Looking for love? Why not broaden your horizons? (feel good message in here)

SO IT WAS a slow day and I was trawling around blogsville looking for stories to take me away from sheer boredom.

I noticed that most of the blogs were about relationships and moreso about those that did not work out. Now am hardly a guru at relationship advice but doesnt it make sense that single people should broaden their horizons?


It seems the women and men I know are being too restrictive in their list of eligible people.

I mean, granted, the global availability of high calibre people worthy to be called spouses is very low, but then again why narrow it further by being fastidious about race, height, profession, religiosity? Ehen before people start to pray for me, or bind me sef as the case may be, consider that you were not born into automatically knowing what Christianity/ other organized religious institution, means to you were you? Someone took the time to minister to you and you foudn your faith, right?

Or those that restrict on weight, come on, weight is just on the outside, its the inside that count. Plus a good diet and exercise in the midst of a loving environment.. can take care of weight!

Then those that restrict on age, ah well, this is typical of my fellow Nigerian brothers, I started a note on facebook and almost all but 5 says they will marry someone far younger than them. Kudos to them, besides men have it abit easier, functioning penis and a pulse will guarantee them a woman anyway....so that just means the focus on my note will be single women..

My main concern is with those single women that restrict on race. Read the following feel good story and I honestly hope you enjoy it as much as I did...

*got this from a friend's note, its originally in honour of single black female Americans, I found it quite hilarious, hope you enjoy reading it*

Reviving the Brand





The Secret Council of American Negroes may be an "old" organization, but we are not afraid to shake things up a bit and try something new. Recently SCAN hired the advertising firm of Goldman-Black-Sanchez-Black to tailor our latest advertising campaign for black women. But it's not a campaign to sell things to black women. It is a campaign FOR black women. It is an effort to combat all those stereotypes men of every color have of our wonderful women. Men who see black women as a step down rather than a step up. This is for every black woman of every shade and personality who wants to get married and have a child at some point in their lives. They have tired of being the bridesmaid at their white girlfriends' weddings. They are sick of looking at other happy couples thinking, "Why not me?" Tired of every girl being the desired girl apart from a black girl.

We at SCAN are dedicated to making sure everyone knows how great a black woman can be. We want to break down the stereotypes and get our sisters some satisfaction. So much like how less prominent countries you wouldn't think of visiting put together splashy commercials to get people to change their perception, SCAN is kicking off a new, jazzy, hip campaign to lure you to the unexpected pleasures of black women.


Script for infomercial #001

TITLE: "Why not a black woman?" (Re-branding Campaign)

EXT. A busy street in the city

MUSIC (upbeat, light and peppy)

A white man is hurrying down a busy street dressed for work

NARRATOR: (booming male voice) Hey you!

The white man stops and looks around curiously.

NARRATOR: Yes, you! The one with no wedding ring!

The man looks at the camera sheepishly and looks in closer.

MAN: Yeah?

NARRATOR: You looked like you were in a hurry?

MAN: Yeah, um ... I was just ...

NARRATOR: Hey, how's your love life?

MAN: It's great, I guess.

NARRATOR: So, you're seeing someone?

MAN: Not really. I guess it's been awhile since I went on a date. Work keeps me pretty busy.

NARRATOR: Is it work or are you just striking out with the ladies?

MAN: I mean, I try to find a girl, but all the women I meet are either married already or bland and unsatisfying. I'm really lonely, but I don't know what to do.

NARRATOR: Have you ever considered a black girl?

MAN: (Nervous laugh) What? No!

NARRATOR: What? Are you some kind of racist?

MAN: (Embarrassed) No! I think I have a cousin who's married to some black guy or at least I think he's black. Wait. He might be Puerto Rican. Are Puerto Ricans black?

NARRATOR: Don't think about it too hard, you might give yourself a headache.

MAN: (Smiling) Oh. OK.

NARRATOR: But seriously, why not a black girl?

MAN: I don't know. I just find them kind of intimidating. I don't think they would like me. And aren't they really loud and pushy?

NARRATOR: (Hearty laugh) Oh, Jim.

MAN: Wait, how do you know my name?

NARRATOR: There are a lot of misconceptions out there about black women. They've been getting a bum rap for years.

Cut to footage of sad, pretty black girls

NARRATOR: Looked over for parts in movies. Denied the role of "the love interest," "the girlfriend" and "the femme fatal." Accused of being too bitchy or rude or unladylike. Being paraded out like jiggly set pieces in rap videos.

Cut back to man on street.

MAN: (Chipper) I like rap videos!

NARRATOR: (Annoyed) Yeah. Of course you do. But, black women aren't the women you think they are, Jim.

MAN: They aren't?

NARRATOR: Gosh no! That's why I'm going to let you in on a little secret ...

MAN: Really?

NARRATOR: Really!

Cut to footage of happy, pretty black women doing things like jogging, working, shopping and eating lunch with friends

NARRATOR: Black women are attractive and healthy. And many are college-educated with infinitely fulfilling careers and lots of interesting, reliable friends. They are good at being independent, but despite what you may have heard in the media, they really want to get married and have kids before they turn 40.

Cut back to man on street

MAN: Wow. I didn't know that. I thought they all, like, got pregnant out of high school.

NARRATOR: No. All of them haven't!

MAN: Oh, OK.

Cut to footage of black women having fun at a club, dancing with their friends.

NARRATOR: Black women have all the beauty and versatility of white women, but are 30 percent funnier and 75 percent better dancers.

MAN: I don't know. I really can't dance.

NARRATOR: It's OK. Black women prefer to dance with other women.

Cut back to man on street

MAN: (Overly eager) Really?

NARRATOR: But not the way you're thinking, pervert.

MAN: I'm sorry.

NARRATOR: It’s OK. Another surprising fact you may not know, black women don't age as quickly as other women!

Cut to a picture of Angela Bassett from “What’s Love Got To Do With It?”

NARRATOR: Here's Angela Bassett when she was in her 20s.

Cut to a picture of Angela Bassett at a film opening in 2007

NARRATOR: This is her today!

MAN: Wow.

Cut to a picture of Halle Berry from “Boomerang”

NARRATOR: And this is a picture of Halle Berry in the 1990s.

Cut to a picture of Halle Berry at the premiere of “Things We Lost in the Fire”

NARRATOR: And here's a picture of her now.

Cut to man on the street.

MAN: Damn. Black don't crack!

NARRATOR: Now you're getting it!

MAN: But how do they do it? My last girlfriend started getting wrinkles around her eyes at 25?

NARRATOR: The secret to all black women's beauty is in her skin - her black skin!

Cut to animation of a black woman's face with sun rays hitting the skin and bouncing back off.

NARRATOR: As you may know, the sun is the number one culprit next to smoking that prematurely ages the skin of white women. But black women's skin contains the element melanin which makes them tan easier and burn less. Most black women who care for their skin properly can have radiant faces for decade after decade. Why my mother is 67 and I still haven't seen a wrinkle!

Cut back to man on street.

MAN: Awesome! She must be a total MILF!

NARRATOR: (Offended) What did you just say about my mama?

MAN: I said MILF. It's like a compliment. It stands for "mom I'd like to" ... (embarrassed) um ... never mind.

NARRATOR: I thought so.

Cut to footage of attractive black women smiling

NARRATOR: Black women are spiritual and loving who are talented in music and the arts. They’re intelligent, sensitive and thoughtful. They’re loyal too, and fun. Heck, they're more fun than any ordinary woman. In fact, they laugh 10 times more than white women.

