The Danger of the Single Story.....

OK so this post is another ode to the greatness that is Adichie. Chimamanda, if you ever come across this blog, please know that I am not a crazy obsessed fan. I have not read your books over and over and do not argue about which minute little detail shows you ingenuity with S.B, and I have not watched this talk 5 times......no really, I am not a stalker!

The delivary of this speech is so gracious and she articulates herself with such poise that her message comes across perfectly. I love the way she does not try any kind of phone sturvs which is so easy to do when you are confronted by foreigners, she speaks effortlessly like a true Nigerian.

The danger of a single story she says, is not that it is inacurate but that it is incomplete. She starts with the story of her houseboy Fide, who as a child she had labelled as being poor and nothing else. Upon discovering that his family were talented weavemakers, she seems shocked that they could be something so much more than the tag "poverty". This is a single story. And this is something that we all do in someway or the other. Stereotypes are usually formed for a reason, but they represent just a part of that people and when we forget this, then we have a problem.

Although she focuses on the danger of a single story globally, I think it is just as relevant in Nigeria because of our diversity. In Nigeria for example, we say that Yorubas are loud and party-lovers, Igbos are greedy and traders and hausa people are lazy and uneducated. Now this may be true to some extent but it is incomplete. .

I live in the North, and I am usually shocked by the ignorance of Southerners and Lagosians about life in the North. People have asked me the strangest questions like isnt there sharia there? are there any clubs or bars? how can you live there if you cannot speak hausa? so you guys have dstv in the north? i didnt know kaduna had an international airport? isnt everyone there a muslim? i didnt know hausa people were rich too? They are surprised to find that Northerners have more distinct tribes than any other reigion of Nigeria, and the Fulanis, Gwari, Boko, Ataka and Barke tribes to name a few are not hausa.

This is the single story of the north. It is only when you come abroad that we all claim to be Nigerians. Once you are in Nigeria, we all identify with sub-cultural and religious groups and reigions and have a single story of all the other reigions. I have been blessed to know both the North and the South-western parts of Nigeria well, but upon coming to the U.K I have had the chance to meet alot of people from the South-south and Eastern part of Nigeria. I then realised that I also had a single story for them as well. I thought it was just divided into Igbos and non Igbos, who were insignificant tribes, but I was soo mistaken. I now have friends who are Urobos, Delta-Igbos, Calabar, Edo, Andoni, Ibibio, Ijaw, Igbira to name a few and are just as proud as any majority tribe. My single story was that everyone from that reigion was igbo, and therefore a trader, loves money, loved rituals, were catholic and usually uneducated.(I must add that Nollywood playes a BIG part in forming these steryotypes).

It sounds terrible now, but alot of Nigerians still think like this. You see as much as Nigerians travel all over the world, we do not explore our own country. I am ashamed to say I have only been to 6 states out of a possible 36(kaduna, Lagos, Jos, Kano, Ibadan, Kwara). But the majority of city Nigerians have only been to 2, their village and Lagos/Abuja/Port-Harcourt. I must say that Lagosians are paticularly terrible with this, as they feel like life begins and ends in Lagos.

But a number of my northern classmates had also never left the north and had a single story of Lagos/the south of being a crime ridden, immoral, traffic jammed jungle (which is not far from the truth lol). They also see the south-south as a place over-flowing with oil, oil-money, kidnappers, and shell workers.

You see Chimamanda brings to light the fact that you cannot engage properly with a person or a place without engaging with all of the stories of that place and that person. The single story robbs people of their dignity because it focuses on how we are different as opposed to how we are similar. According to Achebe we need a "balance of stories".

A typical example is to think of the first 3 words you think of when you think of Iraq. For most people in the western world, and average Nigerians, it is War, Oil and Islam. But have we ever stopped to think about the millions of Iraqis that are just living their lives, waking up in the morning to go to work, or the market or kids going to school. We have a single story of Iraq gotten from CNN. The first time I went to America when I was 13, I was schocked to find that not all the black people were wearing chains, rapping or playing basketball with 5 baby mamas. I had a single story of black america gotten from MTV.

I have a friend who studied in Russia, and I was shocked to hear the stories he had about the everyday Russians. Yes they are some racists and nazis but mostly they are nice and respectful people. I had a single story of Russia gotten from their History.

She concludes that when we reject the single story and realise that there is never one, we regain a kind of paradise. Think about it!

Enjoy

Miss B

Book Review:The thing around your neck

Hello Ladies and Gentlemen of the blog world, and welcome to my second book review for naija daydreamer. Please keep the applause down its making me blush. Are you sitting comfortably? Then I shall begin:

The Thing Around Your Neck
Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie

“Our men like to keep us here. She had told Nkem. They visit for business and vacations, they leave us and the children with big houses and cars, they get us housegirls from Nigeria who we don’t have to pay any outrageous American wages, and they say business is better in Nigeria and all that. But you know why they won’t move here, even if business were better here? Because America does not recognize Big Men. Nobody says ‘Sir! Sir!’ to them in America. Nobody rushes to dust their seats before they sit down.”- Excerpt from the story, Imitation in “The Thing Around Your Neck”

Allow me to introduce a writer who needs no introduction, corny but true. Adichie burst onto the literary scene with her debut novel Purple Hibiscus (the coming-of-age story of a young girl who lives under the shadow of her fanatically religious father) winner of the Commonwealth Writers Prize was hailed by the Baltimore Sun as “one of the best novels to come out of Africa in years” by the Boston Globe “prose as lush as the Nigerian landscape it powerfully evokes”…yes it is THAT good.
Chimamanda certainly did not disappoint as she responded three years later with her second novel the widely acclaimed, instant classic, Orange Prize-winning and may-I-write-like-that-someday Half of a Yellow Sun. With two novels in the bag she was crowned “the twenty-first-century daughter of Chinua Achebe” by the Washington Post. We do not need to explain what a crowning glory that is as Things Fall Apart is on the BBC list of books to read before you die. This 32 year old author has been described by HER favorite author as “having the gift of ancient storytellers”

With all this praise heaped upon her, her third novel was always going to be tricky. The critics have fallen in love with her graceful storytelling and character insight. The Thing Around Your Neck is a volume of twelve short stories which explore the collision of the Nigerian and American cultures and the lead characters as they try to reconcile them. Majority of her narrators are young and female.

The title story exemplifies her prevailing theme of homesickness. Turning it almost into a physical illness, “At night, something would wrap itself around your neck, something that very nearly choked you before you fell asleep.” it is here that the Thing Around Your Neck is shown as choking loneliness that renders you silent and invisible, not jewellery for your throat…like I originally thought.

Being narrated in the second person makes the story poignant, heart-wrenching in its sorrow and longing, the use of “You” instead of “she” makes the story personal. The unnamed 22-year-old narrator gains a longed-for American visa and goes to live with her uncle’s family in Maine. “They spoke Igbo and ate garri for lunch and it was like home,” recalls the girl, “until your uncle came into the cramped basement where you slept and pulled you forcefully to him, squeezing your buttocks, moaning… And you remembered what he said, that America was give-and-take.” As a result she has a hard time believing in the sincerity of a young white man's affection for her, looking for any signs of a condescending or patronizing attitude.

In “Cell One” the first story in the book, Adichie will refer to the coming-of-age story telling that she adopted for Kambili in Purple Hibiscus and you feel the exasperation of the young girl towards her older charming brother, as he is spoilt by his mother until he experiences a life changing situation.
“It was as if he had been suddenly been to see that the Incredible Hulk was really just green paint”

In “Imitation” a young mother finds her comfortable life threatened when she learns that her husband back at in Lagos has moved his mistress into their home. She can only confide in her housegirl “the madam/housegirl line has blurred in the years that she has had Amaechi. It is what America does to you, she thinks. It forces egalitarianism on you. You have nobody to talk to, really except for your toddlers, so you turn to your housegirl. And before you know it, she is your friend. Your equal. ”

In “A Private Experience” a medical student hides from a violent riot with a poor Muslim woman whose dignity and faith force her to confront the realities and fears she’s been pushing away. There is an instance when the older Muslim woman prays for Chika the protagonist of the story, “Allah keep your sister and Halima in a safe place,” Chika will nod in response because even with her foreign influence and exposure she was unsure of what Muslims say to show agreement, certain only that it wasn’t “Amen”.

In "Jumping Monkey Hill," a Nigerian novelist attends a writer's workshop given by an eminent, white, British scholar, where they each are to write and present a story. The scholar turns out to be the type who knows more about Africa than Africans- or he would like to think. He criticizes one person's work because stories about homosexuals coming out to their families aren't representative of "the real" Africa. This has been reported as being the most autobiographical of all the author’s stories.

The last story “Headstrong Historian” is my absolute favorite. A masterpiece, the greatest short story ever told. Infact my major compliant is that it was not drawn out to blossom into a full novel, it certainly has the potential. It is pure genius, for the entire duration you are left just in awe of how the author zips between timelines and locations all the while never compromising on dialogue or scenery. It is a melting pot of colonialism, Western education and Christianity in a tiny Igbo village as narrated by Nwamgba. This lady has to be amongst my top 5 heroines of ALL time.
Her wit, self-belief, survival instinct, stubbornness, and fierce protection of her family are traits to pray for. She fell in love with her husband at first sight and never stopped loving him. She pushes her son to learn to read so when the time came he could defend his inheritance from his leech uncles. As Anikwenwa drifts further away condemning her nakedness and refusal to eat her food, she wonders if “she meddled with his destiny” A love story in reverse, Nwamgba passes on her knowledge of her world to her granddaughter, the only family member eager to learn clay pottery and poetry that involved the traditional call and response.


Adichie’s gift is her ability to manipulate language almost invisibly and with deceptively effortless grace she moves between Igbo and English. Her stories are also immediately intimate, absorbing you into their imagined world because she inspires the readers’ confidence with only a few sentences.
Although some of these stories, feature women in circumstances that cry "victim", none of the women are drawn as such. They might have to do things they don't like, or compromise about certain things, but so does everybody else. Not once do you ever get the feeling that any of Adichie's characters have been created as deliberate objects of sympathy. What's even more refreshing is that her characters are neither victims nor super heroes. They are humans dealing with situations that come up in their lives just like we all have to. In circumstances we can identify with and emotions we can experience.
If there are flaws in the collection they are minor faults of structure – a couple of stories simply stop, rather than reaching a conclusion, while the compression of the final narrative, “The Headstrong Historian”, is so intense that it feels as though it should have been allowed to blossom into something longer.

Purple Hibiscus was about freedom, and the blurred line between childhood and adulthood; Half of a Yellow Sun was about moral responsibility, love and betrayal during the Biafran war; The Thing Around Your Neck is all these and more. Chimamanda Adichie produced a melting pot of stories and a work of genius. The sort of book that I am positive will make more sense and increase in depth the more times I read it. That is timeless art.
Available at the one and only Amazon,




Enjoy

By S.B

Questions.....

Heyy blogsville,
Thanks so much for your love on the car situation. I am still trying to sort it all out and will keep you posted. Anyway I have a question for you that I spent hours and hours debating with various people and I would really like to get your opinion on it!
This is an imaginary scenario but could so easily be real.

A guy is in love with a girl and declares genuine love for her, but she rejects him over and over. For some reason she is then unable to to pay her fees and begs him to give her the money because there is NO ONE else she can go to that can afford it. He then tells her that he will only give her the money if she agrees to sleep with him. After she exhausts all other means, she agrees to do this as the last resort. So she sleeps with him, and he gives her the money.

Does he have the right to call her a whore/gold-digger/slag???

In my survey, 70% said yes because irrespective of the difficult situation, the bottomline is that she slept with him for money. While I respect this view, I think every situation always determines the tag you put on it.

