brew of coffee hit me hard in the face as soon as I got in; I almost staggered with pleasure. I don’t know if their stuff tastes as good as it smells but at that moment, I just wanted to stand and inhale. The décor was commendable; dark wood, upholstery of diverse textures, mirrors and beautiful bulb holders. It had a homely touch to it and it was surprisingly warm. Not so warm that you start to sweat but warm enough that I didn’t wanna go back outside. I realized I had been standing at the entrance for almost a minute. Thankfully, the place wasn’t buzzing with people so I didn’t get to feel embarrassed. I found a table set for two chairs and made myself at home. I was getting weaker by the second and reminded myself that I had to get going as soon as possible. I began to scan through the menu on the table when I felt a hand on my shoulder.  I looked up and there was Amanze and his bright eyes looking down at me. My heart missed three beats and I think my intestines shrank or something. My pulse was definitely at 100km/h. I quickly remembered how much of a mess I looked like and wished to just vanish into the thin air. “I think you’re stalking me” I squeaked. His laughter was rich. “You look like a mess… a beautiful one though. I never noticed your eyes beneath all that eye shadow” he said still retaining his smile. He pulled out the other chair and sat opposite me. I immediately noticed the scar at the base of his neck. It looked like it had been stitched. He had what looked like two-day old stubbles and his hair was slightly tussled from sleep, I guessed. He was wearing a sleeveless cotton shirt and sweat pants. On his feet, he wore a pair of Nike sneakers and I could see the cables of his ear phones from peeking out of his right pocket. He smelled strongly of deodorant, perhaps, axe. He had sweat on his brows and biceps and back. I was still weak but I definitely had the energy to stare at a beautiful man on a Sunday morning. “You know what I said about your eyes, it was supposed to be a compliment.” “Thank you. So umm…you run every Sunday?” “As a matter of fact, yes. I attend the 4^th service at my church so early morning runs or walks on Sundays have become a habit.” “Oh I see. I just dropped by to get coffee. I hear they have good stuff here” I said picking up my purse in the bid to leave. There was something about this man that made me feel uneasy in an exciting way. I hope you can understand that. “Come on now. You don’t have to leave. I can go if you’d rather be alone. Maybe give you a call later on” he said and grabbed my arm gently. I froze literally. The first and only time I had reacted this way to a man was when my husband kissed me for the first time. His countenance changed immediately; he must have sensed it. It looked like guilt, like when a person thinks he must have hurt another one. What was wrong with me? Whatever I was going through was none of his business and he didn’t deserve for me to act as though it was. “I’m sorry. I’m just a bit jumpy. I have had quite a night.” All of a sudden, fatigue hit me like a wave of strong currents and it suddenly wasn’t about last night or Edikan’s calls or even the fact that I had been losing it slowly for some time now. It was about everything. I knew it was coming; a great flood of tears so I put my hands in my face as soon as I sat down. As I anticipated, the tears came. I couldn’t control them but I made great effort not to make any noise. So I sat there silently and cried while this stranger sat opposite me, probably not knowing what to do with me, a woman who he barely knew. I heard him move away from the table and felt shame wash over me. I probably freaked the poor man out with my drama. I still couldn’t raise my head but I was done pouring tears. I thought about my kids and remembered that Nini had to be taken back to school today. I had forgotten to tell the driver to come get her. I had to make the phone call before it was too late.

I looked up just in time to see Amanze drop a latte and a thick layer of paper towels on the table. I quickly picked up a paper towel and dabbed my face with it. “I’m a strong woman. I don’t know what just happened here” I said quietly. “I’m not patronizing you when I say we all have those moments.” He said with a smile. This time the smile wasn’t smile. It was as though he was smiling just because he had too. He soon lost the smile and uncapped the latte carefully. “Here. This is the best you’ll ever have in Lagos. And it’s my recipe. I’m the only one who gets this here” he said as he handed me the cup. I took it cautiously, careful not to let our hands touch. I closed my eyes and brought the cup to my lips…then I paused and inhaled. The brew was heavenly and I just took it in for a few more seconds before I finally took a sip. By the time I opened my eyes, he was gazing at me with a kind of intensity I cannot quite explain. “So you’re a romantic. Not everyone knows how to or can even take coffee in this manner.” I smiled. “My father, I learnt it from him. He never takes coffee without inhaling. Some people might think it’s a rather weird or nasty habit but I find it as sweet as he was.” I was still smiling but he wasn’t. “Was?” He asked with slightly piqued interest. “He passed away last year. I try to hold unto what I can about him.” I looked out of the window, still smiling. I could never talk about my father and not smile no matter how bad things were. By the time I turned back to him, his arms were crossed across his chest and his eyes were still intensely fixed on me. Boy, this man is bold! I quickly looked at my left hand; I wasn’t wearing my ring. I had pulled it off the bid to keep it safe when I got really busy yesterday. Maybe that was why he was so comfortable looking at me this way; there was nothing visible to stop him. He didn’t strike me as a wild or loose person but for some reason, I always remember that I am married around him. It would have been nicer to actually feel married but… I changed the line of my thoughts. I didn’t have more tears to spare.

