I am all for defining my people connections upfront (DTRs) …… The thing about them though is that they are tricky……. Too soon, and you run the risk of permanently pulverizing some real bridges before they even get built…….. Too late, and you’re mired in the morass of the ‘just friends’ zone….. That night we had the inevitable talk and faced the ineluctable moment of truth….. Faced with a choice she said….. ...
Mum is running scared. A lot more scared than even I am.. And she doesn’t know the full scale of the issue. All I have told her is that I may not be returning to my old job in Nigeria. The truth is that I have quit already. As is typical with her she is bothered; wondering if I have enough funds to survive the job search, if I am seeking temporary work whilst all my documentation pulls through, the whole lanyards. ...
The worst time to be on Bus 38 has to be around about 3pm. I assume that it is around this time the young and the restless end their studies, hitting the roads to get back to Mum’s food and at which time they are keen to demonstrate their wanton indiscretions to all and sundry. Today, they were at their bellicose worst - loud voices, popping gum and wild uncoordinated scrambles - all over the bus like worker bees suddenly disturbed from a mid-winter slumber. ...
Dear Lawwd! Matters came to a head today over SpiriChic. Thing is Mother and I have spent the past few months locked in a mental war – losing it is inconceivable for me, because it would constitue such a loss of face that I couldn’t possibly put my foot down on any thing with her in future. SpiriChic, one of two young ladies I ever seriously dated, is a certain un-official ex from a few years ago now, whose existence was leaked by a parroting sibling in a moment of crass indiscretion. Said ex and Mother got to meet and hit if off instantly, which should have raised red flags in my mind at the time. My assumption has always been though, that as long as I hadn’t told the parents anything, whatever mother assumes is just that, an assumption. ...
She smiles; Pearly teeth Glistening in The golden light Of the setting sun As it dips Beneath the trees That frame this Swiftly fading vista. The rings In her ears Resonate to A hidden rhythm Chiming to an- Unspoken song – One that I feel in The hidden parts of - My enchanted mind. Her eyes, Filled with mirth, Flit in the shades; These slowly Lengthening shadows; Drawing me From this earth To a distant place - Some vale where My pains regress, Where I have been Only in my Midnight dreams. Her hair Stands firm, Unfazed by the Swirling winds, Defiantly proclaiming Her pristine- African-ness Her skin - Ebony black- is Stretched taut Like a canvas - kissed By the gently dropping rain, And caressed By the drooping ferns. The lush green leaves on which she seats pale, losing their colour Acquiring a pallor Blighted by her light That floods my sight. Her feet- clad in scented sandals would deign to- walk this filthy earth. I, alas Like a man bewitched Can only stand- Enthralled, Drawn- By THAT smile that steals my all.
Today Bus 38 yielded a friendly face and that after a whole three months! I had already taken my seat, again at the rear of the not so new bus, plugged into my iPod which has being the only companion worthy of note to me, and settled in- yielding to the waves of nostalgia occasioned by the tunes belted out by the artistes on my play list. She had clambered up a few stops after I had got on - clad in knee length boots, black jeans trousers and a navy blue shirt which seemed a tad bit too large for her lithe frame – pulling in her tow a large box. It seemed obvious that she was undertaking the final leg of a journey. ...
You know you are a chronic bachelor when… People at more than two diners know you on a first name basis - clearly you have eaten out sooooo much that you are now an honorary share holder. The favorite inside joke among your friends is about how ’easy’ your wedding will be - no need to seriously chase a little bride or a little groom as friends daughters and sons will provide that. The scrawny little kid who used to run around naked in the streets, plastered with sand has now morphed into a delectable mid-twenties chic, and she pitches in once in a while about wanting to chop your cake! You get unsolicited email addresses and phone numbers from your peeps. They have decided to take matters into their hands by bombarding you with options. Your father jokingly reminds you of how he met, chased and eventually married your mother. Sadly that is about as subtle as HE can get! You get quizzed about any girl you are remotely associated with. Even the one who owes you money and only dropped by to negotiate the payment terms! The Uncle who has not spoken to you in aeons suddenly invites you over for a family vist three times in a month and takes you on a cruise to singles church. Mr sharp man uncle is trying to showcase your talents to the crouching wolves and hoping your bachelor tinted eyes will suddenly wake up. Your favorite aunt snatches her baby bag from you whilst you are trying to help pack up after a family night out. Her argument is that she doesn’t want anybody to think you are either married or a single father. You are suddenly analyzing the pros and cons of taking the chase online. When you and your friends meet up after long absences they eventually pop the question. ‘Soooooo, gist me, what has being happening to you’. Oh and they don’t mean work!
