If you lose your parents early in life, without them tidying up the simplest and complex details of life that’d impact on you negatively or positively, without them helping you to navigate the murky waters of life to a great extent, to […]
If you lose your parents early in life, without them tidying up the simplest and complex details of life that’d impact on you negatively or positively, without them helping you to navigate the murky waters of life to a great extent, to guide you through the turbulence that are wont to come, to tell you that even if you lose everything, they are here for you, Even if nobody ever look you in the face to tell you, just know that you’ve just become disadvantaged. You’ve become a target for cheats, liars and manipulators. The list is endless. I’ve been grossly unhappy for a couple of days starting from the 15th. Each day, I wake up and ask myself ‘when will this endless dragging come to an end? When will my head/heart 💓 be just plain free from turmoils and start to do duduke duduke😊?
My 18th birthday when everything was alright with the world!!!
How can all these things be happening to me right now that Tito yoghurt is even 1k? (My heart is so expensive/inexpensive to maintain, Choi) What will I use to bring back my heart back to a duduke state?
That time my heart could do duduke, not a care in the world!!!💋💋💋♥️just lookat!!!
On Mother’s birthday, the 15th May, we won a preliminary objection challenging the judgement of a high court in the land tussle that I’m presently embroiled in. That’s the court case I’m involved in. They sued. I didn’t sue. It is not supposed to be my case technically. It is my father’s property and the document bears my mother’s name and I’m the direct heir to said property, that makes me the liquid metal facing the war😟. This isn’t even funny. All I wanted to do was just #survivecovid# not #survivewar#
So the next thing is to file a notice of appeal. You know, it’s a different thing to sit in court under a judge and be calling matters and leading people into the witness box, giving them the Koran or Bible to swear with. And it’s a different thing to be the one who has to be led like a lamb dumb before his shearers to the slaughter. A case of when the hunter becomes the hunted. It’s only that I truly do not deserve this.
I spent the better part of that day, four days ago, speaking for hours on phone. After thanking lawyer for his success at the high court that morning, he told me something that murdered my sleep.
“If I am going to file this notice of appeal within seven days and get the enrolment of order for the previous one, your bill is 25k. And my bill for the total appeal when it starts and court appearance is 1.5M.
Wait!!!! But, I am not the lion himself. I am not the war. I am not pahose. Where is that money going to come from? I don’t even want to go to war. Lawyer claimed he is charging 1.5M and if not, he cannot proceed with appeal. We spoke for close to one hour and there was no headway. But I had told this lawyer before now that I wanted to settle out of court. He said they were not favorably disposed to settlement. Oh fine.
I called my mother’s son and said to him ‘please let them go and carry that house/land. Let them take it alongside the people that are buried on it. If the lawyer refuses to file his notice of appeal, let him not do it, mbok. Just because, the Earth is the Lord’s and the fullness thereof. The world and they that dwelt therein. It’s indeed a very heavy cross. I’ve been on this battle for a year now. And I don’t truly deserve this.
As this conversation was happening with the lawyer, I was getting dragged in a slander, a maliciously repulsive outright lie and blackmail by a narcissist, a chauvinist with an over exaggerated sense of self importance. I was like “oh devil, not today again please”. But, the devil’s advocate didn’t come to play.
Something went off in my brain. Alarm bells began to ring. I began to get to that point of no return when you’ve reached the wall. That point that you tell your foe that whatever happens now is not my fault after you’ve tolerated their mischief long enough. But it was all in my head. It was in the way my eyes turned red. It was in the way I laid awake at night, turned my back to the wall like Hezekiah and spoke to God about it. You see, my parents are the principal partners in this matter. They are the witnesses and the main players. But where is my evidence today? In the grave.
I imagined putting a call across to dad and saying “Dad, remember that time I ran away from Mummy O’s house at Airport Road because you made a decision about my future I didn’t reckon with. Remember how you begged me through endless texts and asked me to come back but I refused. I defied you only once in my life and it was over that issue, well, There’s a false allegation because of that and you aren’t here.
Mom, Remember that time that dad asked you to plead with me to go to Abuja with him after I vehemently told him I was done with that process in Lagos? Remember how you called me into your room at almost 4am and talked to me only in a way a mother could. And because you can easily get anything from me, I conceded.
Remember how you tried to convince me in order to sway my decision over the despicable situation of 2014 and I told you that even if your mother, my grandma whom I loved so much ever woke up and told me to change my mind, that I wouldn’t listen to her. Was that not when you hands off and told Dad same?
Well, four days ago, I was slandered because of it. That slander was so ghetto, outrightly repugnant and ridiculously insane. It made.me.fear the human nature. I’ve had sleepless nights asking myself ‘how did I get here? how did I get involved with something so ghetto? how did I get involved in a froglike and masquerade situation-frogs like to dance in the mud and masquerades tend to dance naked in the market square for clout.