“I can tell you’re a really strong woman and that what went down here was a sea breaking through a wall of ice you’d built. You had to have been expecting that for some time now. I don’t mean to pry” he added and picked up his own latte. I couldn’t say anything to that so I just sat, sipping on the coffee he’d handed me a few minutes ago. He was right, this was the best latte I had had in my entire life. I was tasting something I couldn’t quite lay a finger on but I wasn’t in the mood to know what it was. So I inhaled and sipped and inhaled again. “So are you gonna tell me why you look like you just woke with a hangover…not that the sexy, messy look doesn’t work for me.” I gave him a look that said “you’ve got guts.”  He quickly figured that out. “I’m sorry, I couldn’t quite think of any synonym for the word.” He looked really sincere and I found that funny. I laughed and he smiled. “Now we’re making progress.” I told him about Dami’s party and the role I played in it and about Nini’s health. He was so easy to talk to. He told me stories of from his childhood and how he’d left his job as a Senior Manager at an investment bank to own restaurants. Just like before, we talked about a lot of things. “You mentioned that Aniekan had to be taken back to school and that you needed someone to drop her off” he said veering off the current track of our conversation. “Umm… Yes. There’s this driver that I call to take them to school but I’m yet to call him and he’s on high demand. I even doubt that he’d be available since I haven’t called until now.” I said as I began to worry. “Relax. There’s always a way around these things.” He said, sipping on his latte. “Sadly, I can’t think of any at the moment. I should get going.” I braced myself to stand. “She goes to Corona at Ogun right?” I had to look surprised. Where was he going with this? “Yes. Why?” “I could offer but that’d probably freak you out. We are not there yet.” I considered the offer in my head. First of all, I didn’t really know this guy and with all the silent drama we had going on, I wasn’t sure I wanted to get my kids involved. Besides, you don’t just take a person’s Sunday away from him like that. On the other hand, I could really use his help. “Thanks for offering. Really. But I think I’ll try to reach that driver first before exploring other options. Thank you for coffee and pardoning my breakdown.” I said with a smile. He was still looking at me in that very intense way, like he was trying to figure out something on my face. “That’s okay but if that doesn’t work out, I’ll be just a phone call away.” he said rising to his feet. I have always had it for men just about his height. I even married one. I smiled at myself and turned towards the door. He was right behind me. When we got to the door, he held my arm to stop me and then opened it for me. Outside the building was slightly windy for some reason. I quickly caught a wisp of his scent and it was musky with a zing of sweat or I dunno… but he smelled good alright. Shit! I probably smelled like crap. I unlocked my car and got in. He leaned in over my window and smiled. “I hope you have a hard time finding someone else to go on this trip.” I nodded said thanks and shoved the gear into reverse mode.

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Hello my lovelies, I hope this made a good read. I know it's high time we got to the end of this series. I will try to bring it to the table more promptly and consistently.

As usual, I'd love to hear your thoughts on how things are unfolding.

Stay in love,

Pray harder,

Work smarter,

Be beautiful.

xoxo,

Nazzy

CHRONICLES OF 2015

I know you thought I wouldn’t show up. Don’t think about it; just give me a hug!

Last year was beautiful and I’m not saying this because I feel lucky enough to have seen a new year. It’s true because since I became an adult, I haven’t experienced an age or time in which I had to take absolute responsibility of things around me. I was an independent adult facing life in its barest form.

I had real hard times; not the kind you face because they are a family burden but the kind that become all yours and no one’s. I had choices dance before my eyes, each teasing me with its pros and scaring me with its cons. I was the wind; heavy and dark one some days and light and fast on others.

Above all, I LEARNED TO TRUST GOD ABSOLUTELY AND IN RETURN HE TAUGHT ME THE TRUE MEANING OF JOY. I LEARNED THAT EACH ASPECT OF MY LIFE IS A JIGSAW PUZZLE LYING ON MY FATHER’S LAPS GRADUALLY BECOMING THE PICTURE HE HAS IN HIS HAND. I LEARNED THE TRUE MEANING OF JOY AND NOW, NOTHING CAN STEAL THAT FROM ME.

