Naija Daydreamer

Fuel Subsidy and Nigeria!

2012-01-05T12:23:00.007+01:00

Hello blog world,
Happy New Year! May 2012 bring us all we hope to achieve! Unfortunately for those of us in Nigeria 2012 is already looking pretty messed up! As I am sure almost everyone knows we had a series of bombings on Christmas day in Niger, Jos, Sapele and ethnic clashes in Ebonyi. As we were all reeling from this, Goodluck decided to give us a great New Years Gift by removing fuel subsidy on January 1st without any warning, effectively more than doubling the price of fuel. Let's not forget that Boko Haram has given all Southerners 3 days to move out of the North! It's been a very eventful holiday period!

However I have to commend the movement that has been going on online, especially on twitter ( follow me on @naijadaydreamer). I know some people have been complaining that there is no point of a twitter activist who is not willing to go out to protest, but I disagree. The fact that we everyone, and I mean everyone, is talking about it means that Nigerians, especially the Nigerian youths, actually care about this country and want us to be great. I am now convinced that majority of us actually want a change!

This is why I would like to urge everyone to come out and protest. This is one thing that Nigerians are actually united on and it feels amazing. I know we are all scared that it will get violent and a protester has already been killed in Ilorin. Those in Abuja have been teargassed and over 60 protesters in Kano were arrested but released this morning.

But I promise you, it is much more dangerous to be silent. How can we have a government that has no ounce of sympathy for it's people! Unfortunately I can't seem to be able to post pictures but if you look at the pictures on Linda Ikeji of the Federal Executive Council emergency meeting to discuss the Subsidy, you will know that those people don't have Nigeria's interest at heart. What the he'll are they all laughing about when we have a total breakdown of the country unlike we have seen in a long time? Have you seen the British parliament in session discussing a crisis all laughing like it's a comedy club? It's a total and complete pisstake!

In kaduna we went to sign a register to protest in Murtala square and we were told by police to leave. The protests have been organized for tomorrow i.e Friday but we are now being told we need to apply for permission 3 days before to protest. No matter what the obstacles are we simply cannot be quite anymore. For those that can't protest please write, blog, tweet, Facebook, and speak up about your dissatisfaction.

Enough is Enough!

Xoxo
Miss B

Agony Uncle!

2011-09-09T19:40:00.002+02:00

Hello blogworld,
I have finally discovered internet in Law school library! Whoop Whoop! So hopefully loads more updates from me! You know I told you all that I have some fresh ideas for your reading pleasures, well here is one of them!

I tend to be the listening ear to most of my friends relationship problems, and I take pride in dishing out advice, sometimes unsolicited!
But when I have any relationship problems myself, I tend to seek advice from my male friends as they have a way of bringing me back down to earth when I have been listening to too much Beyonce! Ladies tend to think the same way and only a guy can explain why another guy acts the way they do, after all they are all from Mars!

This is what brought on this idea. I have enlisted the help of two very famous male bloggers to help you ladies with your relationship woes! So if you, or your friends have any relationship issues that you would like a male neutral perspective on, please email bukky.bolarinwa@gmail.com, strictly confidential of course.

Here are the first two:

Dear Uncle,
I have been in a relationship with a guy now for over 2 years. I love him dearly and he loves me too. But I am a committed christain and he is also a serious muslim. I am not willing to convert and neither is he. It was not an issue in the beggining as we were just having fun but the longer we are together the more I would like a future with him. However, he never wants to discuss it and says 'we will cross that bridge when we get there'. Infact he never wants to make any plans beyond the next three months. What do you think I should do? Should I wait it out or do I cut my losses and move on??

Uncle A:
Religion has always been a touchy subject with regards to relationships. But I think the problem lies with the both of you, if you’re willing to put aside religion and forge on in Love. Sounds crazy I know, but then marriage is an institution where compromise is the order of the day. When a woman marries a man, she leaves her family, surname and all and adopts her husband’s “identity”, and this I’m afraid includes religion. In my opinion, If you really want to be with him, and if he’s never going to convert to Christianity, then you have to convert to Islam.

Uncle B:
If your man loves you as much as i think you think he does, then his job is to make you feel safe, secure and catered for. I think planning is essential in relationships and the "we'll cross the bridge when we get there" mentality usually just means the person isn't ready to deal with a problem now and may not be ready to deal with it when it final turns from a mere issue into a prerequisite. Uncertainty, especially in a relationship like yours, is something you cannot afford and Agony Uncle thinks you need to sit your man down and make sure he either has a clear plan for your future together or you start considering if it's time to cut your losses because I think you agree with me when I say your relationship, despite the modern times we live in, will come under different major pressures as it goes along. You need a solid long term plan if you two will remain together. Wish you the best.

Dear Uncle,
I have been with my boyfriend for about two years and we used to live in London together (not in d same house). But ever since I moved up north for a job he has become very distant. He hardly calls and always seems too busy to fit me in. Because of this I have also been 'forming' busy for him when he does 'seem to 'have my time'. He works and studies full time so I understand there is alot on his plate, but I am also busy and want to feel like a priority. He gets upset when I don't have his time but I just do not want to always fit into his plans when he refuses to fit into mine. We have now not seen each other in almost 3 months because we are both being stubborn. What do you think I should do?

Uncle A:
I think the both of you “forming” busy is just some “Pride War” between you both, probably to see how much the other person misses you. Or it could be a case of you both believing in that “out of sight is out of mind” mantra, and deciding to be “wise” instead of “deceiving” yourselves as some might describe it. Or it could also be that bros has simply moved on. I’ve said this before, I don’t care if they’re a 24 hour surgeon or whatever, no one is ever really too busy to check on someone they claim to love. So I think you both should confess to each other about how boring the “games” have become, and if they continue, then its probably time to move on sha.

Uncle B:
3months?! That's shocking though. Ever heard these sayings "out of sight isn't out of mind" and "absence makes the heart grow fonder"? Well, I think they're both full of crap. The longer you stay apart, the less intense your feelings will be towards each other. If you really want to save your relationship then you need to stop "forming" busy and actually make time when he has time. On the other hand, a man who wants you will make time for you. We men invented the "I've been busy" line and the truth is, if a man wants you, he will reschedule Armageddon to get you. Both of you need to assess yourselves and see if you really want to still be together. Try to meet up with him, spend a day or weekend together just to rekindle the intensity between you two and if you realise the feelings aren't the same anymore then it's time move on. If stubborness is the only thing keeping you two from seeing each other then humilty might be the only thing that's save it at the moment.

Ladies (and gents), what do you think of these problems and the suggested solutions? I tend to agree with both of them!

Also, can you guess who these celebrity naija male bloggers are? I think you should be able to from the way they write!

Enjoy
xoxo
Miss B

Nigerian Law School

2011-08-20T15:03:00.002+02:00

Heyy blogsville,
I have been M.I.A as usual but this time I have a genuine excuse! I have moved back to Nigeria!

Yeap I took the plunge, I decided to come and take the Nigerian bar exam! I have been putting it off for 3 years since I finished my undergrad. Well I came up with a career plan and decided this was the next step.

I could have stayed longer at the ILO so sometimes when Naij life gets hard I say "omg I could have been in Geneva".

Well I am here now. NLS is in Abuja where I am taking the Bar Part 1. Its hardddd men. Its hard being back in school especially when its all legal practice that I have no clue about.

The advantage is that we are all "foreign" students at the moment, we are all going through the same thing together. There is no water so there its a lot of bucket sturvs!! Being back home has its perks though, not having to worry about bills and money etc

Good news, I have some fresh ideas for this blog so I am excited! Please do not abandon me because I will be sparsely blogging, I will be investing in some expensive internet to keep you all happy!

xoxo
Miss B

Music Sunday

2011-05-22T13:07:00.002+02:00

Just found this and had to share it. Unlike some songs where I know people's opinions differ, it is not possible to be an RnB fan and not love this song. R Kelly is still the king of RnB for sure!

Bon Weekend!
Miss B

Music Fridays

2011-05-21T11:52:00.002+02:00

For those who know me, you already know that I think she can do no wrong! I love this because we can never have to many songs saying how awesome we are. Yea We Run this!

Bon Weekend
xoxo
Miss B

Music Fridays

2011-05-15T12:26:00.002+02:00

Heyy my lovlies,

I am sure you have been stuck in a musical fast without me to tell you what is hot and not! Well fear not because I am here to put you all out of your miseries!

I have Nigeria's answer to Rihanna, Miss Tiwa Savage! Pop songs about love with a catchy beat is all you need to have enjoy a great summer. This is her latest single from her upcoming album called Love Me Love Me! Isn't that all we all want people to do?

Enjoy with some ice cream dancing in your garden!
Love
xxx
Miss B

1st Week as an Intern!

2011-05-08T00:05:00.004+02:00

Hey blogsville,
How are you all doing? I am doing GREAT! I have had such a great week so far. Ok so lemme give you guys the gist so far.

Day 1
I got to work super early because I was afraid I would be late. Intial gra gra as it is called! The U.N buildings are so beautiful and extremely well organised as is to be expected. I met all the other interns who are so interesting. To be fair everyone here is so interesting. The first boy that came in was half German and half Malian but schooled in France. So he speaks English, French, German, and Bambara. This is the norm in the ILO. Everyone speaks minimum French and English. In general most people in Geneva speak both as they have two official languages. Alot of them also speak basic German because that is what is spoken in Zurich. Because it is such a central European country you will also hear loads of Italian, Spanish and Eastern European languages around. And everyone for the most part is really accommodating! The first day mostly consisted of getting acquainted with the way things work. By the time I got home I was so knackered.

Day 2
I got put straight to work and loved it. The drama happened when I was trying to get home. I have to get three buses to get to work which I seemed to have figured out. However, I had to get to the train station to buy a monthly bus pass and that is when Miss B got completely lost. I knew where I was but could not find a bus to get me back home. So I had to get the bus back to work to try and figure my way back home. I took the right bus but going in the wrong direction! For those who know me, this will not come as a shock as my sense of direction is appalling, I can get lost in my own house! Anyway long story short it took me three hours to get home. I was so tired and hungry but I discovered alot of new places so it is not all bad!

Day 3
Work was really good but quite slow so I just had to catch up on reading. After work one of the interns suggested we go to France as food is much cheaper there. Geneva is so ridiculously expensive. I mean a Big Mac meal costs the equivalent of £13!! When I saw it I was tempted to make a formal complaint, I mean are you kidding me?
But I will go into that in another post. We took the tram to a neighboring French town and just looked around. What is really funny is that they have these officers at the border that can search people at random to check if they are trying to sneak things across the border. Now don't get excited they are not searching for drugs or weapons, they are checking for meat, fish, cheese and wine because these things are so much cheaper in France!!

Day 4
Friday seems like a more chilled day at the office. People wear jeans and leave a little bit earlier than 6. We went into town to go and have what was supposed to be the best Gelato in Geneva. We queued for about 20 minutes before we got served which I found so irritating, especially as we had been warned that this is always the case. But was it worth it? Hell YES! I had Pistachio and Vanilla and its was so awesome! So light and fluffy and melting with ridiculous flavour......mmmmmmm!!

We the walked across the pier and the lakes. The weather has been so beautiful here its really picturesque. Everywhere looks like a postcard. Everywhere you look you can see the mountains in the background.

I did not do much at the weekend, just watched loads of t.v shows and cooked. For now here are the pics I have been able to take with my phone.

P.s I really need to get onto wordpress, uploading pictures on blogger is really starting to do my head in!

Miss B

Bissous
xoxo

Swiss Intern!!

2011-05-02T18:29:00.002+02:00

Heyy blogsville,

Hope you have all enjoyed the easter break and royal wedding fiasco as much as I have. Unfortunately I could not make it to the wedding, but I am sure you have seen all the wonderful pictures. I wish them all the best and hope they have a better ending than Diana and Charles.

So the big news has finally fallen into place. I got a 3 month internship with the International Labour Organisation in Geneva to do an internship on the elimination of child labour, which was the topic of my masters Dissertation. Yipeeeeeee!

I will be forever be grateful to my Labour Law professor in Warwick because he made it such a relevant and practical subject and I fell in love from my first lecture. He was also my personal and dissertation tutor and let me tell you all NEVER under estimate the power of a good teacher. He was a hot shot lawyer so was always jet-setting, China today and Prague Convention tomorrow, and thus never put too much pressure on me which was perfect because I wrote like 4 chapters of my 8 chaptered dissertation in one week even though I had 3 months! He really inspired my interest and I will be forever grateful for him.

My dream when I was younger was to be a journalist but my dad used to say that journalists are poor/are always persecuted in Nigeria. I still love journalism and writing but there were very few female journalists in Nigeria to actually look up to. There were no Nigerian Christiane Amanpour and Becky Andersons when I was growing up. By the time I discovered Funmi Iyanda, I was already half way done with my law degree.

Law was a natural second choice because I used to love to debate in school and was asked to make countless presentations for the school.

However, I found law, as in the real law that 80% of firms practice to be really dull. It is nothing like Ally Mcbeal or Boston Legal and is mostly paperwork and research. I have worked in 3 law firms and the only part I enjoyed was criminal law which is too much work for too little pay.

I also found that unless I could work for the CPS(Crown Prosecution Service) i.e the state, defending criminals really goes against my morals. Most of the clients I worked for in the London firm were guilty, they were illegal immigrants, tax evaders, all in various levels of criminality. Their guilt were usually established and I spent my time researching precedent and case law to get them off or onto a lighter sentence. It just did not agree with me.

Don't get me wrong, Criminal Law is really very exciting, it is just like Law and Order, going to prisons, barristers chambers, court, picking juries, filing motions and knowing a person's liberty rests on how well you work has a mad adrenalin rush.

This made me decide not take the bar exam here and do a masters. I wanted to do human rights law but Warwick offered a good International Economic Law program which is how I fell in love with Labour Law.

That is the genesis of this internship. I have dreamed of being a diplomat or working for the U.N for a long time now so I am hoping this internship will take me one step further towards achieving that. There is so much I feel I can do for Nigeria especially regarding child labour. I am from Kaduna where the almajiri culture means child labour is an epidemic of astronomical proportions and education is still a distant dream for 70% of children.

Anyway lets not get carried away, I am no Mary Slessor but I am excited at the prospects of what I can learn. I am now in Geneva and tomorrow is my first day so fingers crossed. I will be bringing you all the juicy gist of my whole internship experience.

Switzerland is very beautiful, with the usual European architecture and organisation and so far I am glued to my google translator because everyone here speaks French and German so I hope I can improve my WAEC French as well. I will also be posting pictures of my journey as I hope to go to the alps and visit a few cities around.

Enjoy

xoxo or as we say here Bisous!

Miss B

P.s- you all need to check out North of Lagos. Its an awesome blog about an American girl learning yoruba in the University of Ibadan. I am hooked! I am hoping I can blog as often and in as much detail as she does over the next 3 months!

Obama at White House Correspondents' Dinner

2011-05-02T18:15:00.003+02:00

I love love love this guy. He is such a great speaker and seems genuinely funny. He has finally put this birth certificate matter to bed. For those who don't know, Donald Trump wants the Republican ticket to run for president and has been promoting a rumor that Obama was not born in America. Donald Trump is such a dumb ass, I have never liked him. And I am convinced that Dangote is richer than him so please he should go and sit down somewhere!

Miss B

Music Fridays

2011-04-23T11:48:00.002+02:00

Hi blogsville,

I have some good news which I cannot wait to share with you all! Just waiting for all the bits to get tidied up before I download the gist. Hope you all had a good week. I have enjoyed the bank holiday so far. I went to waterworld yesterday with my friends. Its an indoor water park in Stoke-on-trent. I have been twice now and I still cannot swim. The next time I go I promise myself I will have learnt how to swim! We all had an amazing time though.

I am also hoping to go to the royal wedding parade next week in London. If I do, I will post some pictures and get Prince Harry to realize that I am the princess that he has been looking for!!

Due to the success of last week, I have two tracks for you. The first is called Mwah Mwah (Kiss Kiss) by Bracket. This song is so silly but extremely catchy. I think Bracket have cemented their genre with this song as professional wedding singers!

The second is by Sound Sultan who I am becoming more of a fan of day by day. This song is called Orobo and is also hilarious. It promotes a good message of loving all sizes of women. My favorite line is towards the end when he says "orobo fit turn to lepa and lepa fit turn to orobo so you can never know, meanwhile enjoy your current posture". I could not have said it better.

Enjoy the Bank Holiday and Easter Break.

Miss B.
xoxo

Music Fridays

2011-04-15T19:37:00.002+02:00

Hey blogsville,
I know my blogging has been abit adhoc lately but I promise you its about to get a whole lot more interesting. Thank God it is Friday again and thank God for another week. Since I missed last week I have a two songs for you.

The first is Share my Blessings by Naeto C ft Asa. I have had Naeto's album on repeat for the past couple of weeks and I would suggest you all cop it. It is quality stuff but this is my favorite song on it followed by 10 over 10.

The second is one of the most powerful songs I have heard in a while. For those that don't know Adele you need to google her because she is simply awesome. This song has such deep lyrics and perfectly describes the hurt of break up that most of us have felt/will feel at some point in our lives. I challenge you not to fall in love with this song.