All I wanted was just to #survivecovid# not #surviveslander#
So, after ruminating over and over, I told myself ‘let us come to the conclusion of the whole matter- Fear God and obey his commandments, for that is the whole duty of man😊😉 So, in order to preserve my sanity, which by the way, I’ve been struggling to keep in place to survive Covid 19, I started waking up at midnight to dance and jiggle my body for one hour just because-the hallelujah challenge.
I’m releasing these burdens and as usual, moving around like everything is all right with the world.
P.S if you must dine with the devil, please for your own sake and your children’s, use a very long wooden spoon.
This is an adaptation of my memoir. It’s about 3450 words long. Brace up for a long read but you will enjoy it👇👇👇👇👇👇👇👇👇👆👆👆👆👆👆👆👆👆👆 Dad thought I was his mother. He kept telling people, you see that my quiet daughter that’s always in […]
This is an adaptation of my memoir. It’s about 3450 words long. Brace up for a long read but youwill enjoy it👇👇👇👇👇👇👇👇👇👆👆👆👆👆👆👆👆👆👆
Dad thought I was his mother. He kept telling people, you see that my quiet daughter that’s always in the room reading her book, she’s my mother. She took all of my mother’s nature. My mother was a very quiet woman. I’m trying to talk about how favoritism started and I’m continuing from the last post.
I don’t think favoritism can ever go away in families. Because sometimes, it’s an unconscious thing and it’s not the fault of the parent or the child involved. Take for example, you have your teenage child in SS2 walk into your room and say ‘dad, I just won a scholarship and they are going to pay me. I need to open an account with UBA.”
“Who are these people who gave you a scholarship. How did you do it?”, By then, he sits up on the bed, looks at you in utter shock and disbelief, wondering how a girl who doesn’t go out can win a scholarship from her bedroom. “Dad, it’s from President Obasanjo” “What?????????” “Yes. And I applied when I saw it in your newspaper” Or, on another occasion, you walk up to your dad and say “Dad, please can you take me to Lagos?” He laughs, looking at the skinny 14year old talking about lagos. “You think Lagos is easy? Lagos is not a place you can just go to. Why do you want to go to Lagos?”
“Well, I just won an essay competition and I came first in all the southwest states in Nigeria. The event will take place in Allen Avenue and my prize is 50k.” Dad struggles to rise up from the bed. He begins to yell and call mother, telling her to leave everything she’s doing and come quickly. When they are both settled, he says, repeat what you just told me.
That was the first time I ever set foot in Lagos. When we came down at Berger, I began to look for the magic on the street, I thought Lagos was London with the way it was so hyped. I got to the popular Allen, and it looked ordinary. Lagos disappointed me but it welcomed me with open arms and before long, dad was sent back home and I was lodged with several other students across the federation in an hotel and by the next day, I was on the news. Dad and mom came back the next day in the morning. The event was slated for 4pm at Muson centre so they went back home.
You see, all these events set me up as a Joseph with a coat of many colours. So dad became an advocate, saying ‘where’s Yetunde’s food? Is this the small meat they gave you? Come and take my meat.😁😁 Or he begins to shout at his younger kids who love to play football. “Can’t you see your sister always reading in her room? Why can’t you be like her. Emi n so temi o”
Those ones began to hate me unconsciously😁😁 He began to make open comparisons. He told visitors, family members, his colleagues at work, anyone who cared to listen such that those who never met me already knew so much about me. However, he never knew that all I read in my room were novels and newspapers, not even school books. He eventually began to drop his newspapers with me after reading and if kidbrother or the dark one picks his newspaper (na only the football page at the back dem dey find), he would shout at them-“is that your book? Have you finished reading all the books I bought for you?”
They will see him walk into my room afterwards, drop the same paper and turn back. They saw all these things. I was a picky eater. I was(still I’m) the skinniest in my family. So, while my siblings never had a problem eating Amala, iyan, iresi it was a problem to me. So, he would get me Milo, milk, fruit&fibre/coco pops and say ‘go and keep it in your room. Don’t let them see it.
He began to say ‘dont let them see it’ when he noticed that my siblings could also throw me into a tubu or sell me to the Egyptians just like Joseph. One day, the fair and dark one broke into my room while I was away in school and stole my provision. They did it angrily and they left footprints so that I’d know. I got back home and cried. Dad called a family meeting. The two for them, myself, mom and dad. They were not sorry. They complained that ‘everything was all about me’.
You see, he always gave them a baba Sala Milo&Milk too but the boys would finish it in one week and come for mine. I was a rich kid growing up. I always had money. And I started earning from my writings at 13. 50k was big in 2001. I stashed it in my UBA account like an abacha loot. My previous scholarship money was in this account as well. When Mom needed to buy her first car, she borrowed from me. When there was no food at home, I bailed the family out. I started taking all these responsibilities as a young, rich teenager.
