ON DECIDING TO BE BEAUTIFUL

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Xoxo,

Nazzy

HEARTSTRINGS

SOURCE: ideasvalentinesday

ROSE:

I always wake up to a wet sweet tingling on my cheek,

Right where your lips touch before they move to my neck.

My tongue never gets used to your flavor as it bears the drugging effect of wine, chocolates and pure love.

We’ve been married just a year and I still look forward to marrying you the very next day, and saying I do all over again when you hug me from behind.

I often wonder if this would be till the end of time.

LILY:

I have loved you for a decade or so, borne your name for half the time and will want you forever.

I took vows by the sea with waters, earth and sky echoing them in unison.

Bed sheets can bear witness of the passion we share and the lights of how often we abandon them so that I can find you with hands and not eyes.

But outside your arms I know no solace for I am yet to bear the name mother;

I often wonder whether you’ll start to mind that too.

DAISY:

At first your touch was mild and then they turned to jabs that later turned my skin purple after a day or two.

At first I never wanted you to stop speaking for your words were laced with roses and I glowed as each syllable passed through me.

Now I’m running out of heart for each word from you destroys one more inch of it and makes me less woman.

Three missed periods have ended with scarlet fluid running down my legs and more life ebbing away from me.

I often wonder how long it takes you finally destroy a woman.

IRIS:

You have renamed me, re-molded me and made me yours in a way that can never be undone.

The purity of every interaction with you saved me from myself and every hugged pulled more of me out from the clutches of a stained past.

The children are beautiful but I wouldn’t want any without you and I can only love me and them because you constantly show me how.

All this time have taught me that some things- special things like what we’ve built- can defy the Constance of change.

I often wonder how little a woman I’d be if you hadn’t come along.

JASMINE:

I have watched you love me in more ways than one; with words, gifts and care but then, I have watched you love us all in the same way.

I see the lip stains, texts, and receipts, and how you steal quick kisses from them when you think I’m not looking.

I have gotten threats from unnamed women who want more of you and forget that you are solely mine or at least, were meant to be.

But I have loved you more, kissed you more, prayed for you more and given to more of myself.

I often wonder what I’m missing and how every other women manages to have enough of it to give you.

VIOLET:

I buckle at the knees each time I hear the sound of your voice or even the horn of your car; my body lives in the constant fear of the shame my thighs face by you.

My breasts and neck hurt from where your canines constantly dig in each time the bed lamp goes off.

My nostrils are accustomed to the stench of alcohol from your breath and my face to the eerie feeling of you drooling all over it.

You’ve become a nightmare as constant as the wedding ring I wear.

I often wonder how long it will take to lose you both.

IVY:

I have watched your dark hair disappear taking with it all the passion we once had.

Sweet names have gone with age and adventure with the fading memories.

A full house at Christmas and thanksgiving keep me grateful but I often miss little things like your notes and tickles and long nights of sweet nothings in foreign lands.

These days, memories and stories keep me happy and not you.

I often wonder if we’ll ever taste passion ever again before our demise.

LEILANI:

I have loved you for half a century and more and you leave me thinking that more can be done.

I have learnt to disregard age because the longing in your eyes each time they find me have never waned.

You have taken with you “all of me” and returned to me “all of us”; something I never thought existed or could be so amazing.

You have become the best of wines getting better with age and more exotic with passing moments.

I often wonder if death will be strong enough to break what we have.

ME:

I have heard all these tales and more, and have dared love once and tasted its exotic flavor.

I have tried to protect myself from the drama and heartbreak and have prayed on every night that my tale be magical.

I have grown to desire love in its purest form and am trying to learn how to wield it.

Now I’m focused on becoming his dream even before he finds me and loving others so that we can reflect God’s intention.

Perhaps in targeting a thousand souls, I will find that “one” and would have enough love to give and room to receive.

I often wonder what beautiful tale is yet to happen with me.

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 DISCLAIMER: The names are fictional. Also, I do not suppose that these extracts embody the experiences of every woman. However, these tales are as true as many of the women you have known.

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 I hope I struck a chord in you. 

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

THE BODY: A VESSEL OF HONOR

When you look at me, what do you search for?

When you touch my skin, what do you hope to feel?

When you think of me, what do you remember?

Know this:

I am a person not an hourglass.

I am a person not silk.

I am a person not a fantasy.

