In commemoration of the international day of the girl child which has long passed, let me tell you about the few times I’ve been marginalised because of my gender. And each time it happened, it hurt deeply. First was when we were […]
In commemoration of the international day of the girl child which has long passed, let me tell you about the few times I’ve been marginalised because of my gender. And each time it happened, it hurt deeply.
First was when we were trying to get a death certificate for Mr Banji at the Garki Hospital. I was there with kidbrother and Mr N, dad’s assistance.
We were given a form to fill. Mr N handed it to kidbrother to fill. I thought that was because he was at the scene of death but nevertheless, anyone could have filled it. We had both been through a lot in the past 24hours, going to police station for police report, taking police officers to the house to take pictures of the scene, arguing on whether an autopsy should be carried out, going to the morgue at National Hospital, getting burial clothes at Area 8 and so on.
After giving the information as to the time of death, the police report and all, the certificate was issued.
As if on impulse, Mr N collected it and gave it to kidbrother right there in my presence.
I was just a spectator through it all. You would have thought I was just a friend of the family who just accompanied the real children of the deceased😂.
I actually enjoyed a very robust relationship with Mr N(i still do). During the entire trying period, he deferred to me in matters that were inconsequential. Those situations he felt a lady could handle. Like getting burial cloths sorted at the market.😁
However, some few months down the line, the office needed the death certificate to close his file. I was summoned. I called kidbrother. He said he couldn’t find it. Just like that. Lobatan. He lost that certificate.
I told Mr N. And I had my ‘i told you so’ moment. I was asked many times but I kept on avoiding them at the office. When they couldn’t find me, they asked Mr N to ask me for it.
One day, I walked into the hands of one of the people who needed it. The people who demanded it are HOD admin and another higher boss at the Admin Dept.
And she said
“Yetunde, we’ve been asking you to produce the death certificate for months now. I give you 48hours from today to produce it”.
So I ran to Mr N’s office. He was angry and regretted his action but he still made a statement
“I had to give him because he’s the man”.
Kidrother is fourth in line to me notwithstanding. But he’s the man. Patriarchy had an advantage over me for sure.
I had to take responsibility for it. I was told to go and swear to an affidavit that I had lost the document. So, the law recognises that I should be the custodian of the document but obviously, Patriarchy doesnt.
I did the affidavit and submitted. File closed.
Again, family chose to send a letter of appreciation to the management. They actually came(through a representative) and had a meeting with Mr N who collected the letter on their behalf. But, they boycotted me….in my own office. They never even asked to see me. They never even felt it was appropriate that I should be the one to submit the letter(as the direct heir) or at least carried along. I don’t even know the content of that letter till today. I only heard from Mr N that they sent a representative. “They” in this context refers to the extended paternal family. They went on Whatsapp chats planning the burial without my knowledge. They felt my younger siblings should carry me along after they had decided.
Everything I later saw on the day of the burial, I knew nothing about it. Only the boys did😀. Except for the decisions I took single handedly in Abuja sha.
But when it got to taking his body back home, kidbrother refused. On the grounds that he wanted to read for his bar finals. I took Dad home and what did I do?
I dropped him at a morgue in Ibadan and made them all believe I was heading home. I was with officials of the court including policemen. So, I went with maternal uncle to lodge them for the night at a place very close to my dad’s house…quite a 3mins trekking distance.
They were calling me and waiting for me. But I did a Uturn and went somewhere else to sleep. I never went home that night. The next morning, I came back to Abuja with the court vehicles. We dropped the ambulance in akure and drove back to Abuja.
Their anger gave me some pleasure.
The girl child in Nigeria may never get any recognition especially from her paternal family. Of course, the maternal family tree is always the best. They are always protective. They defer to you. But the paternal tree is most times repulsive and egocentric. They want you to bow to them, to see them as demi-gods.
My dad exhibited some traces of patriarchy too. I wrote a post on how I asked him questions about the house. Till today, I don’t even know what I was smoking that made me ask him that kind of question that day.
“Dad, where are your house documents?”
And I still don’t know why we had the kind of classified conversations we had just few months before his demise including who was owing him.