In my part five, dad needed to travel from Lagos to Port Harcourt and his DTA hadn’t been paid. He called me. I had an exam by 2pm. He called me by 1.15pm. He needed like 20k. Flight was between 8-10k those days. I stood up from my bed where I was reading Parasitology and Public Health, Par 502 and travelled to First Bank Taki to pay into his account. First Bank was and is still notorious for long queues.
I saw the manager of my hostel on the way while I was running towards college of medicine on foot to get a cab. He said ‘where are you going under this hot sun’ The sun was really harsh that day. But I didn’t mind. My dad comes first. I can’t let him be stranded in Lagos. Because manager wanted to be managing me and was completely smitten by me, he turned his jalopy around and asked me to hop in. He drove me to first Bank and later dropped me in school. I never told dude that I made him drive like Jackie Chan between Adenike to General-Sabo-Apake-Taki just so I could send my dad some money. I even thought it was shameful. Who sends money to their dad to buy plane tickets as a student? I never told anyone. I miss Ogbomoso sha. But our office is at ilorin maybe I should get a transfer to ilorin and start living at Ogbomoso.😆😆😉
I paid that money and went straight to the exam Hall at exactly 2pm. My heart was beating fast. To God be the glory, that was the day the invigilator chose to come late with answer scripts. We started 30mins later. When I was in part 3, dad would call ‘there’s no money or food at home’. I would go and send 2k to him. My pocket money was 5k. So I’d be having 3k left but it’d never be hard for me to send him 2k and hold 1k till the end of the semester.
While dad was at Ikoyi, that bougie part of Lagos and I was at Isolo on IT, dad would call me ‘yetunde they’ve not paid salary. I’ve not even had breakfast’ My salary was 7k but I’d remove 4k and send to him. Going out of my office was like a camel going through the eyes of a needle but I would go to Mr Ola’s office and say ‘Sir, there’s an emergency sir. Pls, I have to go to the bank sir’ . Then he would give me a pass to present at the gate. Bless his kind heart.
On my way to the office some mornings, at Oshodi, I’d see some fine Ankara designs. I would walk into the shop and pick two for my mom. You see, I was borrowing her cash too once in a while but not like dad. You see, all those ones that some people’s parents would die and they’d start crying about how they didn’t do anything for their parents while alive bla bla. That’s not my story because I don’t have such regrets. I started doing when I was a teenager till the final week he gave up the ghost. I didn’t have to wait till I have millions. Lastborn had this type of regret when his mother died. Awon Rolex geng😁. He said he didn’t do anything and that when his money come, who’s he going to spend it on? Spend it on me, baby boo.
The way dad used to call me ehn, as if I was his mother true true because how can you call a 20year old on a 7k salary and say ‘send me money, I’m broke’ or we’d be driving to ibadan on Friday and papa would say ‘yetunde, there’s no fuel in this car. Give me 5k there” Papa had so much respect for me. I saw that he treated me like a deity, one who has solution to all money problems. Set awon irunmole😂😂. He saw me as his age mate or an elderly woman in a child’s body. He legit thought I was sent to him by the gods 😂😂 and everything I was doing made him rock sure i was truly his late mother.
In a very light mood, I told Mom one day “has dad forgotten I’m just a child? Where does he think I get money from? He knows I’m a student but he’s always calling me when he’s in trouble. Did I give birth to him? And are you not his wife? Why is he not disturbing you?” She laughed and laughed.
PART TWO When he died, Of course, I was the chief mourner. And everyone left me to it. It was a case of ‘omi ti gbe leyin eja’. While I was running mad, sleeping with neighbors, moving from there to the hospital, by the way, that was the first time the ‘poison’ drug was prescribed to make me sleep and I’ve signed for it three times now. God epp me. I was trekking long distances without feeling it. Later when I started work, they were sending me away from work to resume when I get better. Sometimes a week. Because I never really cried when he died. I tried to cry. But the tears only came when I resumed work.
When it was time to move the body home, last born said no, he wasn’t going. He had bar finals. So they left me to his dead body🙁🙁 The morning after death, I needed to go to his office but I needed someone with me. I looked round but I didn’t see anyone. I called a friend who wasn’t in Abuja and he called a friend to accompany me. Friend never showed up. These friends were gisting and laughing in the car on my way back from ibadan after they picked me from airport road. I was boiling. I was like ‘dont they know the sky is dark for me right now? Can’t they sense that there are no more rainbows, no sunshine, no rain? Can’t they just pretend for me and laugh when alone? Dude even said he’d lost his way and didn’t know the road to my house again. That was when I lost it. One was begging, one was shouting at me. They quietly dropped me at home and quietly slipped out of my life. I didn’t even notice. That was the last I saw them until almost two years later 😊😊
They left me at a T-junction at the most vulnerable period of my life. At that time, those were the only people I knew in Abuja then. I didn’t have friends. So lastborn also chose his bar finals over his father’s dead body. So, I became a man. Fuck patriarchy. I led an ambulance and an official car back to ibadan. You’d have read what happened on the road on this blog before. The children of my mother did ‘yokolu yokolu, ko a tan bi’ and ntorr to me. Honestly I’m laughing so hard now😁😀😀. Not that they ever did that physically but their action was an ntorr action.