Personally, I think he doesnt have the right because he has manipulated her into getting a part of her because he would not otherwise have gotten. This, to me, means he no longer has the right to call her names. For the fact that he was willing to offer her the money only under this condition, he looses the right to look down on her as a gold-digger.

This scenario goes back to my previous post. Although this is more complicated because feelings are involved, I believe that once you are doing something immoral, you do not have the right to call the other participant names, unless you are willing to admit your flaws too.
Majority of people seem to believe that since he has declared feelings for her and she has refused, the fact that she could accept money from him means she is a gold-digger/shallams.

Do you guys agree with me or go with the majority view??


xoxo
Miss B

The Car Incident

I AM IN DEEP SHIT! I bashed my friend's car into a wall last night while trying to park. Its a peugot 206 convertable and so the damage to the front was quite bad! I am so pissed off at myself because I knew I should NOTA have been driving a manual car as I have not driven one in over a year. Plus, I am terrible with tight spaces, and this has happened before. In Nigeria while trying to park my mum's car, I scratched it against iron rims, and had to get it resprayed out of my own pocket, but things in Nigeria are cheap so I could afford it without anyone finding out.

Here in the wonderful U.K on the other hand, I have to cough up £450!!!!!! Just to fix the front bumper and re-shape the dent!!! If it was in Naija I know it would not have been more than 10k.

Now the twist in the gist is that the guy does not have insurance!!! If you are not living in jand, let me tell you all that driving without insurance is a SERIOUS offence! To top it up, I do not have a full license, the guy was not qualified to be in the car with me, and we did not have a learner sign so if the accident had happened on the road or God forbid with someone else's car, my life would have been over!! That is bye-bye to me practising law because I would have a criminal record. GOD FORBID! I am just grateful that it was not the worst case scenario.

But at the same time, where or how will i cough up that kind of money??? Even strip clubs are not recruiting at the moment because their main clients(bankers and finance people) have been affected by the recession!! I am unemployed, broke, and can never tell my parents.

The most painful part is that I am pissed off at myself. Why the hell did I drive that car???Who sent me??

I am screwed!!

xoxo

Miss B

Cash or Credit 8.........

Cash or Credit 7 can be found HERE!

4.00pm Monday afternoon

Holloway Grove Victoria Island.

Kabir Tijani sat at his work desk on the eighth floor eating left over Sallah meat from a large plastic bowl that held braided intestines, shaki, roundabout and cubed pieces of yam floating on a broth of hot pepper soup. A smaller bowl held fried peppered meat and kilishi on a bed of lettuce that Kabir would ignore. Kabir unearthed the plastic spoon from its tissue wrapping, lifted the pieces in large chunks and chewed loudly completely enjoying the silence that came from having the office all to himself. The Eid celebration had mandated a public holiday leaving the entire office complex devoid of noise; the numbers on the elevator did not light up, the air conditioners were switched off and the coffee machine lay empty. Kabir had come here on a whim, his house held too many memories of Halima kneeling before him, of uncles enquiring and aunties scolding. So this morning when he woke up in the loud silence of his house in Ikoyi he grabbed the car keys, left-over bowls of meat in his fridge dropped off by well-wishers during Sallah visits the day before and sped on the empty motor ways till he got here. He sat reclined in the executive chair with his feet on his desk, in his blue kaftan and for once Kabir’s head was empty, his mind was quiet like it too was exhausted with the mere thought of what a horrible person he was. It appeared his brain had re-learnt had to switch off.

Kabir had come to a nasty conclusion; he wasn’t a nice person. He either showered those he loved with attention or paid none at all. He was also painfully aware that this was a major deciding factor in Jen’s dislike of him. It should come as no surprise; he expected this, she told him severally to smile at the gateman, say “Thank You” when Sandra wheeled a lunch trolley up, but he didn’t listen, so wrapped up in everything she said he was ‘Gorgeous, Brilliant and Charming.’ Bah! Well beauty really is in the eye of the beholder isn’t it? She didn’t think he was any of these things anymore did she? He deserved it, this lack of acknowledgement Jen dished out. Maybe he was destined to mess it all up from the beginning. Kabir didn’t believe in destiny- Halima did- she always said they were meant to be together, always read out their horoscopes pretending not to care what it said but he knew she loved all that- the charmed existence she wanted them to live. Halima was born into privilege but Kabir knew she would have shacked up in a garage with him if he told her their love would convert it to a cozy cottage. She believed love was magic. That naivety was to be protected, but what did he do? Turn her into another “Men are Dogs” campaigner – like the world needed anymore men haters. Kabir felt sorry for the next man that would attempt to love Halima, he would surely pay for crimes he did not commit.

No matter his current melancholic state the point remained that Allah had provided him with two wonderful women and he managed to screw it up. There were people who prayed for the devotion Halima showed him and the passion Jen ignited in him. He was stupid in thinking his love was prize enough for these women. The wings of the Dark Angel have been clipped off and Kabir tasted humility, it wasn’t a taste he was accustomed to. You don’t have to believe in much to realize you have made a mess of things, when meekness stops you from asking for a second chance because you know you don’t deserve it. Kabir however knew that Allah was Beneficent and he believed that if he proved himself, took what he had learnt and implemented it in his daily life, he will once again be blessed with an encounter with someone he could love. For all his bravado, Kabir didn’t do well on his own and only shone bright on the arm of someone loving him. Mutual love is what made his eyes sparkle, his mojo has been taken away.

So that was his new-year resolution in advance, but for now on this hot afternoon, he would just enjoy not hating himself. Kabir turned on the plastic fan Femi bought on his first day at the office thinking he would need it. Kabir switched it on and angled the blades towards him, the fan whirred nosily and leaning forward Kabir cupped the plastic bowl in his palms, raised to his lips and drank the soup, the hot peppers burnt the back of his throat and he immediately cooled off with large chilled gulps of Maltina from the miniature ice cooler he had packed last minute as he heated up the pepper soup in his microwave. The old Kabir would have marveled at his sheer brilliance in effectively executing this impromptu meal by remembering to pack drinks; the new Kabir was just glad he had his appetite back.

Jennifer Ovbiagele walked past the glass sculpture in the lobby, swiping her card at the elevator. Her reflection in the mirror looked almost confused at her state. ‘Is this well-dressed corporate Jen?’ It seemed to ask and Jen scowled at her casual look today. Black sandals, skinny jeans and a white tank top, her hair was in a rough ponytail, her nails without varnish and she wore no jewelry. She could be forgiven, she knew the office would be empty and she wanted to get some work done. The week gone had been her most unproductive till date, including the Friday she strolled in late after spending the night at Esosa’s- luckily for her barely anyone made it in due to the heavy rainfall and no one was the wiser. This week however she just hadn’t been on form so she wanted to lay some figures down before the hustle of the rat race began again tomorrow. Jen walked out as the doors opened into her office and for the first time surveyed it empty. Hard to believe this room contained so many characters, as the plain office space looked almost starved of personality with no fax noises, bubbling coffee machine and Shaw. Pulling her chair out Jen got down to business; hooking up her USB, opening relevant software, laying out her calculator and the sheets of numbers begging to be made sense of. A while later, happy with the progress made Jen decided to take a walk around and stretch her legs, she took the stairs to the eight floor lingering on the stairwell, she remembered her last outburst here; the recollection didn’t make her cringe but it didn’t leave her smiling either. She cracked the door open and heard the whirr of machinery; she wanted to leave the hard worker be but Jen wanted company for a little while so she peeked her head around the corner and spied a figure in blue reclined with his feet up. Well so much for hard work Jen thought. She knew then that she should leave, anyone would love a break from work but no one- her included- would appreciate their down time been trespassed upon. Jen let the door swing back and walked down to her floor hoping she knew how to turn the coffee machine on.

10.00am Tuesday morning Holloway Grove Victoria Island.

Jen tapped her heels against the side of her desk as she struggled through a difficult column of figures; Mariya was immersed as well, they both had their heads bent. The office was unusually quiet as everyone worked hard; seeming to make up for the indulgence over the holiday. It was in this atmosphere that Jen’s Blackberry rang loudly disturbing the diligent atmosphere of her co-workers. With an apologetic smile and two fingers still posed over her calculator Jen answered the blocked number.

“Hey” a voice said

“Hey you” Jen smiled into her reply

“How’s your day so far?” Esosa asked

“I’m only an hour into it but its set to be a long one”

“Oh, wish I could help”

“You could join me for lunch” Jen suggested

“That’s what I’m calling you about” Esosa started

“Ok” Jen crossed her fingers

“I have to go to Abuja” he heard Jen sigh “I know its impromptu but it’s urgent”

“This evening?”

“In an hour”

“Crap” Jen swore. Esosa laughed

“I know, and I was really looking forward to tonight”

“What’s happening tonight?” Jen asked

“Guess you’ll never know” Esosa said cheekily

Jen forced a laugh.

“Hey” Esosa said softly “I’ll miss you. Alot”

“Good. That’s your punishment”

“Call you when I get there” Esosa said amidst static

“Ok” then the line went dead

Jen glanced at the end screen on her phone, and felt like an idiot. She just acted like a petty child, she should have said “I’ll miss you too, probably even more because I just realized I’ve fallen for you” she sighed. This was supposed to be simple, he liked her- she liked him. Why couldn’t she just say it? Why was she was so scared? Now she understood how frightening it was to put yourself out there- wear your heart on your sleeve. Esosa and Jen had gotten into a dance where the only person that expressed interest was him; Jen never had to reciprocate but now she was in that dangerous territory of emotion where she wanted it to be ‘official’, her heart was getting involved and she wanted or rather needed to be his girl. It would be so much easier if Esosa would just formally ask her out then she could say yes and be done with it. Instead she played this game acting like her feelings for him hadn’t changed; the thought that admitting she now felt the same might damage everything. There was a certain frailty to her crush on Esosa, built over time without her even knowing it was growing made it feeble. Not a powerful force that would conquer everything in its path, but a persistent glow that felt like it could be snuffed out if she wasn’t careful. Jen believed if anything was to ever go wrong with this it would be her fault. It was a humbling experience to discover you had that power; to break someone’s heart, with just the wrong word, a rough gesture, a misplaced kiss.

It is so much simpler to play the victim, leave the decision making to someone else but at the ready to condemn if it didn’t go your way. Jen now understood the full scope of what Kabir had to deal with. She slept with him and then never spoke to him again. Yes, she had her reasons; self preservation being the foremost. She hated messy situations and ran as fast as her stiletto feet would carry her. But she never verbally told Kabir never to bother her again, all along she gave mixed signals, not speaking to him but never fully indicating she was over him as well. Jen didn’t think she knew what she wanted then either. Pushing away from the computer screen Jen got up and walked towards the elevator. She needed a break, something to lift her spirits; Jen pressed the button to the ground floor before remembering that Sandra was off today. As the doors slid open to the lobby Jen saw Kabir walking in, he looked different. She studied him, really looked through the expensive dark purple shirt and bulging arm muscles. There was something about the way he hunched his shoulders like he had been beaten at something, but he didn’t look upset. Stop it Jen, why do you always have to over examine him every time you bump into him? You are almost someone else’s girl now abi? Eyes front. She stepped back to let him in

“Thank you” he said. Jen nodded back a response

“How’ve you been?” Kabir asked

“Good. You?”

Kabir looked at Jen for a minute before he replied “I’m well. Everything is falling into place.”

Jen thought that was a weird answer but she smiled anyway. She stepped out on the second floor and Kabir waved goodbye. Jen mused as the elevator doors slid shut; it appeared they had reached some sort of homeostasis. That encounter wasn’t awkward at all.

Jen greeted Temi and stole a lollipop from the glass bowl on her counter. She had barely gotten two licks before

“Have you heard?” Temi whispered with a glint in her eye.

