Friday, June 27, 2014

RECISION- Reflection

He slammed the door behind him with such force that the windows rattled and the room vibrated. she shuddered, not from the cold but from pent up emotion. 

In a way, it had gone as she planned, but in a way, it didn't. She had never planned to tell him about Tony, - wanting to buy some time, until they could break the news together. They had rehearsed it word for word until it sounded perfect, less threatening, more pleas than insults...

She shivered again, and reached for her favorite housecoat, the one with the sprinkling of flowers in soft luscious pink... the one Tony had given her for her birthday last year. Just wearing it made her feel better, calmer.  

Maybe she should have worn it before the confrontation... Maybe it would have forced her to control her outburst. What was she thinking?? Blurting out Tony's name! Maybe in some way, she wanted to hurt him just as much as he hurt her? 

How could he have sex with a stripper? Did he think she wouldn't know? It was all over him - the smell of lurid cigarette smoke, cheap perfume and of course unwashed bodies post sex. Sigh. He probably thought he could disguise it by jumping into the shower immediately, but his clothes also reeked of it. Did he think she was that naive?

Of Broken Relationships

I remember my first love. It was a boy in Primary School. His name- Uwa. Surname starts with A. You will notice I didn't spell out his surname, just in case he stumbles onto this blog!!!

Well, like all 'first loves' go, he was my seatmate. And he was a lot of fun. In those days, we created our own entertainment, with bottle tops, chalk drawings (seuwe); hand and footwork games (10/10). We even played Nouns on paper (person, place, things).

He was pretty cool, because unlike the other boys in the class, he never 'looked for our trouble'. This means he never used to demand for our biscuit, or hit us, despite the fact that he was sitting between two girls. On the contrary, he was the consummate gentleman - doing all the things boys do like playing football, sneaking in elastic bands and throwing those elastic band missiles, tearing his book to make airplanes etc.

But when it came to the ladies, he was pretty respectful. He actually used to protect us.  And I really needed protecting, not because I was naughty and a trouble maker, but because I was extremely reserved when growing up. I know, I know - you do not believe me. But I was a shy child. University changed me - but as usual, that is story for another day.

In any case, with Uwa, we had a great relationship, until he broke my heart. We had finished exams primary 5, said our goodbyes and went on holidays. On returning to school to start Primary 6, I found out that Uwa had abandoned me, and had gone off to secondary school!

I was furious - how dare he leave? Who will be my new seat partner? and who will take care of me now? But most importantly, why didn't he say goodbye?

Wednesday, June 25, 2014

Of Racism, and other isms.......

February 6th 2014 was my 3rd wedding anniversary.  The hubby did something special- he asked our Pastor to come home and have a special prayer with us early in the morning. It was great. Given we both had a busy day ahead, we agreed to have dinner together and then see a movie.

I got off work, and raced to the salon to get my hair and nails ‘did’. As usual, it took longer than expected, so the hubby had dinner alone, and then we went to see the movie. The movie was ’12 Years A Slave’ - which brings me to my first lesson of the day – never EVER see a movie about slavery on your wedding anniversary or any anniversary for that matter. For those of you who have seen the movie, you know what I am talking about.

In the movie theatre, we had a Caucasian couple sitting just above us. They were quite noisy before the movie started which got me a bit irritated. But then the movie started and unfolded, and they became dead silent. Pin drop. No popcorn crunching. No sodas guzzling. Silent.  

As the movie progressed, I found myself becoming increasingly angry, bitter and upset. All the incidents of racism I had experienced started welling up in my head and I kept thinking about each one and what I should have done:-  

Friday, June 20, 2014


I want a divorce.
The words hung in the air like a thick mist – filling his ears, roaring in his brain. He shook his head vigorously and asked – “Divorce? Did you just say divorce?

He felt it everywhere – the shaky voice, the sweaty palms, the constricted throat, and most of all – the fear. How could he lose the mother of his kids, the stability of his home?
His eyes misted over as he looked helplessly at his wife – who sat there in cold silence, rays of determination burning in her eyes.
She looked straight into his eyes and replied – “Yes Tonye, you heard what I said. I have filed the papers. I am requesting sole custody of the children but I am willing to discuss visitation rights. I want no spousal support, but I get to keep the house. We can split the cars equally. As for the landed properties, the joint ones can be sold while those...

Her voice trailed least in his mind. He felt himself drift, wanting to run within his soul and hide. But he couldn't. Not anymore. Forcing himself to return to the present, he asked - "Why? What has gone so bad to cause you to decide on divorce? Separation I could understand, so we might have space to work things out – but divorce? Why so final? Is it so bad that you see no other option? Bibi…. Why?


For years, I have been toying with the idea of writing a short novel. And then, over the past few weeks, with this blog, people have asked me to write a book. A FULL book. I tell them: baby steps, one cannot move from drinking milk to cracking palm kernel. And given the fact that I only have 29 teeth (story for another day); I am extremely wary of cracking palm kernel!