As the chief mourner, nobody called to check up on me. Till today, they don’t know how I fought to stay alive. Or how I slept in hospital and was really scared the day I was discharged to go home. I didn’t want to go. I felt safe in the ward with plenty people. Was it not on the very day I was discharged that I got home and the roof of my apartment was gone from the inside? It was like a film. I don’t know the kind of spirit that came to visit while I was out😂😂😂 Was it not that period that dad was seizing my hand in the dream and telling me to follow him? 😂😂😂not today, Bros. But in the midst of the aloneness, something great happened. So unprecedented. This is where I will conclude the story of last borns and entitlement. The very next day after dad’s death, the heavens opened. The president of the court called and asked to see us. He looked at me and asked ‘is there anything your father ought to do for you that he didn’t do?’ I started rolling on the floor of his rugged office. He said ‘no, get up’ I said
‘Sir, my rent is due and I’m jobless’ Dad was going to give me my rent few weeks before he died. He was trying to get me into court of appeal, few weeks before he died. See, my life was completely over. He left me without nothing. The man said ‘what are your qualifications?’ I told him. We were in that meeting with the former chief registrar who is now a judge and Mr N, dad’s former assistant. So, Milord the President turned to CR and said ‘Give her automatic employment.’ He turned to me and said ‘FG won’t pay you until three months if you are newly engaged so, give her 100k to take care of herself pending when she starts to receive salary’ “Pay her money to settle her rent” “Release money to her for her father’s burial” “How much casket did you buy?” “Change it and get a more befitting one. He didn’t die as a pauper. Get a more expensive casket for him” “Who is in law school? He used to talk about having a child in law school” “I am the one sir”, last born responded “How much was he giving you as pocket money?” “40k sir. Because we don’t cook in school” “How many months do you have left?” ‘a month or two sir” “How much is your rent?”. This is the rent of where he lived with his father. “80k sir” President turned to CR again “Give him 50k multiplied by 5 and pay him 80k to settle his rent” He prostrated. Then to my chagrin, he decided to make a demand to the honourable president. I was disgusted. Both the CR and Mr N were too. It was like overstepping your bounds.
President said “I don’t run a charity organization. I’m only doing this because of who your father was to me.” I thanked the man profusely and prayed for him. By the time we walked into that office, we were siblings but when we walked out, we were like two strangers. Lastborn was angry with me because, once again, I got the best of everything. My future was secured. The funny thing is dad was looking forward to putting him in this office after his law school. He said it constantly. He kept that spot for him. Reason why he wanted me at the court of appeal. But president told him ‘no, I won’t take you here. Go and practise. That’s the same thing I told my son. He said his father’s friend got him a job in oil and gas. I told him to go and practise law.” Which is true because his son is in Afe Babalola’s Chambers till today and he has appeared in my court many times. But, God has the biggest sense of humour, I got his place without asking for it, without reading law, without begging for it. We both joined Mr N’s car on our way home, he dropped along the way and didn’t say a word to me. Mr N was so angry. To cut this whole labare short, That was when I saw my first one million.
How did it happen? This CR who was present at the meeting immediately left that seat and became a judge so a new one who didn’t know about this meeting came on board within a space of two weeks. I started going to see him. On one of the days, I reminded him money was yet to be paid so he called account “What about the one million I asked you to pay CSO’s kid?’ When I heard the sum, I opened my eyes in bewilderment because we had calculated it together and it wasn’t a million. Twas about 700k ish or a little above. When he dropped the call, I said ‘but sir, this money isn’t one million.’ He said yes, I know the correct sum. I only rounded it off because of you. On the day I went for documentation in July, I was broke. That was before this other money came. It took three months before that money came though. I needed just 5k to settle something but I had less than 500 with me. No food at home. As I entered dad’s former office which now belonged to Mr N, he said ‘thank God you are here. A contractor from Enugu just called asking to speak with you. Let me even call him back” I didn’t know this contractor. But we spoke and he said
“Are you his first daughter, have you finished school? Your father was a very good man to me. Send me your account details let me support you. And save my number, if you need anything, let me know. I was expecting at least 5-10k. The alert didn’t come until night. I saw 100k. I didn’t even know what to do-whether to cry or laugh.