Ehen this is what she wanted to hear. Jen raised an eyebrow and Temi divulged details of Halima’s resignation. It only recently came to light that she quit, everyone assumed she was fired as attendance is taken very seriously in Holloway and Halima had been absent for two weeks prior.

Jen asked questions at the speed of light; boring generic stuff about state of health and family emergencies except the one she really wanted an answer to. Temi was oblivious, completely engrossed in how weird Halima’s behavior was, how she had stepped in showing no signs of distress and with no explanation for her whereabouts for the past couple of days either.

“It doesn’t matter anyway. Do you know how much money her father has?” Temi continued puckering her lips in a hiss

Jen shook her head no

“Enough dough” Temi rubbed her index finger and thumb to indicate cash “She probably worked here just for fun”

Jen said something in agreement that started Temi on a tirade of how she works because she has to and not because she’s bored. Jen zoned out and recalled Kabir’s defeated stance in the lobby before he saw her and forced his shoulders upright. She saw him looking like he pulls overtime…she had no proof of that but she knew how she immersed herself in work to heal a broken heart. After a couple more minutes spent with the HR ladies as they debated Halima’s state of origin “Kaduna, Kano or Kastina?” Jen walked back to her office and once again faced figures fighting back pity for Kabir that she knew would surely put her in trouble.

It was a long week punctuated only by brief phone calls from Esosa whenever he got the chance. Esosa did tell her the trip was for 10 days but he was working his hardest to get it done sooner so he could get back quickly, possibly by Monday. Jen appreciated that and called to say it was for such reasons that she fell for him and that she missed him but always seemed to call at the wrong time; Esosa was sleeping or working. In meetings, conferences and seminars, sigh. Jen responded comically to all his text messages, trying to keep his spirits up because she didn’t feel she had the official right to nag. She wasn’t his girlfriend. Besides it was just till he returned on Monday, it wasn’t forever. That didn’t mean it didn’t suck, this not having him. She finally made up her mind, she knew who she wanted to be with and now she had to wait. It should be funny but it wasn’t. Jen read yet another “so sorry I missed your phone call last night” text from Esosa. Jen could be patient till Monday, what’s the worse that could happen?

Everyday Jen bumped into Kabir, and like magnets the pull dragged them back to spend more time talking, they began having longer face time; in the elevator, in the stairwell, in her office, in his, but mostly in the cafeteria. They had lunch together most days and just talked, she learnt a lot more about Kabir. Not the Architect or Rich Boy but Kabir the person. He told her about finally believing in destiny, allowing himself to make mistakes; he thanked her, without saying what for. She knew his favorite book, she knew his parents didn’t speak to him for two months after he moved to Lagos, he still owned his old Lego play-set. He made her laugh. Jen exhibited a rare frank quality by bringing up Halima. She asked if it was something she implied by not making their relationship a finality. He said no, he took full responsibility for what occurred with Halima and left it at that. He didn’t want to talk about it and Jen respected his decision. Now she also understood it differently; his demeanor was not that of a man who lost a girlfriend, Kabir was divorced. Maybe the naughty boy was still there, he just needed a little teasing out. A challenge that seemed to call to Jen but she shrugged of the temptation. Jen had heard of epiphanies but this personality change was too drastic for one person so she initially took it all as an act.

Jen tried not to notice how Kabir had changed. She pretended not to see him offer Temi a ride when it dark clouds began gathering, she also feigned ignorance when Sandra excitedly waived help with her script blushing as she hinted someone who would run lines with her during her lunch hour, she also made a u-turn as she heard Musa speaking in rapid Hausa to an unidentifiable dark male. The reformed bad boy appealed to Jen; especially one eager to stock up on karma points. Jen knew this harmless fantasy ‘of the good person she had created’ became dangerous when she bumped into Kabir in the elevator and she noticed for the first time in weeks how pink his lips were, how good he smelt when he stood close, how she liked his hair this rough, how dark his skin was against his white Egyptian cotton shirt.

“Are you okay?” Kabir asked raising an eyebrow

“Of course. What’s the matter with you?” Jen replied harshly

“Nothing” he looked confused “I was just wondering because you look…”

“Kabir I’m very busy” Jen said annoyed as the elevator opened to her floor. She stepped out and immediately dialed Esosa’s number; it didn’t go through the first time. “Devil get behind me” she whispered and tried again, he answered on the first ring.

“Hi”

“Hey” Jen chirped a little too loudly. Damn all this ‘wait till he gets back’ nonsense, she had to tell him now because she was projecting on Kabir.

“You sound flustered” Esosa said concerned

“Jen” he called when there was no answer

“I have to tell you something” Jen forced herself to say

“Sure”

“No time like the present right”

“That’s what I always say” Esosa laughed. Jen smiled

“If you ever decide you still want me….”

“Hey Esosa how long are you going to be?” came a male voice over the phone interrupting Jen

“Imade I’m on the phone” Esosa replied

“Well Dansabe will take the account elsewhere unless they get you to head the merger and we are late for the brunch meeting”

“Dansabe?” Jen croaked. It can’t be possible

“Yes” Esosa replied “his daughter just took over the textile division, getting the account is the whole point of this trip”

Jen’s head was spinning and she felt faint

“Jen are you okay?” Esosa asked sensing something was wrong, he heard a mumble and then the phone line went dead.

‘Karma is a bitch’ Jen mouthed as she sank to her seat gripping the table

11.00am Friday morning Central Business District Abuja.

Esosa Oyakilhome stared at his phone wondering at Jen’s abrupt hang up. Did she say something about wanting her? He didn’t get it, Esosa rubbed his head. This trip was playing havoc with his alertness. He was working his hardest to get all the wheels in motion so he could return to Lagos; it had gotten so bad Esosa fell asleep last night spooning the gross figures of Dansabe Textile and Clothing. He dreamt Jen said all these wonderful things to him. Sentiments he hoped he would hear but never this soon; she told him he was kind, a great kisser, her knight in a Cayman blue AYGO. Esosa smiled in his sleep and dropped the idea of getting sleeping pills in the morning if it meant missing out on these kinds of fantasies. When he awoke he saw the missed call on his phone, Jen never called him more than twice in a row because she hated being clingy, he sent her an apologetic text as he got dressed but the whole day he wondered about the dream, it seemed so real. It was possible he answered the phone in his sleepy state; he would always pick up Jen’s phone call no matter what he was doing, his head obviously made up the rest. Imade glanced at him impatiently, Esosa grabbed the file from his desk and they both climbed into the waiting silver Jaguar XJ the Dansabe liaison sent to take them to the hotel where the meeting would take place.

“People get money sha” Imade said whistling as he admired the Soft-grain leather seats

“Ugly boy like you no get chance now” Esosa teased

“Dey there. I get sugar mommy o. My level don change” Imade laughed

Esosa laughed with him, he enjoyed Imade’s company which made choosing an assistant on this trip easy. It still surprised Esosa how young he was because he worked so hard, such an eager learner. Imade could easily give 100% for a straight fortnight, working tirelessly without complaint, and he was only a year older than his brother. Imade was intensely enjoying his first trip to Abuja as well, his first out of Lagos by air he confessed to Esosa on the flight here and he handled being in the air very well for a first time flyer. He had a problem with showing weakness and Esosa admired that, in this business it was essential. They had pulled a 12hr shift last night yet Imade could barely sit still he was so excited and his enthusiasm wore of on Esosa. As the driver turned 19" toba alloy wheels into Aguiyi Ironsi Street bringing the Hilton into view, Esosa felt like he had just been chewing on coffee beans, he was so hyped. Having Imade around was like a shot of adrenaline to your system.

The very tall liaison led them to the hotel lobby and Imade tried not to look impressed. The Piano Lounge had an avant garde design and the laminated reflective ceilings stretched above flooding the room in light, the black Steinway grand piano flanked the leather chairs, it was the perfect venue for an informal business meeting. Already seated at a round table were four men in sharp black suits and two strikingly beautiful women who Imade whispered to be the infamous Dansabe sisters. They were seated by the liaison and finally caught his name as the smaller of the two sisters referred to him as Sadiq. Besides such business acumen Esosa and Imade looked under prepared; the Dansabe male negotiators visibly relaxed not feeling threatened at all. Esosa liked that, it was always a fatal mistake to underestimate your opponent.

The tall sister in the long green traditional dress spoke first

“Welcome. I understand that this was impromptu and I appreciate being able to make it down for the preliminary acquisition discussion”

“It was an honor to be invited” Imade responded quickly. Esosa placed a restraining arm on Imade’s shoulder. He opened his folder to a blank page and wrote “they brought us here. THEY want us”

The sister watched the exchange with serious eyes, it was obvious nothing got by her.

“We’ll get right down to it. We request your services primarily because we were impressed with the work executed on the Etisalat re-launch” Esosa was impressed, she really got right down to it and by placing all cards on the table she had regained control of the situation.

The suit to her far left glanced across for permission, and with a subtle nod that Esosa would have missed if he were any less observant, the dark man spoke

“Miss Jummai is right. We were even more intrigued to discover that Etisalat was merely a parent company and your services could be ‘rented’. We will however like to discuss your fees prior to opening negotiations on the textile merger.”

Esosa spoke then and he directed his comment to Jummai because she was obviously running the show

“Our fees are non-negotiable but on the basis of how much insight you feel is given towards your perceived goals for the company the bonus awards can be discussed”

“We have already explored the possibility of expanding our factory to increase productivity” Jummai interjected with a look Esosa associated with top CEOs. She did not take bull, Esosa liked her, and he smiled.

“We would actually desist evolving from a domestic small-scale status” Esosa replied calmly “Your cotton stage presently accounts for over 14% of total exports…” and as if rehearsed Imade passed copies of their sales record to everyone at the table. “Expanding in this present economic climate would halt profit at the rag stage”

“So what do you advice?” the dark suit man asked

“That Sir is why you should hire us” Imade smirked. Esosa looked at Jummai; Jummai looked at her sister who had remained silent throughout.

“Inform the maître to bring the brunch menus out” Jummai said smiling at Esosa “It appears we are in business”

After a hefty feast of Olympic salmon rings, roast tomato, egg and rocket bagels blueberry cheesecake muffins and a Tuscan picnic loaf; Dansabe Textiles had officially hired the services of Esosa’s auditing team. As the coffee was poured into little porcelain mugs shortly after conclusion, Jummai spied Esosa mid sip and said good naturedly “At least I know where half your bill will go towards”

Imade blushed as he had tried to impress her, Esosa smiled again. Imade glanced from one to the other and raised a not-too-subtle eyebrow. The whole team departed then but not before Jummai scribbled her number down in case of emergency with a straight face; Esosa couldn’t tell if she was joking or not. If he wasn’t madly in love with someone else he might have been intrigued to find out. As Sadiq reluctantly chauffeured them back to Etisalat offices, Imade looked at Esosa and said

“I underestimated you.”

“That’s how it’s done” Esosa replied hoping Imade was referring to the meeting and not the client.

12.20pm cafeteria Holloway Grove Victoria Island

Jen walked in sluggishly, she hadn’t been able to get her mind off what Esosa said. Dansabe? What the hell were the odds of that happening? She thought they were a royal family in Kano, not a business in Abuja. This is bad, very bad. Karma had come to collect her penance and it was going to be hefty payment. Jen had only met one sister; she didn’t want to know what a collective group of them could do to two men. Jen and Kabir locked eyes just then as he was seated at his usual place next to the window. The lunch lady was serving jollof rice but Jen had no appetite, she contemplated turning around but then Kabir kicked out a chair with his foot as an invitation. Jen walked over and sat down

“Karma is a bitch”

“I agree” Kabir said staring at his plate

“I deserve it”

“I doubt that” Kabir looked at her

“Yeah because I’m virtuous woman personified” Jen rolled her eyes and stole dodo from a side dish

“More virtuous than me”

“You are not that bad, well the new you anyway. Change suits you”

“I am tolerably sick of vice which I have tried in agreeable quantity” Kabir said smiling

Jen smiled back. They shared a look for a moment.