MAN: (Suspicious) Really? Where'd you get that figure?

NARRATOR: (Offended) What, did you think I just made that up because I'm black?

MAN: I can't even see you? You're a disembodied voice!

NARRATOR: Maybe your ears are racist then. You could have racist ears! You know what? Keep walking. You don't deserve the wonderfulness that is black women.

MAN: No, no! I want to hear! I want to know! If you say they laugh more, I believe you.

NARRATOR: Oh. OK then.

MAN: So we're cool?

NARRATOR: OK.

Man puts out his fist for a bump.

NARRATOR: Are you fucking kidding me?

Man sheepishly puts his hand back in his pocket.

MAN: Sorry.

NARRATOR: As I was saying ...

Continued footage of attractive black women

NARRATOR: Black women laugh 25 percent more than white women and smell like cinnamon and cocoa butter. They shit rainbows and have posteriors so lovely that if you tossed them up in the air they would turn to sunshine. Their voices are sexier and they're just more interesting, more black than other girls. A matter of fact, black girls can do 50 percent more with their hair and are 100 percent blacker than other girls.

Cut to man on the street

NARRATOR: And do you want to know the best part, Jim?

Man leans in a little.

NARRATOR: The same black women I told you about are all single!

MAN: (shocked) They can't be single. Not all of them! They sound so great! I mean, any man would be lucky to have a fun, happy girl with great never aging skin who shits rainbows!

NARRATOR: I know! You'd think that wouldn't you!

Footage of sad, lonely, but pretty black women sighing and frowning

NARRATOR: But there are literally thousands of these wonderful women just sitting on the dating market untouched. More than half of all black women between the ages of 25 and 34 have never been married and black women are the most likely group in the United States to never get married.

Cut back to man on the street.

MAN: That sounds awful.

NARRATOR: All that wonderfulness, sitting alone with no one to talk to. But you're probably not interested in hearing more about these wonderful women. You're probably gay anyway. All the men worth dating are gay.

MAN: Hey! I'm not gay!

NARRATOR: So what are you now, some homophobe?

MAN: No ... it's just ...

NARRATOR: Calm down, I'm just fucking with you.

MAN: Oh. OK, awesome.

NARRATOR: There’s no reason for you, Jim, or for any man to be alone when there are so many great black ladies out there.

Cut to an Asian American man

NARRATOR: And I'm talking about you, Greg Fukiyama!


GREG: (Surprised) Me?

NARRATOR: Yes, you!

GREG: Wow!

Cut to a Mexican American man grooming his mustache

NARRATOR: And you, Jorge Villagrosa!

JORGE: No way!

Jorge turns to talk to a man behind him

JORGE: Dude, this disembodied voice is telling me black women might be interested in me!

An Indian American man with a British accent walks over.

INDIAN: Even Punjabis?

NARRATOR: Do you have a job?

INDIAN: Yeah!

NARRATOR: Then yeah, why not! But you're a Christian, right though?

INDIAN: What?

Cut to a Native American

NATIVE: Is a black girl right for me?

NARRATOR: Yes!

Cut to a Frenchman.

FRENCHIE: I don speak zee Ah-leash berry well. Es ee black gurl right fo oui?

NARRATOR: Yes! She is!

Cut to an African man walking on the beach

BLACK AFRICAN: I'm Zulu. Would a black girl be right for me?

NARRATOR: You betcha!

A white South African man walks up to the African and leans on his shoulder.

WHITE SOUTH AFRICAN: What about me?

NARRATOR: Why not!

Cut to a black man in a suit at a desk

BLACK MAN: I'm a Harvard Law educated, county brownie who only grew up around white kids. Is a black girl right for me?

NARRATOR: You've got to be fucking kidding me.

A half white black man walks up.

BIRACIAL: My mother was white. Would a black girl be right for me?

NARRATOR: Black girls for everyone!

Cut to shots of all the men smiling and pumping their fists in the air, hi-fiving each other.

ALL: Hurray!

NARRATOR: There isn't a man out there, black, white, yellow, red or brown who couldn't be improved upon with a black girl on his arm. So stop being afraid, man up and ask out those single, pretty black girls before the secret gets out and every man is duking it out for a sista in their lives.

Cut back to the man on the street.

MAN: (Jubilant) Wow! Wow. I just never thought … I mean, wow. OK! I'm going to do it! I'm gonna ask out a black girl. Why not? I'm tired of just limiting myself to white women! Fuck them. I got jungle fever!

NARRATOR: (Offended) What?

MAN: Was that the wrong thing to say? Because I didn't know what to say.

Narrator mutters under his breath.

MAN: I'm sorry. Really. I don't have jungle fever. I always thought that was just made up. I'm interested in a respectful, mature relationship with a black woman. I am. Seriously! I'm sorry. Fist bump?

NARRATOR: (Sigh) Men, if you’re gainfully employed, own your own car and not as ignorant as this jackass, please, consider a black woman. How do you know you won't like it if you never try?

Shot of a pretty black girl alone at the bar in a restaurant sulking.

NARRATOR: So next time you see a pretty black girl alone at the bar because she went out with her white co-workers and no one will buy her a drink, go ahead ...

The Asian American man from earlier is smiling as he sits down next to her with a drink. The black woman smiles shyly back.

NARRATOR: And buy that pretty black girl a drink, be a gentleman and tell her your name.

ASIAN: My name is Greg Fuki ...

The white man from the street punches Greg in the face and he falls off the stool. The man leans in and smiles at the girl.

MAN: Hey, sexy sistah. Drop that zero and get with this hero.

The black girl looks at him curiously, when the Harvard black man comes up behind her with his tie eschew shouting.

BLACK MAN: Ay, gurl, ay!

The black girl glares at the black man. He shrugs, giving up.

BLACK MAN: I'm sorry. I didn't know what to say. I've never hit on a black girl before.

BLACK GIRL: You're black.

BLACK MAN: Not really.

The black girl rolls her eyes as the Asian man tries to get up.

ASIAN: Real mature, buddy. Really fucking mature.

The Asian man collapses on the ground again when someone starts up the music on the karaoke stage and the narrator, Keith David, is sitting on a stool singing "The Girl is Mine" with Rodger Ebert. The black girl looks up and smiles at Keith.

NARRATOR: Fellas, if you're not an idiot like these fools, stop being scared thinking all black girls are gross racial stereotypes. And if you can't appreciate the beauty and talent of our sisters, we didn't want your ass anyway. We'll do just fine without you.

The black girl nods her head in agreement.

NARRATOR: We was single before we met yo' ass and we ain't afraid to be single again. But if you do decide to try a black girl you might just be pleasantly surprised at what a great girl that black girl might be. I'm Keith David and hope you'll open your mind and your heart to black girl today.
(to Rodger)
Let's wrap this up, man. I got to a voice over for PBS in the morning.

RODGER: Yeah, I have a review to finish. It's a little late, kind of past my bedtime. You're driving, right?

KEITH: You are so cheap.

RODGER: Gas is like four dollars.

KEITH: You're like the cheapest rich guy I know.

RODGER: And I don't like to drive.

KEITH: Just finish the damn song.

RODGER: (Singing) Don't waste your time.

BOTH: (Singing) The doggone girl is mine.

A close-up on the smiling pretty black girl.

--- END ---

Woman on the brink...! ( Just venting..(2)..)

If you are joining in, this is a continuation of part 1 (( http://efemenaoreoluwa.blogspot.com/2010/08/just-venting-1.html )), where I wrote that I was in the middle of a semi cold war at home. My parents were not speaking to me.