Before he gave me the info about his house, he had first said
“But you are a woman now, what do you need the document for? It’s for the boys”.
But anyways, I’ve told first son where I kept it,” he said
First son is third in line to me.
My head did gbagaun. Not that I needed the house or the documents, I just needed to know. If mum was alive, I would never have asked some questions. But since I was technically his right hand person in place of mum then, I felt I needed to know certain things.
That conversation came back to me months after his demise. And what did I do? I boycotted his entire property. I never took a pin out of his house. Which is what would still have happened if we never had that conversation. But this time, I did it with spite.😀 I was called severally to come and pack things but I asked them to call people who needed it. Let me not lie, I would have loved to inherit all his evergreen Ebenezer Obey CDs. Mehn, he had a huge collection of them.
I won’t bow to patriarchy.
The kind of things an average married Nigerian woman goes through would make you cringe.
The funniest of it which annoys me is when her own husband’s version of respect is to turn her to ‘mummy’😀
You hear “mummy lagbaja, ki le se sile?”(what did you cook).
I remember another time. I was in primary four in a standard private school in Ibadan. The school had just finished her third term and I clinched the first position in the class followed closely by two boys including the class captain who got the third position. I just joined that school that session and I swept away their highest position.
Our class teacher had a prize for us.
For first position, he gave me a very big plastic cup😀😁😂. I don’t know if it was new or fairly used sef. My teacher didn’t do it out of spite. Infact, he loved me so much as a student. He was always praising me in class. But, with the way an average nigerian human male brain is wired, boys always deserve the best of everything. He did the only natural thing he thought best. Since it was a sacrilege for me to have come first, he gave the deserving award to the boys and only gave me my position.
I can’t remember what he gave the second position(it was better than mine as well) but my focus was on the third position who got a new sparkling stainless steel cup with something else which I can’t recall. But I’ve never forgotten that stainless cup all these years. I’m still feeling bad even as I recall that incidence now.
As at then, it didn’t mean a thing. But I didn’t understand why the third position got a better prize than the first position. But now it makes sense. I was the female. They were the boys.
But as it is, we did not inherit the silence of our mothers. We did not inherit their perceived weakness in relation to men. We are the real deal. Nothing has ever been handed to me on a platter of gold. I’ve worked(and still working) twice as hard as my male counterparts.
I am gold
I am a girl child
I am the future!!!!!
One time in 2015, I turned down an opportunity to work with the United Nations Women Office, Abuja. I had applied for an internship position at the time I was putting finishing touches to my Masters degree program at the Ahmadu Bello […]
One time in 2015, I turned down an opportunity to work with the United Nations Women Office, Abuja. I had applied for an internship position at the time I was putting finishing touches to my Masters degree program at the Ahmadu Bello University, Zaria. You had to be a postgraduate student of International Affairs and Diplomacy or courses related to that in order to be qualified.
I was ecstatic when I got their mail to appear for a written test and interview at their Maitama office.
If you know me very well, you’d know that for a strange reason, I kind of love interviews. I don’t like tests. I may have failed CHM 222 and MTH courses in school o but nna mehn, there are some areas where I can wield my muscle too. I have the uncanny ability to turn every interview session to an interesting conversation. I wrote the test and had the interview same day.
So, this UN interview should be my best and most unique so far.
Because I was interviewed by a PANEL comprising of a white woman(I’ve forgotten her country now), an African and one or two Nigerians.
I was “shook” when I went in.
Only two of us were invited. I and a guy. I went in first.
They asked me some interesting international questions, advocacy questions, my interests. To be honest, the questions were very thick. Too loaded. But I answered as much as I could.
They nodded many times. Their faces showed their affirmation. I knew I was already taken when we talked about the next thing. Money. It was to be an unpaid internship. Gbagaun!!
“Where do you stay?”, The man asked
“How will you be coming here even though we won’t pay?
The only thing is, you have a chance of being considered for employment if we recruit around that time.
It’s an 8-6.