Enjoy your weekend.
xoxo

Miss B

Music Fridays

2011-04-02T15:10:00.001+02:00

I listen to a little bit of everything but I don't generally listen to reggae and bashment music. Unfortunately this is what my brother mostly listens to so I have been forced to adapt. He has gotten me hooked on this song which has the most catchy chorus since "oh na na what's my name"!

Its Called 'Fucking with my heart' by Wayne Marshall. The title is quite self explanatory. I don't know much about the artist but like I said this isn't really my specialty genre! You are guaranteed to love it though!

Enjoy your weekend!
xoxo
Miss B!

Bankole's Crocodile Tears

2011-03-28T20:22:00.004+02:00

"Speaker, House of Representatives, Dimeji Bankole at the weekend burst into tears on sighting the young inmates of a remand home which he built in Abeokuta."

This is one of the stories on Next234 today, and this is a responding comment by a reader. He sums up my thoughts perfectly. As far as I am concerned Bankole is one of the biggest disappointments to this government.

"These are the kind of tears a man cries when he is coming towards the end of his tenure and he realises the catastrophe he is going to leave behind just like the old leaders he used to condemn. Suddenly the man has realised he is just like them. These are the kind of tears a man sheds when he has been living in wonderland; living a life of fantasy and he is abruptly and suddenly brought crashing back down to earth.

These type of tears are the hardest to hold back. This is because you cry for yourself. You shudder at the realisation that you are a very bad person. You discover who you really are quite suddenly. I can guarantee that while he cries, in the back of his mind he is thinking of all the fast cars, houses, women and lavish parties he has been spending money on.

One of his cars would solve the problems of that place. A bottle of champagne that he has a shower in will solve a whole family's problem in the Nigeria we live in today. Even heavier thoughts may be going through his head because only God knows what else he engages in. So free the guy. Im get plenty wahala for head." John

"Someone needs to get this guy a big basin for his crocodile tears. This cocky speaker who ostesibly has perverted the use of his Harvard degree by becoming one of the greatest treasury looter in the history of our nation should be shedding tears of blood. We all celebrated him when he emerged to succeed his predecessor - the crude hairdresser, on the belief that he will become a role model for the youths of this generation. But ever since, he has presided over a worse House of Reps. with a notorious reputation of being one of the most unproductive legislative house in world history. He will need a lot of big basins and many face towels to take care of his tears, because, he's only seen a tip of the iceberg in Nigeria's catalogue of woes - a consequence of corruption and an unconcerned attitude. " Bondu Alaska

xoxo

Miss B

Music Fridays

2011-03-26T19:51:00.003+01:00

Hello,
How have you all been? I have been good, things are looking up but will update you once its all settled. I keep getting comments/messages about the Northern Prince Finale but I have already addressed this issue in my previous post (Happy 2011). I am sure you can appreciate how frustrating this is for me as well.

Anyway so todays song is called Won Fe Moje by Ryce. This is the first song I have heard from this dude but I love it. I heard it first on Cool Fm Lagos and found it so hard to track down. But here is is for you all!

Enjoy!
Miss B

Music Fridays

2011-02-04T22:06:00.006+01:00

Heyy blogsville,

TGIF!!

Hope you all had a good week and looking forward to a great weekend. Its music Friday again and I would like to share the song I am currently feeling with you.

Fally Ipupa is massive in Fracophone countries, not so much in Naij which is a real shame because his songs are always upbeat, energetic and fun, not to mention that he is tres cute! Rumour has it that he is dating hot Ghanaian actress Nadia Buari, talk about West African love!

Today's song is called 'Ma Cherika/Sexy Dance" one of his most popular party anthems. I have noticed that alot of his songs seem to have the lyrics "your mama and papa" kinda like Timaya!

Enjoy
Miss B
xoxo

Music Fridays

2011-02-04T21:55:00.002+01:00

Hey peeps,

I will try and post you songs I am feeling every Friday just to celebrate the end of another week.

Today's song is one I heard on MTV when I was in Nigeria and fell in love with but I didn't take down the name and I have been searching for since I came back. Luckily I remember watching the MTV awards and he performed and won the award for best Lusophone (best Portuguese for those like me that have no idea what this means!)

I have no idea what he is saying or what the song is even about but its such a catchy beat with repetitive lyrics and a funny and energetic video.

Have a great weekend!

Enjoy

Miss B!

FELA! Musical

2011-02-01T20:48:00.007+01:00

Heyy blogsville,
I went to see the Fela! musical in December and it was A.W.E.S.O.M.E! Since the massive publicity with its release on Broadway last year being produced by Will Smith, Jay-Z and Spike Lee, I knew I had to see it.

The dancing, lighting,costumes, choreography, and of course the music was on point! It was captivating and 100% quality entertainment. They had us dancing and singing with them it was quite an intimate theatre. I would recommend it to anyone, the only flaw to me was that I didn't want it to end!

I also learnt alot about Fela, as it was a biopic of his life told though song and dance. For example I did not know that he married 10-15 wives (numbers unconfirmed) on the same day! Now that is a bad guy!

I know a number of comment-ors were disappointed that Fela wasn't played by a Nigerian, but the actor(who is originally Ghanain) did an excellent job to me! He could sing, dance, speak bits of Yoruba and had perfected the mannerisms of Fela. Best of all, his saxophone playing was flawless. And Ladies his 6 pack alone is worth paying for, considering he is shirtless the whole time (hehehehehe).

Best part was the tickets were so affordable thanks to bargain hunting by Omoj!

Its back in the summer in Engalnd for those that want to see it HERE. I also heard that its coming to Lagos soon.

Here are some pictures I took in the theatre (even though I don't think you are allowed ;-)

Enjoy

xoxo

The view over central London from the theatre was breathtaking!

xoxo
Miss B!

AY Comedy

2011-01-27T00:48:00.003+01:00

Just a little something to brighten up your day! It made me LMAO! P.s I absolutely love Genevieve! Anyone that doesn't like her is looking for a fight with me ;-)

Enjoy

Miss B
xoxo

Happy 2011!

2011-01-26T19:53:00.019+01:00

Happy New Year!! I promise I am back for good!

Thanks for all the messages on twitter! My blog is not retiring oh! And I know the million dollar question is when the Northern Prince finale is coming! I truly apologise for keeping you guys hanging especially at the last instalment. I have sent the draft to S.B and am waiting for her to finish writing it up. This is the problem when you have co-authors, especially as S.B has moved to Nigeria and is now a "corper"! But I promise you the wait will be worth it!

Anyway so what have I been up? Main highlights were turning 23 on the 23rd of Jan and went to Nigeria for xmas. I had a blast especially as I had not been to Nigeria for christmas in over 4 years, it is worth the hype! Spent Christmas day at a barbeque instead of tucked in from the freezing weather!

Turning 23 on the other hand was not that exciting, had a chilled day shopping in Bicester village with my mum and then had dinner with family.

Here are some pictures from Xmas:

I have to tell you this story of my good samaritan act that went sour. I went to the salon and there was this cute little stray kitten that kept walking past and crying. I enquired and the lady said it had been abandoned by its mother about 3 weeks ago. I love animals and felt touched so I decided to take it home!

Omo see the comments from all my brainwashed friends oh, everything from it turning into yam at night, to spirits flying at night, mammy water spirit and "you are not in jand again oh" LOOOOL!

Fortunately me and my family are not into these nollywood type vodoo so I just ignored them!

It kept crying the first night but we gave it loads of milk and sardines and it started to act like a normal playful kitten. I named it Nosa 2 after my friend. Even my dad got to love it as it hopped playfully around the living room.

The dilemma came when I was leaving. Everyone was travelling at the same time as me, and my neighbours/cousins were supposed to be going back to school(not knowing the stupid government would close down all schools).

My mum's advice was to set it free as it had enjoyed enough! I thought this would be cruel so my bright idea was to bribe the gate man to take care of it for me for only two weeks till my brother came back! My mum warned me against this saying as soon as I left he would forget about it.

Can I just say parents are always right.

I bribed and begged my gate man the day I was leaving and he assured me with all the spirits in his village that I had nothing to worry about. Two days after I got back my dad called me and said he had left Nosa 2 outside and let the dogs out. I am sure you can picture the rest.......

RIP Nosa 2!

I cried so much when I heard the news cause I felt so so so guilty cause I indirectly killed him. Maybe if I had just left him alone he would still be alive today. God forgive me! I think it is a sign for me to stop trying to save the world, especially not in Nigeria!

Hope you all missed me!

Lots of Love
xoxo
Miss B.

How to Make Shepard's Pie

2010-11-01T20:14:00.009+01:00

Heyy peeps!
I thought I'd share a classic English Recipe with you. Its one of the few British dishes I love because you can spice up the mince and make it your own.
Did you know that the difference between Shepard's Pie and Cottage Pie is that Shepard's pie is always made with Lamb mince and Cottage Pie is always made with beef mince?

I bet I just impacted knowledge on you all for the day? ;-)

It does take time to make, as it is essentially two dishes in one, so its more of a Sunday dinner. It took me about two hours to prepare! But this was because I was doing one thing at a time! I suggest you boil the potatoes first before you start making the mince!

It is very simple though,

1) Boil your potatoes with salt, and then make creamy mash with butter, milk, and black pepper.

2)Fry the mince with onions, garlic, spices, tomato puree and tinned tomatoes until it is completely ready to eat. You can also add carrots or any vegetables you may like.

3)Place the mince at the bottom of an oven dish and then smoothly pile on the mash. Pierce with a fork.

4)Bake in the oven at 200c for about 20minutes or until brown at the top. Sprinkle with cheese if desired.

I hope you guys try it and let me know how it turns out.

Enjoy
xxx
Miss B

Bella Naija

2010-09-29T19:17:00.002+02:00

I love this babe and all that she represents. She is truly inspiring, I hope NjDD can be as big as hers someday.

CNN is really doing big things in Naij. They always show all the positive aspects of home and have so far been very objective in their views, I must commend their efforts. BBC on the other hand continue their negativity, not just about Naij but in their news reporting in general.

xoxo
Miss B

Stuck in the Lift

2010-09-27T21:48:00.003+02:00

Heyy blogsville,
I have to give you all gist of what I did with my friday night. I live on the 5th floor of a block of flats and was going down to get my friend. It normally only takes like 3 minutes to go down and back up again. But not today!

I went down in my ankara boubou that I wear around the house (with no bra on by the way!!), and bathroom slippers, so I looked like a tramp to be honest! As I was rushing down, a voice in my head said take your phone just in case, but I was like no need. I ran into the lift and hit ground floor, as I have done a million times. I was checking my reflection in the mirror and all of a sudden.....

BOOM!!!

The lift got stuck.

It was so sudden and loud my heart literally jumped into my mouth. Then the voice in the lift kept saying "doors opening" a thousand times over. This is not the worst part. Worse still, the lift kept trying to go down. So I was stuck in a lift that kept moving up and landing with a massive BOOM!! every 10 seconds!

At first I thought it would eventually go down but after 2 minutes of this horrifying ride, I pushed the emergency button.

The instructions for the emergency button said press for 5 seconds and an operator will respond. Omo you girl pressed this button die, for a good 20 minutes and no one answered. At this point I started to feel like I was in a horror movie.

I had to call out for help because I was so close to the ground floor that I could hear people. Luckily my friend who had been waiting for me downstairs heard me and alerted the security guard.

The security guard had no clue who the emergency button was supposed to go to. So I was waiting in the lift as he was trying to find the emergency protocol for the lift. After another 10 minutes of cluelessness, he calls the fire brigade.

When the fire brigade arrived, they say because this is the second time the lift is breaking down, the building has to pay for their services. The security guard is reluctant to sign for it and has to make some calls. As they are trying to sort this out, I am stuck in this crazy lift that doesn't stop moving, and yelling "doors opening" ten times a minute.

Finally the fire brigade start using some machine to push the lift down. They could only open the door half way, and the fireman had to come and "rescue" me.

I was stuck in the lift for about two hours. I don't need to explain that it was one of the longest two hours of my life! I walked up and down, sat, laughed, cried, prayed and even started singing at one point. Now I understand why people get claustrophobic! It gets so cold in the lift because its all steel and after a while you start to feel short of breath. An absolute Nightmare. When I finally came out, I just burst into tears cause it got really overwhelming.

The only up-side was the fireman who rescued me. SMOKINGGGG HOTT!!!! is the only way to describe him. His arms were huge and toned, he had the sexiest voice, he almost made it worth being stuck in d lift! ;-0

So blogsville, that was my ordeal. Safe to say I will never look at lifts the same again!

On the plus side all my fave shows are back on t.v, Gossip Girl, Desperate Housewives, Private Practice, X-factor, Entourage, Two and a half men, How I met your mother and Modern Family(best show on t.v at the moment). I'm just waiting for The Big Bang theory and I am complete! Oh and I want to start watching Mad Men cause everyone says it's really good. Do you guys have any recommendations for me??

Please follow me on twitter: http://twitter.com/naijadaydreamer

Have a blessed week and safe journeys in any lifts you may enter!

xoxo

Miss B

Nigeria's Elections

2010-09-24T19:40:00.003+02:00

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Can you believe the nerve of this guy? If he becomes president, it is a slap on the face of every single Nigerian. And we all know that if he wins the Primaries, it is over. It will be a very sad day when that happens and hundred steps backwards for us.

God Dey!

Miss B

The Northern Prince Finale (a)

2010-09-15T23:33:00.002+02:00

Nabila Mujahid had been in Kano for two months when she found out she was pregnant.

She knew this because Kaka crossed the days off the calendar beside her bed and underneath today’s date she had circled in red pen...month two. Kano was helping Nabila to heal. It tore her apart certainly; but only so she could be put back together again. Gone was the self-pitying, woe is me Nabila; the one who arrived at Mallam Aminu Kano airport bald and bleeding.

The frail woman who ran to her grandmother, exhausted by emotions she could not express. Punished wife, betrayed sister, hurt daughter and deceived friend...this person had departed like the Atlantic winds that ushered rain into the desert. Her spirit was stronger and prouder. Able to recognise her unhealthy love for Jamal for the addiction it was. Nabila had grown to need her husband in a way that was unnatural. Functioning only through him; smiled if he smiled, ate if he ate, and slept only after he did...

The last time Nabila and Kano met she was also pregnant. Awaiting the birth she believed would cement her marriage. Relying on a child to create love she could no longer solely supply. Memories of her last visit were created in happiness but now revisited with sorrow. Memories of Kaka speaking of gratitude and the Balarabe women who earned it, memories from the stables, asking if Rabi would speak to Jamal about his renewed smoking... “You two are really close” she had said- little did she know how close-, memories of Rabi’s resultant awkward embrace. That was the worst. Rabi pitied her! Because she knew, knew that Nabila had not a chance in Hell of ever winning Jamal back.

During these times it was hate that kept the heart pumping within this weak body, it was hate that drove the blood underneath her skin, and it was hate that allowed her to function. She hated a lot within that period. Hate for Jamal, hate for Rabi, hate for Amaka, hate for Baba and Oda, hate for everyone that knew and withheld from her. The tears that refused to fall in Abuja found her in Kano. Tears flooded her pillows at night, salted her coffee by day. Interrupting her prayers causing her to sniff and sigh while reciting surahs, dampening her hijab. The tears weakened her, reduced her to nothing, and made her relive their reason for falling again and again. My husband does not love me, he loves Rabi, because she is perfect and I am not, my father protected her, my best friend kept her suspicion from me, I lost my beautiful baby, everything is lost, everything I love.

Till eventually, Nabila owned her suffering. She accepted weeping was not a sign of cowardice but strength. It meant she was dealing with the reality of what had occurred and moving on. So she let them come, excusing herself to find a quiet corner when they fell from reddened eyes. Imagining the tears washed her anew, made her clean again. When it slowed to a trickle she resumed whatever she had previously been engaged in; praying, gardening, sleeping or dining. Most of all she was grateful that Kaka neither interfered nor interrupted these moments.

Kaka patiently observed her granddaughter as she sobbed her way to recovery. When Nabila suddenly excused herself from the dining table only to return with blocked nose and wet eyes Kaka had said nothing. When at night noises of wailing and weeping emerged from her suite Kaka said nothing. When sniffles drifted across the prayer mat in the mosque Kaka simply watched in silence. It was not because she did not care; far from it. She simply knew that to do nothing was exactly what Nabila needed from her right now. “What’s done is done” she had said to her one evening as Nabila lay in the bed she had refused to leave for 10days. “The question now is what you are going to do”

“I don’t know” she replied. So quiet Kaka barely heard it

Kaka had left the conversation at that. It carried on in that manner for over a month. Suffering did not depart quietly.

One morning Nabila arrived at the breakfast table and smiled good morning. Her eyes were not bloodshot, her lashes were dry. It was all Kaka needed to see. Rising from her chair she embraced her granddaughter. No words were needed, no words would be appropriate.

A week later, Nabila chatted about the heavy rains that had flooded lower Kano over the past few weeks. She seemed to have just noticed that which others, including Kaka, had lived through. Sorrow had shielded her ears from peals of thunder and blinding lightning and fierce winds. Nabila remarked on the destruction to the herb garden at the south of the estate just behind the servants quarters, nearly knocking over her cup of mint tea. Breakfast was served on the East deck and the sun was just rising above morning clouds spilling light pinks on the white tablecloth. The lone veranda was the highest point in the Balarabe estate and the vast city spread out below; a mix of high rise and bungalows. Corrugated iron roofs normally coated with dust had been scrubbed clean by rains. Rainy season had finally come to an end so Kano was crowned in wonderful sunshine. Welcoming light that would evolve to scorching heat as the day progressed. Nabila devoured her scrambled eggs, helping herself to more fried sweet potatoes. Shaking her head and laughing when Kaka requested more mint leaves be added to the teapot.