“Why is this getting awkward?” Kabir asked, normally he would move on but he promised to always be honest with himself

“I don’t know what you’re talking about” Jeb lied as she coached herself to look at his face and think straight.

They spoke some more as Kabir finished his meal and afterwards headed for the elevator. Waiting for the lift, Jen stopped thinking and said

“Do you miss me?”

“Is that a safe topic?” Kabir asked back

“Yes or no?”

“What will it matter?” Kabir watched as Jen broke the personal space barrier they had. What was she doing?

The elevator opened then and Jen walked in first, as Kabir followed after and pressed his floor then hers, Jen decided to let it go as Kabir said

“All the time. I think about you all the time Jen but I understand that I can’t have you because I blew it and….”

Jen grabbed him by the collar and kissed him, Kabir swallowed his last words and before drowning in the ecstasy that Jen could illicit from him with just one look he punched the stop button on the elevator.

Stay Tuned for the finale of Cash or Credit

By S.B

Naija babes are easy.....

Disclaimer-This is male bashing rant, and makes unwarranted generalisations. All opinons expressed are strictly those of the writer and are not endorsed by Blogger!

Naija babes are EASY. I am so so tired of hearing this from guys that come back from Nigeria. It really gets me down that the reputation of young ladies at home could not be any worst. Naija babes are sluts, cheap, easy, hoes, gold-diggas, desperate and would sleep with an 80year old for a recharge card. They will have orgies with thier sisters for a bag from Paris. I am tired.

My uncle just got back from Naija a couple of weeks ago, and he was gisting me of all the escapades. He went out to different bars in Lagos with some friends who are supposed Lagos big boys(one of whom is d head of a popular bank and is currently being investigated by EFCC), and they were asking him what sort of babe he would like for the night. he's like nah, I am married, and they laugh at him like arent we all! This friend tells him that any type of babe he wants is just one call away because he knows this GIRL in Unilag that organies babes for nights out. (Biko why is it always Unilag sef??lol)
When my uncle insists that he's not interested, he's like don't worry, lets go to the club, they will come to us. All we have to do is order loads of expensive drinks, and they will flock like bees to a hive. Going out in London with the Nigerian crowd, I have been unfortunate enough to notice this disturbing trend, but my uncle in retelling the story seems shocked that upon ordering the drinks, babes magically drift to their table. "Moet is a hoe's energy drink" is thier motto!LOL. The fact that he is a pot bellied middle aged man did not seem to dissuade them, if anything this was their target market as young boys cannot afford their lifestyles!! My uncle said this trip confirmed his suspicion that he can NEVER live in Nigeria again because"the moral fibre of our society is corrupt, both men and women have no sense of decency, and people are morally degenerated" his words not mine.

My brother also just got back from Naija with stories about girls constantly bugging him. Now I normally take his stories with a pinch of salt cause he seems to think every girl is into him. One time we were at Boots and this pretty attendant asks him if he would like anything, and he replies no, flashing his million dollar smile, and as the babe leaves, he nudges me excitedly, saying, meeeennnnn b, did you see how dat babe was gbaduing me??
Am like dude, relax, she was being nice,
he's like did she come to you to ask if you are allright?? mennn she was all over me like butter on toast......at which point I start walking away and shaking head for him!!lol.
But his stories this time were not filled with pride, but with sadness, like menn dese babes have no respect for themselves, they are filled with no self-worth, and have been taught to believe that they are worth nothing more than their youthful bodies, and milking it is the only way to escape the trap of persistent poverty. I was impressed by his thought process, as not many Nigerian guys think like this.

This is where my problem lies,(and thus my rant begins!). I do not mean to bash the guys but I am TIRED of y'all hating the hoes(lol). Can we show these hoes some lovee?? Like my friend says hoes need love too!!LOL

O.K seriously, me and my mum always debate who the morality of the society rests on, and I always used to agree with my dad. Our argument was that if women are morally upright, they bring up their male and female children in that light and influence a generation. But I was naive to think like this because this is a purely western approach.
In Africa, the men sing the tune of society that women have to dance to. This is not only because of the symbolic value of the man, but because men control the FINANCES. It all boils down to money in Nigeria. Men are the providers, and no matter how women try, they cannot be as financially bouyant as men. In the western world, although they also face considerable difficulty, it is very possible to be wealthy without selling your body.

Now what is messed up in Nigeria, and Africa in general is that the men exploit this, and then have the audacity to call them names. Are you freakingg kidding me?? Are you confused?? You cannot be on both sides of the fence. If you say a woman is a golddigging slut, yet you take a girl shopping just so you can screw her, then you are a hypocrite. These middle aged men drive through unilag etc with thier big cars, big money, big egos and big stomachs to seduce these girls with money theyknow they could never have access to if they read all the books in Unilag library, and then complain that they are whores!! What the fuck??
This is a scenario I read in Baba Alaye's blog:

"When we scream about "moral decay" in the society, i don't think its's that cut and dried.We should look at the whole picture.Are we that morally Bankrupt as a people. No i don't think so. It's Poverty. When you go to bed hungry because you don't have food to eat, and you're not sure where Breakfast is coming from. Your outlook to life changes.It stops being about what the flashy Pastor says you can't do, it becomes a race of Survival. And the odds are daunting.You don't beleive me? Step into any face me i face you house in Lagos for 10 minutes and see how people live, how 15 people squeeze themselves into a room just a little bigger than a Toyota Corolla. How 100+ people shove and fight to use a Maggot infested bathroom in the morning.Then get dressed and jump on a Molue to go to work. All their hopes and dreams dashed, their future mortgaged by Corrupt Politicians and Millitary Despots.. No Medicare, no Electric Power, no food, nothing. Even Dogs at the other more affluent part of town feed better.Poverty amidst plenty

.A lot of these girls want to chart a better future for themselves they see education as a ticket out of abject povert. (role models are all over the place). So they give it their all. They throw everything in it. They use the only thing they've got. They sleep with Lecturers to get admission into school, sleep with lecturers to pass exams, sleep with Aristos to feed, buy handouts, clothe themselves, and they have absolutely no time for broke undergraduate boys trying to run game. (Oloshi olori buruku i'm running away from poverty you wan make i come add your own join? Na Flowers i go chop? you dey craze. Abeg carry your Basketball shirt, and tontirin jeans comot for here before i open my eyes .lol) Baby gurl needs to send money home to feed her siblings and take care of her ailing mother or wharrever.

They finally graduate from school and keep in touch with the numerous Aristos.Her Networking is on point,she's a *cough* "graduate" now, so she gets a job in xyz Bank. Now she's an official Lagos Big Girl. She buys a Honda, moves from Okokomaiko to a Flat at Opebi, She comes to jand for Summer, attends all the Ovation type parrys in Naija, get's herself an Ajebutter Ikoyi boy, The Boy has no idea where she's coming from. All he knows is she cooks well, cleans up his crib, has no qualms washing his clothes, she shows him a few bedroom tricks that blow his socks off, goes to church every Sunday and Wednesday, Bobo is going, going, gone. Next thing na for Wedding Web site you go see them.
That, my friend is the Nigerian dream."

This post illustrates my point. Now I am not condoning or even excusing such behaviour. But men you have to look at it from both perspectives--life in Naija is hard. These men make it too easy to succumb to the Gbogbo Bigz girlz lifestyle.
Picture a converse scenario, a babe does not do any Suga dady runz in schools, leaves with her 1st class but no connections. Ends up in Ministry of Works earning 10,000 salary, half of which goes to transporting herself from her shack in Ilupeju to the Ministry on the Island, not enough to send back to the village to mumy where militants are spraying bullets in her backyard, not enough to send to her younger brother to register for jamb and come and join her in Lagos, not enough to freakin survive. After your mum has spent the better part of life hustling for money to educate you and you have nothing to show for it, you start to throw morality out the back door.
On the other hand, your childhood friend and roomate who failed all her classes but slept with her lecturer to pass now works in some place making big bucks and mixing with the right alhajis, now owns her own flat, car and has enough to send to mumy and siblings in the village. Its an all too typical scenario.
Instead of passing judgement, why dont we ask the men why they are willing to throw away money just to sleep with young girls? It is with them I find the major flaw, and it is for them I shake my head.

The Ex List...

I miss my ex.

I miss the way we used to laugh at the exact same thing at the exact same time.

I miss the way we used to argue about law and legal issues.

I miss the way we used to correct each others coursework while arguing about who was smarter

I miss the way we used to diss the various reigions of Lagos

I miss the way we used to argue about everything and anything

I miss the way I used to tease you everytime your team lost in the premiership

I miss the way we used to plan for you to meet my dad without him killing you

I miss the way you used to stare at me everytime I won an argument

I miss the way you used to make fun of me for sleeping for ages

I miss the way you used to shout on your phone like the person is across the field

I miss the way we both loved to watch yoruba films online even though we always complained abt how terrible they are

I miss the way I used to call you at random times to ask you the capital of a state or other random questions and you would always know

I miss the fact that you were always there for me 24/7 no matter what it was you were doing

I miss the way you never pick your phone becoz its always on vibrate

I miss the way you used to read Nigerian news every morning as soon as you get up

I miss the way you always fed me when I was hungry

I miss the way you used to stutter when you got really passionate

I miss the way you always smelled of cologne all the time

I miss the way you held me so strongly yet so softly

I miss the excitement in your voice everytime you spoke to me

I miss knowing that you were in love with me


I do not miss the lying, the headache and the heartache

I do not miss the stress, the deceit and the dodgey friends

I do not miss the fighting, the inconsistencies and the phoney e-mails

I do not miss the cheating

I do not miss my ex.


Miss B.

Senility......

Senile--showing a decline or deterioration of physical strength or mental functioning, esp. short-term memory and alertness, as a result of old age

Hello blogsville,

I bet you are wondering what the title of my post means. Well it basically means old age. I am getting old. I know you are thinking how can a 21yr old think shes getting old, but it is not from my age, it is in the changes I have noticed about myself. I seem to be entering a new phase of my life which is probably why I think its old age. Here are some of the examples:

Comfort over Style- A year or even 6months back, this would have been blasphemous. But lately I have noticed that if somthing is not comfortable, I am less likely to buy it, or wear it if I already own it. I just cant be bothered. This is especially for shoes. I love heels even though I have never been great at walking in them for ages, they are just gorge to look at, esp sky high stilletos. I still love my heels, but now I only go for chunky heels with a platform front so it supports you. For example topshop latest collection of shoes are superbly sexy but soo ridiculously high!!




I have been admiring these on diff people at diff occassions but I just cannot be bothered to be uncomfortable. The same goes with clothes, if i have to keep adjusting it the whole night, or its so tight I know I cannot eat dinner to fit into it then I'll just allow it!! LOL. OMG who am I turning into??


Sleeping During a Movie- Yes I said it. I now sleep during movies. Ok I am sure you all know I love sleep. But lately as soon as I put on a movie and I will start dozzing off. Only Nigerian movies used to have this effect on me, but now it can be anything. Worse still, this year I fell asleep in the cinema with my friend!!! Ok so we both got back from work during my placement in London and decided to go and see Valkyrie just cause of Tom Cruise. OMG how many ways can you say DULL, there was absolutely no action, no hitler, no killing or blood or nothing, just talk talk talk for like 45mins. Ok so my friend started dozing off next to me and I started laughing at her, but next thing I knew I thought I'd put my head on her shoulders and by the time we woke up, they were finally trying to assasinate Hitler instead of just talking about it, so we actually didnt miss anything..LOL!
Bottom line is I love movies and my curiosity to get to the end always keeps me glued(unless its Nollywood), and so I have taken this to mean old age has set in. Just yesterday, I was watching this movie called the Lazarus Project starring Paul Walker(dt guy's career is finished if he continues starring in films like this) and I fell asleep. Its an ok movie, its not enough to keep you hooked, or maybe this is me making excuses for being a granny!