Toh. The last time I did an 8-6 was in Lagos and they were feeding me lunch till I left. They were even paying. And we ate a lot of chocolate and drank cocoa drink. Mehn, I balled the entire year I worked there.
I would have taken it still. That was not the first time I would work without pay. I did while at the Nigerian Compass where I met and worked with Jonathan Eze. Although, initially, it wasn’t stated that I’d not be paid. I got to know after I resumed.
So, I told Mr Banji about UN, to know if he would be helping me with tfare and he told me not to take it. You will soon get a better job(at the appeal court😁).
Apart from him, I reasoned it out. It would cost me a lot of money per day to get to the office. You have to pay a cab to take you there. I had to let it go and it was very painful. I was broke.
I sat at home moping for a long time.
Prior to that time, precisely 2014. I had gone to the bank with someone to buy forms for ABU postgraduate program. I had just forfeited my postgraduate admission at the University of Lagos in 2013 after passing the entrance exam and got the admission to study international affairs. Why did I forfeit it? I was moving to Abuja to join Mr Banji. I threw away a UNILAG postgraduate admission that was highly sought after. The University of first choice😀😁
I had read for that exam like mad. Not mad really. It was current affairs. They even asked me questions about the London Olympics which I wrote with Jonathan Eze on the features desk at Compass.
We wrote that exam at the main hall. The main hall could not contain us and I was moved along with others to another hall. When I checked the site and saw my name weeks after, I wasn’t as elated as my dad. He was so happy. I quickly used that opportunity to ask him for money and he gave me sharp sharp.
But, I threw the admission away for the unknown.
That day, after walking out of the bank in Garki, I moved with the someone to a side of the road and began to cry. I shed hot tears and my eyes were red. Not because of the lost unilag admission or because I just got forms for another. No.
It was because everything was not working few years after school. I felt life was against me. I didn’t even have an accommodation in Abuja. I was squatting with a friend’s friend in Apo. I had squatted in Mararaba. It was while in Mararaba that i spoke with my buddy in US, FGchubby and he called a friend for me. I moved out of the slums of Mararaba the next day. And I haven’t stepped my foot there since then. Well, until I went for training organised by the office at one hotel in the area sometimes last month or so after all these years.
So, I was crying because I was broke, jobless and homeless. Yes, dad was in town but I couldn’t move in with him. We never lived together in Abuja. But I never told him my struggles anyways. I told him I was living with a friend. He even came to know the house 😀. I could not go back home. I was ashamed. I was in pains.
So I went to ABU and wrote the exam. I begged God to let it work. I passed.
This is 2019. My court has moved to its permanent site. I remembered that the bank where I bought my PG forms in 2014 was around the new office area but that was all.
One day, I erroneously did something on my account and I needed to get it sorted at the bank.
So I walked there from my office. As I was walking back to the office after finishing at the bank, fiam!!!
The memories came flooding back and I saw myself, five years earlier, crying at that same junction with swollen red eyes and runny nose. Crying because I could not fend for myself and was homeless.
I stopped in my tracks. I looked around me. The road was deserted except for moving cars.
Now, is it a coincidence that my office is located exactly where I cried? I never imagined I would get a job where I am now. No, it wasn’t part of the plan. I never even imagined it. Dad’s driver then, Mr Dare, used to drive me in dad’s Hilux to drop me at the junction in that area so that I would go back to airport road where I lived. One day, he pointed at the uncompleted building from afar, “that’s our office under construction”. It looked small and ugly from afar.
But today, I’m sitting in that office and it’s a giant edifice.
I have a house where I’m paying my own rent😀😁😂. It’s a big deal to be paying rent in Abuja without a sugar daddy😀😁😂.
One day, last month, someone wanted to visit me from church. He got to my area and went to stand confidently close to an ugly house thinking I would come out from that street. Lol, lol.
I peeped out from my tarred street and saw him standing afar off. I waved at him to come. He had to trek down and leave the ugly area😀😁
He was just looking around.
“This is your house?”
“Obviously…or why I’m I here😀”. Take note that we were still outside.
Boda now entered and was shocked. He sat for a little bit and then took his leave. He has never come back. Not even when I was sick and couldn’t go to church.