“Kaka any more mint and I could brush my teeth with this tea”

“You have found your tongue now ko?”Kaka waved her jewelled hand. “Walk with me” she said when Nabila finally finished eating. Kaka looked on in amazement when she insisted on picking up a freshly baked bread roll first. Nabila was really hungry. They walked past fountains and sculptures, their sandals slapping rhythmically on the earth. Nabila chewed and swallowed. Watching as the red dust clung to the bottom hem of Kaka’s white gown, dying it pink.

“This is for you” Kaka eventually said, coming to stop

“I don’t see anything”

“The land we are standing on. It is for you”

Nabila looked at the earth, the soil slightly soft from months of rain. They were well and truly into planting season.

“Nagode Kaka”

“Happy Birthday”

“You forgot” Kaka realised. “It is the day after tomorrow”

“Yes” Nabila agreed

“But I will not be here. I have to go to Abuja.” Kaka took a breather, “Rabi is getting married”

Nabila nodded and brushed crumbs off her turquoise blouse. She could feel Kaka watching her closely.

“I will return at the end of the week” her voice was reassuring

“So you gave me a project to keep me busy” Nabila joked

“I wanted you to have it either way”

“Kaka what has happened has happened” Nabila repeated the words said to her all those weeks ago

“What do you wish to do now?”

“Garden” Nabila smiled. She took another bite, wiping crumbs from the corner of her mouth.

Kaka paid close attention to Nabila for the reminder of the day. But she saw no signs to hint her impending absence would cause harm. Yes, Nabila seemed healed but a tiny part of Kaka, an inner voice she had come to trust in her mature years, told her the worst was yet to be revealed. Perhaps it was because Nabila gave no intention of returning to face those she ran away from. How do you know you are healed, truly healed, unless you face that which hurt you? Still what did she know, she was an old woman too protective of her granddaughter.

From the moment Nabila could walk it was apparent she was the more fragile of the Bello daughters. True, Rabi was more forthcoming with emotions but Nabila remained so closed up that Kaka worried in the wrong hands it would be remarkably easy to break her. More worrying Nabila remained unaware of this character flaw, believing to be cold. Till Jamal came along, he made Nabila feel womanly; soft and warm and desirable. Kaka wondered why she did not stop the marriage to that boy from taking place.

When she met him he lacked the complete devotion her son-in-law, Danjuma, possessed. Jamal however knew Nabila. And Kaka being a grandmother found it hard to believe that someone could know her granddaughter, completely know her, and not love her. So she gave her blessing although it quickly became apparent that Jamal was unable to remain interested in anything for a period of time. That was until Rabi. Why did it have to be Rabi? The one person Nabila always compared herself against, never mind they were as different as night and day.

“So you see Kaka, these two would make the better choices for a sunken garden” Nabila pointed to a picture of a blue plant with dark brown spots on its petals. Kaka merely nodded, “I see” she said knowledgably, “very wise choice.” Nabila smiled please her Kaka approved.

“Okay now I am wondering about the shade area, the tree has to have minimal shedding” Nabila trailed off mumbling to herself and flipping through pages in the gardening encyclopaedia.

A servant interrupted, apologising via multiple curtsies. She handed Kaka her phone and backed away. It was Farida and Danjuma. Kaka excused herself gathering up her gown as she stood. It was the same question: when is Nabila coming home? Kaka’s answer was the same: their daughter needed to heal. In her own time she will return to them but if they tried to force it...

“Yes yes” Farida agreed. Knowing full well she would call tomorrow with the same request. A fact Kaka accepted. She also knew Danjuma was listening in, although he did not speak. He punished himself, believing to have acted wrongly. Kaka agreed with his wife that he had done what was best at the time, placing Nabila’s pregnancy above all else.

“We are having lunch now” Kaka informed them. Farida sighed and hung up. It was a rude gesture but understandable in the circumstances. Kaka saw the 19year old girl that ran away from home to marry her doctor boyfriend. Too impatient and impulsive to allow Time play a responsible role.

Lunch was served on the south terrace. The air was warmer now. Humidity was a rare thing in Kano, as rare as discovering salt water fish in the shallow lakes. But as the first prolonged sunshine in months brightened the town, waterlogged soil aerated intensely. It was almost possible to see the vapours rising from the ground. The result was burning sunshine and sticky stiff breezes. Kaka waved a paper fan by her face. Nabila as usual did not perspire. Immersed in a planting chart she was creating for her plot of land. A sunken garden Kaka gathered from elementary explanation; to provide shade from the high sun in early afternoons. If it was half as effective as Nabila described Kaka intended to commandeer the space. She beckoned a servant girl, relaying a message to be repeated to the chef. “Lunch is no longer to be served on the south terrace.”

“More tuwo shinkafa” Nabila added gesticulating to the empty cooler on the table

Kaka could have sworn there were at least five mounds when they sat down. The soup was all but gone as well. It was good to see Nabila eating again. Months ago she could barely swallow the teas Kaka personally brewed. The servant curtsied- once for each request- and left. Kaka had eaten with a fork, which she placed down now to enable her use her right hand to stroke her granddaughter’s hair. The short natural curls wound around her fingers as she traced the uneven scalp tissue. Despite the damage Nabila had done the hair was growing back at a good rate, currently between the stages of a low cut but not voluminous enough to be a minimal sized afro. The doctor had predicted it would heal slowly and till then, the hair was not to be stretched. Which was the only reason Kaka had not insisted it be subdued in plaits. Nabila tired of Kaka poking around her head again and she edged away, earning a smile for her efforts

A large ball of tuwo was placed on the table. It was obvious they had just been taken off the fire for the steam emanating seemed prepared to burn a hole through the clear nylon it was wrapped in. Kaka gave a look that seemed to say “You better finish that.” Nabila knew she would, she was really hungry these days. Previously she could barely bring herself to down herbal teas now she ate for two....

That thought stopped Nabila mid sketch...eating for two. Her heart began to beat faster, drowning out Kaka’s monologue. Eating for two... that did not make any sense. She had no morning sickness so she couldn’t be. Although her energy levels were back up, she still fell tired pretty quickly, her sense of smell was heightened, and she was eating a lot. If she thought about it her breasts have felt a little sore of late. Now she was overreacting. It was nothing, absolutely nothing. There was a simple method to discover the truth. When last did she have her period? She could not think. She wasn’t even aware what day it was. Here in Balarabe estate time moved differently, at a slower pace. How long had she been here for? Two months. When last did she even need that blue pack of Always...Nabila sighed. She had not seen a sanitary towel since Abuja. She was checking her supply to make sure she had enough because her period was on its way. Then she had gotten distracted...because Jamal was an hour late returning from work.

The following morning Kaka left for Abuja hugging Nabila tightly she prayed on her head, her lips muttering for Allah’s guidance and protection. Kaka finally sat down and settled in, she stared at her granddaughter through a tinted window till the BMW drove out the monogrammed coral gates of the estate. Nabila watched the car proceed down the private driveway leading onto the main road before letting her plastered smile waver. She bit her lip and clawed at her belly. Since last night it had begun to feel like an alien had hijacked her body. This thing growing within her was unnatural and unwanted. It was punishment, a final fuck you from Jamal. She wanted nothing more to do with him and did not need to be taunted by something that would breathe the same air she inhaled, feed on the same foods she consumed and fill her breast with heavy milk. Nabila did not want this child. She had promised herself to suffer no more and this was pain in its most lethal form. Nabila turned her hand into a fist and pressed it to her stomach, pushing in. She hoped the thing could feel that. She would not tolerate it... It must go.

Rabi Bello did not feel like a married woman. Yet married she was. Alhaji Tukur was not the husband Rabi thought he would be. She assumed he would leave her in the house, a perfect trophy wife to be admired by all who visited. Reality was far from that. He intended her to hang on his arm and be present for every function imaginable. So far they had been to the army barracks in Kaduna, a wedding in Katsina, a mosque opening in Gombe and a burial in Zamfara. Next week he would be receiving a medal in Lagos and Rabi was required to be on his arm, eyes full of manufactured love. Each morning a troop of women dressed her in heavy lace and adorned her skin in henna before she could be presented to her husband; a perfect made up doll. He had never seen her with a strand of hair out of place, unlined eyes or naked lips. “This is what I married” he often said to her, “young and beautiful Rabi”

At night Alhaji Tukur summoned her to his quarters by aid of the intercom. Her personal servant walked her to his door, a light knock to signal his parcel had arrived before departing. He would bark “shigo [enter]”. She would undress at the foot of the bed while he watched licking his lips and touching himself, big belly rising with quick breaths. Then he would beckon her forward, finger sticky with pre cum and she would climb atop him to gyrate for his pleasure while he lazily gave directions. His words: “Haka ne [that’s it]”, “bude [open]” “sama [top]” “kasa [below]” told her what paces and positions to observe. He would command her to moan and agree to the names he called her, Rabi had learnt to do this without prompt now. Soon after ejaculation he would roll over and snore, Rabi as required of her would get up and return to her quarters. Alhaji Tukur was not to be disturbed when resting.

Her marriage was a level of hell she never knew existed. Every morning Rabi Tukur awoke in her Queen Size ivory bed and wished she died in her sleep. She hated her life, hated the cold un-sexual being she had become. She used to love sex, she used to love laughter, she used to love life, but she no longer recognised any of it. The painted geisha in the mirror was not her. Her hair hurt from the tight styles it was pulled into, her breasts subdued in traditional garb. She missed being free to do as she pleased. Free to come and go however she liked. Free to wear skinny jeans.

This was a beautiful prison, adorned with gold trinkets, diamonds and rubies and polite speaking guards but a prison none the less. What good are two underground garages if she is not allowed to drive any of the cars? What good is all the finery in the world if it is to please those you cannot be with? All the money at her disposal but she had to seek permission to spend it. Permission, permission, permission; her life was a never ending loop of question and answer, ‘Please’ and ‘May I’. Rabi of many friends was lonely in her gilded cage. Baba turned away from her like she had been corrupted. He no longer spoke to her not even on her wedding day...as long as Nabila remained in exile, Rabi remained in family prison. She was shamed in front of the entire staff when Mama slapped her and she was ordered to apologise to her sister. Not to return till she had proof of vindication but Rabi could barely make it halfway to Kano. The shame handcuffed her feet and with hung shoulders she returned and begged to be let in. The gates were wheeled open but it was never the same. Theirs was a close family no more.

The marriage to Alhaji Gidado Tukur was rushed before any red flags could be raised. Popular recording artistes flown in via private jet, imported exotic flowers from Malaysia, the head chef from Aso Rock made all the Nigerian dishes while the chef from the Ritz in London made foreign dishes.

World renowned Vogue photographer captured the event and a street was named in her honour; the first to recognise her new name as Tukur. Ice sculptures filtered the drinks; there was a cigar and shisha bar for the many important men who attended-including the Vice President. Lifestyle magazines had field day, “long awaited marriage of the remaining Bello offspring”, was one newspaper tagline. Nabila’s absence explained as “an unfortunate illness.”

Kaka was on hand with the smooth lies, speaking into microphones what a tight family they all were. Rabi had eight outfit changes and was called ‘lucky’ more times than she cared to recount. The day was a blur of colour, she recalled very little of it. Apart from an hour which she managed to steal away from the falseness of it all...she had no memory of the event. But the glossy magazines proved it had in fact happened, her fake smile on every front page nationwide fooling everyone.

Rabi sat up in her bed and surveyed her large room with morning light. It was too much space for her broken heart. She caught her reflection in the large gold mirror, one of four hung on the white walls. Jamal adored her like this. The just roused from sleep look. Hair tousled, feet bare, he loved her shoulders exposed, and he loved her personality. She didn’t have a voice anymore. It had been reduced to a pretty face that laughed at chauvinistic jokes spewed from the mouths of Big Men. It was required duty in her role as Hajiya Rabi Tukur. She was unhappy but by Allah she deserved it.

A flurry of feet approaching her door told her the face painting was about to begin. She wrapped a silk robe around herself and let them in. One after the other they curtsied. Re-introducing themselves although she already knew their names. Bilkisu was her hair dresser, Hauwa her makeup artist and Fatima her personal stylist. Immediately they got to work filing her nails and applying cleanser on her face. Her wardrobe was opened wide and fabric after fabric was dumped on the bed to be examined and scrutinised. Shoes and bags were placed side by side; jewellery held up against the light to ensure glittering power...it was the same dance as each morning.

This morning was different, this morning Rabi intended to ask her husband for permission to return to work. She had already missed out on countless hours and she craved the independence, though that would be the one word she would not use during her appeal. The fertility clinic was to be her life’s work; but the experience she hoped to gain in man hours was being swindled away at useless functions with loud music and flashing photographers.

Rabi rehearsed a submissive way to broach this at breakfast. Two hours later, preened and smacked with lipstick she slowly entered the breakfast room, kneeling to greet she averted her eyes from his. Alhaji liked it when she did that; played shy. He as usual had already begun his meal and gulping hot coffee, gave her an approving once over; smiling at the carnival red lace she wore with matching lipstick that made her mouth resemble a slice of tempting apple. Rabi waited for him to shovel yam into his mouth before she began, in a whisper soft voice of course

“Alhaji I was hoping you would grant me an opportunity to discuss the hospital”

“Are you sick?” he seemed to back away his chair

“No. It is about my job”

Alhaji Tukur hissed. When Rabi frowned he signalled her to continue

“It could be arranged for my hours to lie within 9am-5pm that would not be a problem at all.”

“MEANING...” he was impatient already. Rabi waited a heartbeat to continue

“I would be here when you leave in the morning and back home before your return.”

“I see” he said. Alhaji Tukur picked corn beef from his teeth, sucking at the spaces with a slurping noise. The blue plastic containing toothpicks was right in front of him; Rabi worked hard to keep her annoyance off her face. Just take one she thought, barely containing a sigh that threatened to break out when he bypassed the toothpicks to reach for a serviette still with that irritating saliva action.

Rabi waited for him to deliver his verdict; she waited through his sucking teeth action, waited through his 15minute phone-call and waited while he instructed the driver which car engine required warming up. If she pushed it might upset him so she must be patient. Finally

“What exactly will you be doing?”

Rabi blinked. What would she be doing? She’s a doctor. What did he think?

“Assisting with paperwork, and copying reports for the matron” that was part-true. If her husband wanted to pretend she would not be treating bloody accidents and delivering injections on men’s naked backsides, then she would play along. Alhaji Tukur was quiet once more

“No” he said. “I don’t not see what you intend to gain from that. You already have your degree in Medicine that is good enough for me”

Yes, but this is about me

“Maybe later. When the children are grown and starting school then you can have this asibiti [hospital] as a side project”

Rabi could not believe it. Her eyes repeatedly blinked as if to shake away what was being said. Alhaji Tukur belched and asked the plates be taken away. Rabi just then realised she had not eaten at all. The pieces of yam on her white china had been soaked though by the palm oil. Her coffee had cooled, the milk forming skin on the surface of the liquid.

“Come to my room early tonight” he said gathering up his phones; Blackberry, Sony Ericsson and Nokia, “I like this attire you are wearing. You are very beautiful in red” he smiled, admiring his possession.

Rabi wanted to lie she had her period and so could not make it but she was scared he would ask that she prove it.

“It has already been over a month fa Rabi.” He said with a suddenly serious tone, “If there is no news within the next two months people will begin talking. Kuma [also] I for one can say I have no problem in that area as you know...”

Her husband walked out of the door, into his chauffeured Range Rover and drove away leaving his words hanging heavily like wet laundry on a washing line. Yes, Rabi Tukur’s marriage was a level of Hell she never knew existed.

Jamal Mujahid was having problems at work. He saw it coming. Three months ago when he returned to find Nabila gone he knew, knew that his days as an Abuja socialite were numbered. Dr. Danjuma Bello was not one to make empty threats. Jamal had to hand it to the old man; having his name taken off the priority list was one thing but having his Solar Power contract withdrawn was pretty impressive. It stated on the rejection letter, in black ink, that his idea for solar powered street lights along the Nyanya expressway simply was not cost-effective. Bullshit! Jamal was not buying and after insisting for the facts, the Minister of Power and Steel had simply said to him, “What were you thinking? I always thought of you as a smart and bright young man, but now you have made some powerful people very angry.”

“It doesn’t mean it is not a good idea”

The Minister agreed, “The problem was not the idea”

Three days later Jamal’s subordinate was handed the contract. That was merely the first of a domino chain reaction. It quickly became apparent that Jamal no longer wielded the power and influence he used to, in Jamal’s world that was akin to being pushed out of a corner office and placed back on the stock floor. Jamal was now a political leper, anyone associated with him was promptly denied.