Dont get me wrong, we speak almost everyday but I sense the malice in what they 'dont' say..they want me back in Nigeria..and I am not eager to go.

*Mounting my soap box, preparing to rant..look away if you cant stand the sight of blood, lol* Back in Nigeria I was incredibly worried about every thing! The bad roads, the lack of steady power supply, fuelling/ servicing my car, the generators and so on, beating the traffic, violence, road rage, armed robberies, my 'single' state.


It affected me so much, that the best graphic representation of my emotional state is this next picture..

In that state I made some bad decisions which in hindsight didnt not make sense. I even made horrible investments all because I wanted to be married.

My mum didnt help matters at all. I lived and breathed my 'accursed single state' every second I was awake.(She will come into my room by 5am and start to talk about it while I get up from bed and try to get ready for work..then hours later when I am back from work, she starts again and doesnt stop till 12 midnight! seriously!)

Thing is since I came here, I have seen that there is more to life than being married or single or working to live, or worrying about power failure, our unsafe roads, or about friends/family members that dont mind their own business and so on.

I am more open minded, have honed in on my leadership skills, have achieved more intellect wise, academic wise and friends say I am more confident and have been chosen as the head of my team in my last three engagements. While far from being mega wealthy, I am comfortable with what I have right now and grateful to God for every improvement.. Its been a great journey of discovery and I have been loving every step.

On the flip side: Now some of my friends who used to be here or in the U.S; and I mean funloving, creative intelligent ladies who were super achievers in terms of academics, business life and so on, have moved back home (Nigeria) and they have transformed from confident ladies, to always miserable, constantly depressed ladies always whining about being single, linking it to God's punishment.Seeing every man as 'the one' till he runs away. etc

Its not their fault.....

Its how that soceity treats women who are still single. I mean the s.m.i.w which is an acronym for single, matured independent woman. Its always the woman's fault and some go further to say *and please, dont laugh, I am being serious* that the woman has the spirit of whoredom/witchcraft or/and is demon possessed!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

You become kind of ostracised. Your married friends feel you shouldnt visit much since you may 'steal' their husbands with your evvil inspired magic. Men believe you are 'easy picking' since you are not answerable to any partner.

They react badly when you rebuff them (at least in my personal experience).

Plus, women just dont support each other enough. Would you believe in a reality programme back home, a twenty something year old married actress* say Miss Y bullied a thirty-something year old single artiste* sat Miss O on the basis of she was still single? If the venue was in U.S or UK someone like miss Y will not feel she was better than anybody on the back of being married. Someone like Miss O will not cry ceaselessly and threaten to kill herself etc etc.

Yep, the younger lady actually felt she was better than the older lady all bcos she was married and she said so in not to so polite words.The older woman, even as popular as she is, very talented, independent winning rave reviews and accolades, cried ceaselessly. I mean, how can a woman living in a socety like Nigeria, knowing how single woman are treated use that language on a fellow woman? She did because she felt her 'status' was one-up on other women!

If the venue was in U.S or UK someone like the younger lady will not feel she was better than anybody on the back of being married. The older lady will not cry ceaselessly threatening to die etc etc.

Tell you what is ironic, miss Y that is busy gloating is forgetting that in that same society women are discarded at will, with no support for herself or her children(unlike in uk, or u.s.a), so hey its easy to become as single as the one you gloat over!!!

*taking deep breaths*

Methinks, there is a real and present problem in our country and every mother or father or brother or uncle or cousin or sister and aunty should address this problem before people literally start toping themselves!! Next time you or I see a single, matured woman, be more understanding!

Yes, you and I contribute to their mental state in overt and covert ways!!

For instance, my single friend in Nigeria called to moan about issues back home and spoke about how her married friends/relatives monitor her progress.

I mean they criticise everything, from who visits her, what she wears etc. Some are encouraging her to 'brush up' some men to make them eligible. i.e spend money on clothing them, paying their rent, and prepare to pay for the wedding so she can 'settle down'.

She is now melancholic, basically shadow of her former vibrant self, always deep in thought, mentally punishing for herself.

What I got from that was this point: How miserable are smca (smug married and concerned association) in their collective marriages that the highpoint of their life is making a beautiful, healthy, loving& generous woman (she is practically the bread winner in her home and is training her younger ones all by herself)
intelligent lady-(she made a first and at an early age)

and usually very bright and happy girl, become permenantly miserable?

Surely if these smca's were happy people, truly enjoying family life, they will appreciate each happy human being, knowing how increasingly difficult it is, for people to find contentment and peace in their respective situation?

What are these smca's gain, if they see a girl (like my friend), drive home happy from work, singing to herself, then soberly tell her at dinner or whatever, how her junior's juniors are married or how she wont be able to have healthy kids anymore, so her face crumbles and later they hear her cry out to God in prayers? *Yes they told her unless she confesses out loud and cry out, she will not find a solution!!!!*

Do they grovel in her misery? Is their marriage so hard that they find joy in making her close to suicidal??

I dont gerrit!!!

*more deep breaths*


Over here its not like in Nigeria. A woman like condoleeza is treated with respect and on the back of her achievements she became the secretary of state and so on. If she was in Nigeria, even with her achievements, she just might have killed herself (seriously speaking now!!) as a means of escaping all the negative talks about her being single and childless in her 50's. And no I am not exaggerating.

I thank God I had an opportunity to come here and see how life is from another perspective and I just aint eager to go back!

*Rant Over, steppping off soap box *





Activity feed

Just venting..! (1)

My parents want me back in Nigeria..and I am not eager to go.

Back in Nigeria I was incredibly worried about every thing! The bad roads, the lack of steady power supply, fuelling/ servicing my car, the generators and so on, beating the traffic, violence, road rage, armed robberies, my 'single' state.

The following note was written by my happily married man who has a making back home in Nigeria. I will just leave you to make your own deductions, while I work on Part 2


HELP! I’M BEING ROBBED by today's featured author Paul Edemu

I woke up on a normal day with special thanks to God for making that day. My wife got my daughter Fejiro prepared for me to take, on my way to work, to the Day Care. Then as usual, the reminders began.



“Sweetheart, please remember to take the extra dispenser water bottle for refill. The extra gas bottle is also due for refill”.

“Ok, any other ‘refill’ tasks for today my dear?”

“I’ll also need some money to buy fuel for my car to go to the market and take Serome (our 2-month old son) to see the Paediatrician because I observed a slight increase in his temperature last night. Thereafter I’ll go to the market to buy foodstuff and provisions”.

“So like how much are we talking about here?”

“Let’s say N25,000. N15,000 for the market, N7,000 for the pediatrician and N3,000 for fuel”.

“Well, your estimate is fair. Here’s the ATM card and I hope I’ll not be alerted of any withdrawal more than the agreed 25K”. I was relieved that there was no financial demand for a visit to the beauty saloon this time.

“I hope you’ve put the two jerrycans for the purchase of fuel and diesel in your booth. You know the fuel generator cannot power the washing machine and I’ve laundry work to do”.

“No problem, I’ll buy the fuel and diesel. I’m running late”.

As I was driving to work, I was getting irritated by the constant repetition of some avoidable and senseless costs that one has to contend with all the time. I mean fuelling my car is a normal expense, but carrying two jerrycans to buy fuel and diesel for two different generators in the same house; all due to PHCN’s ineptitude is crazy. My phone rang to jolt me from my thoughts and it was my wife.