I faced a lot of challenges but unlike other years, I was joyful and completely at peace and although not all plans came through, the best of Him through me came to life. In as few words as I can manage, here’s my tale of triumph:

•        I learned to listen to the word and became closer to God.
•          I kept the best of friends and learned not to underestimate the power of positive energy around you.
•          Nobody in my family was hospitalized; that hasn’t happened in a while so it’s a mind-blowing milestone.
•          I found favor with people.
•          Love came my way...I eventually let it go but I found beautiful moments and made memories of them… And it’ll be waiting at the next junction so spare me the “aww”
•          I got admitted to a master’s program and a top school in the U.K.
•          I got a great job in a multinational. (“Great” here is a synonym for stressful and nomadic in nature lol)
•          I led the choir in church.
•          I spent a night on the beach…you think you’ve seen it all until the sea sings you to sleep.
•          I bought new shoes and clothes and fabrics. What? Don’t you know some people are naked?
•          I wrote more beautiful pieces, stretching myself to uncover more deep and amazing parts of myself.
•          I ventured into spoken word; I entered into a talent competition, did a few of my pieces and came second. Anyway, the gist is that you can now call me “a spoken word artist.”
•          I got extra piercings on my ears and learned to love fura di nono. I hope I got that right.
•          I reunited with one of my best friends and then made some new ones.
•          God answered one of my prayers with a miracle for the family. Ehen? Must you know everything?
•          I finally bought a brand new Nikon D Series camera. Thanks to Jumia on black Friday, we can finally get around to that Youtube channel and blog expansion. Please help me beg work to give me a break now and then.
•          I took a decision to become the “Proverbs 31” woman and to love the “1 Cor 13” way. Without all that last year brought my way, I may not be on this journey right now.

Happy New Year my lovelies. You were an amazing part of my 2015 and I hope we all stay strong, loving and helping each other grow. This year is for miracles and the nature of God shining through us. Make the best of it and do not hesitate to be super amazing with no apologies.

Take every moment and create at least a fraction of your dream out of it.

Take every person and create a friend out of him/her.

Take all that you are and create a reflection of God on earth.

Lace every deed with a drop of eternity; something beautiful that someone somewhere will never forget.

Xoxo,

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. 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.

TaRnIsHeD

Love at first sight...
That's what he called it.
I call it blindness- temporary blindness- for in the end, he received his sight.
And then he saw me for what I really am...
What he thinks I really am.  

It was sunny and bright.
Nolan was at mama's and I was free.
Today was for me; for the 'me' I had lost.
I took a walk to the park.
The green gave me life.
The chrips were music to my ears.
The echoes of laughter were healing to my sullen state of mind.
Cold nostalgia swept over me as I walked into the arena...
That's what I call it.

Here, its an ocean of lotus and white roses.
The wind brags as my short white dress billows.
A smile works its way into my face and a moan escapes my lips...
Here, I am strengthened by the scent of purity.
Cold nostalgia washes over me as I think of Nolan and the days before him.
I immersed myself in comfort exuded from the petals..
Lost myself in the arms of mother nature.  

A shadow fell over me.
With my eyes closed, I could sense an invasion.
My haven had been troubled and my anger triggered.
I looked up to find a man staring, his mouth ajar in awe.
The pupils swirled like a whirlpool; in wonder I presume.
My anger dissipated into confusion.
Why was this creature here, looking into my soul?

That day it began.
That day passion was kindled.
That day I misunderstood.
This had to be love, in all its splendour.
When it wasn't Nolan, it was the shadow.
I opened the floodgates, and gave everything.
He was the one who would see what no other saw in me.  

Laughter filled my belly.
Poetry filled my ears.
Kisses covered my skin.
Passion blurred my vision.
In this was promise.

Tonight was for us.
As I combed through my lashes and adjusted my bow, I promised to show the last of me tonight. Nolan.
My shadow, I was sure, would see what no one saw.  

I walked into the restaurant to find him on his knee,
A ring clad with diamonds in his hand.
The strong melody of a stringed instrument bounced off the walls.
Light shone around him as darkness made a hedge around the beam.
With glistening eyes and near-exploding nerves he asked me to be his bride...
For a minute, all I could think of was Nolan.
Would he take us both?
'Yes'... I said 'yes'.
The room reverberated with claps as light ate up the darknss.
Surprises. I love them.
The world had witnessed it all.

I pulled him to a quiet corner.
"You should know something"
"What is it my love?" he asked as he kissed my face playfully.
My pulse quickened as the words clogged my throat.
I held unto faith that this would be perfect.
"I had no idea that you would propose tonight. I hoped to show you something else. Nolan. He's my son. He's a beautiful child. I..." I was interrupted by change.
He froze.
The kisses stopped and he held me still as he looked into my eyes.
It felt as though shards of ice pierced through my skin.
His touch suddenly burnt my skin.
His gaze was cold like death.
The scales fell from his eyes and he walked away.
He saw what others saw.
A tarnished woman.  