So in the midst of the chaos, while I was left alone, God made sure that even though my heart was heaving due to grief, my akant was also breathing exponentially. I bore the grief alone and bore the increase alone. So while at the burial, when they were looking at me with pity, I was the one who was really pitying them. I went to the account department at the office and told them to block payment to his accounts. His unpaid DTAs and allowances. I told them I was his next of Kin. Thank God he gave me that info himself before he died. Those people weren’t shocked but I’m sure they must have checked his file to corroborate my claim. They did as I said so even though lastborn had all the atm cards, it was empty(all of us know our parent’s atm password). We knew who was in charge.
I began to send them money, those children of my mother. 50k here, 100k there. The stone which the builders rejected😁😀became their cornerstone and it became marvellous in their eyes.
However, life finally teaches these kind of children what our parents don’t teach. Life humbles them. They begin to imbibe all the character they lost. He’s grown up these days and he is now a chummy boy. All of them have grown up. So, when people look at me and say “this one is only a child” I really pity them. If only they know, that I am a republic. That I can do good all by myself. That patriarchy got nothing on me. That when I’m making silent moves, blocking holes and pipes, sticking a middle finger at the world, I still do it with a plain unassuming face. 😁😀😂 It reminds me of balak who called Balaam to curse the people of God just because he was afraid of them, out of envy. He said they were too much on the face of the Earth and they might invade his land. Bhet, how can you curse whom God has blessed? Aditu ni mehn.
That time I was recuperating, I came online one day and saw that my friend Dr T, had written some long stuff on Facebook. Dr T is my friend who is now a lecturer. After laughing my head off, I felt like […]
That time I was recuperating, I came online one day and saw that my friend Dr T, had written some long stuff on Facebook. Dr T is my friend who is now a lecturer. After laughing my head off, I felt like ‘oh wow, so this young woman has some talents she hasn’t explored’. Even though she had told me some of those stories before, it felt good reading them again. I was super impressed.
I’m particularly happy that she found her voice and that she’s not afraid to have an opinion and make it public. I’m happy she chose to tell her story. Many women are still living in fear, thinking it’s best to keep their opinions to themselves. Pray, how can I leave all the stories finding expression inside me untold? Truth is, I haven’t even written half of the stories in my belly. Partly because, I can only write about my experiences in court sparingly for now. And then the other stories are not yet ripe to be told but I’m working on them.
Lately I started compiling my memoir but the illness slowed me down. Someday, someone somewhere is going to read our stories and make a better decision in life, avoid career mistakes that we made, even our children will be happy to see our footprints on the sands of time. I am a storyteller and I plan to live the rest of my days writing and telling stories. Just writing books. This period has afforded me the opportunity to read so many books. I read to stupor. I read far into the night but I’ve stopped now.
When the bopdaddy challenge was trending, my friend in UK messaged me that we should participate. But I told her I have never owned a face brush in my life seeing that they were all throwing face brushes upandan. I used a book, my book but tinuke badmus called it a church girl version. Woreva! Tinuke badmus is also finding her voice on Instagram. As talented as she is, she has been mostly quiet about her craft. She makes badass female wears quietly but these days, I’ve been largely impressed with her ‘becoming’ on Instagram. With a husband like hers who is a public speaker, I was wondering if she wanted to end up as a closet enthusiast. Her husband is even a Soyinka. I’m in my house tinuke, come and beat me if you can go pass the curfew in kaduna.
Dear woman, write your own stories. If you feel like talking, talk. If you feel like having a platform, please do. Stop living for other people. This fear of ‘what will people say’ will keep you caged forever. And if you need me to help you write, I’m just a few thousands away. I don’t come cheap but I deliver quality😉😆
So, Milord has been sitting in court. I remember when he was saying to me in March ‘yetunde, don’t fix a lot of cases for me in May because Ramadan would have started by then. I want mostly five or six cases in a day. I said ‘Yes Milord’ But here we are, he’s been delivering only judgements like two in a day. We are all home. Man proposes. I’ve looked at the dresses in my wardrobe many times and shook my head. I’ve looked at my shoes sitting pretty on the rack. I’ve been wearing slippers for the past two months. And I’ve been wearing just a brown sleeveless gown everyday. Life is funny.
Will life ever go back to normal? What will court sitting now look like? I was not informed about 2020, if not I would have prepared. That’s to show that God rules in the affairs of men and man has no control over what happens in the world. Everything has failed us. But God hasn’t.
*** I have spent this entire time not reading alone but doing so many cookery stuff. I have made chinchin.
I baked cake.
I made egusi with scent leaf and pepper soup spice adding eja gbigbe. The egusi tasted like I was eating pepper soup. You should try it. I made kunu Aya. Imagine, I stayed away from this drink so long because people kept saying it’s a drink that drives people to the oza room. I’m here to tell you it’s a blatant lie. That drink only makes you sleep bonoku. I enjoyed and will be making it more going forward. I make zobo constantly. My zobo tastes romantic. I spice it with ginger too. Today, I baked bread, hallelujah someborri!!!! Before the week runs out, I may go back to making scotch egg and also fry akara.