“You said I should remind you about the DSTV and internet subscriptions”.

“Ok, thanks for the reminder. I’ll see what I can do today”.

I had to take a bad shortcut to drop Fejiro off in order to beat traffic on the normal route. I also had to wade through a ditch that put a big hole in my exhaust pipe, which naturally changed the sound of the engine to a deafening noise. So much for shortcuts!

After settling in the office, I called my mechanic Jimoh to come and take the car to the panel-beater to rectify the earlier damage to the exhaust.

“Oga abeg come see something. U see say no be only your exhaust dey blow. See your engine oil dey throway. Your bottom-plate don burst. So you go drop like N5,000 first”.

I exclaimed “for wetin na?”

“Oga e be like say you never understand the work wey dey here. D panel-beater go loose the full exhaust, me self go loose your bottom-plate go give welder. The N5,000 self na advance O! U go still balance me when I don finish work”

Reluctantly and fuming to myself, “all these bad road wahala!”, I parted with the money since I could not abandon my office to go and sit in a mechanic workshop, where I can still be tricked under my very eyes.

“Oya take the N5,000 but I no wan hear tori say dem no do the work well because na you I go hold”.

“Oga you no trust me again? I don dey work for you for 8 years now O”.

After about three hours, the mechanic came back with the car to ask for a balance of N2,500 and in a rage, I sought to know why I should pay any extra money.

“Pay you N2,500 for wetin again? Wetin you do just now wey be N7,500 all together? Abeg I take God beg you, no make me vex”.

“Bros, the matter never reach to vex. I tell you before say panel-beater and welder go work and we must pay them before you go talk of my own. If I wan chop your money, you no go fit do anything sef because you no go fit know. If you wan vex, make you vex for your gofment wey dey increase price everyday. No be my fault, pay me my money o jare”.

“Oya abeg make I give you N1,000 make I fit get money buy fuel”.

“Bros na N1,500 I fit take last”.

“Ok, take but I no wan hear say the thing still wahala me later sha”.

I decided to use my lunchtime to buy fuel and diesel from a nearby filling station. I noticed the meter reading an earlier purchase of N600 with a displayed rate of N65, which I doubted was real because it was an independent marketer filling station.

“O boy try zero your meter first and how much una dey sell?”

“If I no zero am, you no go buy? Our own na N90 per litre”.

“Why you go sell N90? Sebi Refinery don dey produce?”.

“Why you no go the Refinery go buy? Or try go Total Filling Station where dem dey sell N65 per litre”.

When I remembered the long queue I just drove past at the said Total Filling Station, I decided to buy at N90 per liter, so I could have time for other things and be back at the office on time.

“Abeg sell 30 litres inside this jerrycan and put 50 litres inside the car. I go still need 30 litres of diesel”.

“Oga your total money na N10,350, the diesel na N105 per litre”.

“But I buy diesel N95 per litre 2 weeks ago?”

“Oga you dey make me laugh. At times we dey even sell diesel N125 per litre, so you even get luck today”.

“Una get cooking gas and how much?”

“Oga gas na N4,000 now O!”

“Jesus! You can’t be serious! I buy gas N3,000 the last time. Wetin happen?”

“Abeg I no know O! Kerosene sef dey scarce. I don send my wife and children go village, make dem go dey use firewood. Dis country? Bros abeg pay make I attend to another customer”.

I still had enough time to go to the DSTV Friendship Centre to pay my N4,500 monthly subscription before going to the office of my internet ISP to pay my subscription that was almost due.

“Sir this is N4,500 and not N6,500. There’s no package of N4,500 anymore. We notified you through text message some weeks ago of this increment”. It was the female customers’ service officer.

“I did not receive any text message. Please let me see your manager, I can’t understand this. You’re not the only ISP in Warri, so I may migrate to another network if this increment gist is real”.

I quickly put a call to a friend who told me I’d better stick to my ISP because his own ISP increased his rate by N3,000 against mine of N2,000 and he was even thinking of migrating to my ISP. My ISP manager came forth after I hung up.

“Good sir, how may I help you?”

“Yes I’ve just been informed of your increment. What could be responsible for this increment?”

“Sir, our cost of operations is increasing rapidly due to the worsening electricity situation in the country. I mean it doesn’t give us any pleasure to increase the cost of services to our valued customers like you. Please bear with us. A big chunk of our income goes into the purchase of diesel and the servicing of generators”.

“This is really bad! I can’t point any area anymore where I can confidently say that I’m positively feeling the impact of government. I mean I pay N1,500 per month for civil defence in my neighbourhood. I buy drinking water. I pay unholy pilgrimages to the mechanics because of bad roads. Jerrycans have become part of my car accessories. The list goes on and on”.

“I’’m so sorry sir. It’s not our fault you know. We’re all affected one way or the other”.

“Yea I know. Ok, I’ll pay because I need this service to keep in touch with the world”.

Just after paying, I received a second alert of N10,000 withdrawal, after an earlier of one of the agreed N25,000 via ATM when I know that the card is with my wife. Of course I called her immediately to inquire about the breach of domestic agreement.

“I don’t want hear any excuses, we agreed you were not withdrawing more than N25,000. Do you want me to go bankrupt?”.

“Please sweetheart, take it easy. N25,000 was an estimate but I’ve been meeting with so many unexpected increments today. Let’s save the phone credit till we get home when I’ll explain better”.

“Ok, till we get home then. See you!”.

“Wait a minute! Please don’t forget to buy another rechargeable lamp for the children’s room. The one you bought 2 days ago is no longer working. I love you, bye for now”.

I then recollected that I’d bought over a dozen rechargeable lamps of all sorts of shapes, sizes, prices and colours to complement the fuel and diesel generators. I mean I’ve a small museum of rechargeable lamps in my house, all because PHCN has deliberately refused to live up to expectations of the citizenry. I even had a fatal accident in December 2008 on my way to drop a generator mechanic who died alongside a truck-pusher I ran into. The little money I was saving to acquire an inverter is now being depleted by an unexplainable season of commodity price increments.

Question: Is electricity too much for a freeborn citizen of a nation to expect from his government?

On my way back from work, I met with a black-and-black police checkpoint where one officer flagged me down. I courteously greeted him, hoping he would just tell me to move on.

“Officer well done O! How the work?”

“Park well, come down, open your booth and show me your particulars”.

“Okay sir, you’ve seen the booth; here are my particulars”.

“Oga wey your proof of ownership, police clearance and certificate of road worthiness?”.

“Officer haba! Shebi una ogas them talk am say make we dey show una only vehicle license, drivers’ license and insurance?”.

“Eheen! You wan prove law? You be lawyer? Ok, you go follow us go station to teach us how to do our work. Oya give me yours keys. In fact, I’m suspecting this your vehicle is a stolen car”.

I crossed over to the other side of the road to explain things to an elderly inspector whom I presumed was in charge of the team. Lo and behold, his response had an obvious egunje connotation.

“Just settle with the boys make you fit quick reach house instead make them carry your moto go station”.

“But you neva hear wether I commit any offence or not. All my papers correct, ask your officer”.

“Wey the other papers wey hin ask for?”

“See them for here”.

“Then why you come dey wan quote law? Oya bring N1,000 make we free you, as you don make us waste time on your case, otherwise you go still reach the station for challenging police authority”.

“When my papers correct?”.

“You neva see anything!”.

“Ok, make I call una headquarters quote your name say this na wetin you talk”. I pretended to make a call.