What is the moral of this story? I don’t know too.
But I know that everything good will always come.
People saw me dressed in black today again, a friday for that matter and someone said “You are sitting?” I said yes. It is 7.16am from here. I’m already on my way to work. The alarm woke me by 4.30am and I […]
People saw me dressed in black today again, a friday for that matter and someone said
“You are sitting?”
I said yes.
It is 7.16am from here. I’m already on my way to work. The alarm woke me by 4.30am and I walked groggily to the kitchen. I was feeling sleepy right there on my feet.
I’m supposed to go to school today. Infact, all through the weekend up till Sunday. And I have a pile of laundry waiting for me. And I don’t know if I will go home early today. Whatever time I get home, I will be wasted as usual. Last night, my two legs were in pains.
So two days back, on my way home, Milord had called me while on the bus. I didn’t know he had called me twice on the small phone. When I saw his name on the big phone, I opened my eyes wide. For the first time in a long time, he had left the office before me. No matter how late we close, he’s always behind. He would only tell us to leave the front door open for him on our way out.
“Good evening Milord”. At this point, all the ears in the staff bus were open immediately they heard me say Milord.
“Good evening Yetunde, how are you?”
“I hope you are home already”
“No sir, I’m just on my way”
“Ok, text me your full name”(let me not lie, what I heard was ‘text me your bank details’😂😁)
So I said “what did you say sir?” Then he repeated it.
After the call, a certain someone who was recently transferred from ibadan said
“So you are working with a judge”
She had listened to our conversation and it was she who told me(because she works in the training Dept) that it was for training that Milord asked for my full names. I nodded disbelievingly.
Yesterday morning, I strutted into his new massive, impressive Chambers.
“Good morning Milord”
“Oh, how are you yetunde. There’s going to be a training today. Call Mr O. Tell him I said you are one of the people for the training. Ask him for the time and venue. Then, when it is time, you and W can go. Allow the rest of them to take court proceedings.”
It is part of office news that I, Milord and W are a triangle. W is the only person ahead of me. I’m next to him. Then, we have five people under us. They say, W and I are an entity in MILord’s court. The first time I heard it, I wondered.
But anyways, two gentlemen came from the National Judicial Council to train us. It lasted for only one hour. The training was held simultaneously across other state divisions of the court as well. At the end of the day, they said they needed two people to be sending quarterly returns to NJC database.
By this time I was yawning. I didn’t care. Hunger pangs. People asked for menu menu. Obviously there was none. Not even a drink. So we dispersed. The court was sitting by now. I stayed a bit in court to see if they needed my help.
On Monday, I had vacated my middle seat for a colleague. I asked her to call the cases. She began to make mistakes. She called no 3 instead of 2. She pronounced names wrongly. And it was a high profile matter. Milord asked me angrily in low tones which only him and I can hear☺️
“Why did you allow her to sit there when she cannot do it?”
“I’m sorry mylord”
He had forgotten that it was he that said I and W should train them.
“Remove her from there”, he said
So yesterday that I had to be at the conference room for training, her village people didn’t come with her to court. She had to sit at the middle anyways.
I went inside my office to chill.
By evening, the head of litigation had called me on phone
“Yetunde, that thing they taught us today(he was there as well), can you do it?”
I was almost laughing.
That thing that is just like posting on WordPress. The head of IT had just taught me online causelist generation as well. Every thing was easy peasy. I was almost saying
“Bhet oga, do you know who I am? Do you know how much of this I do daily?”😀😁😂
I’m crazy, yeah I know.
But I said “sir, it’s very easy sir. I can do it”
So he said “come down and fill the form. You will be working directly with NJC. I have to be sure before sending your name to them”
I didn’t even see it coming but I sha took the elevator to the ground floor. I filled the form and that was how I landed another responsibility.
The thing is, most of the time, I don’t like being responsible. I prefer to be irresponsible😎. Responsibility takes a lot of commitment from you. It means giving your time and effort. For me, responsibility takes away my emotion. I’m too devoted to things I do. So I can easily lose track of the other things in my life. I pay too much attention to the work or things I’m involved with. I’m too analytical and detailed for my own liking. But my Lord is like that too. He’s a perfectionist and I am one as well. That’s why our work runs smoothly. You can’t even last with him without knowing how to pay attention to details and to think fast.