The day I finally make yoghurt, every where will burst😀 I walked into my favorite supermarket to get Tito yoghurt last week and the price had jumped to a thousand. I respected myself and calmly dropped it. It was 650 o and until I check it at Hmedix Garki and it’s truly 1k, I ain’t buying. Lemme just learn how to make it first. My favorite of all time was farm fresh yoghurt but I haven’t seen it even at ShopRite in ages. I think they changed the package and this new package just isn’t it for me. The old farm fresh comes in a big bottle with strawberry and vanilla variants. It was about 1200-1500 and I was buying it happily. This Tito yoghurt comes close to it but the bottle is too small to be sold for a thousand.
If I tell you I’m broke and you see me anywhere later buying yoghurt or chocolate ice cream, please believe that it is my last cash I’m using to buy it. I’ve done this many times. I spend my money to the last Kobo even when I have no hope for the next day. Why do I do this? Because I dont want to give anybody the pleasure of spending my hard earned money when I die. Too much sense will not kill me😀😁😂
I steal meat from my own pot of soup. My mother ingrained it in me to always eat with one meat. She’d even take one meat and cut into two for two of us. She stopped this habit when I got into […]
I steal meat from my own pot of soup. My mother ingrained it in me to always eat with one meat. She’d even take one meat and cut into two for two of us. She stopped this habit when I got into uni. Now, I see it as a great sin against humanity to eat with more than a piece of meat. So, rather than have two pieces on my food, I will take one. Then tiptoe to my own kitchen like a thief and steal one under a very guilty conscience. If I decide to wash plate, I will put my hands and steal another one. If the temptation arises again just as I’m done washing plates, I will take a step towards the pot again. Suddenly, I will feel my mother turning in her grave. I will feel angel Gabriel deleting my name from the book of life, then I will do a u turn and repent.
I hate to call. This is a post traumatic disorder for me. I wasn’t always like this. Every call sets me into panic mode. I’m like “who died again?”. Since I received so many bad news via calls over time, I became averse to talking on phone. I suffered a chronic withdrawal from everything and everyone and fed on my silence.
When I make up my mind about a matter, that case is closed. It takes only God to change my mind. The rigidity of my heart scares even me. If I do not like something or someone, there’s no chance on earth that I ever will. If I get fed up with a situation, I’m walking out of it. It’s just that I have zero tolerance for shits so if something is not going my way, I get easily fed up.
I am too attached to myself, my books and my space so much that I don’t care if there’s no one around me.
I am kind of lazy. I’d rather eat coco pops than cook a great meal.
I hate to share the things that matter to me. Those things that matter to me in life so much are chocolates, Tito yoghurt, roasted corn and plantain chips. I hide in my office to eat these things so that I will not give anybody😁🙈
I opened my gate to go buy light saving bulbs after one week of permanent self imposed house arrest. I’m just recovering from malaria/typhoid too. As I was going, I decided to branch at the bakery to see what they were doing […]
I opened my gate to go buy light saving bulbs after one week of permanent self imposed house arrest. I’m just recovering from malaria/typhoid too.
As I was going, I decided to branch at the bakery to see what they were doing there. I walked past where I was supposed to buy bulbs.
I got to the bakery(trekking distance from my house) and saw this really hot bread. I bought two instead of one. Obviously, money was not enough to buy energy saving bulbs again so I bought the yellow bulb on my way back.
By the way, there are a lot of mango trees in my quarters. I won’t be ashamed to go and climb a mango tree when next I’m bored.
When I got to my gate, I saw two of my neighbors. Two cute guys-one yellow, one black. Nice human beings.
The tall one is the yellow pawpaw. The short one is the black one whose building is directly beside mine. All four houses including mine are for sole occupants.
The yellow one had an electrical issue sometimes last week so they both came to knock my gate. They can only access the electrical fault at the backyard if they go in through my gate. I can’t really explain this but that’s the way the houses are.
I opened for them after keeping them waiting for sometime. You see, I’ve been living in Eden.
They moved to the backyard and I followed them. They gave me some timely security advice as regards my backyard fence. They gave me useful information about the environment and I was glad. The black one also told me about water board and water bills. I was seeing and speaking with them for the first time.
So I promised to get the black one’s number. I told him I’d knock his gate but immediately I said it, my spirit confirmed to me that I was lying. I knew I’d never go to his gate.
So I didn’t see them again till yesterday morning. Then I walked up to them and asked for their digits. They easily obliged me and got mine too.
Just as I was going back inside, I remembered the bulb. I needed a tall person to help me fix it on the wall outside. So I went back to tell the tall one to help. He agreed and followed me. You see, I was once asked on live radio at ibadan two years ago “are you a feminist?”
The question took me off balance and I couldn’t answer it well. I am not a feminist but I’m a feminist. I belong to everybody and I belong to nobody.