“God punish you! Oya carry your yeye moto and wahala comot from here now-now. Idiot! Officer, give am hin key. This one na bad-luck market”.

It would’ve been a different ball game if it had been a mobile police checkpoint. I know I would’ve had a mysterious black-eye, if I had had the nerves to display such effrontery.

Question: Why can’t we put paid to the specific papers a driver is supposed to present at a police checkpoint, in order to drive through without parting with something?

Anyway, thanks to God, I got home safely to the warm embrace of my lovely family. I wrestled the remote control from my daughter to watch Channels TV Newstrack after refreshing in the bathroom. The aroma from the kitchen informed me that dinner was ready. It was while I was at the dining table that I realised that the vegetable soup did not contain any cow meat but only chicken.

“Darling what happened? You didn’t go to the abattoir to buy cow meat again?”.

“Sweetheart, I was hoping you would finish your meal first before I give a report of how I went today”.

“It’ll be hard for me because I was hoping to see some kpomo, shackey, roundabout, abodi and cow tongue. You know my craze with meals cooked with assorted cow parts. Anyway, let me finish the meal, so that you can give me the whole gist”.

After downing what was still a good meal, I was now prepared to receive the financial report of the day as the chairman of the board (breadwinner).

“So what necessitated the unapproved withdrawal of N10,000?”.

“Sweetheart, you always make me laugh. You think you’re still at the office or what? Don’t you think you’re sounding too formal?”.

“Ok, abeg no vex. Wetin happen?”.

“Well, I went to the market only to meet with unbelievable increment in all prices, while there was no meat at all. They said transporters of foodstuff including cows from the North were on strike due to constant extortion and harassment by the authorities. I had to go to a cold room to buy the frozen chicken that you’re eating at a higher price”.

“So you mean no more kpomo and shackee for now! What is this country turning into? I mean we’ve been coping with perennial fuel scarcity, but kpomo scarcity? Gosh!”.

“My husband, please tell me, why do national problems seem to bother you a lot? At least I know I did not marry Nelson Mandela”.

“I thank God we have kids who mean the world to us. If our welfare can be taken for granted by insensitive leaders, what would be the future of our kids, if the status quo is maintained or things degenerate?”.

“But you can only talk and nothing will happen”.

“That’s where you’re mistaken because many people are beginning to rise up to challenges of today through sensitizations and reorientations. I hope you’ve heard of the Save Nigeria Group that staged a protest over the invisible presidency in Abuja. I can bet you there’ll be more civilised protests soon because of a rapidly growing awareness”.

“Away from never-ending Naija wahala, Fejiro’s Day Care wrote a letter notifying us of an immediate increment of N4,000 per month because they practically run on generators throughout the day. I met with the proprietress and she explained everything to me”.

“You see what I mean! The incompetence of PHCN is robbing me of hard-earned income and there’s no compensation coming from anywhere”.

“Well, before I forget, here’s the PHCN bill of N1,850 for this month. I met it at the door when I got back home. I’m going to bed”.

----------------------------------------------------

Mena's thoughts: Na wah for Nigeria oh, which leads me to part 2 of Just venting..(( http://efemenaoreoluwa.blogspot.com/2010/08/woman-on-brink-just-venting2_16.html))

..I saw the woman I was about to wed in 24hrs, on top of some muscular, fierce-looking young man

I could think of nothing else other than my big day. I am no saint, but I am true to myself in many ways. I have lived a fun life, and now, it was time to put the icing on the cake. It was time to marry my girlfriend of three years. Nene and I had dated for three years and those years had been the best years of my life. Don’t get me wrong, it wasn’t all rosy as she was a pig-headed, dogged, almost over-confident young lady.

It took half of those three years for me to get comfortable and understand that we were not working in opposition, but that my Nene loved me as much as I wanted to be loved by the woman I wanted to spend the rest of my life with. That was enough for me.

At the beginning of our relationship, we had decided not to dwell on past relationships. We swapped stories of past relationships, but in no great detail. Sometimes, the past was a heavy burden the world could do without. Along the line, I had met some people she had dated in the past and she had also met some of my own exes. No qualms at all. My woman was a gem and besides the lustful glance to the left and right once in a while, I had remained faithful to her.

I suppose you have a feel of the picture I am trying to paint. The picture of a relationship my friends envied, a woman I honored and loved and a relationship my family couldn’t wait to bless. I anxiously and impatiently waited for my big day. Now the time had come. It was barely 24hours to our church wedding. I was exhausted from the traditional wedding ceremonies of the day before. It was all worth it. Very soon, Nene and I will start a life of our own. Those Saturday and Sunday visits, fun as they were, were quite tiring. Not being able to kiss my love when I wanted because her folks might come into the living room… The stolen moments at my flat after work, just before she rushed off home. All these will be history by tomorrow. I hadn’t had sex in six months. For most men, that’s a feat. I couldn’t wait to take my bride, nice and slow…

These were the thoughts that played through my mind that Friday night. My groomsmen were partying away at my bachelor’s eve. I was too tired for any of that. I had made an appearance and come back home to sleep but excitement (or anxiety) had chased sleep through the back door. I wanted to drive over to Nene’s house. She left her phone in the car when we went to pick her dress from the drycleaners. My mum said it was a bad omen to see your wife a few hours before the wedding, so I had to control the urge. I went down to the car park and took my wife’s (saying that gives me pride) phone out of the glove compartment. I’d just turn it off and keep it at home and when she comes in tomorrow night, it’d be waiting for her.

As I got to the room, the phone beeped. A text message. I don’t read Nene’s texts, but what if it was important? One of her friend’s coming into town stranded somewhere. I flipped the phone open and saw a picture message. My woman was on top of some muscular, fierce-looking young man. My head felt light and my stomach rumbled. I read the text beneath. “Happy Married Life Pom-pom… Monday night was great. I’ll miss you, but I understand. I wish I could give you the things you want. I hope you find the security you seek. Love, Rocky.” What did this mean? I tried to tell myself this was an old picture, but I could see the scar on her hand. That happened on Saturday when Nkem, her younger sister spilled hot water on her. “Pom-pom???” How sleazy! “The security you seek?” So what was I? A provider of security? Here I was, madly, deeply in love with someone who saw me as an assurance of security. When life wanted to screw you up, it did it real hard! I felt a knot in my chest. I just closed the phone and turned it off. I curled up in a fetal position and with tears spilling down my cheeks, I slept.

The next day, like a zombie, I went through the ceremony. It would have been a wonderful ceremony if I was in a different state of mind. As I was I couldn’t be bothered. When we got back to the house, Nene busied herself with taking a shower and getting ready for ‘the wedding night sex’. I just lay in bed staring at the ceiling. When she came out of the bathroom, my wife looked like a goddess! My eyes were moved, but my heart and loins felt nothing. I passed her phone to her saying, “You got a text, Pom-pom”.

She looked at me and the disgust in my eyes told her all she wanted to know. She broke down in tears. There was no need to cry. I got up and walked out of the room. It was over, just as it was beginning.

The end

Disclaimer: This post and its contents are meant for those who possess an extra portion of a healthy sense of humour!

a. Well since mo wa ok and alright,(I am ok as well as alright) then it has to be you! :P
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b. really??

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c. So true!!

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d. LOOOOL

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e. smh!

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f All I can say is that desperate times calls for desperate measures...


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g. very very very desperate measures.lol

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And the morale of the stories above is: A good sense of humor as well as genuine laughter strengthen your
immune system, diminish pain, and protect you from
the damaging effects of stress.When laughter is shared, it binds people
together and increases happiness
and intimacy. In addition
...laughter also triggers healthy physical changes in the body. Best
of all, this priceless medicine is a
shock absorber that helps us get over the bumps in life giving you a good sense of life! chikena!