At first he took it all on the chin, shrugged it off and promised to bounce back. He was Jamal Mujahid; he had contacts to call on if needed. People in delicate positions owed him huge favours. With an immense amount of nicotine (he was back to chain smoking) in his system Jamal re-examined his Career path. He had fingers in many pies: agriculture, finance, power and aviation. He would get his monthly turnover back on track with a little clever manoeuvring. As it turns out, his so called connections failed to materialise. No one was scared to offend him, because well, there really wasn’t anything he could do about it. The fear he mobilised had evaporated.

Jamal could not understand what changed so rapidly; except for his marital situation of course. But that shouldn’t matter; Nabila had never played a role in his success. Well she never personally came to his office but her family name often came up. His wife was the daughter of UN consultant and former Minister of Health, an ex-President remained her guardian and testimonial Godfather and most importantly Kaka was her grandmother. Jamal knew this swayed heavily in his favour when he was coming up in the Federal Ministries; now he earned contracts on merit and past credentials but initially it began as; the son-in-law of...requires some assistance. Jamal was not ashamed of where he came from. His family had a lot of money- a little too much in some respects.

But one thing he had come to realise in Government is that there is difference between money and power. The powerfulness of old money was exponential. Nabila’s family was powerful. Kaka alone probably controlled half the public sectors. He had built his name-the Mujahid name-on that lineage of powerful political players and now it was all collapsing like a house of cards.

To make things more difficult talk of malpractice and bribery swirled around his head so no private investor or financier would touch him with a 12foot pole. Not to say the bribery claims were false; everyone was a party to a little tit for tat. Everyone greased palms once in a while, it was the Nigerian way. A way, which the Federal Government intended to stamp out, hard and with immediate effect so Jamal, Deputy Director of Engineering Services for the Ministry of Works and Housing, was made an example of. Jamal would not lose his job that much he knew, he was still too valuable. However his days as a mover and shaker were coming to end. Jamal was enough of a realist to see that.

Last week Jamal called a realtor and had his house in Wuse II put on the market. It sold quickly. His marriage situation was no secret so continuing to live in the four bedroom house made no sense. Also with the garden overrun it had taken on a sombre dilapidated look. Jamal recalls the happy couple that held hands, the ones that gave a synchronized wave when they received the keys. “Oh what a lovely blue couch” the skinny wife cooed. “Please say it comes with the house”. Jamal stared at perhaps the most diligent observer of the collapse of his marriage. The couch he and Nabila made love on in the early days, the couch she waited on when he kept late nights, the couch he found her napping on the day he rushed her to the hospital fearing she inhaled a poisonous fertiliser, the couch she fell from that night he confessed he did not love her, the couch she sat on after her miscarriage. The damn blue couch again and again.

“No I’m sorry that is mine. The movers must have left it behind”

“Oh” wife frowned and nestled her husband. Husband right on cue

“My wife really wants it so how much are you willing to part with it for?”

They were playing right into his hands. Jamal hated the stupid thing and would love to see it burn. Drawing on the acting skills that made him so good at his job once upon a time he stared longingly, before muttering a figure with a saddened sigh. The look of pain on Jamal’s face deterred the man from haggling, plus he wanted to please his new wife. With that he wrote Jamal a cheque right away. No fool, Jamal asked for a business card in case it bounced, “nothing personal” Jamal said in response to the man’s annoyed look. Jamal chuckled all the way to his car, what was it about manipulation that made him so happy? He figured he would spend the money on interior designing his new apartment.

Jamal wanted to call someone to talk. The only person he could trust with his situation was Femi Coker but he was too busy relishing his role as house husband. Even after Femi moves into the 4 bedroom house in Garki that his parents bought as a wedding gift, Amaka would divorce her new husband before she let him entertain Jamal under their roof. After Nabila’s departure Amaka's text had said one thing, “God will surely punish you.”

Jamal scrolled through the contacts on his phone again, for the umpteenth time. He thought he had friends but he didn’t. They only hung around because of what he could get for them, for the luxuries his position afforded. He played the role, always patronising, the way the very rich pretended to understand the plight of others. They polished his ego and he paid them for it. Suddenly a memory flickered before his eyes; the word ‘ego’ jogged something. Jamal sat back as the scene played in front of him like a movie. It was one of the rare occasions he and Nabila got along. He watched her rub lotion between her palms as she gisted him of the pre-nuptial arrangements abroad where wives were entitled to half of their husband’s property. He saw his eyes go wide, confused at how a man could just sit back and let any woman take anything from him. But that wasn’t why he remembered this moment, it was what she said before, he rewound the image... “I like Ikenna.” Nabila was saying, “Most of your peers just follow you around like lap dogs but Ikenna is on an even keel. You’re good for each other’s ego. Maganin ka wallahi [he’s your medicine]”

Jamal decided not to argue with the woman who had every right to take half but didn’t. He took a deep breath and dialled Ikenna’s number.

Ikenna Nwosu did not condone cheating. It was one of his cardinal sins, perhaps because he had been on the receiving end of it. It stung. The damage caused reverberated for many layers ruining your self esteem, confidence, trust and worse of all your belief in love. He would take many things over adultery; he championed divorce, trail separation, even open marriages and swingers. But behind the back cheating was a no-no in his book. Friday night however saw him nursing a Jack Daniels and listening to a man recount exactly that. And Ikenna did not feel the irritation, anger and disappointment he thought he would. Perhaps it was obvious life had already dealt Jamal Mujahid a fatal enough blow that Ikenna’s harsh words would inflict no more pain than that already felt.

“So when last did you see Rabi?” He asked

“Her wedding day” Jamal sighed. He rubbed his face and looked around....Donnell Jones wafted through the speakers. Any other day he would tease Ikenna on his mushy attitude, probably make a joke about R ‘n’ B being too soft for his taste but oddly enough it was the right sound he needed to hear. Besides for the past few months he had been having a secret affair with John Mayer- and if that white boy wasn’t mushy...

“Did you get a chance to talk to her?” Ikenna asked

“Yes” Jamal answered. He was tired; his mouth had been moving non-stop for three hours now. It was good to get everything off his chest at last, he must admit. But he had spent all day getting his belongings out of storage only to be informed his apartment was not ready yet. Luckily Ikenna was more than happy to house Jamal and his boxes and electronics,

“Let’s order some food” Ikenna suggested.

“Where are we going to get food at 4 in the morning?”

“Leave it to me I know people”

“I used to know people” Jamal sighed.

“Then you know they’re only good for one thing” Ikenna said

“Favours” they said in unison

“Man thanks so much for putting me up. I can’t explain how you’ve saved my neck”

“Nah forget it. I know how important it is to keep up appearances”

“Exactly” Jamal agreed. He would remain immaculately dressed and charming. They won’t see what he’s going through. “Roommates ko? I’ve never had one”

“Me neither” Ikenna mused

“What are we going to do when women come around?”

Ikenna laughed, “Nice try but you are whipped and so am I. There will be no females here for a while yet”

“We need to get back in the game” Jamal tried to sound unflustered by the thought

“I don tire for the game jor” Ikenna refilled his glass. He had gotten back from work just a few hours ago and still wore his corporate suit.

“I’m sorry about Amaka” Jamal was shocked to find he genuinely meant it

“She’s doing what’s best for the kids”

“Let me guess...and for that you love her even more”

“No I hate her. I want her to understand that trusting again was a risk for me and she has ruined whatever redeeming factor love had. Just taken it, stabbed it and walked away”

“You hate her?”

“More than I ever thought I could”

“I don’t hate Rabi”

“Really? If she didn’t marry the old man you and she could be together right now”

“I understand now why she did it. If there was a way I could ease Nabila’s pain I would. What I did was wicked and unfathomable. It was low and...You have nothing to add Ikenna? Now is your chance to say I deserve it or something” Jamal scratched his hair

“There’s no need. You are suffering right now. Lost the one who loved you and cannot be with the one you love. You’re alone. That is punishment enough”

Jamal figured one more sentence before they closed shop on this emotional meeting.

“Amaka doesn’t love him”

“Is that so?” Ikenna said sarcastically “And how would you know this? Amaka surely did not tell you and neither did your friend. So tell me Mujahid, disgraced Government official how do you know she does not love him; the father of her kids. The one she getting married to?”

“Because I was there when she did, back then she would have died for him. Now it’s FEMI that has it bad”

“You didn’t have to call the name”

“This disgraced Government official felt the need to”

Stay Tuned for the next part of the Finale

By S.B

Trip to Edinburgh

2010-09-03T17:59:00.003+02:00

Heyy blogsville,
I am back!!! Took a trip to Scotland for the Edinburgh festival after years of wanting to go!

And I loved it!

So worth the hype. Edinburgh is beautiful, very picturesque, and Scottish people are much nicer than English people! They are also very proud of their history and love to saw "wee" before and after everything!

The shopping compares to central london, but has a less stuck up vibe. During the festival, there are loads of "hippies" playing music on the street, doing stand-up comedy, fire eating, walking ropes, juggling and acting, all trying to make it!

Then there are religious fanatics saying that the end of the world is coming on 12-12-2012!!!

It was a great day! I then went up to Aberdeen which is the "granite" city as all the buildings are made from it, making everywhere look grey! The beach was beautiful but really coldddd! Oh and there are loads of Nigerian students there because it is the oil capital of Europe.

All in all, had an amazing time, and I would recommend you all put it on your list of places to visit before you die.

Haggis-a Scottish dish made from sheep's intestines. It felt and looked gross but tasted kinda like sausage.

xoxo

By Miss B

M.I.A

2010-08-26T22:33:00.003+02:00

I never wanted to be one of those sparse bloggers, here today, gone tomorrow. But I have been swamped. I am on training for my new job in Milton Keynes so I stay at a hotel with very limited access to the internet. Add that to constant studying, tests, assessments and working on Saturdays, I have no time for myself!! Sigh! This whole working world thing is not easy at all.

Anyway I cannot complain.........Yet!

It is the month of Ramadan at the moment, so I am fasting, and trying to purge myself! Its a blessing that we never have to think about lacking in food. I am truly blessed.

Unfortunately, this is a reality for millions of people in Pakistan who are in a humanitarian crisis because of the massive flooding all over the country. I don't think people realise the scale of the disaster. It is double the calamity of Haiti but is not getting half the attention which is such a shame. I guess it is because it is in "that part of the world" like my cousin says. For some reason this disaster has really saddened me. I have been encouraging all my friends to donate in anyway they can.

If you can please donate to www.dec.org.uk. Every Little Helps.

xoxo

Miss B

The Northern Prince Part 11 (b)

2010-08-07T22:13:00.002+02:00

OMG u guys are getting more and more impatient oh!!! Enjoy

Amaka Nwafor watched intently as her daughter played with her friends. All the children from the homes that made up the compound were playing outside, enjoying their Saturday morning. Toddlers huddled together sharing toys while their mothers’ swapped recipes and the older boys played sweaty football screaming out fouls and penalty kicks at the youngest who grudgingly accepted to be referee.

Chiamaka and the rest of the girls played ten-ten at the farthest corner of the field. Under a shade provided by a mango tree they clapped their hands and stamped their feet singing in unison “open, close, faster, faster, kick, open, faster, faster...”Chiamaka landed awkwardly each time failing to get in sync with the rhythm, scrunching up her nose as she lifted her knee higher in an effort not to come last. Amaka stood up and walked across the makeshift football pitch, reaching her daughter she grabbed her ears and led her back towards the house

“Ouch ouch” Chiamaka yelped

Chibuzo seeing that his sister was in big trouble rushed to get his father who stood over the mechanic fixing Amaka’s car.

“Daddy, Maka J is in trouble”

“With who?” Femi asked scanning the mango tree for signs of a quarrel “and what have I told you about calling your sister that”

“Mommy is angry with her” Chibuzo said hopping impatiently on one foot “Mommy is angry with Chiamaka” he later corrected. “Let’s go” he said pulling on his father’s shirt

Walking into the house, Chiamaka sat on a chair wincing as her mother cleaned an open wound with a damp cloth. The sight of the iodine sent her into tears, edging away from the brown soaked cotton wool Amaka tried to press into her cut

“Sit still” she snapped in Igbo

“Mommy please” she cried “Daddy” she pleaded once she caught sight of him at the door

“Amaka what happened?” Femi asked calmly

“This children will not kill me. Mba it will not happen” Amaka shook her head as she applied pressure on the wound. Chiamaka cried louder. “She injured her knee, maybe yesterday or something and didn’t tell me. If I hadn’t noticed it today only God knows what would have happ...my friend if you move.” She warned her daughter when she tried to back away. “What if it got infected?” she asked Femi, “What if it had to be amputated?”

Femi Coker nodded his head slowly; Amaka was obviously losing her marbles. It was only a grazed knee nothing serious besides it was natural for children to hide wounds from their parents for this exact reason, they hated the scolding and iodine ritual that came afterwards. Still he was smart enough not to use the word “overreacting.” He waited for her disinfection process to end before he added gently “Maka you are scaring the children.” Amaka looked up from the cloth she was bunching around her daughter’s knee to see her tear stained cheeks and Chibuzo hiding behind his father’s knee.

Amaka was quiet for a moment. Femi jumped in “Okay so what have we learnt? If you cut yourself you tell mommy straight away okay,” the children nodded with heads bent. “Good now both of you go to the fridge and finish that ice cream there. Don’t come back till the bowl is clean. Do you hear me?” They did not wait to be told twice.

“Maybe I overreacted” Amaka said as she closed the First Aid box.

Femi did not gloat

“You have been intense for the past week” he said sitting down

“It’s just that time I guess”

Femi was smart enough not to fall into that one

“That is not it” he disagreed. Amaka eyed him, “Its Nabila” he continued unperturbed, “Her miscarriage, it’s affecting you more than you will admit. Since then you have been extra protective with the children”

“You don’t know what you are talking about” Amaka threw used cotton balls into the trash can

“Monitoring their playtime, shoving Swedish Bitters down their throats, bandaging minor cuts...” Femi looked at her “Nothing is going to happen to them Maka.”

“How do you know? Accidents happen. At any moment when we’re not looking...”

“I need you to relax. Will you like me to take them away for a couple of days or so? Give you time to clear your head”

“They are my children Femi”

“I understand Amaka, but just now...dragging her into the house like that...”

Amaka stopped and looked at the wall, at the portrait of the three of them. She promised herself their childhood would be unlike hers. They would be free to run around and be children. What she did right now was not the mothering style she preached. It was frightening what came over her.

“Come” Femi outstretched his arm. Amaka didn’t take it. He got up and took it for himself, pulling her to the couch

“Sit and listen” he instructed. The twins laughed in the kitchen “ice cream fixes everything. She’s forgotten about it already”

“I will never forgive myself if something were to happ”

“Nothing will happen”

“How do you know?”

“Because it’s not their time”

“How do you know?”

“Sssh you ask too many questions” Femi lay her head on his shoulders and put his arm around her waist. “Let’s watch TV.” The children finished the tub of Walls Vanilla and presented an empty plastic bowl as proof before running back out to play, informing jealous play mates of their dessert. The mechanic reported he was done with Amaka’s car. A neighbour asked permission to borrow the baking trays. Femi and Amaka did not move.

After dinner, the kids revelled in staying up late on the weekends and searched through DVDs for the perfect movie while their parents made a snack. Femi chuckled as he dropped Maize into a pot.

“What’s funny?” Amaka asked as she broke a coconut in half

“Do you remember the first time I met Ulonna?” he asked pouring in hot water and closing the lid

“My mother hated you on sight” Amaka laughed

“Hate is a strong word”

“Ignorance is bliss”

“Chinedu wasn’t such a big fan either”

“Oh that’s true. He chased you from the house and threatened to burn you alive”

“But we made it work. Lucky for us your driver was very eager to be bribed”

“Not so easy to sneak around when you’re heavily pregnant”

“Do you remember that time in the car” Femi grinned

“Yes I remember”

“That hotel close to the filling station”

“I remember”

“The changing room in the...”

“Femi I get it” Amaka said with a hand on her waist “Check on the corn”

“Just taking a trip down memory lane”

“Okay it’s time to come back now. That was a long time ago. We were very young”

“And in love”

“Like I said, a long time ago. Have you added salt?”

“Of course I have” Femi replied. When Amaka turned her back he started to look everywhere for it

“Bottom left drawer”

“I swear you have eyes at the back of your head”

Amaka laughed, handing him some coconut before straining and dishing the rest on a plate. “It is an Nwafor secret”

“Well we Cokers are pretty powerful as well” Femi said chewing fast and taking another piece

“Really what will tha-”

“Marry me”

Amaka looked at him like he had just said something silly. “Don’t be silly” she scolded. Pouring drinks into four tumblers.

“I am as serious as a heart attack”

“Then take my answer seriously. No”

“I want us to be married”

“I thought we had to win the lottery to get married” Sarcasm soaked Amaka’s words

“I just want to be with you and the kids”

“Oh so pigs really do fly”

“You know what that’s enough. I took your insults and put downs because I deserved it. But I have not put a foot wrong in months and yet you won’t admit that.”

“You know what Femi? Get over yourself. You want a pat on the back for doing what you are supposed to, you have come to the wrong place. And months does not make up for years”

“You just refuse to admit that I am a good father”

“Is that so?”

“Yes it is.” Femi walked up to her

“And why will I want you to fail?” Amaka removed a tray and dusted it

“Because then you will have to face up to the fact that you love me”

“I am not in love with you”

“Yes you are”

“No Femi I’m not and the corn is ready. Don’t ever try to intimidate me again. I am not 18 anymore”

“Neither am I. I am not going anywhere Amaka. Deal with it.”