Now, the load of this new work and what it involves is not beans. It means I have to input the information of three judges into NJC database and my inputation can make or mar their appraisal and promotion. The registrars of the three courts have to submit their quarterly and annual returns to me. Thank God my court is among the ones I’m handling. But the two other courts are still in my former Garki office. Only the president’s court and MILord’s court are in the new edifice. The rest are still under construction.
I’m going to give the news to my Lord this morning.
Okay, it’s a good morning from here. Have a beautiful weekend. Even though I’m going to spend mine listening to lectures with a straight face. I am going to school this evening and will even write a test on Sunday.
P.S I just finished writing this at 7.57am. I’m still sitting in the bus. We are dropping staff in Asokoro, different parts of Garki and my office is the final stop. The entire office are not in one place yet.
It’s been a while here. I wrote some thoughts down but I couldn’t get round to publishing it. Now, everything I wrote has been overtaken by events. My attention was swept away by almost two weeks of activities following the retirement activities […]
It’s been a while here. I wrote some thoughts down but I couldn’t get round to publishing it. Now, everything I wrote has been overtaken by events.
My attention was swept away by almost two weeks of activities following the retirement activities of My Lord The President and the opening of our new court HQ, newly commissioned by President Buhari.
We actually flooded your tv screens this past week with snippet of news coming from our book launch at the A-Class Event Centre, Maitama, International Conference Centre, The Shehu Musa Yaradua Centre and finally the dinner at Ladi Kwali Hall, Sheraton.
Staff bus was conveying us daily to the venues except for the birthday celebration of the president on October 1st at Sheraton. Everyone went from their house.
Then, on Saturday 5th October again, I was at a gala/dinner night where I laughed my heart out and ate till my tummy was full. I had spring rolls and samosa, chicken and malt.
I’m already missing mylord the president. When I met him for the first time physically on the 2nd June, 2017, 24 hours after Mr Banji’s death, he had no airs around him. He had called us(I and kidbrother) personally on phone and requested to see us in his office the next day.
He asked if the office had gotten a coffin.
“Yes, we have Milord”, Dad’s assistant answered.
Only five of us were present at that meeting including Milord the president. The former chief registrar who is now My Lord, the presiding judge at Imo state division, Dad’s assistant, myself and kidbrother.
“Is it an expensive coffin? Is it a befitting one? Please, tell them I said they should release more money for you. Go and change the one you got. Get him a better coffin. He didn’t die as a poor man. He was a big man.”
Then, he went on to tell us how he lost his own parents, he encouraged us and asked that two vehicles be released to take his body back home.
Honestly, this is just the tip of the iceberg. He did so much more for me and there’s no way I can recall the story of my life without mentioning him. He was true to my dad both in life and in death. Dad wanted me to go to the Court of Appeal. Infact, I was just waiting to resume before plans changed and I found myself in this court where I am now.
Dad was a very close ally of MyLord The President and Milord(my original Milord 😀who I sit with in court, pls don’t get it twisted). So, it only felt natural to stay among his people.
President told kidbrother who was still in law school then
“Go and practice. The first five years is usually tough for lawyers but that is where you learn the ropes”
The next time he saw me, I was coming from outside, I didn’t know he was coming so I came face to face with him but he couldn’t recognise me initially and he said
“Are you a law student?”
I didn’t know that the new chief registrar was coming behind me. It was him that responded
“No sir, she’s the daughter of …..”
And president said
“Oh, aburo e nko?”
“He’s fine sir. Has he finished law school?”
“Yes sir. He’s serving somewhere around Apo sir”
“Are they paying him? How much are they paying him? Tell him to come and serve here.”
“Thank you sir”, I responded
Then he turned to the chief Registrar and said
“Help me to take good care of her.”
He turned to me and said
“He’s your elder brother. Always go to him”
I said yes sir.