I’m not a feminist because I won’t ever be caught dragging generator when a man can easily do that for me. I don’t believe in equality but I believe in equity(fairness and justice, equal opportunities). I’m not equal to a man but I have the same rights as a man because we are both human beings. He created them male and female. I can’t do all the things that a man can do. A man can’t also do the things I can do effortlessly.
I am a feminist if the Nigerian brand of feminism agrees that there are gender roles that make us different but we should strive for a society where men and women are treated equally. Where women are not looked down upon because of their gender. Where women can inherit from their father even as females. Where women can be bosses and a man can work under them just because a lot of women are more qualified and brainy than men.
What am I saying? In essence, I can’t be stressing myself fixing bulbs on a wall when there’s a muscled tall man that can easily do that for me. That’s common sense
I still don’t use my gen because I can’t drag it. My former neighbors didn’t even know I had a gen until the day they came to help me move my things. It’s a man’s work please
And a kitchen is a man and a woman’s workstation. Osiso.
So, yellow guy fixed the bulb for me and left but I heard another man’s voice from outside
“Na there you dey leave?”
The human was talking to yellow guy but I didn’t hear his response clearly. This human now said
“Call her now. Tell her to come”.
So I went out and saw this half naked old man with a big pot belly. He had on only a knicker without shirt. His protuded belly was visible. As I was walking towards them, I heard
“Na this one? This one is just a child. Na she dey live here?”
Am I not a child like this?
“How can you even talk like that?Na this one? Is that how to address a person? That was so condescending” I said to the rude man.
“Yaaay, oyinbo don finish. I didn’t mean to insult you. It’s not an insult. But you are a child”
“I will take an exception to that. Can you call this woman a child?” I pointed at a middle aged woman who was sitting and carefully observing the proceedings too.
Pot belly man began to stammer. “Well, all of you na the same thing. If to say you tie wrapper for chest, I go know say na madam you be. But these days that all of you women are dressing funky funky and we don’t know who is who”
I shook my head at his sheer ignorance. I looked him over as he regaled us with tales of how he’s the first landlord, how he has a gun, how we should be having meetings because of the security situation, how he has an hotel in town, how he gets home 1am-2am.
You get gun, you get hotel, mschewww!
Somebody’s father o. How does he talk to his wife? Let me respect his age and leave him, I thought. So I walked out.
“I’m not yet through o”
Twenty minutes later, the yellow neighbor messaged me “pls don’t take what he said to heart. Igbo men are always so rude. They don’t know how to talk. Splendid day ahead”
I was gobsmacked.
And I was thinking yellow guy was Ibo all along. So what tribe is he? I still don’t know.
I responded and thanked him. Told him I’d not be attending any meeting chaired by a patriarchal man, a narcissist.
I forgot about the incident.
At night, I missed black neighbor’s call because I was on call with my friend in US.
I was surprised so I called back.
Dude started to apologise to me o. Saying I should not mind old man. That Ibo men don’t know how to talk to people. That he even tried to call me some minutes after the incident but my number was busy.
See me grinning from ear to ear. Both of them finished ibo men. Well it felt good coming from men. I’ve now totally forgiven the man on their behalf
********
I just remembered that Jonathan Eze is an ibo man too. I didn’t know all these years. I thought he was from Delta since he schooled in Abraka(Delsu). Until this year when he told me “I’m from Enugu o. Nsukka gan gan.
I opened my mouth and couldn’t close it. Jonathan was born in Ogun state, lived most of his life in Lagos. He even speaks Egba, that adulterated yoruba language of the west that you cannot understand even as a yoruba person. He speaks clear yoruba even better than me. The day I heard him speak Egba, I opened my eyes wide. His dad was a renowned medical doctor in ogun state and well known among the locals. Jonathan Eze went to school but hear what he told me while we were at Compass after I told him I gained admission to unilag.
“Iwo omo Yi, what do you need a Masters for? You are too ambitious. Men don’t like ambitious women.
The first time I moved away from home to start living on my own, I really looked forward to it. I had just been posted to Ogun state for NYSC but it was actually Lagos. I was in between Ibafo and Berger. […]
The first time I moved away from home to start living on my own, I really looked forward to it. I had just been posted to Ogun state for NYSC but it was actually Lagos.
I was in between Ibafo and Berger. Infact, my weekly CDS was at Redemption Camp every Friday and I always went home from there. Mr Banji would be waiting at the gate to pick me.
As I was saying, I needed a place to live. I was house hunting. In the meantime, maternal uncle lodged me at a guesthouse in Ibafo, close to his office. I went to work from there and returned in the evening. I stayed there for two weeks. Bills were on him.