Back in the living room, she and Femi were all about civility. Laughing with the children and watching the Hunch back of Notre Dame. Amaka didn’t know why the children chose this, it always scared them. Afterwards it was Girls vs. Boys contest, Femi told a riddle “what happens when your nose runs and your feet smell?”

“You’re upside down” Chibuzo shouted. Earning a high five from his father and a point, he stuck his tongue out at his sister

“Mommy it’s your turn” Chiamaka said determined

“If my first name is Amos and my surname is Quito. Who am I?”

“A mosquito” Chiamaka shouted laughing.

It was a good night.

The next morning Amaka woke Femi up by shaking his shoulder, he stirred, stretched and rolled forgetting he was on the couch. He fell to the carpet, landing with an “ow!” “How is it you keep doing that?” Amaka asked laughing; it cracked her up every time Femi stayed over. At first she thought it was a ploy to get into her bed but now she knew he was just that clumsy in the morning.

“Man is not designed to sleep on the couch”

“Well no man sleeps as much as you do”

“I’ve actually been awake for a while. I just drifted off a few minutes ago.”

“You were up?”

“Yes waiting for you”

Before she could ask why, he patted the cushion next to him announcing “Kids mommy is up now”

Chiamaka and Chibuzo strolled in, wearing their Sunday best. As she tried to figure out how Femi got them both washed and dressed without waking her, together they presented a card. Smiling and wondering what game they were playing, Amaka tore open the envelope, “To the Best Mommy.” Amaka placed it down tearing up, it was so unexpected. It was neither her birthday nor Mother’s day; she stood to hug the children but they stepped back. “Oh you want me to open it” she said. Animatedly she did, cello taped to the inside of the card was a ring with the words Mommy please marry Daddy......

Amaka paused and stared at the bright eyes eagerly waiting her answer. She turned to Femi and caught him in a thumbs up to the children, they gave him one back, giggling when they realised they had been caught.

“WELLLLLL” the twins chorused

“It’s a big decision guys” Amaka said wondering how she was going to get out of this one. Femi would pay, she would burn him alive. The twins were in his arms now and confidently he held on to them both. Amaka remembered when he was a stranger who couldn’t pack their lunch’s right and thought after school hobbies were boring. Now he was running for PTA chairman. Picking them up every day and helping with homework while Amaka put her feet up. She didn’t remember the last time Femi complained or fought with his father. Didn’t remember the last time she slept for less than 8hours, the last time she called in a plumber or an electrician. She simply returned from work and noticed the leaky pipe had been fixed, the news channel was no longer scrambled and the AC was silent. Femi did all that. Amaka stared at her daughter’s grazed knee and remembered how Femi handled her melt down and calmed the children. She remembered how they watched TV comfortably for hours when months ago Femi couldn’t be in her house without irritating her. Now he regularly slept over. When did that happen? How did they slip into this role? Maybe she did love him... He was a great father. A father her children wanted, she would do anything for her children.

“Yes” Amaka heard herself say “I’ll marry Daddy”

A massive group hug followed, pushing Amaka off her feet and to the floor, in the midst of the children singing and clapping Femi found her mouth and kissed her.

By S.B

Men are definitely from Mars......

2010-08-06T21:22:00.003+02:00

Two women are chatting in an office.

Woman 1: "I had sex last night, did you?"
Woman 2: "Yes."
Woman 1: "Was it good?"
Woman2: "No, it was a disaster. My husband came home, ate his dinner in three minutes, got on top of me, finished having sex in five minutes, rolled over and fell asleep n two minutes. How was yours?"
Woman 1: "Oh it was amazing! My husband came home and took me out to a romantic dinner. After dinner we walked for an hour. When we came home he lit the candles around the house and we had an hour of foreplay. We then had an hour long session of fantastic sex and afterwards talked for an hour. It was like a fairytale!"

At the same time their husbands are talking at work.

Husband 1: "You wanted sex last night, how was it?"
Husband 2: "Great! I came home, dinner was on the table, I ate, had sex with my wife and fell asleep. It was great! What about you?"
Husband 1: "It was horrible. I came home, there's no dinner because NEPA cut our light, so I had to take my wife out which was expensive. Because of hold up, we had to walk home and that took an hour -and when we got home I remembered the no light, so I had to light candles all over the house. I was so angry that I couldn't get it up for an hour, and then I couldn't come for another hour. After I came, I was so aggravated, that I couldn't fall asleep and my wife was yacking away for another hour!"

The Northern Prince Part 11 (a)

2010-08-05T22:35:00.003+02:00

Nabila Mujahid tapped her foot and awaited her husband’s arrival outside their home in the leafy suburbs of Wuse II. She hissed whenever the sound of an engine drove by the gate. He was late again. He thought he could play her for a fool ko? There is no reason why he should not be home an hour after work hours ended, unless he was cheating on her, looking for a new wife, one that could bear his seed. She would not stand for it; Jamal would have to kill her first before he disgraced her like this. The blare of the horn alerted the mai-guard to wheel open the gates, he did this slowly wondering how he could alert his boss that Hajia was gearing up for a fight, he considered slowly shaking his head as a sign of danger but decided to mind his business.

“Sannu Alhaji” he greeted Jamal as he opened his car door and took his briefcase. That was all Jamal heard before Nabila descended on him with the wrath of Jahannam (hell).

“Sannu mai-gida” She gave him a round of applause. “Finally you come home to your wife. Nagode fa- thank you,” she curtseyed before giving a long hiss. At least today you remembered you have a house.” Jamal calmly walked past her towards the door, “eh eh where do you think you are going?” She grabbed his briefcase from the mai-guard and flung it on the floor marginally missing the left side mirror of his Mercedes. “You will tell me where you are coming from because it is not from work. When I called Zainab said you had already left. Yes, I called your office so don’t even try to lie to me”

Jamal signalled that the mai-guard shut the gates and make himself scarce before turning to face his wife, she bounced on and off her right foot with a smirk on her face, finally after weeks of taking her punishment he had provided her with something to spin into an actual fight.

“Nabila...”

“Don’t call my name. I know my name. What I want to know is the name of my kinshia (mate). The cheap whore that you wish to replace me with should make herself known now or peace will not reign. Wallahi”

“I went to Gwagwalada for a meeting”

“Kariya- lies!” she hit her hand against her mouth taunting him

“It’s the truth.” Jamal’s voice rose. Remain calm his head reasoned. You are the sane one here. “I was with the Minister of the FCT call his wife and ask her. Go on call Maryam to check”

Nabila eyed him and dialled a number on her phone, once Maryam asked if Jamal had relayed her greeting Nabila found an excuse to hang up... Jamal slowly walked past his wife and lifted up his briefcase, dusting the black leather that was now scratched in places from the impact on the gravel. He would live to fight another day.

“You are still a useless excuse of a man. Kaman kare (like a dog) running around Abuja with your tongue out. You think anyone takes you seriously? Let me just tell you. Jamal Mujahid in this town you are nothing but a joke” she wagged her finger at him and made a rude noise, whistling at him the way one ordered a dog to heel. Jamal’s head began to pound; the heat, the unprofitable deal and now to return home to this, knowing it will last through dinner and she would scream it outside his door tonight, it will be uttered at breakfast. It will never end.

He turned to her with his hand on the door knob and relayed back her favourite insult.

“Nabila you are not a woman. You are a pathetic shadow of one and everybody feels sorry for you.”

Nabila stopped her tirade of insults and stood with her mouth open. She placed her palms on her chest and began to pull her hair. Jamal did not have time for her theatrics, and it would only get worse once they were inside the house. Making a quick u-turn he walked towards his car, shaking off the hand she placed around his ankle he got into his driver seat, the gate was wheeled open and Jamal sped away leaving dust in his awake. He heard Nabila cough it out.

For the first time in his life Jamal walked into a bar and ordered alcohol. He stared at the brown liquid in his large glass and sipped past the foamy head. He tried to like the bitter taste, it was horrid. So he was not a beer man. Jamal tried again with the Spirits; vodka, gin, whiskey nor brandy proved to be his poison of choice. It seemed like corporal punishment and upset that he could not even find a decent means to escape his problems Jamal sat dejected in the corner of the seedy shack he drove into. The Elephant Bar at the Sheraton, the Capital Bar in the Hilton were his usual hang outs, which meant they were the usual hang outs for colleagues and acquaintances he did not wish to see. He ran no risk of running into someone he knew in the off the road dive. The lighting was provided by naked bulbs it was hard to make out the rest of the occupants anyway.

His Mercedes drew too much attention in the open sand dune that was the parking space, customers- drunks and those getting there- marvelled at the shiny silver finish and double headlights. Jamal didn’t care if it was stolen he needed a new car anyway; never had he kept one for so long. It reminded him of Rabi. The hot afternoons they made love in the back seat, AC blasting and John Mayer on the stereo. Sometimes he parked on the deserted hill overlooking Jabi River where they used to picnic and inhaled the leather, summoning up her scent. He couldn’t do that clearly anymore because Nabila had bled all over it. He saw the miscarriage: the loss of a life that trapped him in his.

A prostitute with a flabby belly and too much perfume sidled up to him “Oga you want something?” she inquired smiling at him. This would be the best looking man she ever took to bed. Jamal considered it for a moment. Alcohol wasn’t his vice. Perhaps if he slept around, did exactly what Nabila accused him of... The lady began to rotate her breasts on his shoulder, stretching a hand dusted with dark hairs she grabbed his glass and downed his drink. She licked her lips “make we dey go,” taking his hand. Jamal stared at her and tried to guess her age, he could not but at that moment he felt for her. Reaching a hand into his pocket he brought out his wallet and emptied it. Soundlessly he slapped naira notes onto the wobbly table, as fast as he dropped them she quickly collected and stuffed into her worn purse. Both her palms could not contain the naira notes he repeatedly shoved into them. Her mouth was agape as she watched this man ‘display himself’ in a place where people would not hesitate to break bottle and rob him.

She pulled out a chair and sat on it shielding the view of his wallet from some particularly menacing looking thugs in the far corner. Was he trying to get them both killed? She wanted to tell him that this was quadruple her rate even for performing the most perverse of sexual acts. She had watched him try to drink himself unconscious but to no avail, well she could help him forget whatever it was that was too hard to remember. Besides she had not eaten in nearly two days, alcohol would at least be something. This man with the curly hair and un-rumpled suit that met her eyes so boldly did not belong here. As if hearing her thoughts he got up to leave. Could he read minds? She wondered. In answer to her question Jamal gave his plate of untouched peppered chicken and jollof rice to her.

Jamal Mujahid knocked on his mai-guard’s door, Dauda croak it open gripping his machete in case it was an unwelcome guest. At the sight of Alhaji all sleep cleared from his eyes and apologising he put on a shirt scrambling to open the gate.
“No, drive the car in slowly. I don’t want to wake anybody up” They both knew who he meant by ‘anybody’. With furious nodding Dauda complied driving the expensive car in without the aid of headlights and wondering how women could reduce men to nothing. This was precisely why you had to marry them young, so they grew to respect you.
There was a chill in the air as he walked into his dark house, it could be impending rain or Nabila’s breathe. He tried to pretend that he was not tip-toeing to avoid waking her. Slowly creeping up the stairs to the spare bedroom he paused. At first it sounded like snarling causing him to startle in surprise, now that he paid attention it was definitely sniffles. It seemed to be coming from the forbidden room- the nursery. Jamal wondered if the ghost of the baby was there, then realised he was probably tipsy. The minute sips out of each glass had managed to get him slightly drunk. Well, that settled the question of his alcohol tolerance. He was pushed by an unfamiliar sense of curiosity to find out what made that noise, he slowly made it to the door half-expecting to see a toddler with his father-in-law’s face wearing a bib with ‘I am Danjuma Mujahid’ clearly displayed across it. He carefully opened the door and saw a pregnant Nabila surrounded by stuffed animals talking to the wall paper. Jamal blinked once then twice, clearing his vision. Nabila’s bump was provided by a pillow stuffed under her blouse; she stroked it and spoke to it. He didn’t think she even realised she was crying.

“Nabila” he slurred. Wincing when he realised he had said her name out loud; he steeled himself against her retort. None came
“I’m not crazy” she defended herself. Jamal looked around the dusty forest that was the nursery, he noticed the rocking chair had been broken, destroyed beyond repair, its wooden splinters facing the ceiling, a hammer lay beside it.

“What happened to your rocking chair?”

“It broke”

“Nabila...”

“Don’t do that. Don’t pity me” she shook her head

Jamal walked in and sat on the opposite side of the room beside the crib. Dried petals crunched under his shoes, he remembered Nabila hung flowers on the crib most days so this room scented like her garden. He remembered she did a lot of things for this baby.

“Did you mean what you said?” She asked rubbing her un-natural bump

“I was angry”

Nabila shook her head as tears fell down “but its true isn’t it? I am pathetic”

“You’re grieving”

“Nobody likes me. Since I lost Danju...it, no one cares”

“It is difficult for them to be around you”

“Them? Don’t you mean everyone? Don’t you mean you?”

“Not me. Not right now” Jamal shuffled across the dusty carpet till he was beside Nabila “To be on the safe side” he said picking up the hammer and tossing it out of her reach. She watched it land with a thud, raising dust. “You are a little unstable” he said, but it was said gently, almost with a smile. They were a few feet away from each other now

“You never wanted that child” Nabila said

“That is true” Jamal agreed “In the beginning, but then I understood being around you would be less intense if you had someone else to focus your attention on. I did not wish what happened to happen. No one did.”

“Intense” she repeated... “I smother you”

“It’s the only way you know how to love” he stared at her

“You know me so well” she wiped her running nose

“I have always understood you Nabila. I do not know how come”

“The reason I love you. I never had to apologise for being myself” she watched him shift uncomfortably “... but I know it’s also the reason you don’t love me. I am not versatile enough for you. People need to be complex to hold your interest.”

“You know me so well” he said

“Maybe when you realise that you will give me a chance to be your wife”
Jamal kept quiet. “I think we need to focus on your unresolved issues first Nabila”

“Like what?”

“Like ignoring your garden, ignoring Amaka...”

“So?” her voice was defensive

“So those are the paramount things that made you happy. You were happy before you got pregnant too Nabila, do you remember?”
Her lips held the promise of a smile “If I close my eyes and pretend, you sound like you care”

“I wasn’t always like this” Jamal said hurt by her remarks. He knew he hadn’t been the best husband but there were times they got along. Gisting like old friends who have not spoken in years, “It hasn’t all been bad”

“Well the good was so long ago it’s hard to remember” Nabila corrected. Have they been in different marriages this past five years? “When was the last time you held my hand?” She asked “Or told me...” she was interrupted by warmth as his hand gripped hers reassuringly. She looked at their joint hands resting atop her belly, a minute later he let go

“There...the last time I held your hand was a minute ago. What else were you saying?”

“Err...ah...um...” she swallowed “or told me I looked nice”

“You look nice. Beautiful was the day you put the water feature in. You wore the gold shimmery thing with the tight skirt...that was really nice.”

“You didn’t know I was pregnant then”

“How did I not notice that?”

They both laughed. “You see we can get along” Jamal said

“Then kiss me” she suggested. Jamal stopped laughing, his smile disappeared.

“Nabila...”

“I guess it was worth the shot. I felt your skin against mine for the first time in two years and I‘m grateful. I really am” She spread her palm over a crocodile’s back, shifting undisturbed dust from the wallpaper, it rose in the dark causing her to sneeze

“We should get back to our rooms”

“I’ll stay here just a little while longer” Nabila said
Jamal got up and bid her goodnight, at the door he turned once more and realised the insane picture she struck with her fake bulge; an image that fled his mind once he sat down to talk to her. She looked crazy till you discovered that she was just hurt and looking for a way to hold on to what had been lost. She needed something for the pain. Jamal walked back to her, knelt by her side once more “I’ll wait with you” he said

“I would prefer to be alone”

“Well too bad” he said before he kissed her
Nabila was stunned. Her husband’s lips were on hers tasting faintly of alcohol. He put an arm around her waist and she forgot the dust and everything else. It felt so good to feel human again, to feel contact. She sighed and moaned as he reminded her why she couldn’t get enough of him when they began dating. His tongue was in the roof of her mouth then in her cheeks, at her throat. She sighed so loudly, the victory dance of a woman that had forgotten pleasure of the flesh. This wasn’t gardening nor the other simple pleasure of life, it was hot and hurried. Her heart thudded so fast she began to fear she would faint again and awake in a hospital. Hungrily her lips lapped up his kisses not knowing when next they would be offered.

Jamal pulled back to catch his breath, “no” Nabila groaned as he pulled away. She wanted him, placing her forehead to his she begged for more, “Kiss me please. Just once more, kiss me.” Moved by his enormous ego and reassurance that someone was begging him to touch her Jamal held her hand and whispered words he never thought he would say ever again “let’s go to the bedroom.” Nabila’s eyes widened, just as they did the night he took her virginity, brimming with untapped desire.

“O-o-kay-y” Nabila stuttered

He pulled her up and led her to the master bedroom, a room he had not slept in for 7 months. He removed the pillow from underneath her blouse and tossed it aside, kissing her flat stomach. He unhooked her bra and chuckled when socks used to fill her maternity cups fell out displaying her once again humble breasts, in turn he sucked each nipple till her moans became fearfully loud. He placed her hand on his penis, “touch me here,” he instructed rumbling in his throat as she stroked the shaft, squeezing the engorged head.