So, one day, in traffic, I started writing  RECISION on my Blackberry. I would like to say I had a Stephanie Meyer moment where I saw a vision of Tonye and Bibi dancing, but alas, all I had was a Lagosian moment where I was stuck in traffic on the way to the island, and the radio was blaring one of these 'Why do men cheat/Forgive him or not' programs.

So, it kind of stuck with me and I decided to put pen on paper - or in in the words of my Egyptian friend Salma - my finger on the Blackberry touchscreen; and tell a story of love, betrayal, forgiveness and restoration.

What happens when you are faced with decisions that challenge your entire being and shake the foundation of what you know to be right or wrong? What do you do then?

Saturday, June 14, 2014

Happy Father's Day

It’s been a while since I sat down to floG (my invention- a cross between facebook and blog);. But what better day to write than today!

Happy Father’s Day to my dad and to all the fathers and future fathers to be.

I love my Dad. Absolutely, Unconditionally. So much so that my Mom jokingly used to tell me: "go g Right from when I was a little girl, I knew he was special.

When I had a growth spurt in my childhood my dad coined the nickname: Ehis Eyeast because he said I grew like yeast.

I remember how he would make us laugh with stories about his childhood and high school education, his sojourn in America in the times where racism was alive and kicking, his conversion into the Seventh Day Adventist Church.

I love my dad because he is my hero. He taught me to be strong, independent and tenacious. Let me share two vivid memories.

Memory 1: Draw Baby Draw
My childhood friends know: I cannot draw to save my life. In Primary school (I was probably 7 or 8 years), we had an assignment- to draw a map of Nigeria, with key agricultural produce for the different regions. I cursed Nigeria for being so blessed agriculturally!

After struggling for about 3 hours, I went to my Dad and said: "I just cannot draw. I cannot draw a goat, I cannot draw yam." My dad, the ever humorous guy, laughed and said: "As long as the goat and the yam look different, its ok!"

Memory 2: Better Next Time
I was 10 years, and first term in Secondary School. I was exposed to new subjects which I had not done in Primary School. My result was not good. I placed 28th in a class of 41 students. I slunk home; and hid my results. In the evening, my dad was ironing (did I mention Daddy loves ironing, and till this day, he will iron my clothes for church?); and I sat down on the floor beside him. I started by asking my dad what is the least position I can 'carry" in a class of 41 people. His response was: "Well, you have to be above average, so that means around 13th to  15th?"

Tired Incredible Hulk.......

I am tired. Not like charming tired, a lil bit tired but real tired tired. Tired.
I had a crazy week. The lil one was fighting a bout of infection, so it meant late night trips to the hospital, cleaning up after frequent puke episodes and all night wipe downs to crash a 38+C fever.

Add to that some regional visitors at work which meant long meetings and tiring brainstorming sessions.

Add to that an impromptu trip out of Lagos for personal reasons.

Add to that the World Cup, which turns every Nigerian man into a fanatic.

I wonder how many of us were so happy when the boyfriend said that he was not a football fan/not so interested in football/and wham! Fast-forward to some months post marriage and the drama surrounding the DSTV remote started until you admitted defeat and got a second TV in the bedroom.

Truth be told, football also does bring out the gentleman in every guy;

Sunday, June 8, 2014

RIP to an Icon

I was honored to meet the great Dora during our Ariel factory opening in Ibadan. She was blown away by our product demonstration that she asked for a picture with the 'P&G capable women'. Few days later, we went to pay an official ' thank you' visit and she promptly autographed the picture. Sheer coincidence, it was my birthday- 26/9/06. The good ones may not last long, but the impact they have on the world lasts forever. Sleep on Mama D.


Wednesday, June 4, 2014

Nigerian Accent - To Have or Not To?

In 2009, I decided to visit a dear friend in Scotland over Christmas. My objective was to experience the Much talked about White Christmas- the stuff of movies and storybooks. Let's just say that after that experience, I am always running to a "Red Christmas" - one filled with hot sun and harmattan dust!

But I digress. During lunch at her place one day, I met two lovely Nigerian ladies who were also in Scotland. And we got talking about people and accent. I must tell you-the Scottish accent is probably the most unique in the world. You can swear on your bank account that they are NOT speaking English.

I was amazed at how they switched from that accent to pidgin to Igbo and back to the accent. And I got thinking- everywhere else in the world, we accept accents, without blinking an eye. We refer to some as cute, musical, nasal, uppity.

But when it comes to our Nigerian accent, we immediately refer to it as 'bush', uneducated, non polished, ignorant.

Why do we do that?

This Thing Called LIFE. Vanity. Upon. Vanity

Cynthia. Cynthia Amaize Cynthia Ovuede. Federal Government Girls College. 1989. We liked FGGC Benin because at least we could make ou...