I had an eccentric- if morbid- pastime whilst growing up; fantasizing about dying; and that for as long as I can remember. This was not a simple hit-by-a-car death, but a major drawn out event complete with ambulances, flashing lights, weeping family, and heart broken friends. The object of those fantasies was to convince myself I was that important to all of them; and assuage my battered ego after being blasted to bits by my mum. I would imagine Mother crying; eyes puffed up, hair flying in the wind, scarf wrapped around her waist, totally inconsolable, attempting to throw herself into the ditch, mourning her great loss - ME. Often I would have Di in the background, bawling like a chicken deprived of her entire brood in a sweeping attack by hawks - only a slightly more dignified version of mum. ...
Edit: This is me venting… Nothing personal.. Just vexed by the way certain things have panned out.. I fear that soon all I will have as memories of my Africa will be the melancholic bits interspersed with a few shards here and there of a nostalgic past - growing up, friends, family, schools, holidays and times spent in wanton play - occasional successes mired in a morass of resounding failure. I wrote in my journal when I turned 21, that I felt my future was inextricably linked to Africa and that whatever I did, I would always have her at the back of my mind. Nine years on, I fear I may have made a volte face; one not altogether of my own volition. ...
I have been involved in a mini church crawl - attended several churches over the past few weeks with the aim of finding someplace to settle. In the process, I found that people in church largely fit into one of the following classes. The irresponsible bloke: This bloke dey feel like gangsta for church. Jeans wearing, ear ring totting, chewing gum splitting type, he is often singled out for the sinner’s prayer/ deliverance. The scammer: O boy dey scan all the fine babes for the church. Instead of worshipping the Lord, bros is watching the screens -and depending on his confidence levels he might try to catch a wink occasionally. If it is a church where peeps are asked to move around and shake hands or welcome each other, free pass for bros o. He will shake and hug all the fine sisters. The Spiri bros/ sis: These types are the real members of the church. They have come to worship God, but sometimes they can over do it too o. Like skabashing very loudly, singing off key, or like one bloke in my non-Nigerian church, sway as though a strong east wind is blowing only him. These types usually gravitate to the prayer group, evangelism, sometimes Sunday school and the money counters - not very visible positions. The fine boy usher/ fine girl protocol member: These are the types that cause the most trouble in church. Dem can pose! Bro is usually decked out in a powerful perfume, correct suit and tire, and the phonetics! Chei, wahala! They don’t sit still in church o, always prancing around, so people can see them. I suspect that at least 65% of church members know them by name! The choir chic: The typical choir chic can foine! This type is usually decked out gloriously every Sunday, and when there is a need to print a handbill, oh yes, na dem dey dey the front o. Normal songs for worship, become opportunities to showcase their Carrie Underwood-esque voices. The groove man/ groove chic: These types are your semi-reformed bubblers. Dem don groove so tey, as soon as the songs start to play, especially in Naija churches, they break out into the latest adaptation of a P-square, Wande Coal or Makossa dance steps (You get the drift). Needless to say, they usually sleep through the sermon as they have over spent their energy. The would-be intellectual: This types - usually blokes - think they have heard it all. From Aristotle to Socrates, from Blaise Pascal to CS Lewis they have heard all the finer arguments for and against the existence of God. They usually appear in church once in a while, sit at the back and look condenscendingly at the delusion of others around them. The Gizmo Kid: These types are usually blokes again, but I have seen quite a few female versions. Bible on the iPhone or iPod, ear phones plugged in until church starts, dem can pose!