Oh and one more thing.... especially if you are Nigerian or know one: Last but not least: True or False? :D

"MAYBE I SHOULDNT BLAME THE MUMU FOR HIS ASSERTIONS.." (Today's featured author: James Famo on LAMENTATIONS 1:1) enjoy :)

King Sunny Ade has had to cancel his much publicized American musical tour because the American embassy in Nigeria has refused to give 2 new members of his band visas. This is despite the involvement of the congressman who oversees the area that KSA’s American manager hails from (in other words, the House of rep member). The 2 new members were replacements for the 2 regulars who died in a car accident a few weeks ago on their way to a gig.

Kola Oye has always, without mincing words, told all who cared to listen, that am insane. “Bobo yen o wa alrite”, his words, and maybe he’s right cos how does KSA’s aborted tour solve any of my immediate problems, chief of which is electricity to power my dying laptop right now?? It’s a no-brainer to deduce that it doesn’t, but what jolted me out of my usual catatonic state (just before slipping into the heat induced unconsciousness of sleep), was a comment posted on said aborted tour.

The Commentator, commentee, commenter, aaaaarggh, the mumu that wrote the comment adduced the abortion (my sisters make una no vex) of the tour, on corruption by successive governments which accumulated in the bad state of roads in the country that caused the accident. His logic cannot be faulted, but what got my goat was the apparent ease with which we blame every mishap at the door of govt.

If a tanker falls, catches fire and burns hundreds of people, its govt. If a molue runs out of control and rams into the stalls of market women, its govt. If a whole community is ravaged by mosquito’s, its govt. If theres ponmo scarcity in the market, its govt. If my pet Alsatian dies, its govt.

Maybe I shouldn’t blame the mumu for his assertions, cos, looking at it from his point of view (he claims he’s British Nigerian –whatever the f*#k that is), the british govt has to provide you with everything. Me, am a MAD(Made And Developed) Nigerian, and have learnt to provide myself with everything I need (have just switched to my personally generated electricity to power my laptop). If govt wont fix the road, then I will work harder and buy a G-wagon. When my ‘better pass my neighbour’ packs up, I will save up for Mikano sound proof, which will also carry the powerful water pumping machine for regular water supply. Did I hear another bloody twit say, “but these are all govt’s responsibilities”??? Let me break it down so that even you can understand. A good govt that cares about peoples welfare is first and foremost voted in, not rigged in. This can only happen if people (that’s you and I, twit) vote, and protect that vote by staying till its counted in our very before before (not rushing off after voting to get a manicure cos d ink got under your skin). But the greatest change you can effect is educating those less priviledged than you because they are in the majority. They are the ones who have no scruples selling their votes for a handful of notes on election day, and as they are in the majority, their actions will have a defining impact on the over-all result. So when you are complaining about lack of electricity, road, and water next time, remember that recharge card seller whom you could have enlightened, maybe, just maybe, he could have swung things your way.

Well, back to that mumu that got me started on this tirade. I find it insulting when people make inane comments about situations and conditions they have absolutely no clue about. Saying KSA’s men died as a result of govt corruption smacks of “Re-branding”. There are accidents daily on the well tarred roads of London, new-york, and the autobahn.

I would advise you channel your energy to procuring a G-wagon for when you decide to return to being a MAD Nigerian, as I can easily tell you now for free, that it’s a long way to Tipperary, you bloody British Nigerian!!

All mena can say is make una helep me judge o.loooool





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Writer explodes: Black Women Show No Respect For Good Men, Opting For Abusive Relationships With Thugs...

Relationships..they do my head in! I am a very goal oriented person and also very sensitive to the moods of family and colleagues, so that if you come to me with issues, I will go all out to get a solution and also try to cater to your emotional well being..

But with relationship issue, I get stomped all the time. Now, as a black woman, I am naturally more familiar with relationships from the perspective of the 'hurt black woman' so much so that when I read about the rise and rise of 'absentee dads or single mothers aka 'baby mamas' especially in the African American community, I immediately come to the conclusion that the man did not step up to his responsibility. This is because in my Nigerian perspective every woman just want to settle down and build a loving family not play the field for life like most men seem to want to do.

How naive was I?

Enjoy the following article from a Tired Black man

"I'm a very tired black man".

April 26, 2006
I just got out of a relationship that lasted roughly about six months. It is the second of two
similar situations I've been involved in dating single black mothers. This last situation
ended only three weeks ago and it's left me totally crushed, disgruntled, and ultimately
confused about where we're headed as a nation.