Surprised at his wife Jamal threw her petite figure on the bed and parted her legs; he slid his fingers into her waterfall till he found her centre. Making a ‘come hither’ signal with his index he drove her wild, causing Nabila to trash about, clamping her things shut and shaking her head contradicting her cries begging him not to stop. He kissed her all over and freed his body up to her touch. Nabila roamed her fingers everywhere tasting, re-discovering. She kissed him till her tongue went numb and smelt him till she no longer felt oxygen but his presence in her lungs. Jamal lay atop and made love to his wife, lifting her tiny frame clear off the bed with each massive thrust, squeezing her buttocks and muffling her loud moans with kisses. Her body shivered and sweated till it released. Nabila lay suspended in white light, her body sore from the pounding it had received. She tried to rest her head in the crook of her husband’s shoulder but he turned away. What had changed in the mere seconds of orgasm till now??

“I am trying to sleep Nabila. I gave you what you wanted, let me rest now”

Nabila turned to face the wall and quietly she cried herself to sleep. In the recesses of her unconscious mind she heard drawers open and shut, these noises persisted till it broke through alerting her brain to wake up. Nabila opened her eyes to see Jamal taking shirts off the hanger, he was still naked

“What are you doing?” she asked her voice heavy with sleep

“Transferring more clothes to my room”

“The guest bedroom? I thought you were moving back here”

“Why?”

“We made love...” Jamal shook his head. “Yes we did. We did Jamal don’t lie to me, not now. The way you touched me, kissed me”

“I still don’t love you Nabila. That has not changed.”

“Jamal” Nabila felt tears fill her eyes

“Aren’t you tired of crying?” he asked. He was not about to pull another pity fuck out of the basket

“Yes I am.” her voice went whisper-quiet as an epiphany dawned on her, “I have nothing left to give to this marriage. Not a baby, or tears, sweat, blood, I am empty.”

“I can’t love you because I love someone else okay. There I said it” Jamal looked her directly in the face

“You have punished me more than that in the past two minutes” Nabila met his stare

“That’s not all. It’s Rabi”

“Rabi who?”

“Rabi” Jamal repeated. Nabila’s eyes shut tightly as she absorbed this

After a two minute silence “She’s exactly your type” she finally said. Jamal stared as she continued to look at him.

“Nabila did you hear me?”

“Yes loud and clear.” She shrugged her shoulders “You have worn me down Jamal. I have no fight left in me”

“I’ll be gone in the morning” he reassured her

“Okay”

“Nabila...”

“I heard you Jamal.”

Amaka Nwafor opened her door at 7.00am, to find Nabila sitting out on the veranda. It was drizzling and the air was chilly, Amaka walked to her friend. The one that had come out of the hospital half the person she was.

“Why didn't you come in?”

“I didn’t want to wake the kids”

“It’s windy and cold out here”

“He is in love with Rabi”

Amaka wanted to be shocked but she remembered that night in the Hilton. The way they held hands, laughing as they walked to their cars. She had known, even as she fed herself that bullshit about giving everyone the benefit of doubt. Nabila was awaiting her shock and horror, Amaka decided to be honest

“I know”

Nabila stared at her “you know! How long have you known?”

“I saw them in the parking lot at the Hilton months ago, but the next night you told me things were good and you two were starting a family, so I let it go. Nabila please don’t be upset with me, I didn’t see anything improper. I did not know for sure they were having an affair”

“Yes you did” Nabila got up to leave. Amaka held her hand. “We have barely spoken since you lost Danjuma.”

Nabila swung the net door open and walked into the cold rain, marching towards the gate and ignoring Amaka’s apologies. She wished she drove her jeep here but she did not trust herself to drive. Her eerie calmness was alien to her and she was certain that any moment she would explode. It seemed a safer idea to get into a taxi at that point, well obviously when she made the decision she was dry, unlike now. Nabila got into the main street and raised an arm for a taxi; a beat up Toyota painted green with black stripes slid to a stop nearly splashing the puddle in her path. Getting in the back seat Nabila gave the address of her parents’ home.

Baba was having breakfast in the library, surrounded by his books and the aroma of coffee. Nabila wanted more than anything for Mama to hear this but unfortunately she was out of town. She showed herself into the study ignoring the servant who tried to offer her breakfast.

“Baba” she swung the large doors open. Baba looked up from his journal, setting down his journal

“Jamal and Rabi” she said as carefully as she could.

Baba sighed. “Yes” was all he uttered. Nabila’s eyes stung from tears that would not fall. “You k-knew-w Baba how could...” there were disrespectful words begging to be said. She had to walk away. Turning around she started to shout Rabi’s name. There was no response

“She’s at work” Oda said emerging from the kitchen and as usual wiping her hands on her apron

“Tell me you did not know about this” Oda wanted to ask Nabila what she meant but Baba emerged and the question was rendered useless. She bowed her head instead

“EVERYBODY knew I was a laughing stock?”

“Nabila I was trying to...”

“I am your daughter Baba” Nabila interrupted her father. Without words his look seemed to say “and so is Rabi”

Nabila insisted that one of the drivers take her home, they all scrambled when they saw her approach the garage. It was Oga’s pikin and not the nice one sef. Was anything in her matrimonial home still sacred? For all she knew he and her sister had violated every single piece of furniture in her home. She tried to cry still no tears came, she was pretty certain that if she pierced herself she would not bleed either.
This marriage had drained her of all fluid; embryonic, tears, blood, sweat... At her gate she got out and marching past Dauda stormed into her home. Jamal was not here, Nabila rushed to pack her things, shoving anything and everything she could find into boxes. How did she accumulate all this stuff?

Each time she came across something precious such as a perfume bottle or an antique necklace she wondered if Rabi had worn the scent, adorned herself with the jewellery. She sat on the bed and wondered if last night was the first time she experienced what Rabi had been getting for free. She was his wife but she had to beg and plead to receive a portion of what had become Rabi’s property. That stung. Did her husband also take permission from his lover before he offered up a kind word? Nabila thought of the hostility her sister displayed after she got pregnant, she walked around in a bubble while everyone sniggered behind her back, knowing the truth. Her husband preferred her sister to her, because she wasn’t worth falling in love with.

Surrounded by clothes and suitcases she felt completely overwhelmed; she also had no idea where she was going to once she left what had been the home she created for herself, the one she wished to grow old in. Walking into the bathroom she saw a pair of scissors in the medicine cabinet, the sharp blades gleamed. Nabila held it up to the light coming from the window and snipped the air, the noise was crisp, with no beginning and no end just function. It was obvious what needed to be done. She held it up to her hair and snipped off the long braid down her back. Her hair clip clattered to the floor loudly and the ends of her hair stuck out. If this was her only resemblance to her sister Jamal could have it, she would be her own person without being criticised for falling short of her perfect sibling.
She took the scissors to her hair again and snipped, tuft by tuft of curly hair dropped into the sink and onto the Italian floor tiles. She snipped till she hit flesh, scraping her scalp clean she severed it all, her bald head red in parts that flesh had been taken out along with hair, and other patches retained stubble like prickly strands. Coating her wounds in baby oil she tied a Hermes silk scarf on her head watching as the blood soaked through the material. The oil reminded her of something...She knew where to go. Walking out of the bathroom Nabila opened up a new bag and dropped in: Kermit teddy, a nightgown, toothbrush and underwear, zipping up the Louis Vuitton carrier she walked away from the rest of her belongings strewn about the room, open jewellery boxes and diamond earrings and silk scarves. She threw her phone in the toilet. Four hours later her flight touched down in Kano and she ran into Kaka’s arms.

By S.B

The Northern Prince Part 11 Teaser

2010-08-01T22:33:00.003+02:00

Heyy blogsville,

I am so sorry for my sparse blogging lately. I have been so so busy with the new job! I have seen ur fb and twitter messages and I promise I have not been ignoring you. Here's a little appetizer to wet your tongue for the delicious main course to come.

Nabila Mujahid was being released from hospital. It is safe to say it was not in the way she envisioned. Yes, her parents were around her, fussing with the arrangement of her kaftan and brushing her hair back. Her husband was pushing the wheelchair she sat on, her best friend holding her right hand. It is the scenario she saw her in her future. Four months into her future to be exact.

But with one major difference; in her arms she cradled not a baby. The cards on her lap did not read “Congratulations,” “To the New Mommy” and “It’s a Boy” instead they were words of condolence. As she was wheeled out of the maternity ward she had been admitted into; past rooms of wailing babies and nursing mothers, her loss sank sharp teeth into her flesh and bit hard. Nabila could feel the tears coming on.

This happened every time, every time she believed there were no more left to shed. That her eyes could produce no more; her heart defied her. Two fat salty drops rolled down her cheeks breaking the damn, a torrential flood followed, a sound escaped her lips. This was her baby, this child brought so much joy into her life yet it was taken away from her.
Pain questioned her faith in Allah. It no longer made sense the Holy Book insisted everything happened for a reason. The wheels on the chair stopped; everyone looked down at Nabila crying into the Kermit the Frog teddy. Her hands squeezed the webbed feet, her mouth open as she talked and cried into the defining symbol of her loss. Saliva and sweat dripped onto the green polyester fibre.

No one stopped her; no one had the heart to. What do you say? That it will all work out for the best? The pain will heal soon? Her mother turned into Baba’s shoulder and with her face away from everyone else silently joined her daughter in tears. Baba put an arm around his wife and averted his gaze also; he stared at the plasterwork on the ceiling. Amaka busied herself with rearranging the hem on Nabila’s gown, occasionally stroking her neck.

She did not cry, but the look on her face was far more reminiscent of pain. She sucked in her cheeks and craned her neck backwards then forwards, she closed her eyes for long moments on end before opening them up again. In the midst of this despair was Jamal. He released his grip on the handle and wiped his sticky palm on his thigh. Everyone had done nothing but question him for the three days Nabila was admitted. He had re-told the story, the miscarriage story; so many times it no longer felt it like a firsthand account.

Going through the motions of that fateful morning: finding Nabila in a fragile heap at his feet, the blood trickling down her leg, the red stain on his shirt as he carried her down the stairs, speeding through early morning traffic, the emergency room, Nabila on a stretcher and two hours later Dr. Mahdi’s solemn expression, as his lips quietly delivered the devastating news.

It felt unreal to Jamal. He didn’t know what “foetus in distress” and “tangled umbilical cord” meant. He merely nodded and walked in behind the doctor as they entered his wife’s room. It was when he saw her hooked up to the transfusion machine that it slowly began to dawn on him what had occurred. The large plastic bag with a pint of O+ blood dripped steadily into her veins.

Nabila became conscious and asked of the baby, Jamal watched Dr. Mahdi go through the process again: the quiet movement of his lips, his defeated stance, and shoulders down. He had after all lost a battle with Death; he could not save an unborn child. Even with the added risk of delivering the foetus via caesarean in the hope that it would survive its first premature weeks in an incubator, came to no avail. “I tried everything,” he said. He swore it. Nabila began to scream. It clawed from deep within, animalistic and raw. A lioness had lost her cub. She gripped her still swollen belly. “Give me back my child” her head spinning wildly as she became increasingly delirious, a mad woman. Eyes bulging out of her skull slightly yellowed in the irises from the blood loss. She tore at the sheets and pulled the tubes out of her veins.

Dr. Mahdi carefully approached her, urging her to lie down before she fainted. Nabila refused his help, slapping away at his hands, screaming and crying and calling out to her child. She spat at his feet, called him a thief- not a murderer- for she still believed her child to be alive. Not dead. She ran her long nails across her face breaking skin. Two nurses were called in and one forced her down while the other sedated with an injection to her forearm. Her unconscious body was caught mid-slump, lay on the bed and hooked up to the transfusion machines once again. Dr. Mahdi clearly relived, placed a hand on Jamal’s shoulder before exiting. Staring at his wife, Jamal finally got it.

The pity transformed his attitude, care he did not show in the six months she carried his child came oozing out of every pore. Jamal made the necessary phone calls to family and friends and spent the night in an uncomfortable chair by her bedside. When he awoke the next day with a stiff back it was to not-so-yellow eyes staring at him

“Is it true?” she whispered with a hoarse voice

“Yes” he said gently

“Which was it?” she asked

“A boy” Jamal replied

“Danjuma” tears rolled down her face. “Danjuma Mujahid”

Although curious he did not ask what she would have named the child had it been a girl.

Jamal Mujahid led Nabila into their home, setting her down gently on the blue sofa. They had finally departed from the rest of the group and with everyone scheduling their time for visits, Jamal felt confident he would be able to return to work without fearing harm would come to her.

“Ruwa-water?” he asked. She shook her head

“Nabila you have to be strong”

“Don’t tell me how to feel”

Her whole body tensed up when he spoke to her. Her hostility grew. Jamal began to fear she blamed him for the miscarriage. What else could cause such a reaction? He tried to talk to her about it- he was told talking helped- but she shouted him down. She screamed a lot now. It really brought to light how much her personality had changed whilst she was pregnant, for this was a side of Nabila he had not seen in a long time. Hours turned to days. Jamal found himself walking on egg shells around his wife, fearing he spoke too much or not enough. He returned from work praying she was at Amaka’s or pottering around in her garden. But the days turned to weeks the Cherokee never left the garage and the garden over grew.

Rose beds and chrysanthemums jumbled, suffocating one another. Clear pathways had become obstructed with prickly grass, thorns jutted out everywhere, and the hedges blocked the views from all windows. Climbing ivy spread over cement and once upon a time beautiful brickwork. Her water feature clogged by debris and twigs had long since stopped working. The work load surmounted and the area became hazardous but no one dared prune it. It was her garden. Nabila would get around to it soon. They hoped.

The rainy season came and watered the city, the weeds grew and so did Nabila’s anger. The cook and mai-guard ran scared of her, neighbours avoided the house and her phone stopped ringing as much. Seeing as she never answered, people stopped calling. All the sympathisers ceased to visit. The last two standing did their best- Ikenna dropped by a few times and Amaka whenever she could- but Nabila remained seething at whoever was brave enough to get close. Jamal in particular got the brunt of it. She cursed at him: for chewing loudly, walking too fast, breathing heavily, and generally being alive.
If he avoided her she sought him out; be it in the study or the guest bedroom.

“You think you are a man?” was a common line of hers.
“You should be ashamed of yourself,” a close second.

Each passing day she resembled her pre-pregnant self erasing all trace she ever carried life, the more her stomach flattened the more bitterness seemed to seep out of her every orifice. Jamal’s empathy had long since emptied. The pity that filled his being at the hospital had been trampled upon by Nabila’s insults, poisoned by her venom. Jamal craved Rabi more than anything else in the world. He needed the balm that was her essence to soothe his pinching wounds, dull his ache. But she was lost to him, because of a child that no longer existed. Still Jamal prayed for a chance encounter.

One night when the rains were particularly ferocious, she was gifted to him. Placed right at his doorstep in a slightly wet t-shirt and snug jeans, her wet lips spread into a sincere smile. There might as well be an arrow with KISS ME blinking atop her dark hair.

Rabi Bello walked in accompanied by her father.
She had not been alone with Jamal or her sister since her engagement party in Kano. Rabi knew the phones will not be answered so she left voicemails. It was too difficult to bring herself to the hospital bed, so she did not. In some cosmic way she felt her ill will and lack of love and support hindered the growth of this child. There were extra shifts at work and she gladly took them on. Mama screamed at her to find time for her sister but it all fell on deaf ears. When the home visits began she trailed in behind someone: Oda, Kaka, Mama, Uncle Dauda, usually in the day time too, when Jamal would be at work. Avoiding him took planning.

Baba had her summoned and instructed she drive him to Nabila’s house. It was nearly 10pm and she had just returned from work no more than an hour ago plus there was an army of drivers at his beck and call. She was aghast but Rabi was wise enough not to argue and with a swift nod she rushed to get her car keys. Weeks of careful orchestration demolished in one swiftly barked order. Driving to his gate she felt underprepared and very uncomfortable. Pressing the doorbell with damp fingers and cowering under her blue umbrella in a tatty Kings of Leon shirt and stonewashed jeans that had seen better days. Hair held back with three rubber bands, smelling like the pungent disinfectants used in her ward. Jamal opened the door resembling the stuff dreams are made of; relaxed in a crew neck jumper and dark slacks. His hair as usual was beautiful and thick. He gave her a once over before greeting his father-in-law and letting them in. He did not utter the inconvenience of the time, he dare not

“Where is Nabila?” Baba asked in his quiet voice and immediately he took off in that direction.

Rabi wished she had jumped in the shower instead of succumbing to exhaustion back in her room. She smelt horrible and given that the last time Jamal saw her she was decked to the nines in Chantilly lace and satin and silk, it made her feel even more ugly in her regular clothes

“I am getting married in two months” she had no idea why she blurted that out

“Yes Rabi I know” Jamal held up the invitation card in the silver tray by the door

“I am sorry I said it like that”

“Do you know what’s funny?” he asked with no humour in his voice “even if you had decided to wait for me, how do I leave...after the miscarriage.” He ran his hand through his brown curls. “It was better that you got on with your life. You were right”

Rabi stared at him as he breezily denounced all they shared. All they had been through, both together and apart

“So just like that, you no longer feel the same way”

Jamal altered his stance to mirror hers. “You almost sound disappointed”

“You know why I did it.” Rabi said. She did not have to use the word, he knew what she meant.