However, all these are still small compared to what he did for me. One day, I shall write about it…in my book Sha😀
He was always asking about kidbro until I went with kidbro to see him again one day. By then, kidbro had started working in the law firm of a Senior Advocate of Nigeria who happened to be president’s friend. On seeing kidbro, he saw some keloids on his face and said
“what is this on your face? Does it hurt? How long has it been there?
Then he called a very big boss, Mr S. and said
“call Dr …….at the supreme Court. Take him there for examination”.
“thank you sir”, I and bro chorused together
Kidbrother was eventually booked for surgery to remove the growth. Gentlemen of the bar like themselves so much. I was waiting for My Lord the president to ask if I had eaten, if my temperature was normal or abnormal or if I had menstrual cramps but he was too devoted to kidbro😀😁😅
I was really feeling sad all through the book launch.
I didn’t even know whether to be laughing or crying. His court used to be very interesting and enlightening. He delves into domestic affairs, political matters, emotional affairs….he talks about everything. The best thing is that he shares sweets and water for us at every court sitting.
Everyone who comes to our court now keep marvelling at the sheer magnificence and beauty of it. It’s his hardwork. He built that court from scratch and made it an enviable court.
There’s a new sheriff in town right now. The honourable new judge has been sworn in as the acting president.
Resumption time just changed today. The bus now leaves by 7am so that it can get to the office by 8am. We used to meet the bus by 7.30am before.
My problem now is how to wake up early and catch that bus. I can’t even remember the last time I swept my house. My house looks like a forest right now. I’m barely there. I just sleep there, wake up and rush out. Then, I come in very late, already wasted and tired. So I just sleep off. Many times I even forget to lock my front door. Most times I wake up to find out that my entire door was unlocked. The cycle continues everyday. #sighs
This past week was very tough for me. I didn’t go to work much, I was sick. Very down with malaria. And I was thinking too much too. About my parents. That was how I started losing it. I was losing my […]
This past week was very tough for me.
I didn’t go to work much, I was sick. Very down with malaria.
And I was thinking too much too. About my parents.
That was how I started losing it. I was losing my mind gradually. It got to a point, I had to start begging God not to allow me run mad completely 😃
I mean, I could not focus. I was weak. My brain was on fire. My head was paining me. I couldn’t sleep at night.
I was weeping all through the night. I felt so alone. I felt abandoned by God. I lost interest in life, in activities. It was the toughest week of my life.
I never knew that it was work that was keeping me sane, that was driving me, that was helping me to subdue the grief. I never knew that the grief never left. It has just been hiding. And it expresses itself best when I’m left on my own. It expresses itself in few minutes of heart wrenching sobs in the dark of the night. It happens in the courtroom too sometimes when something triggers it, then I begin to take five minutes break to weep in the bathroom, wash my face, take a selfie perhaps and come out.
I loved that man so much that I didn’t realise it. He was my safe place. He was next to God in my life. How we drew closer after mom died. How I would tell him about what ogbeni ota said to me and he would explain the statement to me and say “these are the reasons he said that but don’t worry, you will be fine”. These days, nobody tells me I will be fine. Which makes me scared alot of the time. There’s no assurance that I’m going to be fine.
It’s very hard. It’s a very tough one. I don’t wish it on anyone. I want my daddy!!
On thing I never envisaged when I decided to go on lowcut was that I would be rubbing shoulders with men at the salon. It looks scary every time when I’m the only female among hefty men barbing their hair in a […]
On thing I never envisaged when I decided to go on lowcut was that I would be rubbing shoulders with men at the salon. It looks scary every time when I’m the only female among hefty men barbing their hair in a salon. Sometimes, I feel out of place, sometimes I just chuckle. Sometimes, they steal glances at me. Most times, the small boys talk to me…about how they love women who barb, because such women are low maintenance (they are easy to keep). They don’t bug you for money to make hair, or to buy wigs, or to order some human hair from China. See why I called them small boys. But they don’t know that I’m no low maintenance. In my mind, I’m like “shulai tell them?”