So I got this very fine house at Opic Estate, Warewa, just after Arepo. It was a self con which I got for 100k. Trust me it was a really beautiful, serene and quiet estate. I enjoyed my evening walks back to the estate when returning from work. I had to walk past so many fine houses. My house was the extreme last on the street. My apartment was very new. I had only one neighbor beside me. The main building belonged to the landlord who also lived there.
Of course, I got strange looks from some co-workers who felt like “how can a corper be living so large?”. Most people didn’t even know where I lived within the estate. I was just this mysterious lady who left very early and came back late in the evening. When I eventually left this cocoa company where I served and moved to work at Compass with Jonathan Eze, I never told him I was living alone. Until we met again in Abuja.
I had only my laptop and blackberry phone to keep me company. I had a camp gas in my kitchen. Mum and dad followed me to the house the first day I moved in. That year in that house was the best time of my life.
My apartment in that estate was alone, built with that of my neighbor.
I moved to Abuja and the first house I lived at a certain Federal Housing Area, was built separately too. It was close to the gate and I might not even see my neighbors except they deliberately knock my door or I peep through the window or I hear their voices. I lived like a recluse. Like a social misfit.
On a certain day in March of that year, my mom had sent me a token for my birthday. I had some leftover cash from dad too. So I marched to Apo ShopRite and got an LG flat screen TV, a fridge and DVD all in one day or within a week( I can’t recall vividly now). But I remember going into the Fouani brothers store and pricing a fridge and TV. Then, I got a car to take me home. Then, I offloaded everything and walked in as if nothing happened. I was not even working yet. I was looking forward to resuming at this office where Jonathan Eze happens to be the COO presently. See how funny life can be.
That small apartment was my comfort zone, my safe place, where I could hide from the world. My friend who’s in Canada now, visited me once.
But by then, plans were already in gear for me to move again. I moved to a totally unknown territory. It was just a random selection among options.
I was sorry to leave FHA. There was this small bakery, Food&More(if that’s the right name) where I used to buy bread, snacks, moin moin, ice cream and my favorite chocolate. It was very close to my house, so, I enjoyed the evening walks. I had only one friend on the street. I used to help her sell drinks/recharge card by the roadside. I was jobless then.
There was my kind neighbor whom we drove everywhere together. Whew!!! We drove to the salon, market, even church. Church was at city gate. House on the rock. We sometimes went to eat at biobak kitchen with her husband after church. It was a pretty good life. I was sorry I had to leave that life behind. Abruptly.
So I moved away.
My new area was dusty. It looked unfriendly. The house was a separate building as well. It was standing alone. This was my third ‘alone’ house. I lived there for a year. Then, I moved out and got a more decent apartment within the same area. A very beautiful house.
My fourth ‘alone’ house
However, it was my fourth ‘alone’ house. The building is separated from the rest. It is my present house. I have lived like a hermit in this house for four years. I have lived like a mysterious human being, going to work, coming back and locking my door.
My dad has visited me in all the houses I ever lived all the way from Lagos but this my house was the last house he knew. It was here that I got the news of his death at 2am. And the house became haunted. And I only picked my cloth and ran away. The day I finally came back to sleep, I put a torch and a lamp by my pillow and my light was on. But I was still afraid to close my eyes.
I have had a lot of good news and good times here and also wept bitterly many times. Only the wall of my room would bear me witness. I’m sure this wall is going to miss me.
Now I’m moving away from here.
House
Remember I said I got a beautiful house close to a police area command and a high court.
Well, I lost the house. Because it’s still not ready.
So I spent the entire days of last week hunting for another house again. I got one. But to my chagrin, it’s a lone apartment again. Dem use am swear for me?😁😁💋
I went to see the house out of curiosity. Its within a quarters. The apartment is the only one within the compound. Infact, no neighbor except I come out of the gate. I have a fence and a gate. So I’m the garrison commander of an entire apartment where I have to lock the gate when going out.
No more neighbour.
No more payment for water. Now, it’s water board. Pipeborne water. I will be paying bills to water board like once in three months or thereabout. It is close to Dominos pizza too 🙈🙈 but strangely, I’m still not excited.
However, I find the whole thing creepy. I’m just kind of not excited. For the first time in my life, I’m scared of moving. The place is nice. I even have a space at the back where I can plant vegetables.
If you know my father’s house, it’s built on two plots of land. Or three? And as at then, it was the only house in the entire compound. I lived alone in that compound for two weeks. You can read up that story somewhere on the blog. I wrote the best stories of my life in that house within that period. I was mandated to stay because of the goats and chickens which I had to feed.
I have not told anyone about this new house. They would definitely shout, ask me if I’m an ogbanje. Pray, how can someone live without neighbors? It’s as if I’m starting life all over again. A different route to work, different market, different street. And it’s not funny.
But I will be fine. Eventually. I have to move this month.
****happy new month. Today is the international day of the first born. Who’s going to take this first born out?
This is my birthday month as well. You can ask for my akkant number, thank you.