“So you can go to heaven?”

“Jamal!”

“Get married Rabi. I wish you all the best I really do”

“Wait wait, is this some sort of goodbye”

“I am stuck in my marriage for the unforeseeable future. That baby was supposed to be my ticket out instead it has locked me in. Worse of all, your sister is now crazy” Jamal suddenly went quiet like he had said more than he intended to. He never clamped up before. Not with her anyway, he told her everything.

“What you can’t talk to me anymore?”

“I shouldn’t be discussing this with you”

“Jamal I don’t think you are appreciating that this is tough on me too. My surname will change-but that is it. I am still the same person. It’s still me” Rabi looked at him like they were alone. The look she always wore in their room on the 14^th floor.

Simultaneously they took off their armours. All they ever had was each other. To lose that connection would be to end existence. With a nervous gulp Jamal went first, parting his mouth he confessed

“I spend my days praying to see you then realising that if I do, it will only make my need to be with you worse”

“I’m sorry if I make being without you look easy. It’s not.” Rabi replied

“Rabi... I...I am... I’m drowning. If you would please just answer my phone calls once in a while or reply my texts...”

“We both know where that will eventually lead”

“That part doesn’t matter to me. How many times must I tell you that I lo-”

“Rabi” Baba barked as he emerged from the study. Rabi wondered if the electricity between her and Jamal seared her father’s skin. “Go to your sister,” it was not a request.

As Rabi departed Jamal focused all his attention on his father-in-law while trying to clear his thoughts of the one he wished to kiss. Baba walked by him and into the smaller lounge, Jamal sensed he was required to follow.

“Zube” Baba ordered

Jamal blinked. His hearing was obviously off, because there is no way he was just commanded to kneel in his own home

Baba did not repeat himself but instead confidently waited for Jamal to do as he was told.

“No”

“The only thing stopping me from having you dealt with is my daughter. You will kneel and you will do it now”

“What did I do?” Jamal asked in shock. A question he had not asked since teenage years

“Ask me that one more time” Baba threatened

Jamal opted for a squat; a fair compromise given the situation.

“I will talk and you will listen. At the end you will say yes and then get out of my sight”

Jamal did not bother with a reply this time. This old man was really crossing the line, and elderly or not this was unacceptable. His silence was taken as a “yes”

“Using one sister to ruin the other takes a higher level of wickedness than any other form of adultery. You disrespect your wife. Worse of all you do this by disrespecting her family as well.” Baba bunched his fingers into a tight fist when Jamal opened his mouth to speak. Wisely, Jamal changed his mind and stared at his toes.

“You have ruined my daughter. You will stay in this marriage and make it up to her. You will perform every task she requires of you.”

“Baba...”

“If I ever see you around Rabi I will have you dealt with and I am sure Alhaji Tukur will insist on being a part of your punishment. You do not come into my home and drag my name through the mud. You do not play my wife and me for fools. You are not worthy to treat my daughters as your playthings.” Fist clenched, voice hardened. “Pray Nabila continues to love you because the minute she stops...” Baba did not need to complete the sentence. Jamal was shaking, unsteady on his toes. He feared to look up in case it pushed his threat over the edge. He wanted to say that his feelings for Rabi were serious and that given the opportunity he would marry her right here and now. He loved her that much. However the image of his body floating along some river undiscovered for days glued his mouth.......

Enjoy

By S.B

“Yes Baba” Jamal replied before standing up and getting out of his father-in-law’s sight

Vocal Slender: A Cinderella Story

2010-07-18T11:21:00.001+02:00

I am sure most of you have seen the very controversial BBC's Welcome to Lagos. As you know, I LOVED the series. I watched every single one, and fell in love with the resilience of my people, and their ever positive "e go better" mentality. And it is stories of people like Vocal Slender aka Eric Obuh from Ajegunle, that give millions of struggling Nigerians hope.

Firstly, I have been so sick and tired of Nigerians complaining that they only show negative things about Africa and Nigeria. What the HELL is wrong with us and why cant we accept criticisms of the reality of our lives. Did they shoot that documentary in a made up world? It was NOT a script on a set, these were the stories of REAL Nigerians, LIVING and SURVIVING in Lagos, making the best of the miserable conditions that they find themselves. Was BBC making up the stories or forcing the people to say those things? It is the TRUTH, and it is a very bitter pill to swallow especially when it is dished out by another party.

Eric is now in London performing in shows and has a record deal! I cant wait to go and see him, he's truly inspiring! I have even downloaded his album from Itunes!

There is an interview with the cast from Welcome to Lagos in the Guardian

"A lot of people who know me, my friends, and my family, they don't know I work in the dump. They believe I just do music. And I want to keep it that way, so I will have respect. It's not that the dump is bad, because the money I get from it keeps my body and soul together, and helps me make my music" Eric

"I'm not ashamed to work in the dump. All my neighbours know that's where I work.I don't rob. I don't steal. I'm an honest person. What is important is love for your family. That's what drives you to walk that extra mile. If there was a dump that was stinkier than this one, where I could earn more, then I'd go there to work, just to make sure my family enjoys life."

Now that's true talk!

http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/entertainment+arts-10634496

Miss B

Goodluck's facebook page

2010-07-11T13:30:00.006+02:00

I don't know if you guys have heard that our president now has a facebook page which he apparently regularly updates and reads. It is supposedly what informed his decision not to dismantle the Nigerian Football Association.

I have always been a fan of Goodluck, especially for his remarkable journey to the Presidency. He was always second choice but somehow made it to the top spot by consistency, dedication, humility and obviously immense and unbelievable Goodluck.

I like this idea of being able to connect directly with young Nigerians by hearing our views and suggestions to build the country.

Check out his F.B page HERE and share your thoughts. Heres my fave quote from GEJ (Goodluck Ebele Jonathan)

"It is not about WHO will change Nigeria. It is how WE can change her instead. Nigeria is the sum of our thoughts and actions. I've trained myself not to think anything but positive thoughts about this great country of ours since God and the people of Nigeria gave me the opportunity to serve- GEJ"

xoxo

Miss B

Funny Ads!!!!

2010-07-10T22:40:00.002+02:00

Worst Nigerian Song.........Ever!!

2010-07-08T23:38:00.002+02:00

Lmaoooooooooooo! Cheers me up everytime!

The Northern Prince Part 10

2010-06-28T20:27:00.004+02:00

Jamal Mujahid was no longer the most important person in his house. This position had been taken over by someone who was not even born yet. Everywhere he looked there were presents for this child. Invading his lavishly decorated three bedroom house; next to leather sofas and silk curtains, beside expensive electronics and laid atop French furniture. Most of the gifts came from Kaka, excited to be a great grandmother; the rest from business associates, friends, well wishers and neighbours. If Jamal saw one more Fisher Price box, another Mothercare catalogue or ‘What to Expect When You’re Expecting’ book he would burn the house down.

Jamal was not threatened, merely peeved at not being the centre of attention. It used to be people hung on his every word, stared at his face, and cheered at his achievements. Now it was all about Nabila. How she was feeling, what she was thinking, drinking, sleeping, craving, foods she ate, how much...The only time he was even looked at during these conversations was when he was asked questions he did not know the answer to: the due date, sex of the child and what method Nabila chose to deliver it in. Method? He thought there was only one: pushing. But oh no, there was a whole variety of birthing he was introduced to; Water bath, Lamaze, Caesarean. His vocabulary now included new words like antenatal and epidurals.

It was bad enough he did not love his wife anymore. But now with her bloated stomach, weak bladder, waddle walk and all, remaining calm had turned into a true test of his character. All Jamal wanted was his spotlight back; hadn’t this pregnancy caused enough trouble for him already? The love of his life, Rabi, was all this child was taking away from him. Eagerly he awaited the birth, so he could finally leave this toxin of a marriage and begin life anew.

He heard Nabila scream. Jamal rose quickly and half-ran out of the guest bedroom, pulling on a shirt and mentally picturing where last placed the car keys. He nearly tripped on the stairs in his haste. What met his eyes on the landing was not a bloodied mess; in fact Nabila did not seem to be in any pain at all. She stood quite capably at the door clutching her chest at the sight of something, someone...

“Jesus Nabila, you have let yourself go. Pregnancy is no excuse”

Nabila hissed and gritted her teeth. Curious Jamal pushed her aside; his eyes were given a sight not seen in nearly a decade.

“Femi you bastard” he strongly embraced his old friend.

“Is this how you were raised to just show? Not even a heads up.” Jamal punched him still in shock

“And miss the look on your girly face? Never man” Femi laughed his easy laugh. The last time Jamal heard it, he and Femi were in their twenties, parading around Manchester with huge chips on their shoulders and very smitten girlfriends on their arms. It wasn’t 2002 anymore.

Jamal shook his head and strongly embraced Femi again. Allah, how time flies

“Its Femi” he explained to Nabila, maybe pregnancy was messing with her memory

“I’m not fat” she responded walking away

“Guy no vex” Jamal apologised

“It’s Nabila. What else did I expect” Femi shrugged. “She’s on her way to call Amaka isn’t she?”

“Yep”

“So you have time to fill me in” Femi said in a conspiratorial whisper

“Kai you first. Did you strike gold in Yankee?”

“My guy, that one na long tory” Femi said strolling to the blue sofa and making himself comfortable.

Amaka Nwafor had not been sleeping. She spent the night wandering around the apartment, doubling the locks and checking in on the children repeatedly. In the mornings she was irritable, and snappy, but when night arrived, she did it again. Amaka missed him, really missed him. She wanted uncompleted sentences and naughty winks and a reason to wear red. She also wanted a chance to enjoy the ache of separation without Femi looming over her head, reminding her by his mere presence and relationship with the kids that they were bound for life. The things he seemed allergic to before he left, he was now eager to be a part of. Femi had watched every home video of the children, looked at every drawing ever coloured, he recited night prayers with them, played football, subjected himself to Disney sing-along-songs. Not once did her heart lurch. Amaka did not think she would ever be the sort of mother to place her wants and needs before that of her children, but here she was wishing Femi would just disappear.

It was the weekend, which meant the children were at the Cokers. Amaka shut her eyes and forced them to stay that way. This was the perfect opportunity to catch up on lost hours of shut eye, distractingly enough it also afforded the perfect opportunity to think about him without fear of interruption. No guilt trip awaited her if she reminisced on those soft lips and strong arms. She could lean back and smile because the tingle from when he kissed her was still there, hear him whisper in her ear, his voice like dark chocolate

The phone rang jerking her eyelids open. Not now, she had to have this. Where was she? Ah, coffee frothed tenor, trailing from her neck to her mouth then the kiss, wet and soft and so sincere...her phone rang again.

Amaka answered

“He’s in my house right now.” Nabila sounded upset. Amaka could guess why

“Femi got back last week. Two nights before Kano”

“What about Ikenna?” Nabila got right to it, no beating about the bush.

“I don’t know”

“What do you mean you don’t know? You always know”

“Nabila, what do you want me to say?”

“Say you will at least think about it. Sensibly” she stretched the last word

“That is all I’ve been doing”

“Why is he here anyway? Why now?”

“He got deported”

“Why am I not surprised” Nabila hissed

Amaka sighed; she was too tired to fight Nabsy on this

“Nabila...”

“I have to go see Baba first. But as soon as I’m done I am coming straight over okay.” There was no room for negotiation. Amaka flipped her phone shut and got up to prepare something for the fiery Hausa woman who now ate for two.

Nabila Mujahid hung up and placed a hand on her tummy. She hissed at the sound of loud laughter- male bonding laughter- coming from the living room. Femi grated her nerves to no end, and if he made Amaka who was finally happy, leave Ikenna... she couldn’t even think about it. One thing was for sure, waltzing back here after so long was not acceptable. She had to make her friend see that before she went all gaga again. This was not 2002.

“I have so much to teach you about love, little one” she said to her baby. “For one thing, stay away from men like Femi Coker” she warned her baby. Before realising she did not know if she was talking to a girl or a boy. Although, her second trimester was coming to an end Nabila chose not to discover the sex of the child. It will be a blessing to her either way so she preferred to keep the secret close to her heart. Frustrating Mama who complained at the sight of green and brown baby outfits which filled the nursery.

“The child needs something blue or pink” Mama scolded, “it is what is appropriate”

Nabila left both men to their devices, grabbing her car keys from the silver tray by the door. Neither of them saw her leave, too engrossed in high fives and “my guy” shoutings. Driving out her gate Nabila took off in the direction of her childhood home. Baba had left her messages that she come around for a talk. The urgency in his voice was unusual, it worried her. She arrived and found Baba in the front room, examining a black and white picture of his daughters. Rabi was laughing so hard her head was nearly out of shot, hair in a curly afro; Nabila as usual had a more serious look for the camera and her hair was in neat pigtails, just as she liked it. The gold 12 x 16 frame had been hanging on that wall for so long she did not remember when last she paid it any attention. Baba on the other hand, stared like he was seeing it for the first time

“Baba” she smiled into his beard as they hugged

“You girls grow up so fast” his tone was solemn and directed at the picture. Nabila shook her head; she obviously caught him in a rare moment of reflection.

“Ya hanya- how was the road?” he asked resting his chin on her head

“Alhamdulillah”

Oda walked in with a jug of zobo and a side dish of kuli-kuli. “Six ice cubes ko?” she asked laying the tray gently down on the table

Nabila didn’t answer because Oda had known her since childhood; she knew how she liked her zobo. “What is going on?” she asked her, only to be answered with a sigh and a pitiful glance

Baba dismissed Oda and sat down in front of Nabila. He rested elbows on his laps, long fingers drumming on his knees

“Baba, has something happened?”

“Are you happy?”

“What?”

“Tell me Nabu. Are you?”

“Yes. Of course I am. Don’t I look it?”

“I just don’t want anything to cause you distress” Baba placed thumb and fore finger to his eyebrows, like he was breaking difficult news

Nabila looked exasperated, “why does everyone keep asking me this?”

“Baba I am happier than I have been in a long time” she unconsciously stroked her tummy, the child kicked in response

“Six months ko?” he peered at her stomach. Nabila nodded giddily.

“Any complications?” he asked in his doctor voice. Nabila placed a hand on his knee, stopping his drumming fingers, “Baba you worry too much. Dr. Mahdi is very good. You know this”

“I just want things to go smoothly for you”

“Insha Allah”

“You should not be worrying about anything right now. We’ll talk when you have put to bed” he nodded, agreeing with himself

“Baba are you travelling?”

“No”

“Then I’ll see you before then now.” Nabila laughed “There is still have a long way to go.”

“Promise me you will not worry about anything, and if you do you will call me right away”

“Baba...”

“You are my daughter.” He said with a long stare.

Nabila smiled and drank her zobo. She was surrounded by overprotective people.

Jamal Mujahid cast his gaze around the gym. People-watching as he began to warm up, tossing the racket in his hand from left to right.

“I almost feel sorry for what I am about to put you through” he told his opponent

“Too much talk, not enough action” Ikenna said

“Drop money then, if you’re so confident” Jamal urged

“Please! I am the money”

Ikenna lost all sets. His game was way off and a couple of times he missed hitting the ball. His focus was noticeably elsewhere, and a couple of thousand Naira later he finally admitted defeat on the squash court.

“I didn’t enjoy that as much as I thought I would” Jamal wiped sweat off his brow “What’s the matter with you?”

“It’s Amaka” Ikenna panted with his hands on his knees

“Wait are you actually telling me?” Jamal paused mid-sip from his water bottle

“Of course. You asked”

“But I thought you would say ‘nothing’, or crack a joke.”

“So I can’t talk about it?”

“Femi and I are friends, it will be weird”

“Is that your way of telling me to back off?” Ikenna was upright now and looking him directly in the eye. Luck had dealt a terrible hand and he was looking for someone to blame. His feelings would not let it be Amaka but Jamal was looking like a viable candidate.

“Ikenna don’t force me into a corner. I am not picking sides.” Jamal turned his focus to his gym kit.

Both men gulped from sport bottles, oblivious to the lady in the short tennis skirt that was taking a considerably long time tying her shoe laces.

“You have Nabila. You two can gossip all you want” he assured Ikenna

“How are you guys?” Ikenna asked. “Last time I saw her, she was very upset”

“We had an argument. Married people argue. You of all people should know that, Mr. Divorcee”

“It looked like more than a minor argument to me. She was very shaken up”

“Guy what is this, did she send you to me? Are we here to play squash or not?”

Ikenna raised his hands in surrender and gestured that the court was all his. Jamal raised a right arm to serve

“I just hope you guys have worked things out. Nabila is a good person”

“For fuck sake!” Jamal swore as his serve ricocheted off the wall at an awkward angle. He pointed aggressively, “Marry her or let it go”

“Amaka or Nabila?”

“Take you pick”

“Wow, you really hate discussing your emotions”

“Ikenna if you keep talking this way you are going to start growing breasts”

Femi Coker was finding it really hard to get through to Amaka. Now she was this tough shell of bitterness and pessimism. How much resentment can one harbour over four years? Surely she must be running out of angst by now. He suppressed a chuckle as she rammed into him for not packing the twins’ lunch boxes right.