If anyone should be ready to settle down
you'd think it would be a black woman whose found a man interested in loving and taking
care of both her and the children she's had by outside men right? Wrong.
When I first met Erika I was introduced by her sister Vicki who is a former co-worker of
mine. Vicki badgered me for at least two months about how much alike her sister and I
were and how she wanted us to meet. I hesitated but after some urging I decided to
entertain the offer. Turns out Erika and I had ALOT in common. The arts, political views
social interests, family matters, a fierce chemistry, and did I mention our birthdays were
only a week apart? To say we "hit it off" is a gross understatement. After a very intense
month and a half of dating and getting to know one another Erika began to court me about
an exclusive relationship. I told her I wanted to take our time. I had just gotten out of a
relationship no more than a couple of months before we started dating and I wanted to be
certain what she and I had began wasn't a rebound situation for me. In addition Erika had
a six month old daughter by her ex-boyfriend who was incarcerated and I wasn't convinced
they were a done deal. This is where it gets interesting.
Erika hadn't heard from this man or any of his family for at least three months before she
and I started talking. Not a letter, a phone call, or a family visit to check up on their child,
or Erika herself for that matter. Not a gift...NOTHING. Turns out this brotha has three or
four other children (all different baby mothers). He was incarcerated for narcotics and had
actually taken her on the run with him through three different states before the feds caught
up with him. How did they make ends meet? This man wasn't able to provide for Erika so
he had her stripping to bring home money for the both of them while on the run (a real lady
killer). A fraudulent pimp / wannabe thug who hadn't realized at his thirty four years of age
that his hustles of choice weren't working out for him. He'd been incarcerated numerous
times before and was still at it. Erika got pregnant by this man and had to come home to
her family to have the child. This is where the man got picked up. Well after some
consistent and rather persistent reassurance Erika convinced me she was over this
physically, emotionally, and verbally abusive man and was ready to move on with the next
chapter in her life.
Well the months go by, and I'm up with this woman every night caring for this man's little
girl. I'm feeding her, I'm babysitting her, I'm transporting her back and forth to the family
and to the sitter. I'm adoring her. I'm helping rear this child. She even started calling me
"Da Da". Meanwhile Erika was evicted twice and being the man that I am I helped her
move and get into new housing situations. Each time she was sure she'd be denied due to
her past rental history. Still I always made sure she landed on her feet. I helped her get a
job and showed her how to get all the benefits necessary for her and the child. We're
spending every other day together. She doesn't have a car so I'm letting her borrow my
mine to run errands and pick me up after work. She even got pregnant by me but we
decided the circumstances were far too stressful to give birth to another child so we opted
for an abortion in January.
We broke up once ( for a day ) but got back together and from time to time we'd reassure
one another of the faith, depth, and growing commitment in our relationship and how
excited we were about the future. Time marches on and we're enduring all the ups and
downs. Then one day the social services office informs Erika that her child's Father will be
getting released the first of April. So the entire months of February and March we're having
constant in depth, lengthy conversations about where she's at in her feelings for this man.
She lets me know up front that even though they've had NO correspondence for over eight
months that he's probably going to be expecting the two of them to still be a family. Every
time I'm assured by her that she just needs to talk with him when he gets out and inform
him that they are a done deal and iron out their arrangement with their child. My
insecurities are high because I've decided I'd like to spend the rest of my life with this
woman but I'm not convinced she's really through with this man.
Well the last week of March Vicki calls Erika to inform her that baby daddy was home and is
calling around looking for her. So Vicki gives Erika a number to reach this man and after a
phone call she gives him her home address so they can arrange a time to meet for a face to
face sit down. Now as her man I wasn't given the time, the date, or the place.
So on Friday March 30th this meeting takes place. I leave work early to get a haircut and
I'm eager to meet with Erika because she called me earlier at work and kind of picked a
fight with me about our relationship and it's direction. I found it timely that she did this the
week the man got home from prison so I want to talk to her face to face. So I show up at
Erika's house unexpectedly. When I get there I find baby daddy has walked in just five
minutes before my arrival. His first reaction to me is "whose this nigga?". I calmly walk
over to the man we'll call "Neil" and introduce myself as Erika's boyfriend of the past six
months. His immediate reaction is hostile. He throws his hands in the air and begins
staking his claim that this is his family of the past four years and Erika better let me know
as much. I look at Erika expecting her to back me and finally tell this man all she's been
dying to say.
She looks me square in my eyes and says "I’m just not ready". I begin to fill with confusion
and rage because I'm faced with a physical confrontation that my woman could have easily
diffused. Not a good time to choke...but that's exactly what she did. So now I'm standing
in the middle of her living room with her baby's father telling me to get my **** and get out.
Just like that there was a transfer of domain. I was now the outsider looking in. I had just
been dismissed.
I didn't get a call from Erika that evening, no apology to smooth things over, no
explanation, no regret, NOTHING. Just like that she was out of my life. My skin crawled for
two days. My mind ran wild with worries for her safety and the child's. Was he
manipulating her? Did she behave this way as not to escalate an impending confrontation
with two important men in her life, therefore opting to get me off the premises? So many
questions and no answers for two days.
Well Sunday finally came and I called Erika to get clarity and inform her that if she was still
in the presence of Neil I wasn't going to stand for it as her man. What followed further
shook me at my core. She began yelling at me saying things like "you got on my fuckin
nerves, I tried breaking up with you three times before” ( a falsehood). I know you need
to hear this for your own closure but for future reference you need to know the following: If
you dealing with a single Mother you better know, you don't RUN ****!! If you gonna deal
wit a black woman in the future you need to know that you ain't gon be pushin her around."
Then she put Neil on the phone and he ever so calmly tells me "...nigga dis ain't yo
woman.." After I promptly curse him out Erika gets back on the line and announces "It's
over...for once be a man and DEAL WITH IT!! I had the entire exchange on speaker phone
for her sister Vicki to hear.
What's hurt me most is that Erika later told a mutual friend I was the sweetest man she'd
ever been with but Neil was her best friend and she really didn't know how she was going to
feel until she saw him again. Once she did all the feelings came back and it was like they
hadn't skipped a beat, that she and I had been having our problems anyhow. Then she told
this friend that she used the situation as a way to end things because it was easier. Even
though we'd been reaffirming our feelings and our commitment for one another and our
situation the WHOLE month prior to his return, she was actually telling people this. After
everything this man put her through she fixed her mouth to call him her "best friend". The
same man who had beaten her, pimped her out, jeopardized her safety by taking her on the
run, failed to provide for / and or protect her was a "REAL MAN". She needed a thug.
I'm still in shock. I quit my job because I haven't been able to function. I know something
inside of me isn’t' right and it's scaring me because I haven't cried yet. I find myself in the
middle of doing things and fail to notice I'm tearing up at times when I don't even recall
thinking about her. Still, those good hard sobbing kind of cries? They haven't happened
yet...and that's scaring me. I went from spending everyday with a woman and her child, to
NO contact with them at all. It's like they never were. Like they died to me. Before she
left she attacked my worth as a man. She showed our relationship no respect the way she
ended it and she showed little to no regard for me as a friend or a person who sacrificed
much for her and her child's well being. I feel used. I've lost hope in the belief that I'll get
an apology, or a better explanation. I lost my lover, I lost a friend, and I feel like I lost my
family. I don't have children of my own. So outside of my immediate kin this is the first
time in my life I've felt like I was responsible for a unit of my own. I'm left trying to piece
back together a life that was unfulfilled before this woman and child entered into it.
I'm sick of being called a "good black man" but watching black women show NO respect for
it. They'll tell me how "sweet" I am, how they've "never been with a man as in touch with
their feelings", how they've "never communicated" so well. They've "never felt so safe or
secure", they've "never been made love to the way we do". All of these beautiful things but
in the end they still opt for abusive dead end relationships with ex-cons, wanna be
gangsters, and aspiring felons. I'm 31 years of age. I want to settle down and start a
family. It's the only thing missing in my life. My options seem to be argumentative,
confrontational, defensive, promiscuous women, with children by men who didn't value
them enough to place a wedding band on their finger before they placed a life they never
intended to care for in their womb. They don't seem to know what REAL manhood is
anymore and they shun it when it shows up. I can fix damn near anything around the
house, bring home over thirty five thousand a year, hold my own in any physical
confrontation but I can't figure out what's going on in the minds of our black women. I'm
fed up with being told I'm a "good man" and watching men who value none of what a
woman is worth walk off with her as the prize and all too often she's more than willing to
follow. I feel hopeless and doubtful.
I'm tired of black women hurting me.

The End





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We were hardly through the door when we went at each other like starved pit-bulls...I slowly took off her thong with my teeth....

From across the street, the sign at the clinic didn’t look as inviting as it did last week. It took a while before I could force myself to cross over to the other side. I walked in and said a muted “good morning” to the nurse/receptionist.
I guess she was used to people being apprehensive on the day they picked up their test results, and she replied with a cheery “Welcome sir, and how are you today?” I managed a smile and handed over my card.
“Sir, you will be required to see our counselor before picking up your test results”, she said without looking at the card.
“I already did, last week when I came for the test…she signed my card”
“Ah…alright then. Hmmm…your results have been ready since the last 4 days."
"Yeah..I was like, out of town". My excuse sounded lame.
"Please give me a couple of minutes sir, I’ll be right with you”
It turned out to be the longest 2 minutes of my life…I sat in the reception chair with my hands clasped between my knees. There were a 2 other people seated in the reception room but, as if by an unspoken agreement, we simply refused to acknowledge each other's presence. I guess everyone had a lot on our minds right about then.
I leaned my head back on the wall behind me and picked a spot on the white ceiling to keep my eyes locked on, allowing my mind to be flooded by the muted music coming from hidden speakers… “Gad…you gotta help me out here”, I prayed silently…
I tried to keep my mind focused on happy thoughts and on the other things I had to do for the rest of the day, just to while away time, but my mind kept going back to memories of how I got here in the first place.



.............................................................................