In our world, there is no one woman. There are women; individual women, unique women, different bodies carrying different souls created to mirror the creator’s person- the lover, the helper, the caretaker, the teacher…

Tell society to redefine them; they are more than makeup, false lashes, padded bras and hourglasses. 

Tell the women to disbelieve what they have been taught; that they are not beautiful until their waists are thin and their hair stretched. Tell yourself you are above the insecurities that bind you tight.

You might have heard this before. Perhaps, you might have said it yourself but do you believe that you are enough? Do you really believe that there is nothing to be ashamed of?

Virtually every woman has some part of her body she is insecure about. It may be the ears they’ve called “big” or the extra full lips or even your muscular tummy. Let me tell you about “Beautifulness”. It is a feeling that accompanies belief in you as a carrier of a great measure of beauty. The moment you believe that there is beauty in you, you will glow with confidence and people, either intentionally or not, will believe you as well. Being beautiful is an art. You study yourself, you discover what is unconventional about your body (note that I did not say ugly), decide whether or not it should stay (In conformation with the lifestyle you find ideal for yourself), discover the features that are most striking or gorgeous and hone them. Do not dwell on your imperfections; accept them, treat them like patients that get better with care and tell them they are beautiful anyways. That is why those muscular “hot instagram moms” are called sexy while Obioma the maid who isn’t half as muscular is called “yam legs”. It is in the impression and expression.

I have been there. That world made up of me, standing alone with mesh walls surrounding me. Mesh walls made from wires of insecurity and lies that I had listened to and accepted as my story. But one day, I kicked down the wall and walked away. Today, those liars come to me with the truth, the truth I had already told myself and believed. They come seeing the real me, the one I want them to see because in their eyes lie the reflection of how I feel about myself.

I am not tall and while it used to be an instrument to taunt me years before, I now get compliments about being cute and portable and confident because that’s exactly how I feel about it. It is funny how I have a lot of people call my lips sexy and full and blabla when in secondary school, it was the first thing I’d get teased about. For some reason, I have that kinda athletic body that people go to the gym to get. So while, it’s not perfectly shaped like an hourglass, I remind myself that it is beautiful and strong and is the only vessel that’ll hold my insides together so gracefully. I remind myself that mannequins and magazine covers are not bodies of people but are illusions that cause people to neglect how unique each feature is as it marries the rest of the body to produce you. Your body belongs to a person; one who has habits, problems, feelings, goes through childbirth, gets stressed out and craves the wrong pleasures sometimes. So give it a break from all that shame, neglect, strain.

I saw a picture that showed off different body shapes for ladies; the figure 8, A-shape, I-shape and T-shape. Each time, I told somebody that there were anything but the “8”, they got mad or a little withdrawn or even defensive. They’d rather be told a lie than believe and see the truth about themselves. It was funny to me because as soon as I saw the picture, I knew I knew where I fell and I was happy to point it out.

Sweethearts, never be embarrassed because you’re not busty or as hippy as the hippo in Madagascar (the anime). Never feel lesser than the girl beside you because your eyebrows are too full; I mean, why do they line them to be wide if they wanted their brows scanty or empty? Never apologize because your ears are too wide apart (whatever that means). Care for your body without hating any part of it. Conceal what needs to be concealed, enhance what needs to be enhanced, reveal what needs to be revealed and even eliminate what needs to be gone but never beat yourself up over any part of it. Be comfortable in your skin. Go without makeup sometimes; plainness doesn’t bite. Take walks in comfortable clothing; waist trainers and padded bums are not your birthmark.

Please note that I am not against healthy lifestyles and makeup etc. On the contrary, they are the tools that help us stay beautiful but be sure that you indulge in the things in the things you do for the right reasons and that you’re not burning yourself out or living a fake life just because. In fact, find out what beauty and work out routines you ought to adopt, the kind of clothing that suits your body type, the right way to make up in accordance to your unique features and embrace a healthy diet.

It would not be complete if I didn’t tell you that as God’s beloved, you are a reflection of him. Do not insult that privilege by conforming to anything lesser than that. Do you know that your love for God reflects on you? You cannot love God wholeheartedly and despise any gift he has bestowed upon you. In other words, in loving God, we learn to love ourselves the right way and manifest his fullness here on earth. There is a depth of wonder you reek of when you perceive yourself in the light of God’s word. Being an African woman can ONLY be a gift. Any limitation you see is the scheme of the devil targeted at reducing the content made available to you by God to manifest his glory.