They don’t know that despite the no-wig, no human hair or animal hair stuff, I’m extremely high budget. Ask J.E who has been ‘fortunate’ to let me tag along on his shopping spree, from SPAR mall, Victoria Island to H-medix and Spar in Abuja. The other day, we were in front of Sahad and he said he was not going inside with me😂😁.
Till today, those security guys at H-medix know and recognise me because of one single shopping. They always marvel when they see me …’a supposedly small girl whom they gave no recognition since she’s been shopping there, until the day she broke their record with bags and bags of groceries. J.E paid for everything. I had to tell them to keep everything for me. I wasn’t going to carry them to the office. By the time, I went back to collect it, it wasn’t without a tip. Now they call me madam(dust shoulder).
That’s how guys will see a lady who looks quite simple, no extraneous detail in her appearance and they think she will be easy to maintain. Are you kidding me? Do you even know how much they sell the bowls of ice cream I would be consuming every week now that my office is close to that ShopRite in Apo?😀just kidding about that sha.
Do you know that when I was new in Abuja, living somewhere on airport road, I used to legit carry myself to App ShopRite just to buy farm fresh yoghurt? I’d buy for my preggie neighbour and eat sausage on the queue. I bought my LG TV and frigde just few days apart from the Fouani/LG store at Apo ShopRite, called a cab and took a long drive home. I wasn’t even working then. I was just living off my parent’s largesse.
So I was talking about barber’s shop.
Barbers want to be collecting my number upandan. Kikikiki. They don’t know I’m their mother’s agemate😀.
First, I fight at every barber’s shop because they say female hair cost #700 and adult hair is #500. Egbami?🙆🙆which one is adult and which one is female?
“Oga, biko, I’m not female. I’m an adult. What’s with the gender bias?”
“It’s because female hair takes alot of time. You people are not easily satisfied. We don’t barb females the way we barb male customers”.
“Whatever. I have only #500”.
Then, I begin to walk away. I will hear them whispering among themselves. Then, they will call me back.
Last night, we had this same argument. I even paid a thousand naira because of the cream he applied on my head and washed off. That 1k pained me. It’s still paining me sef. I’m never patronising them again. #sigh. Did I just say that? Well, they make my hair come out good every time and they put this white hot towel on my head, spray my face and neck with talcum powder 😂. They even give me ‘teddy’…as if I’m a man. That shape they cut close to your ears. IF you know you know
I’ve had to barb in places where I had to wear “hijab” for weeks in the courtroom so that the hair would grow again. I’ve barbed in terrible places where I paid #250 and their clipper kept making this horrible sound. The shop itself was quite shoddy.
Last night, I went with a bag that contained my hair cream and what did barber say?
“You came with your clippers?” And he stretched forth his hands to collect it
My eyes were round. “Clippers you say?”
You think I’m a permanent member of the lowcut gang right? I’m supposed to be having a clipper right?
I’ve never thought of buying one. Because in my mind, I’m just doing this low cut thing for a while. Because I’m currently undergoing recession in my finances. And when people ask “why are you on lowcut?”
I always say with a stern face “economic reasons”.
But with the way I cringe anytime I encounter any slight discomfort while combing my hair, what I’m forseeing is scary. I’ve totally lost interest in making hair. It’s so much cheaper and easier to maintain no hair and I’m loving the experience.
J.E was asking me when I would start making my hair. He offered to drive me(he doesn’t even drive in Abuja) so I don’t know how he intends to drive me to a salon. I told him to bring the money and I would go and do the Ghana weaving he suggested. He knew I wanted to scam him so he said no deal unless he takes me there. Wawu.
Ok, let me say it again. I went to have a haircut last night at a very cute unisex salon in preparation for court next week. We are resuming by then. I haven’t tried all the black and white dresses in my wardrobe but I know for a fact that they can’t size me again.😤😢
I don’t know where I will start from. No clothes. I’ve outgrown them all. No shoes too. Ayemitemibami.
I’m accepting black dresses, white shirts/dresses and court shoes sha if you want to buy for me or send to me.
I just pray that tinuke badmus reads this. Maybe she will help my life and send me something out of her bespoke collections from kaduna.