Partying-I am really putting up my dancing shoes and retiring from my party riding days. Notice that I said retiring, I have not completely turned into a granny yet, and do enjoy a night out once in a while with my friends. But lately, I have changed the kind of places I like to go to. Firstly, I will rarely will be bothered to go out unless theres an event happening or we are celebrating something, unlike back in first year when me and my crazy roomate would go in2 any building as long they played something that resembles music and sold drinks, men we once went out for 2 weeks straight and still attended all our lectures at 9.30 in the morning!! When my friend from the States came over, she kept on dissing me cause I always had to be dragged/forced/blackmailed into going out!!

Secondly, if there is no Nigerian music being played, it will be really hard for me to be bothered to go, the crowd has to be mature as I cannot deal with over-zealous, drunk, slutty looking british teenagers anymore. Worst still, I find myself looking at ladies like OMG what is she wearing? isnt that too tight, OMG I can see most of her boobs, (wondering if i offer her my scarf to cover up would she be offended??) and for the guys I cannot bare to see, over-dressed, sunshade wearing, bottle poppin attention seeking dudes anymore. I even find myself shaking head for them like, OMG dey are so sad, is every song be your fave song and dya really have to dance on the table.??? Tut, tut, shaking my head like a granny!! And since these people are usually guranteed at partys, I'd rather just sit at home with friends, eat ice-cream and watch Gossip girl!! I am just not bothered anymore!


It is confirmed-I am now OLD!! Sigh!

500 days of Summer.....

heyy blogsville,
I know, I know I have been m.i.a. I never thought I would say this but I think I am becoming an adult. I have had so much on mind, number one of which is unemployment and the fear thereof. Application forms are boring, hard, long and sooo monotonous. But I can't complain yet cause I still have the grad applications to do, which have these timed tests that I am terrible at. And the worst part of these are the rejections. Sigh! Thus the reason I have been away from blogsville, and yes I know you have missed me, the feeling is definatly mutual!!









Anyway to more exciting stuff, the title of this post is the name of this movie I saw yesterday.





If you guys have not seen this movie, I suggest you do. It is the best rom-com I have seen this summer, considering that me and my friends have seen so many crap ones,(e.g 21 dresses-shitest rom-com ever), we had sadly started giving up on this genre!
Ok what I love about this movie is that the xters are sooo well explored. I mean I know a guy just like the lead guy, and I kinda know a girl like summer--me! Maybe this is why I love it so much. The babe is a free spirit, even though she is a bit of a bitch(unlike me of course)!
But the best part of the movie(if you havn't seen it stop reading now cause I am about to ruin it)---is the end when she tells him why she doesnt want to committ, and be his girlfriend. She basically says I thought I didnt believe in love and would never commit but I didnt believe in love with YOU and couldn't commit to YOU!
OMG genuis!! I had an epiphany at that moment!
I know you guys are thinking errr.....kini big deal right??
But you have to see the movie to get it. Ok so after he's crazy in love with her, and she claims she doesnt believe in relationships and monogamy etc, she goes and marries this next guy she meets in 5 seconds! And we all know of at least one couple that have been dating for ages, and as soon as they break up, you are getting an invite to one of their weddings to some randomer!!

And so it clicked! Sometimes someone seems perfect for you. They have all the qualities you desire and most important they are CRAZY about you, but you just dont feel that "connection", the x-factor, the buzz, whatever it is that makes you blush when you think of the person or makes you smile when you see sheep, or makes you laugh when you hear a paticular song! And the feelings have to be MUTUAL! Naija females especially always say that its better to have someone who is crazy over you, than someone who you are crazy over. While this is true to some extent, there has to be a level of mutuality. Once it is as one sided as it was in this movie, i.e you are completely infatuated and head over heels and this other person is "just there" then its best to RUN. Like lauren in the hills says, Love is not a "maybe" thing, you have to feel you are giving as good as you are getting.

In conclusion go and see this movie! If you dont love it then you suck! lol

Meanwhile I am looking forward to thses rom-com's starring every star on the planet. Should be good.






Enjoy
xoxo

Cash or Credit 7.......Part 2

Part 1 can be found below and Part 6 can be found HERE!

11.00pm
Thursday evening 49 Bode-Thomas Street Surulere.

Osaze Oyakilhome angled the light of the lamp to the couch, stared at the flushed expression of his brother and the red face of the girl avoiding eye contact and knew exactly what he had interrupted. He was glad he decided to weather the storm and make his way home in the end…this should be an interesting evening.
“Aren’t you going to introduce us?” he asked with a cheeky grin
“I believe you are capable of introducing yourself” Esosa responded. Osaze smiled, his brother was still upset over their argument earlier today and so was he as a matter of fact, which is why he was going nowhere despite the looks Esosa threw at him.
“Hi I’m Osaze. Esosa’s younger brother. I live here as well” he said in his most charming voice
“J-Jennifer” the girl stuttered. He took her hand, felt the soft palms and wondered where his brother found this ajebota from. She didn’t look like she had ever known suffering. All three of them exchanged looks, the lamp casting shadows on their face making it appear they wore masks. Osaze simply hopped over and made himself comfortable. Snuggling right in and kicking his shoes off he lay facing them. Making it obvious he was staying put.
“Osaze” Esosa said in a serious tone
“Oh sorry broda” he replied and got up to place the shoes neatly by the door, returning back to his position and settling in with a “hmm”
“Perhaps we should turn on the gen” Esosa suggested
“Ah ah who are you trying to impress. Generator only comes on at weekends” Osaze said in their native tongue. Jen hid a smile
“Jen is from Benin” Esosa said, annoyed that she had to hear that
“Kóyò” Jen said greeting him hello
“Oops” Osaze said not looking embarrassed at all
“Whereabouts?” he enquired and Jen responded. “This is our sister now” he chuckled to Esosa who didn’t smile back. It appeared his brother still thought he’d be venturing out into the rain.
“Vbè ore 'nì rue?” Osaze asked
“Jennifer” Jen responded, hoping he wouldn’t ask for her Edo middle name so he could tease. Osaze shook his head and smiled
“érhá” he asked with a determined look, asking for her father’s name. Jen, for her full name- Jen volunteered thanking the Lord for the millionth time that her father wasn’t involved in politics.
Osaze looked like someone who was angry at the world, Jen was very observant and it appeared with every question he asked; however innocent- he was judging.
“Ób’ókhían” he greeted her
“Ù rú èsé” she replied
So far, from his charm it appeared she had passed, but still it was a little cute to see someone looking out for Esosa. Even if he didn’t appreciate it, sitting on the reading chair sulking like a boy who had been denied a treat.
She easily relaxed with Osaze, and forgot that a couple of minutes ago her bra was about to be unhooked by his brother on the very couch he now lay on.
“Have you been given a tour?” he asked
“I still say you got the better bed” Jen leaned in and whispered.
“Oh definitely” Osaze agreed patting a cushion of the couch
“If it wasn’t raining cats and dogs I’d have shown you the piece de resistance?”
“Oh Esosa’s shown me the balcony” Jen said with an inviting look to Esosa to join in the conversation
“Really! You are the only one to comeback alive then” Osaze teased
“What can I say? My chi is strong”
“You are from a good breed” Osaze mimicked a typical Benin man and Jen laughed her head off. He did a couple more and soon Jen was grabbing her stomach in stitches. Jen relaxed completely in his company and decided to leave Esosa to his own devices so he could cool down a bit.
Osaze couldn’t be anymore different from his older brother. He was blessed with charm right from the onset and Jen was enjoying his company like it was originally her plan to visit him. She could now correlate the restless explorer in him with the lead character of his favourite book. They spoke about Gulliver’s at length and Osaze confessed that he always wanted to travel the world. He told her he was studying English at UNILAG because it was his dream to be an English teacher in someplace foreign. Jen asked where? Osaze said it didn’t matter but he wouldn’t remain in any one place for longer than 18 months at the most. He probed Jen for where she’d been to and Jen replied not that many places. As comfortable as she was she was not as unbecoming as to play the role of middle-class baby and rattle off the countries on her passport. So she told a white lie- stating her only destinations as England where she schooled and next door Cardiff where she once vacationed.

Esosa stared at the pair of his brother and Jen already annoyed that he had to come interrupt. He watched Jen sway as Osaze reminded her of folk songs she had not heard sung since she was a child, they laughed over stupid things and Esosa just prayed for the rain to stop so he could kick his brother out. Osaze had always been easy around people, growing up he was always defended by his older siblings and had learnt to get by on his charm, and this unfortunately had rendered him lazy. So lazy that he had yet another carryover from one of modules at University this year. Again. Esosa couldn’t understand why the boy did not apply the same work ethic to his books that he did to forming friendships with people he just met. His truancy and repeated number of skipped class lectures had gotten them into an argument just this morning, Osaze wasn’t rude; he wouldn’t dare, but he still managed to come off as flippant before leaving on an errand that he claimed would take hours. Esosa merely assumed he would spend the night with a friend sending a text to say he would be home the next day. But here he was home early, and treading on a private moment between him and Jen just to fluster him. It was moments like this that made Esosa reflect. Esosa tired of playing the role of father and brother to him, it was difficult to be stern on one hand and then ask for privacy the next so he could spend some alone time with a girl, but he promised his stepmom- Osaze’s birth mother that he would care for her son and that is what he intended to do.