I stood there watching him and his friends talk.
Must have been about me.
I saw one shake his head and another snap his finger.
Shadow gulped down something in a glass and threw the glass on the wall.
He forbade me, Rejected me, abhorred me.
I was soiled... 'Mother of a bastard'.
His friends patted his back as he cursed the knowledge of me in regret.
A tear ran down my cheek leaving a trail of pain.
Insanity tore through me and I wailed.
I ran wildly, calling for Nolan.
Nobody cared enough to run after me.
Nolan was outside waiting for me.
I had asked a friend to hold him there.
I was supposed to bring him in after I told 'Shadow'.

I took my son in my arms and wept uncontrollably.
'Mama' he kept calling, his little hands all over my face.
They had seen a lie.
For my miracle, he saw a curse.
For my blessing, he saw a burden.
He saw everything but me;
The 'me'  worthy of love,
The 'me' he could love,
The 'me' that was true,
The 'me' he would never have.  

The ring suddenly felt like a yoke.
I pulled it off and threw it blindly into the dark night.
With it, I cast off all the pain.
I wiped my tears, kissed my son and walked away.
..............................................................................................................................................................
We live in a society that thrives on stereotypes. An unmarried pregnant woman has to be a slut. A well groomed young man is most likely gay. We are forced align our lives with often baseless beliefs which are meant to curb decadence.
We forget that in life, things are not black or white. Some things are grey and should be treated as such. I am not making excuses for people who have careless sexual relations. I am only saying that sometimes, stories and motives differ. An unwanted baby is enough consquence. The society should cease to inflict more pain on mother and child.
People have diverse beliefs and I respect that. While you do not want to marry a single mother or father, you need not hurt them to prove that.
Recently, I was having a conversation with my mum and aunts and everyone started to dissect a young unmarried woman who recently had a baby. I had to come to her rescue, not because her actions are morally upright but because she is human and makes mistakes and has probably learnt a lesson or two. Nobody sees that she may become a more responsible person, a caretaker, a fighter, a teacher, a lover and a breadwinner.

This brings me to the question a friend asked me some weeks ago.
'Who would you rather marry: a divorcee or a single parent?'
Please drop your comments and opinions below..

xoxo,
Nazzy

TAKE A SHIT

Trying to stop yourself from getting a writer's block can be no easy sometimes. This is one of those times. It's funny how i get a thousand and one ideas on stuff to write about and lose inspiration almost immediately. It's like your thoughts are leading you on and desert you once they've aroused the inclination to respond to the emotions seeking expression. SLY BCH!!   So on this day, i was sitting in the chapel  and it hit me like TAKE A SHIT** This write up has been in the anal section of my creative system and it's hi-time it got out of my system. So while you think I'm writing, I'm simply taking a poop.... well, a metaphorical poop. Now, this doesn't mean that what I'm writing is shitty or crappy. You'll understand my drift as you read on.
Oya ooo, for people wey dey form say dem  no dey SHIT or for those wey dey talk 'eww' for everything plus including their own name, this might seem alil  ewwy at first but it really isn't.  

Honest people will admit that taking a poop is one of the most relieving activities ever. Ofcourse you won't understand if you've never had to lock 'it' in for a couple of hours for some reason. It is a totally horrible experience..the discomfort, the pain, the heightened self consciousness and ofcourse the extra effort made not to laugh hard so that 'you don't unleash the dragon'. Now that's a real pain in the ass. Now, this doesn't apply to just residual waste from all the junk you eat. It's quite broader than that.  

Many people carry around a wealth of ideas, concepts, dreams, ambitions etc with either no means or will to let them out. Thoughts are thought to be expressed. Dreams are dreamt to be realised. Every pregnant woman seeks delivery. Carrying these talents and graces about and keeping them bottled up is as hazardous as carrying about a shitload of by-products. People have different excuses for not expressing themselves or for keeping talents locked up and many of them are justified, but is that really the answer? I remember an incident in which i was so pressed (as in to wee wee)... My people, that day water pass garri ooh. Nazzy wey dey form say na she sabi etiquettes of womanhood pass con start to dey beg say make dem use motor block am make she piss for road. And if one more second had passed, i would have "LET IT RAIN".  

So my point is stop holding it all in. Your gifts are no secrets. Tell your stories, recite your poems, sing your songs, spell out your imagination, evangelise the proceeds of your mind...no matter how crappy they are. You might prolly get a couple of sneers and boos but it the end, you'll be relieved and you would have learned howta make it better the next time. Whatever the barrier is, strain every nerve you've got to push thru.

When the flowers are tended, they are a garden but when they are not, they are simply a bush. TAKE A SHIT!