Stay beautiful.

Xoxo,

Nazzy

TO PEOPLE WHOSE PRESENT ARE MY PAST

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Listen!

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

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

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

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

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

You are not abnormal       You are extraordinary     You are talented

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

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

You are appreciated        You are God’s beloved

YOU ARE NOT SNOW WHITE'S STEPMOTHER

I was at the mall a few days ago and I saw a white family; a man, his wife and son. This kid was cute and big enough to even carry a baby brother or sister, if he had any. However, his parents apparently thought that he was pram-worthy so he sat comfortably as the Nigerian housegirl pushed and pulled him around the entire mall. That’s not the point. The point is that the said housegirl looked scrawny and scruffy and of course very sad as she did her job. Well, that’s not exactly the point again; it was apparent that the girl was not well taken care of, as if the racial contrast and class difference were not obvious enough. I was mad. I mean, what was that all about?  My friend couldn’t understand why I was so irked. Maybe it’s the fact that lately, there’s been so much tension surrounding white dominance and the devaluation of black lives to them. Maybe it’s because I looked at the white woman and saw Snow White’s stepmother. I’m sure the parents of the poor girl gave her up enthusiastically, thinking that having their daughter work for an Oyibo man would bring them some fortune. Just maybe…Maybe she’d be looking healthier if she stayed back in the village eating fresh fruits from trees and drinking spring water just as it flows from the belly of rocks. Amidst my complaints, my friend asked me whether I had not seen Nigerian women whose house helps looked just as bad. I knew she was right but this scenario seemed much worse to me at that moment. Somewhere in my head, I blamed black people for treating themselves with so much disdain that these people thought it was okay to treat them in the same way that they treat their brothers. I was so mad because it was so obvious that the poor black girl meant absolutely nothing to them. Again, I blamed us for saying to these people committing so much crime against ourselves that justice is now defined as “crimes against us”.

Today is not for talking about how our skin color makes us seem like better slaves than CEOs. Or how they think we are better off with no air in our lungs than walking on the streets our ancestors worked on with backs bleeding from the whips of white Lords. Today is not for that. We will today talk about mothers who see beings less than human in the faces of other people’s children. We will talk about a practice that is perhaps even more common in the African society than in the western societies.

First of all, I do not want to see your house help and know that that is exactly what she is, except of course she’s putting on a well-tailored uniform with an apron tied to her waist. I do not want to see your kids wearing smart clothes while the fruit of another’s womb is clad in rags as she caters to your munchkins. I do not want to see your children having skins as smooth and glossy as magazine covers while another’s walks around your house with bruises and cuts from your belt or shoes. No, I do not want to look at you and see Snow White’s stepmother because you know what? You are worse than her simply because you are a real life monster human being and she’s not.

I do not what to understand why you would knowingly batter another in every way that you can just to highlight the already present truth that he/she can never mean as much as your kids (who by the way are spoilt) to you. Why would you see the poor and uneducated as a threat to you and your oh-so-royal family when you do not give them the tiniest opportunity to get to where you were ages ago? Why do you feel the need to see another tremble and shudder before you? Are you Karashika? Oh!! And why have you forgotten that what goes around comes back around? Like why will you treat an orphan with so much undeserving hate, forgetting that if you and your husband get hit by a truck while doing your love thing on the streets, the baby in the pram would have the same cross to carry as that battered maid pushing the stroller? What point are you trying to make?

In civilized countries, the average person does not batter their maid or nanny with khoi khoi shoes or with the buckle of their husbands’ belt. They do not go around buttering the private parts of their house helps with pepper because the kids did not eat at 7pm, after the poor housegirl might have begged them for 2 hours while taking the insults being hurled at her by your pretty little darlings. It’s a shame that among ourselves, we create terror for reasons more subtle than skin color. Even that is not enough to treat another like a creature from hell else everything we are hearing today would be justified.

There is no reason…none at all…that makes okay to treat a human being as anything other than that. There is no justification for maltreating your domestic workers just because it feel right to you. Slave trade was abolished for a reason. I am not saying you should take all the crap that these workers bring with them, especially in the African society, I’m saying that you should be civilized while dealing with them. If you’re going going to spank a child for doing wrong, do it as though he/she were your own. Don’t buy your dog KFC chicken while your domestic help feeds on your children’s leftovers. For the record, I knew a man like that. And please, don’t ask your housegirl who weighs less than 4 boxes of cereal to cart around a child who weighs more than a sack of rice and is old enough to wash his socks. He’s not crippled for a reason.