“Will you join us?” Jen asked Esosa pointing at the ludo game Osaze had unearthed. He shook his head no and waved them on with a smile
“Oh come on” Jen coaxed
“I’ll referee” Esosa said
“It’s because he always wins” Osaze told Jen
“How? It’s a game of luck”
“Not when you are the brilliant Esosa its not” Osaze replied
“Well not me, I’m horrible” Jen confessed
“Thank God me too. Tell you what; we each get a chance to cheat twice” Osaze propositioned
“It’s a done deal” Jen said and they shook hands on it.
The divided up the primary colours that marked up the starting squares, Jen took blue and green which displayed the pictures of Fela and Tupac and Osaze took on red and yellow- Michael Jackson and Oliver de Coque- and they began to race their token of selected colours from start to finish by rolling the dice. It took them both ages to roll sixes and they laughed at their sad luck.
“Ye evban” Osaze would occasionally tell Jen. Pointing at a square he wished her to send her token, which would place it in his path so he might overtake and win
“You wish” Jen would roll her eyes
The game lasted for over thirty minutes and when Osaze attempted to cheat a third time Jen called him out on it, soliciting the designated referee for back up. Esosa merely waved them on and Jen got annoyed with his determination to pursue his sulking. When the game ended with Osaze the clear winner they hoped to roll again but the light of the electric lamp began to wane. Esosa called to his brother to bring out the spare behind the bar but Osaze confessed to not charging it.
“But when I asked you…”
“I know broda I’m sorry”
“Typical”
“Laho” Osaze apologised. Esosa grunted
“Laho Esosa” the minute Jen said that she regretted it. The annoyed look that crossed Esosa’s face indicated she had taken his younger brother’s side for more than just a rechargeable lamp issue.
“Khue Osaze” he said and reaching behind the table lamp for a torch light attempted to make his way up the stairs. Jen didn’t know if that was to be a joke, but she didn’t find it funny. In a voice employed by her mother when she intended to scold Jen stood up and bid Osaze goodnight while climbing up the stairs to Esosa’s bedroom.
“What was that all about?” she asked “Telling me to pursue your brother”
“Oh you didn’t find it funny?” Esosa said as he sat on his bed
“I am waiting for you to make your point” Jen said with her hands on her waist, she was sick of his petulant behaviour. She was enjoying the kissing too, but there was nothing to do for it. Osaze lived here as well and it was pouring outside; she made the best of the situation, why can’t he?
“You shouldn’t encourage him. He’s lazy and when you jump to his defence like that you give him license to act cheeky” Esosa told her
“I wasn’t. I am sorry I didn’t mean to interfere” Jen apologised
“Osaze is used to having things slightly easier than my siblings and I”
“Isn’t that the way it should be? He’s the youngest”
“Yes. You’re right” Esosa left it at that but Jen looked at him so he continued
“He’s not doing well in school and I don’t understand the problem. Its not girls or drugs, those I can deal with, he’s just unserious. I don’t know how to get him to focus. Take school seriously”
“He wants to travel, not school”
“I am not helping with his school fees so he can go gallivanting the world”
“If you stop being so stern you will see that there are other ways to reach him than scolding”
“He’s a child”
“He’s only two years younger than I am” Jen said
“Well its different for you isn’t it”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Jen blinked
“It doesn’t mean what you think it does Jen” Esosa said to pacify
“Really because what I meant was stimulating him with something else; perhaps, by encouraging him to look for a job during his holidays as a flight attendant. That way he can experience travelling and earn some money as well, that should help Osaze re-focus plus it will show you support him.”
Esosa looked humiliated after Jen explained
“You obviously meant the fact that I had my father pay for everything when I was in Uni” Jen looked at him
“I am sorry, it just came out. It was a stupid remark. It was in no way a personal attack or reflection of you. You already know I think you’re a wonderful person”
Jen looked at him upset and declared
“I’m going downstairs to make sure I have everything I came with, I wouldn’t want to disturb Osaze when he’s sleeping in the morning” and she turned on her heel and climbed back down; making out the shapes in the darkness with her hands, upset that she didn’t think to grab the torch off the bed before marching out. Well she couldn’t go back now could she? Osaze was putting away the board game and didn’t appear startled to see her materialise out of the darkness.
“Sorry to disturb you” Jen said
“No not at all. Can I help with something?” he asked looking for Esosa behind her
“Just making sure I didn’t leave anything behind”
As Osaze helped look around for foreign belongings Jen saw a bag of unopened plantain chips
“Oh can I have some?”
“You eat that? Posh girl like you”
“Meaning what?” Jen laughed
“Meaning I thought u only snacked on Pringles or Walkers crisps” Osaze said, there was no laughter in his voice
“Ah ah why would you think that” Jen said wondering at his change in tone
“You’re madam money bags now. Madam international passport” he jeered
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Jen said for the second time that night
“Why are you here?” Osaze stopped searching behind cushions to stare at her. Jen looked at him confused
“Really you think you’re fooling me” Osaze said with a low laugh
Jen was confused, wasn’t this boy the one she just played ludo and sang with?
“All these rich girls who want to see what’s its like on the other side, abi? Squat in a one bedroom at the opposite end of town for the experience of ‘managing.’ Before running home to air-conditioned houses and housegirls and maiguards.
“In what position are you to judge me like that…?” Jen felt like she was talking to a different person
“Do you even like my brother?” or is he just a game to you? Something fun”
“My relations to your brother involve only your brother” Jen responded
“Esosa does not mate for fun. So if this is some sort of social experiment to you, then just leave now”
“Where are you getting all this from?” she enquired
“Oooh I know ur type all too well…sophisticated girls but lacking in substance, drive round in expensive cars and wear expensive clothes but pretend to understand the life of a common man because you spare a couple of minutes to chat. You think that makes you emphatic to their suffering?”
Esosa was right Jen thought. Osaze is a child; still angry at the world for what happened to their father. Not in the noble way that Esosa was by refusing to work for the people who disappointed his family but in a selfish way. All Osaze knows is that one minute they lived on the Shell estate with a driver and the next he was being placed in public school. He feels the whole of Nigeria owes him an apology.
“Your fight is not with me…” Jen began “but everyone who made you feel inferior for having less Osaze, and let me tell you now, that until you are proud of what u have achieved, u will never be content. Your brother is and he doesn’t apologise for it. That’s why I’m here, because he works hard and has the confidence of a man who built everything himself and hence has something to say.”
“Yeah whatever material girl” Osaze hissed in her direction
Esosa thundered down the stairs then, to check on Jen and before her very eyes Jen watched Osaze transform to his charming self, handing her phone and bidding them both a goodnight. Appears he was only nice to be respectful to his brother, he didn’t care for her, and Jen didn’t know what she had done but guess you can’t win them all. Can you.
She climbed back up to Esosa and when they reached the landing he apologised again and Jen told him not to sweat it. In his bedroom he had created a makeshift sleeping area on the floor for himself and left her the bed with the covers on. He also offered one of his shirts to sleep in and handed her the torch so she could make her way to change in the bathroom. Jen returned and climbed in uttering a quiet good night, she heard Esosa turn on his side severally so she wasn’t surprised when he started talking into the darkness.
“My mother died when I was young, I don’t remember how old and my father re-married shortly after. All my early memories are of íyé are Osaze’s mother. She loved me like I was her own and though she bore six more children- four girls and Osaze- she never stopped caring for me. After my father got a bad back that pushed him into early retirement, things got hard. We never knew when the pension would come or how much so we struggled to make ends meet.” Esosa took a deep breathe he wasn’t used to pouring his heart out
Jen kept really still lest she frighten him
“My parents were adamant that Osaze try to live the way we were intended to” Esosa continued “that meant no manual labour for him, just school. Lots of it. We didn’t mind, if anything we were glad to raise the baby of the house as middle-class as we could afford. Just look what’s it’s done to him now. He’s gotten so used to everyone toiling on his behalf that he doesn’t listen to advice anymore. I will not always be there to fix everything; I just wish he would take responsibility instead of having his head in the clouds.” Esosa exhaled and continued
“Jen its not that I don’t support him, I don’t want you to think that I will ever be that cold, I am only looking out for him”
“I know” Jen whispered “It was not my place to tell you how to raise him”
“Raising Osaze” Esosa frowned in the dark “my father would have known what to do”
“I’m sure he’s proud of you”
“He died shortly after I returned from Ghana. He never even got to see me move from my uncle’s couch into my own place”
“I’m sure he’s proud of you” Jen said with certainty
“Osaze isn’t a bad kid. He just resorts to truancy because he wants attention. You’re a tough act to follow you know. Maybe he just feels that because he can never excel academically like you did, he might as well not try. “Jen gasped “I apologise I’m doing it again aren’t I? Psycho analysing”
“No please” Esosa said “It takes a woman to know these things”
“Your brother loves you. He’s very protective of you” Jen said
“And I of him” Esosa said with such resolve that Jen smiled into the darkness
“Good night Jen”
“Good night Esosa” she replied and when he fell asleep leaving only his gentle snoring for company Jen knew for certain she had fallen for him; because she had seen the sort of person he could have let himself become: bitter and resentful. She understood him more and with each layer she peeled back she liked what she discovered. Esosa the Economist. Esosa the friend. Esosa the First Son. Esosa the Lover? Jen rolled on the bed till she leaned over the edge looking at Esosa sleeping on the floor, his hands underneath his head and the steady rise and fall of his chest. She wished she could study him in better light but that would mean shining the torch in his face, Jen smiled when she realised that she would enjoy watching him sleep.


She had fallen for Esosa Oyakilhome.




By S.B

Cash or Credit 7.........Part 1

Cash or Credit 6 can be found HERE!

7.10pm

Friday evening, 44 Glover Road Ikoyi.

Halima Dansabe did not claim to know a lot of things but what she did know was hard facts.
She was beautiful and Kabir loved her.
These are the simple certainties that Halima wore atop her head like a crown. It morphed the steps she walked, formed the words her lips uttered as she bowed her head in prayer five times a day and ultimately dictated the rest of her life. She was in her early twenties and yet to discover her shortcomings. She didn’t have any, it was that simple. Schooling abroad she had encountered other girls, mostly non-Hausa and non-Muslim, who thought it weird that she hung on to beliefs and did not “experiment”. They harboured pre-conceived notions of northern girls and would stare at her half-expecting tears and tales of how subdued her lifestyle was. She never complained. What was there to complain about? She did not know “want”- never had. Her every wish was and always had been granted. She had also never felt inferior- to whom? Her father was the richest man in Northern Nigeria- she was royalty. Eventually she grew accustomed to the looks of envy she received from such girls. The looks they pretended to coat in pity. Hating the fact that she wore her long skirts and hair scarves with a confidence their skin tight dresses couldn’t give them. Girls who claimed to be sexually liberal but fucked around hoping to find the love Halima was handed as she walked late into her Math class at age 15 angering the head boy who turned to scold her but instead smiled and introduced himself as Kabir. Girls, who claimed to be adventurous- with clothes, hairstyles and face paint- tried in vain to coax fake hair down to shoulders, like hers naturally did. Girls who pierced or tattooed certain parts to enhance their appeal, Halima only adorned herself with colourful waist beads fragrant in sandalwood that jiggled when she hurried by. Girls who tried desperately to twist their tongues into a dialect foreign to their mouths in ridiculous “fone” barely speaking one or the other, Halima voiced in Hausa, Kanuri and Arabic. Her skin was kissed by northern sun, her features blessed by her mothers Kanuri heritage, and her irises sparkled like that of a woman who was properly loved by the man of her dreams. So, yes Halima Dansabe didn’t know a lot, but she knew that the most inner desires of a woman lay in beauty and love. She was beautiful and she was loved.

Lately, one of the two things she knew stopped seeming so certain. Kabir was different. She could not place it nor could she label the feeling as woman intuition for she never chanced upon an opportunity to develop that trait. She knew Kabir, trusted him and she loved him. There was never any need to doubt him. He was romantic, charming and devoted. She loved him. It was just that lately…
Some things had been missing of late from their relationship; they laughed less but kissed more. It shouldn’t seem weird for an engaged couple but she missed their conversations on Politics, Religion and Travel that lasted long into the night. On her return from Kano, he picked her up at the airport and as expected kissed her like a man possessed but there was something…
Last night as she lay in his arms, she pushed the thought aside. Stop being silly she scolded herself. Afterwards they watched for the new moon, having a late dinner on his lawn as they stared at the starry sky for the glimpse of the crescent moon that would indicate the start of the Holy month. The kissing began again in earnest when she brought up his lack of interest in the wedding plans, although he had already apologised profusely for his tone with her the other day over the phone. Her brain turned to mush and her tongue forgot what it was trying to articulate. “Anga wata” she finally managed to say winning the contest by being the first to spot the silvery outline behind rain clouds. With a kiss on his cheek she left his townhouse returning to the apartment she shared with her sister Jummai in Victoria Island.
That was the early hours of this morning but presently they sat on his carpet in his expanse of a living room staring at the television awaiting the first call of Maghrib that would signal the end of the working day and the end of the fast. Kabir had a far away look that Halima had seen once before. Halima had laid the rug for the Iftar meal and she stared at the food on show. Had she displeased him? There were bowls of dates and a glass of ice water to soothe his parched thirst. Two glass bowls held generous portions of fruit salad, a covered cooler housed kosai and the flask contained akamu. There was kunu and zobo in the fridge and she planned to heat up the tuwo shinkafi and kuka for later. How had all this upset him? By now they would be exchanging stories of temptation from the day. Friends and colleagues who mistakenly; or in Femi’s case knowingly; kept offering food and drink throughout the work day. There would be laughter…but instead the only sound was the drone of the TV as it displayed a large clock, ticking its way towards 7.20pm when the call to the evening prayer would be broadcast. She glanced at him once more in his sweats as he lay on his leather couch lost in thought. An awful gnawing in the pit of her stomach…now she knew something was wrong.