“Femi they are growing children. They need fruit”

“I’ll put in a whole basket next time”

“Is this a joke to you?”

“No. But don’t you think you are taking this a little too far. I mean, you are screaming at me over bananas.”

“No Femi, I’m screaming at you because today its bananas, tomorrow you’ll forget to pick them up from school”

“So this is practice for when I eventually fuck you. I mean fuck up” he grinned

Amaka rolled her eyes and restrained herself from a snide remark. The kids were watching TV in the living room. At this hour on a school night they should be in bed but daddy said it was okay. Just like he okayed skipping their after school activities tomorrow so they could go to the zoo. Decisions he took without consulting her, till she was ambushed by two pairs of bright eyes and chants of “Mommy please.” She could not keep playing bad cop, the un-fun parent because she insisted on time charts and structure.

“What is it?” Femi touched her arm

“I can’t keep fighting you about this. The children have a routine, it is how we do things and every time you alter the schedule it throws the whole day out of balance.”

It was the first vulnerability Amaka had shown him. Femi decided not to try to be funny this time

“Maka I’m learning as I go along. You have had six years to perfect this. It is really hard not to for me not to say yes to everything they want. I mean look at them”

“Femi you are their parent, not their peer. Music and dance classes are important for building character. Homework cannot be left to the last minute. Whenever you say ‘yes’ to everything, I’m left to clean up the mess”

“I understand” Femi nodded. Amaka awaited a cheeky comment but none came

“The school mornings are tumultuous enough without wondering over lost pencils, uncompleted homework or tripping over toys the kids didn’t put away”

“Amaka I get it. I’m screwing up”

“You’re not screwing up. I just need to feel like you are on my side, please.”

Femi smiled, “Are you worried they love me more than they love you?”

“Yes Femi, that is one of my greatest fears” Amaka said sarcastically, and turned away to face the dirty dishes in the sink.

Femi came up behind her, hands on her waist and whispered in her ear “Thank you. Really. For everything Maka, I don’t say it enough”

Amaka turned around and faced him squarely. “Not tonight. Not tomorrow night. Not for many many nights to come.”

“This wasn’t even about staying over.” Femi lied. He was going to kiss her but she stared him down and he chickened out. He had to admit the new Amaka scared him a bit.

The following day Femi arrived to take the children to the zoo as promised. Chiamaka and Chibuzo did not seem to mind forgoing ballet and piano lessons, packing their school bags fast and jumping on their father. As her regular routine no longer applied, Amaka remained in her office till 6pm before eventually packing up and driving to the Coker residence to get the children. She parked her car and steeled herself for the onslaught of hugs that Lade would throw her way, but what met her were strong words and raised voices. She could hear them from the shrub lined walk way. Kunle and his son were arguing, it didn’t take long for Amaka to figure out why

“Ba omo e soro- talk to your child” Kunle Coker shouted

“...So I am supposed to live beneath your thumb for the rest of my life.” Femi countered

“You are supposed to be responsible and get a job”

“What do you intend to do with all your money. Eh, what are you keeping it for? Take it to your grave now, be buried with it”

“You senseless boy. How dare you”

“I just want what’s coming to me; I have a family to take care of for Chrissake”

“The mother of your children has been doing that without our help. Not once has she asked for a handout”

“Big Daddy ejo o- please” Lade tried to calm things down by placing herself between the two.

They all noticed Amaka then.

“Where are the children?” she asked Femi

“They have gone to get ice cream with Bisi” Lade answered “Ejoko- sit down, my daughter”

“No thank you”

“Maka...”

“No” Amaka interrupted Femi. There is no way she was staying here. Watching them argue about money was not the atmosphere she needed right now. It was the same opposition on both sides, just as it had been four years ago.

“My dear, I insist” Kunle said sitting back down slowly, as if to show her the quarrel was really over

“Big Daddy I still have some errands to run. I just wanted to check on the kids. Femi I guess you’ll just drop them off later, no need interrupting ice cream time. Okay, yeah. Bye” Amaka shouted the last word as she bailed, the front door had barely slammed shut before she was starting her Toyota and driving off. She didn’t need this.

Amaka Nwafor was not sure of where she was going till she got there. By the time she realised the road she turned into, it came as no surprise that it was where she needed to be. The Central Bank of Nigeria located in Garki. Amaka spent 5 minutes sitting in the car and staring at the glass building, and flying Nigerian flag. This late in the evening, all parking lots in the Central Business District were empty so it was not for want of parking space.

She was here already; to not go in would be stupid. Summoning up courage she drove towards the blue gate. The security guard waved her into plot 33. He need not ask who she came to see, there is after all only one person who would still be here so late. Inside the building, the lobby was wide and high and the hallways difficult to manoeuvre. The logo of the green eagle stamped onto a wall of white marble, so startling it glistened, seemed to follow her every movement. After making two wrong turns she finally found the elevators, Amaka knew what floor he worked from, he had told her so and with the stride of a woman on a mission she pressed the floor she required, sighing in relief that the first door had a gold plate bearing his name.

The door was slightly ajar and from within emerged sounds of fingers tapping on computer keys. A glance showed an empty executive armchair and a huge working desk. The south facing wall was made entirely of glass and the view from this height was breath taking. Night colours of intense red and orange hues enacted the ending of dusk and beginning of twilight. He was sat on a chair in the shadows with his laptop on his knee. He blinked severally before accepting she was in his office on a Wednesday evening at 7.50pm. Behind him on the taupe wall was a framed certificate from Wharton Business School along with other accolades and awards for investment banking, most with the Swiss national symbol. On the opposite wall were Van Gogh imitations of his famed Sunflowers and Starry Night paintings. There were two other doors contained in the office space. The first was a wardrobe containing starched and ironed shirts, colour coordinated and hung on wire hangers and the second led to a private washroom. The space was immaculate and tastefully decorated with lamps and abstract pieces of design. It looked better than most people’s homes. If this was her office, she’d never leave too.

“Please tell me you did not stay behind so you could play Solitaire” It was a feeble attempt to break the ice

“Not one of the qualities you find attractive in a man?” Ikenna asked closing his Mac Book Pro

Amaka laughed “Not usually, but that list needs revising anyway”

An awkward silence ensued

“I would say I’m happy to see you but I’m not sure what sort of visit this is” he pushed his chair back, standing up

“I need some perspective” Amaka had chosen her words carefully

“As a friend? I cannot be your friend Amaka” Ikenna was quick with his answer. The decision was made once he noticed how her absence affected his concentration. It was all or nothing as far as Ikenna was concerned

“Can I just hide here for a while then?” Amaka sighed. Everything appeared to be spinning

“That’s what I’m doing. Company would be nice”

Amaka sat on a chair and looked around nervously.

“How are the kids?”

“The kids send their love” she said at the same time he did. They both smiled, the children card had been played. What next?

“It is good to see you Maka”

“It is good to see you too” she wondered why she came here with nothing to say. No speech prepared.

“I’m starving” Ikenna said, picking up the phone to dial.

“Okay.”

“Will you join me?” there was a hint of his naughty smile

“What are you having?”

“There’s a lady down the road that serves lunch to the bankers, she always makes me a little something before closing up. I let her choose the meal. Do you mind?”

“A decision I don’t have to make? Sounds lovely” Amaka said

In no time at all, Ikenna rushed down to pick up the delivery from the lady’s son. He came back in and set the polyester bag down, opening a bottom drawer and producing plates, forks and two glasses.

“You really need to get out more” Amaka advised

“Ms. Nwafor are you asking me out?” he asked with a wink

Opening a mini fridge he brought out a Sprite bottle, filling the glasses, he handed Amaka one and for a moment they both just sipped, staring at one another.

His ebony and elm desk was too high to rest her elbows on. Amaka had no choice but to balance the plate of jollof rice on her lap. It was hot and burned her satin skirt but she did not want to complain. She after all was the one imposing, disturbing his routine.

“Wait I have an idea” Ikenna said. Kicking off his shoes, he jumped up on the table. He took Amaka’s hand and pulled her up as well; her black patent heels fell down to the carpet with no sound.

“This is how I always eat dinner I swear.” he gave a cute grin as he pushed up his sleeves.

With the added height, the wonderful view of the city was uninterrupted now. Because glass took an entire section where conventionally cement would be, Amaka felt like she was soaring out and into the night, it was just clouds, sky, stars and lights. Abuja was beautiful.

“I can see why you never leave.” She said to him

“It’s one of the perks.” He shrugged, “I’ll trade you plantain for some of your fried peppered gizzard”

“Best thing I’ve heard of all day” she said handing over her plate

The arrival of the food certainly helped to restore the breeziness that used to be their relationship. They ate without haste, occasionally trading words, playing catch up.

“I couldn’t bear to be in Kano without you.” Ikenna whispered, unburdening himself as he set aside his empty plate. They were sat cross legged now and watching the sky.

“I’m sorry for how I acted that morning” she said minutes later.

They were silent for moments on end. After their meal, Ikenna replied Amaka’s question and explained his fascination with Van Gogh, confessing that one day he would love to own an original. Amaka chided that he must learn to ‘Buy Nigeria’, and teased his international palette. Ikenna argued that he was in no way posh or ‘ajebutter’. In fact he was sure he knew more Nigerian songs than she did, and not this new contemporary nonsense but old classic meaningful songs. Turning on his iTunes library, Ikenna played songs from the old school, there was Afro Juju, Highlife, Fuji, Labaja, Blackky, Majek Fashek and a lot of Fela. In no time at all he asked her to dance, Amaka did not need to be asked twice and she jumped down from the desk and into his arms. Stomachs heavy with food and drink, Ikenna led Amaka around the room with her bare feet on his; their footsteps silently imprinting on the soft carpet

When Ikenna tried to kiss her Amaka almost sighed with relief, it was getting hard to concentrate on what he was saying anymore. With his breathe at her chin, hands on her hips, Onyeka Onwenu’s ‘One Love’ on the stereo and stars in the background. She gave in to that feeling, surrendered to the scenery and seduction of night sky, dimly lit surroundings and sexy scent of skin. Smoothly their mouths met once again, and it was like time had not passed since that morning in her kitchen. His lips were sweeter than she recalled his touch gentler, and once again it was she that forced the intensity, it was she that succumbed to passion and dragged him down to the carpet. It was Amaka that unbuttoned his shirt and kissed his chest, it was she that led his hand down her stomach.

She awoke the following day to fierce sunshine. Amaka sat up. Sleep slowly vacated her eyes and she gazed around the room bathed in morning sun rays. The bowls from last night’s dinner were stacked neatly on the floor, so were their shoes, Sprite filled wine glasses and a half eaten bowl of chin chin. Ikenna had on a Bluetooth ear piece, spouting figures, and every second he refreshed a page on his Mac. He was shirtless and though he bothered to put trousers on, he had not done up the zipper or button so they sagged low on his boxers. He caught sight of her, and grinned when she gathered up the blanket to her chest to cover her modesty. He strolled over and kissed her, he tasted like coffee

“About time”

“It’s 6am.” Amaka protested. “When did you get up?”

“5am. Tokyo market is 8hours ahead”

“Show off” She scoffed

“I was starting to think I tired you out”

“Yeah nobody cuddles like you Ikenna” she teased

He grinned and tried to sneak a peek, chuckling when she tightened her grip on the blanket. The person at the other end of the line resumed the conversation and Ikenna excused himself.

Amaka realised that if someone was to walk in, they would assume a night of wild sex had taken place. A fair assumption; her breasts were unsupported at the moment and Ikenna was a wiggle away from nudity. God knows last night she wanted to, her inhibitions melted away and all that mattered was her heart pounded and her breathe shortened when he kissed her. She pushed his dark body down to the desk, climbing atop and unbuttoning his shirt, she remembered kissing his chest and following the cluster of hair down his navel, she remembered feeling sure... that was till panic set in. Five years is a long time to go without that sort of intimacy with a man; what if she didn’t know what she was doing? What if she said the wrong thing? Did he expect her to know tricks? On and on these mediocre concerns sprang up. All these questions made it difficult to relax. She could no longer go through with it and with a hesitant shake of the head, Ikenna understood. Even with his erection poking her thigh, he did not press or insist she finish what she started. He kissed her gently and held her head.

They cuddled instead and when tiredness overcame them, removed restrictive clothing so as to sleep comfortably. Sometime past midnight Amaka awoke and looked at the sleeping man by her side, the one that let her use his shoulder as a pillow, even with her braids pinching into his skin. She watched his eyelids slightly flutter and she felt safe. Feeling her stare he opened his eyes, bright and beautiful.

“I was 18 when I first met Femi...” Amaka began unprompted. The entire length of the narration Ikenna did not utter a word or change facial expression. He did not frown when she spoke of the good times. Berate when she mentioned loaning Femi all her money for his get rich schemes. He did not sympathise when times got rough after she fell pregnant. He had not a foul word to say about her parents or Chukwuma. He did not even cheer when Amaka set out alone; arriving in Abuja with just the down payment to a house she had not even seen. Ikenna said nothing, he just listened. When Amaka stopped talking, he said simply “Thank you for telling me”

“You must think I am the most naive person.” That was why she had not wanted to tell him the first time he asked, she was embarrassed at how gullible and weak her old self was

“No I think you’re wonderful”

The glass wall showed golden clouds now as dawn fully unwrapped. Ikenna strolled to her and helped fasten her bra, kissing her shoulder with each clasp he hooked. He buttoned her shirt and smoothed down her hair. He kissed her forehead and her lips.

“I have to go” Amaka whispered against his throat

She was at the door before his insecurity showed “So what does this mean now? You and me, Us, are we?”

“If I knew I’d tell you” Amaka said before she shut the door without a backward glance. Leaving Ikenna Nwosu more confused than she met him.

“When suffering knocks at your door and you say there is no seat for him, he tells you not to worry because he has brought his own stool...” Nabila Mujahid read from to her baby, as she did every morning after her prayers. This week it was from Things Fall Apart. She enjoyed reading in the nursery. Nabila liked the swampy, evergreen forest theme and found it relaxing. It was her rain forest in the metropolis. There were all sorts of toys stacked around the room but her favourite had to be the Kermit the Frog teddy, future Godmother Amaka had purchased. It looked right at home amongst the leaves and fellow lagoon friends painted on the wall- including a few sneaky crocodiles lurking in the dark water.

Nabila read Chinua Achebe’s words aloud, shifting slightly when the baby kicked harder. It was the fourth book she had gone through, reading her favourite novels out loud in the morning, before the noise of the city was pure joy for her. And every time the baby kicked she imagined it’s sucking its thumb and hearing every word.

“Any minute now, your father will get up and storm out of the guest bedroom seeing red. But don’t worry he’ll come around” she said to her baby

Her forehead was damp from her ablution and she dabbed at it as she swayed to and fro on the rocking chair that had been a gift from Kaka. She had no chores or errands to run today so she planned to watch a birthing video. Amaka had suggested it as a joke but the idea really took hold for her and as punishment/reward she insisted her best friend suffer/marvel through nature’s greatest miracles. Nabila foresaw a lot of open mouth gaping in her afternoon. Her baby nudged harder

“You better love sports with all the inconvenience you are causing Mommy” she said

The kicking got harder and tighter, so much so that she gasped. It felt like a dagger was been repeatedly buried in her flesh. It was searing and hot. The novel fell from her hands and her fingers stared to tremble. Nabila ran her hands down her sides, trying to soothe her baby back to rest but to no avail. She tried to stand up, hopefully rebalance the pressure or whatever but the frequency of the jabs in her lower abdomen caused her to arch her back then bend. Pain was contorting her body. Something was not right, she could feel it. It was too soon to be having contractions. She had read every book there was and it was not supposed to feel like this, was it? Nabila wasn’t one to cry wolf so perhaps this was something that would soon pass. A slightly higher level of discomfort was all it was...mind over matter she told herself. It did not help, pain came in fast doses now and soon her hands were clutching at her neck and face, pulling at her hair, squeezing her knees for support. She didn’t know what was happening to her. She was shaking now and so scared. Nabila wanted her mother. Amaka could hold her hand and tell her it was all expected, normal procedure in labour.

There was clenching of her teeth, a swift pain in her ribs caused her to cry out in agony. Tears streamed down her face, she was breathing through her mouth.

“Jamal” she screamed. It came out a strained whisper. “Jamal” she tried again, this time she could barely hear it. Her cries for help had no volume, she was suffering in isolation. She needed help, she needed Jamal

Nabila started to stumble in the direction of the guest bedroom, hanging on to the wall for support, she called his name, but her lips trembled too much to release sound. The pain made her crouch, then crawl, still she kept moving in the direction of help. She suddenly felt very warm, like heat was expanding her body, as sudden as the heat was there, there was cold, in great waves. Each step was torture, her nerves were on fire, her knees were jittery and it felt like at any moment she would tip over sideways and be unable to get up. That was her major fear, not being able to move, unable to get to her husband and tell him their baby was in trouble. The door was in front of her now and Nabila hit the wood with palms and feet. She heard the locks turn; she saw Jamal’s face, and muttered something before falling on him.

Nabila Mujahid’s miscarriage was confirmed at 6.50am that Tuesday morning by her obstetrician Dr.Mahdi in the female ward of National Hospital Abuja. It was a boy and she would have named him Danjuma, after Baba.

By S.B