Mothers must learn to do these things right or else their daughters will learn from them and a vicious cycle would be triggered. Charity they say, begins at home. If we are going to fight for ourselves at the global level, we must learn to defend and protect ourselves at home. There is much more beauty in a world filled with kindness and good deeds that reeking of rancor. I know we all want to live fairytales but I think it’ll be better to emulate the sweet-natured princesses or the gracious fairy-godmothers rather than the Ursulas and Snow White’s stepmothers.

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I really want to hear what you guys have to say about this one. Kindly drop your comments below and thanks for stopping by. Cheers!

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!!!

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.

TO MY BOWL OF MARSHMALLOWS...

Not many flaws are tolerable but when an imperfect being births a near-perfect story, you begin to see how inadequacies don’t matter.

When you let go but don’t hit the ground, then it means you’re flying; humiliating gravity.

I still don’t know the word for it but with you, I feel free and I haven’t hit rock bottom. That has to be a good sign because I feel like I’m shaming all my low expectations.

You’ve taught me a great deal and because I’m not about to let your head burst, I’ll tell you the simplest of them.

I have learnt that friendship is arguing even when there’s nothing to argue about just because both of you feel like yelling is the best way to say “I care”.

I have learnt that friendship is accepting silly names like Naaaaaaaaaaaazzzzzz, My Gee, Nana and Ogbeni just because for some reason, your friend finds them endearing.

I have learnt that friendship makes you do silly stuff like chase a guy around the mall for a hug just even though you’ll get to see him in a couple of months.

I have learnt that friendship is when the only name that makes sense for your friend is ‘marshmallows’

I have learnt that great friendship makes you forget why you ever thought words like trust and loyalty were ridiculous.

I have learnt that you can’t be that ‘normal’ you in great friendship; you have to be the ‘better you’ whether or not you consent to it.

I have learnt that in great friendship, distance and time are nothing but meaningless English words.

I have my doubts not because you’re horrid but because I ask myself if anyone can really be this nice.

I don’t know how your ear drums deal but I really appreciate your listening to my rants and husky laughter.

I don’t know how you manage to see through me but I appreciate your always being there with the right words, jokes and expressions.

I don’t know if you really are a magical mirror but I like who you tell me I am.

I don’t know if it’s a spell but I can’t think of anyone else who has made me guzzle a lifetime number of questions in six months.

I don’t know how you got me to write this silly thing but my hands are glad you did.

I don’t know why but I’m willing to be that friend that your kids call to complain to when you and your wife are being annoying grinches.

I don’t know what else to say since you practically bullied me into doing this piece but I have to say that

      I CARE ABOUT YOU (22x) and I LOVE YOU FROM RAPUNZEL’S SCALP TO HER HAIR TIPS, AND BACK (22x).

      YOU ARE AN ABSOLUTELY AMAZING PERSON; YOUR HEART HAS TO BE MADE FROM CHOCOLATE, ROSES, GLITTERS AND WELL…BLOOD. (For some reason the bizarre analogy above feels right. Shhh!!!)

      YOU ARE FILLED TO THE BRIM WITH POTENTIAL AND CHARACTER; FIND YOUR PURPOSE AND HONE THESE ENDOWMENTS.

      IF YOU WILL SEARCH GOD OUT, YOU WOULD FIND THAT ALL YOUR DREAMS CAN BE ANSWERED PRAYERS.

      I HAVE NO REGRETS IN BEING YOUR FRIEND. I HOPE I’M RIGHT CUZ IF NOT, YOU’LL MAKE ME HATE MARSHMALLOWS AND THAT ALONE IS A CRIME.

HaPpY BiRtHdAy MaRsHMaLlOwS!!!!!!!!

God Bless You!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Have A bLaSt!!!!!!!!!

P.S- SINCE I’M NEVER THIS NICE TO YOU, I THINK YOU SHOULD PRINT THIS OUT, LAMINATE IT AND STARE AT IT FOR THE NEXT ONE YEAR CUZ I JUST RAN OUT OF NICENESS!