Kabir sank to his plush dark purple carpet feeling more like a stranger than the man of the house. He caught her stare and made his muscles relax enough to smile; rubbing his belly and hoping that she would take his silence for hunger.
“Mai ka damun ka?” she asked with a concerned look.
“Nothing.” Kabir said “nothing is wrong”
“Kariya ne” Halima stated
“I am not lying” Kabir said slowly
“Kariya” she repeated. Kabir sighed she seemed ready for a fight. He reached out and stroked her face to soothe her. “Ba komai” he said with a strained smile. She turned into his touch and smiled into his palm and in that instant Kabir felt cheap. He felt his lips form the words before his brain had time to give permission.
“I’m not happy” he said.


Halima’s head jerked up. Kabir looked at her for a long time after that. So this is it he thought. He convinced himself that he could love her; he had done it for 8 years happily. After Jen became someone he did not understand, he told himself that Halima would always remain the same: beautiful and uncomplicated. She knew that he meant the best for her, even if he sometimes phrased it as a command rather than a suggestion, she would base his feelings for her in how he treated her and not how polite he was to people who weren’t involved in their relationship. She knew him. Explanations weren’t necessary because she understood his moods. Without raising her voice she made her point clear, not having to resort to name-calling, she would never jump out of the car in the middle of traffic. She was not Jen. Kabir sighed; that exactly was the problem: she was not Jen. Halima latched on to his fingers; she was still staring at him waiting for him to continue.
“D” she called him by his pet name “Abinchi ne?”
“No it’s not the food” Kabir assured her
“Then what?” she reverted to English
Kabir wanted to tell her that he did not want to be loved by her anymore. That he wished she wasn’t such a good person, that she didn’t look at him like her entire happiness rested on his shoulders. He wanted to tell her that he really honestly tried to get things back to the way they used to be. He swore he would make up for his infidelity and devote himself to her. So he kissed her every opportunity he had, became more involved in the wedding and was willing to marry her to make her happy because she deserved to be happy. He wanted to tell her that he told himself that his life would be directed by her dreams. Then he couldn’t think of what they were, all he came up with was her unwavering support for his. His aspirations and his goals, and he realised that he’d been a bad boyfriend because he couldn’t remember the last independent decision he allowed her to make. He didn’t remember if she was capable of a decision that didn’t involve him anymore. He wanted to tell her that in the dark of the night he realised that everything Jen said about him was true. He realised that he wasn’t the perfect catch he thought he was. He wanted to say that before this moment he was going to love her Halima like she deserved, but with the fast weakening his resolve he forgot to play the part of doting boyfriend, his body was adjusting to the first day of Ramadan, his stomach contracted and his throat sore from thirst and he forgot he was on a stage performing. Kabir wanted to say all this but he didn’t know how he would start.
Halima was still staring at him and Kabir could only voice “you know how I feel about you. How I’ve always felt”
“Yes” she whispered but Kabir couldn’t go on. He tried to get the words straight but everything he thought of sounded wrong. His wordsmith abilities escaped him and he was dumbfounded.
“Why don’t your eyes sparkle anymore?” Halima asked
“What?” Kabir stared at her
“Your eyes, the gold in them is gone”
“Err…” Kabir couldn’t speak, alas for all his acting, Halima wasn’t convinced
“What took it away?”
“Nothing”
“Who took it away?” Halima’s voice shook. Kabir ran his fingers through her thick hair. Her scarf hung around her shoulders and her hair dark as ink fell in light waves to her shoulders. She was so beautiful and she loved him. What was he doing?
“Ba ke bane” he said close to her mouth
“I didn’t ask if I caused it. I asked who did” Halima replied sternly. Kabir didn’t answer. He met her gaze and it was friendship that made him speak, because she was his best friend and he wanted to be honest with her. A flurry of words came tumbling out and he didn’t pay attention to the fact that the series of events weren’t properly arranged or the fact that they didn’t make much sense, he just kept talking. Halima’s face went through a variety of expressions and Kabir lost count to how many times her eyes filled and spilled over. He hoped his disjointed words conveyed the fact that he loved her but he was no longer in love with her, he hoped the words expressed how much better than him she could do.
They didn’t hear the call to prayer even with the surround sound so when Halima used shaky hands to raise a glass of water to her lips, Kabir did the same. They ate in silence, Kabir had no more to say and Halima had grown tired of asking “why?”
There was tension but they ate because they had too. They did not pick off each others plate for “ladah” they simply chewed and swallowed, tasting nothing.
“Barka da shan ruwa” Kabir greeted her on breaking her fast. She did not answer, he got up to take the dishes away and Halima continued to stare at the space between them. It was over.

Halima jumped up when he returned from the kitchen, he looked at her afraid of what she might do. Before him, Halima knelt down and begged him to love her. She had never knelt before anyone but her pride was broken and she needed him to know that she would beg, steal and serve for this love. Kabir pleaded with her to rise, but she couldn’t, her heart kept her there. “Tell me what to do” “Teach me how to better love you” she recited over and over again hopping between English and Hausa till her voice went hoarse. She wasn’t in denial, she could fix this…it had to work. It just had to. An hour later Kabir grew tired of trying to force Halima to her feet so instead sank to the floor and listened to her weep. Why does he keep hurting the people he loves? As exhaustion washed over her, Halima began to sway and Kabir caught her in time before she slumped to the floor. She had not eaten enough since she broke her fast and Kabir laid her on the couch as she slept. He did not know what to do; he also knew that when she awoke his face would be the last she’d want to see. He called Jummai to his house and on her arrival, he helped load Halima into her car; replying her every enquiry with “Your sister will tell you”. As he closed the passenger door of her BMW quietly, Jummai hugged him in the familiar manner whispering “Sai anjima” Kabir bid her farewell knowing that would be the last time she would ever speak to him that kindly.
The next morning Kabir was bombarded with insults from the Dansabe sisters: Jummai, Samira and youngest sibling Aisha. They called to speak to him and on realisation that he meant the break-up told him about himself. It appeared everybody thought he was a jerk, but Kabir knew it was early days yet. The family was yet to be informed; it was then that it would really hit the fan. By Monday, Kabir ached to see Halima, the friend in him wanted to console her, make sure she was alright but he knew he couldn’t dare approach within at least 50 yards of the house without fear of death. He planned his entry like an assassination, bribing the security guard at the entry gate, to alert him to Jummai’s departure. On reaching the apartment door later that night he opened the door with the spare key Halima had made for him a year ago and let himself in. The room was dark and unventilated and Kabir called her name silently, Halima appeared from under the covers on the couch and involuntarily smiled at him- remnants from couple dom- before adjusting to a scowl. He squatted besides her staring into her red swollen eyes and asked how she was. Had she eaten? What could he do? To each she replied what do you want? Why are you here if you don’t love me? Kabir told her she was his rock and not marrying her did not mean he no longer cared. She told him that his platonic love confused her, told him to get out and screamed until he did. Kabir returned the next day, and the next till Halima went from denying the break-up to hating him. She spewed words at him, the kind he had never seen. Every misdemeanour from their relationship was hacked and brought to light in the stillness of her apartment. Kabir hunched in a corner and said nothing. He deserved it and was not leaving till he had fully explained the situation to her, she needed to know and until she was strong enough to ask the question he would take her stabs.
It was in the second week of Ramadan that his mother called crying down the phone. Did he know what he had done to the family? She sobbed to him. All the years of familial relations down the drain. Old classmates, mutual friends and everybody else and their uncle called and visited to know if he was insane. To each enquiry of Halima’s misgivings Kabir replied “she is perfect. I just don’t love her the way I used to”. The two families back north pointed fingers and called names, ties were severed and allegiance retracted. Such a messy affair, after so long it was hard to remember what belonged to whom, drawing boundaries, building up walls and forever erasing traces of the Tijani-Dansabe association. It was civilised anarchy between their households and Kabir would have sold his soul to shoulder the blame alone. Halima hid from the brunt of shame in her flat, she had stopped going to work and spent her days fasting and praying. Praying to heal. Kabir did not end his visits and she was tired of trying to break him. Even with the added advantage of knowing where to hit, reminding him of his every falter and failure. He merely stared at her and apologised, told her how wonderful she was and how lucky he had been to have her for the time he did. He stuck the knife in himself mentioning short comings she had never seen in him and asking how she had put up with it. The arrogance and self-assurance in him was gone and Halima saw that the boy she fell in love with was no more. As he sat with hunched shoulders on the chair after a particular gruelling round of “I hate you” from her, Halima got tired.
“I am not going to make this easy for you” she stated. He didn’t look up.
“Coming here every evening and letting me tear into you will not make me forgive you” Still he said nothing.
“What do you want from me Kabir?” she asked “you will not be here if you didn’t want something”. Kabir still kept silent.
“Answer me” she ordered.
“I want you to get better” he whispered
“Better. BETTER” she shrieked. “I am not sick Kabir. You dumped me.” Does this- she pointed to the rumpled up tissues that littered the base of her couch- “look like medicine to you”
“No.” Kabir did not need to follow her gaze to see what she was referring to. At one point she had a nose bleed and her blood stained handkerchief was clutched in her palm.
“I love you and if hurting me makes you feel better…”
“You are no longer allowed to say those words to me. Ever” Halima warned. Kabir conceded and apologised
“When did you stop loving me?” she asked. Kabir looked up and saw the determination in her eyes. She had detached herself from the situation. She was gone past denial and through the anger, she had accepted it and now she could ask.
“Four months ago. It was a Thursday” Kabir replied truthfully,
“You know this for certain”
“It was the day I met Jennifer” Kabir said
“Jennifer?” Halima asked. She was sure he mentioned the name last Friday but she couldn’t recall the events that led to the loss of her marriage. “Tell me” she commanded and he did. Everything. Every single detail was explained, his every whereabouts’ accounted for and Halima cried into more tissues over the course of the three hour confession.
“And you love this Jennifer more than me” Halima slurred over the name causing the fire in his eyes to blaze for the first time in weeks; that was her reply. Kabir’s unconscious jump to the girl’s defence was Halima’s reply. Halima was silent for a while as she gathered her thoughts, then a bitter laugh sounded. Kabir looked at her like she was crazy
“Are you with her now?”
“No”
“Does she want to be with you?”
“No”
“Then why tell me? Why not return to me and spare me this humiliation and pain”
“I tried to but even on my best pretence you could tell something was wrong. I couldn’t carry it on forever”. They both fell silent again then Halima asked him to leave.

That night as she sat on her praying mat for taraweeh- a long recital of the Qur’an- she had an epiphany. Her eyes adjusted and she felt her heart stilled for a moment. Why was she here? In Lagos? Halima couldn’t recall ever wanting to venture south. Surely there must have been a reason… Oh she remembered…for him. That’s why she was here, for Love, because that’s what you did when you loved someone, you made sacrifices. She left behind her life. She left behind attending functions with her mother, lunching with her friends, tending to her fathers estate and debating politics with her uncles so he could apply for a job and embark on a new chapter. So she applied for employment in the same establishment and told herself she would love it.
She hadnt fallen in love with Lagos

She hated the crowds and the noise. Daily commute bombarded with sticky humidity. She missed the easy appreciative pace of the north, not this rush that was always abounding in Lagos especially the claustrophobic feel. She longed for the arid plains of her home, the acres of land that stretched out with cattle grazing on the soil. The cattle herders wore floppy hats and chewed on long blades of grass. Mallams speaking in her native tongue as they bid her good day, the call to prayers from Gidan Makama mosque echoed around the town. She longed for fresh fura bought from Fulani milk maids, danwake and proper masa and suya not the oily tough version sold over here. She missed the make-shift shops that sold woven baskets along with kuturn yaji, barkono, tonka and other kayan miya. She missed the open celebration of Eid, the horse men in Sallah Durbar festival. She missed gossiping with her cousins under shaded mango trees their palms darkened with henna and fingers sticky from Hwanke dipped in honey or smothered in Man shanu. She missed Kano.
When Kabir returned the next evening her sister gleefully told him Halima had left, that she was presently handing in her resignation at Holloway. Kabir raced to the office but missed her; Halima had left without warning and as suddenly as he had broken off their engagement. He was in no moral position to feel hurt but he did, he would have liked a chance to say goodbye. Ramadan ended five days later.






Enjoy
By S.B

U.S vs U.K....

Heyy bloggsville,

I am supposed to be working on my dissertation but I thought I'd do a bit of blogging as I have been putting it off for ages. I was in Yankee for my cousin's wedding, (which was amazing by the way) and I started comparing Jand to Yanks. I decided to make a list of pros and cons. I have been to Yanks several times but never taken the time to compare it to my beloved J.D.(Jand aka U.K)

Yanks is like arsenal, most people either love it passionately or hate it completely. There are a few people like me who are still on the fence about it. People like my dad and bro absoloutely HATE it. It is surprising because they both love money and capitalism and the U.S is the king of both. It is a land of rags to riches, where hardwork pays off in multi-million dollar cheques. Innovation and ingenuity are encouraged from as early as possible, which is why alot of the great inventions of the past decade-the ipod, iphone, microsoft, medical breakthroughs etc have come from there.

But for every good that America boasts of, there is an equally stupid thing. And lets face it, America is the land of stupidity as well.!!

So here a list of the things I love about the U.S

1)Food- I know you guys will not be surprised that this is number 1 on my list. Chai they have good food there. Every type of cuisine, flavour, texure you can imagine. There is so much variety that you can go a whole year without eating the same thing twice. In my two weeks, I had chinese, mexican, southern, cuban, thai and excellent Nigerian food as well. If have a sweet tooth you'll be spoilt for choice. I had the best ice-cream I have ever had at this place called Cold Stone Creamery. That ice-cream did things to me that I did not know food could!

I also went to IHOP which officially has the best pancakes and omlettes in the world!!

The best part is that it is CHEAP! and comes in huge quantities. This combination is why Americans are overweight.

2)The People- When you live in jand for a long time you get used to being as courteous as is barely necessary. British people are polite and thats it. Anything extra and you are on a long p!!When my friend came over from the states, I had to keep cautioning her to stop talking to strangers. We would go to a resturant and she would strike up a convo with the waiter, in the mall she would say hi to random people and indulge in convo with random dudes in a club. I was like HABA ds girl you talk too much oh, just say hi and lets go oh, before they come and carry us go!

But this is genuinely how americans are. They are soo friendly. At first I was like chai these people talk too much oh, just bag my stuff and let me go, watin concern you where I come from!! But after a while, you start to enjoy it. They ask how your day is, random people compliment you, they always go out of their way to help a stranger, and they actually seem to enjoy it. It is very refreshing. So many times, I ended up buying more stuff than I needed because the staff are just so damn helpful!! They all have that air-hostess spirit(if you are not flying british airways, cause those ones dont know how to smile).

3)Pride-Americans LOVE america!! Gosh it is unreal!!! You'll see people with american flags on their homes, cars, keyrings etc. Since it is essentially a country of immigrants, everyone has the right to claim it as home. A Mexican, Cuban, Indian or Black American all have the same sense of self-worth. I mean a Black man who is the son of an immigrant can be the president. An immigrant like Arnold Swarchenegger can be an actor and them become the governor! A talk-show host can rise to become one of the richest and most powerful woman in the world.

In jand, if you are not British, you will never be under any illusion that you are home. Even those that are British do not send that much. All they do is whine, moan and bitch about every little thing-the weather, Gordon Brown, David Beckhamp, the credit crunch, council tax, delays on the tube, the weather, bills, immigrants, queues.............Chai British people can complain!! The majority, i.e working class do not seem to have that national pride and charisma that Americans have, unless they are abroad or complaining about immigrants running down thier country!!

How many British kids today know the history of thier great nation. Or how good thier politics and democracy is. How many of them appreciate how strong thier economy is in light of its size and population. If you look at other European countries like France, Germany, Italy or eastern European countries like Russia, they all have that sense of pride that Americans have and Britons lack so vhemently. Even Nigerians, as much as we have problems, have a certain pride that can never be taken from us. The poorest Nigerian will still feel more important than a man from Togo or Benin etc because haba una no even speak English abeg!!LOL

4)Hardwork-Its funny because there is a perception that Americans are LAZY, and all they do is grow fat, have children and dance in rap videos. On the contrary, I think everyday middle-class Americans are so bloody hardworking. They work INSANE hours, crazy shifts, 2-3 jobs, hardly get any holidays and get taxed like mad. My friends in uni take crazy amount of modules, while working and playing sports etc for scholarships. And they still come out with mad gpa's. For example to do law, you have to do a pre-law degree for 3 years or so and then the law degree while doing other pointless minors like psychology all of which you have to pass. Na Wa oh!

People are always on their grind, everyone has a side hustle-music, writing, sports etc. People are so multi-dimensional. Which is why a surgeon like Khalid Hussein could also be an award winning author. The sports starts act, the actors' sing, the singers' model, and the models write and the writers' trade!!! Its insane!

I think this is because of the capitalistic nature of Americans. Too much is never enough. Everyone always wants more, bigger, better, shinier. This could be a good or a bad thing depending on your stance on capitalism.

In jand, no one is bothered to be doing two things at once. If you are a doctor, you stick to that. Everyone aims to have a 4 bedroom house, 2 cars, a dog, 1.5 kids and enough to go on holiday twice a year. Personally, I like this lifestlye. I am not about all that fast money fast car sturvs. It is the reason why someone like Star scotch or Mike Tyson who were worth millions of dollars can be declared bankrupt. But on the other hand, it is only in the U.S that people like them can come from nothing can be worth millions. In Jand, there are few rags to riches stories. Wealth is usually passed down from generation to generation or by winning the lottery. Hardwork pays off too but not in multi-million dollar cheques!

So thats my list. I will write the things I do not like about the States in my next post.
Enjoy and feel free to tell me what you guys like/dislike about both!!
xoxo

X Factor Wonders....

I LOVE X-FACTOR!!! I love music, I am in love with Simon, I love "reality" t.v and the combination of all three is irresistable. I am so glad it is back on t.v. I have seen hundreds of auditions but I saw the BEST AUDITION I HAVE EVER SEEN IN MY LIFE!! it was PERFECT! Even if he doesnt win, this guy is talented, and I am already a fan.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mzj9z8QDTfU


and then you have clowns like these babes (who auditioned last year as well) why do people embarass themselves like this??
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3YJgPRHafDk

and ofcourse theres ALWAYS a Nigerian that feels d need to disgrace us, more than usual, in this case Eguono Okiti was that person!! Oh and she just had to do Mariah Carey's Without You. This song has been raped in so many positions by so many people, I can never enjoy it again.


It started with this lady in Bulgarian idol, that remixed it to "ken Lee"
LMAO


I just loveeee reality t.v auditions. The Naija ones are just as good. There are a couple of really talented people like this babe called Tamara below:


But more importantly i lovee these West African Idon audtions. Every time I'm having a bad day and I need to laugh, i just watch these clips. I swear they get funnier each time. LOOL!





And there is this babe in South African Idol that looks sane but is possessed!!





Mr Lonley LMAOO






The funniest thing is they seem shocked when they are told they cannot sing. Thank God for truthful friends.
LOOL

Enjoy
Miss B

Best Fradulent e-mail Ever!!!

Sent: 19 August 2009 11:34
To: undisclosed-recipients
Subject: RE: FBI ESTA CODE APPLICATION.

ANTI-TERRORIST AND MONITORY CRIMES DIVISION
FBI HEADQUARTERS IN WASHINGTON , D.C.
FEDERAL BUREAU OF INVESTIGATION
J. EDGAR HOOVER BUILDING
935 PENNSYLVANIA AVENUE,
NW WASHINGTON , D.C. 20535-0001

RE: COMPENSATION OF SWINDLED VICTIMS.

ATTENTION:
Greetings from the office of the Federal Bureau of Investigations (FBI), Washington D.C. This email exchange is an investigative exercise carried out by the Federal Bureau of Investigations (FBI) routinely to check email traffic on the internet.

Our Home Office has been prompted to write you an email regarding the presence of unsolicited emails traced to your email account which was reported to our agency from Google search and has been filed for record purposes.

We believe you are a victim of a scam heist which has been traced to West Africa and we are already in communication with the Western Union agents in both United States and United Kingdom where money exchanged hands and have currently made some arrests in West Africa .


Your name has been drafted for compensation and you are to receive the sum of $65,000.00 as compensation funds .Under the United States Customary law ,you have been mandated to submit all necessary documents as proof that there was an on-going transaction before such compensation is paid out.

We apologize for any inconveniences and embarrassment you must have encountered in the past and expect you to apply for an Electronic Security Transfer Account [ESTA CODE ACCOUNT].

In order to apply for your ESTA CODE ACCOUNT, you are required to contact Agent Anderson through the FBI Mailbox on 1 [206] 666 5138.


Send in the following:

-Full names******
-Present contact address*****
-Phone Number*****
-Scanned copy of Identity card*****
-How much lost*****
-Preferred means of Transfer****


Do respond to this mail within the next 72 hours.

Investigations Officer
Robert Anderson
Tel: [1] 443 602 9971
Fax : [1] 443 602 9972


Chai these people are getting smarter oh!!!LOL!
xoxo
Miss B

The Perfect Picture:Movie Review

So I have been hyped about seeing this movie since I saw the preview below on Bella Naija.








The synopsis of the movie: “In what seems like a perfect life, three beautiful women who are pushing thirty make bold attempts to change their lives even when destiny plays its joke on them. With a marriage that seems almost doomed from the beginning, to an affair with an unlikely candidate and the endless pursuit of love, three friends will learn the harsh lessons of life, the challenges of marriage, the fatality of falling in love and the rewards of having a good laugh in the mist of sorrow."



I saw this movie and was blown away. It is 9/10 by African standards. It revolves around 3 friends and thier love-lives in modern day Ghana. It stars Jackie Appiah, Lydia Forson, Naa Ashorkor Mensah-Doku, Chris Attoh, Adjetey Annang, Nana Kwame Osei-Sarpong and KSM. It adds to an increasing genre of African Romantic comedy, not melo-dramatic over-the-top romance that saturates Nollywood.

The picture quality, sound, and editing are on point, and the three main xters are excellent in thier roles. There are several points about this movie that are notable:

1) It has ALOT of sex scenes. By African standards this an 18! There is no nudity or anything, but there are enough sexual talk and inferences keep your mind blown. The movie is basically about SEX SEX AND MORE SEX! LOL But it is done in a classy way I think. It is no more vulgar than the way normal people converse, it is just the first movie I have seen that portrays this, so it gets bonus points. It helps that men are all HOT, but Chris Attoh, who stars as the main guy is just sex on legs!!! OMG he tall, dark and STUNNING....but I digress...



2)The scenery is amazing. Its all plush gardens, enormous buildings, beautifully decorated homes, clubs, bars resturants and pools. For a second I was like is this the Ghana I visited? I definately have to go back and look for these posh places!lol

3)The soundtrack is on point. I was so hooked that I went to download one of the songs called "Obi do wa a do ni bi"(love the one that loves you back) and I have been singing in Fante ever since!

The only problem is that certain storylines are a blit cliche, and the main xter is outshined by the other ladies. Their stories are more intruiging and Lydia Forson who plays Dede(the wayward friend, yes there is always one, and we all have one) does an excellent job! It also tends to dragg onnnnnn, a bit and I got inpatient after a while.

Regardless, it is a must-watch for rom-com lovers, so grap your popcorn and enjoy!
You can watch the movie HERE or HERE!



xoxo