My job used to take me around a lot…and I get to be “out of station” sometimes for months on end. I was in the old Energy city for about 3 months…sometimes for up to 3 weeks at a stretch, working on building a centre for one of the communication companies here. I stayed at a small hotel in a quieter part of town…just a place I could kick back after being on my feet for most of the day on site. Being a loner (usually), it was my kinda place: small, hidden and quiet. My cousin often came around to drag me out on weekends and take me around town though. Most other times I just stayed in my hotel room, watching movies on my laptop or working, creating a “sound wall” of loud rock music.
Towards the end of the building project, a number of the advance staff from the communications company started coming around, “to beta test the place”, like they said anyway.

That’s when I met Nancy.

Smallish, bookish, academic type…shrill voice, big eyes, wearing a shoulder-length weave, acrylic nails..legs that looked great in heels, her skirts were always cut above her knees...hmmm, not bad!
I actually didn’t notice when she came on site. I just started getting reports from some of the construction workers still on site doing remedial work that there was this “bitch of a woman” giving them hell…complaining about any and everything.
“Just do what you need to do, so we can get out of here”, I told them.
On that fateful day though, I was in my make-shift office, in the still-unfinished space meant for “phase 2” of the project, working on my snag-list for the building, when this cute chick walks up to my desk..
“Are you Mr. Obi?”
“Er..yeah?”
“Can you come with me for a minute; I need to show you something”
She led me towards the back of the building…I noticed the construction workers we passed on the way there, who usually gave nods of acknowledgement anytime I walked passed them, did their best to stay away from her path.
“How come there’s water in the underground tank, but no water in the bathrooms?” she asked, pointing to the full underground water storage tank..
“Excuse me, I REALLY must apologise for that”, I answered “we didn’t expect the company staff in till Monday. The booster pumps are being delivered tomorrow and will be installed and tested over the weekend”
“Well I hope so, my people are coming in on Monday, and we expect to have fully functioning offices”
“Promise, cross my heart” I said (or something to that effect).
I guess maybe it was the “authority” in her voice that intrigued me…or maybe I had been away from civilization for too long.

I hung out with my cousin that weekend...we both went out to the building site first. She wanted to see what I had been working on all this while and I wanted to make sure the pumps were installed.
“Nice work you’ve done here”
“Thanks, I should be out of your hair by next week-ish”
“Na wa o..will miss you jarey”
“Yeah yeah”
“Hey, I almost forgot…a friend of mine, we went to secondary school together, she called me last weekend that she’s been transferred here by her office, a communications company”
“..and her name is??” I asked, wrinkling my forehead.
“Nancy..you know her?”
"Oh jeeez..!!"

I got in early on Monday to make sure everything was working right…I just HATE it when the advance staff comes to take over their building before I’m out of there...they complain about EVERYTHING…I want a socket here…My desk will be here, can I have a light point over it?...Do we have to share bathrooms with the HOD?...Can we have more power outlets in the kitchen…Can this window be widened??
Sheesh…if I remained here long enough, the ass-wipes will be asking for jacuzzi’s in their offices…
I don’t really know why, but I kept an eye out for Ms. Nancy…the place was getting busy with staffers sorting out their furniture and stuff. I spotted her waving at me from amidst her “people”, and she gave me a thumbs-up sign…I guess she knows the pumps are working now. I went off to my office to sort out my hand-over reports..

Thursday: I was supposed to be back in the Lagos office by Friday morning and I was waiting for the driver to come take me to the airport today. I had confirmed my flight for 4:30pm and called him, asking him to come pick me up by 1:30pm..it would take a two and a half hour speed drive to the airport and it was still 11:30am, so I still had a couple of hours to burn. I decided to stroll around the site one last time before I leave, maybe take a few final “after” pictures. Again, I don’t really know why, but I ended up in Ms. Nancy’s office. They were having an early lunch, or celebrating their new offices…a bunch of food packs were on a table at one corner of the office.
“Hey, Obi…you hungry? Join us na”
“Sure...why not?”
I grabbed a food-pack and a coke, then sat in her “visitors’” chair and we ended up talking for a while..about the building, about my cousin, her secondary school, varsity, MY secondary school and varsity…she turned out not to be such a hard-nosed bitch after all. The driver finally showed up at about 1:00pm and waited in the car downstairs. I sent him a food pack down to keep him busy. As I was about to leave Nancy, I leaned forward to plant a kiss on her cheek..I noticed she moved her head away just a tad, but stilled allowed the kiss..hmmmm..

Plane touched down in Lagos about 5:45pm...flight was a bit rough, but I guess around here these days, any flight that lands in one piece was a good one. I had just switched my phone on when a text message came in..
“Did u hav to kiss me in front of my workers? I dont tink dat was necessary, did u? Hope u had a safe trip– Nancy”
Hmph, drama…well, at least now I had her number (it hit me just then that I forgot to ask her for it...how the heck did she get mine?)
Stressed out with Lagos traffic and the “no light” wahala when I got home, I had almost forgotten about her till just after midnight. Bored with writing my report, I wondered if it was too ungodly an hour to be calling her…decided on sending a text..
“Sorry if I embarrassed u in front of ur subordinates..wasnt my intention. Got back 2 Lag ok. Thanx 4 d rice”
Reply came in half a minute later
“Dats ok..glad u got home safe”
Hmmm….a fellow night owl..cool..!!

Anyway, what followed was about 2-3 months of all-day text messages and funny/generic emails, late night hours long calls, phone sex..and this was before happy-hour was invented (hey, she worked with a cell-phone service company, they get free air-time) etc.

She called quite early one Saturday morning...
“Hey, Obi…a colleague of mine is on leave in Lagos…could you text me your address so I can send it to her. I gave her a something for you, she needs to know where she can drop it off”
“Er..sure”
The cute chick lying next to me groaned as she turned to face me..
“Who was that?", she whispered sleepily.
“Friend…no biggie”
“Shit..it’s still dark…wake me up at 7:00 jo..I’ve got lectures today”
“Sure”
Mandy was a “friend”…met her a few years earlier, and she went to Varsity close to where I lived. She had come over to hang out for the weekend. I sauntered off to the living room to watch early Saturday morning cartoons (at least we had light now; I better enjoy it while it lasts). Slumped on the couch and sent off the text to Nancy.
Woke Mandy up at 7:15, made her breakfast while she showered, and she later left for campus. It was almost noon while I was taking a shower when Nancy’s call came in..
“Hi Obi..my friend’s having a little trouble finding your place, I’m gonna ask her to call you now, so you can you give her directions..??”
“Yeah..sure”
Her friend called me thirty seconds later (she seemed to be giggling a tad too much). I asked her to hand her phone over to the cab-driver and I gave him directions. It wasn’t till I hung up that it occurred to me that Nancy might actually be with her in the car…and they were both on their way to my place!!
They arrived at my door about 15 minutes later, with Nancy carrying a suitcase (Uh-oh!)
“SURPRIIIISE!!”
“Yeah right” I thought…“Heeeey, welcome to Lagos” I said.
We all hung out at my place for a while…gisting and laughing…for about an hour before seeing her friend off.

We were hardly through the door when we got back before we practically went at each other like starved pit-bulls…she was every inch as crazy as I imagined and more.
Second time around was less frenzied…but just as mind-blowing, she was quite the gymnast.
Doorbell rang about 3 hours later (Shit...I had forgotten about Mandy!!)
Long story short…plenty of drama that night with Mandy throwing a SERIOUS tantrum and me having to do a suicide watch over her all night, and then Nancy having a girl-talk with her at 5am in the morning about the “unreliability of men” and the “need NOT to take any of them seriously” (What the heck…was THAT supposed to be helping??)...I mean, I sat there and watched them have a conversation about me like I wasn’t even in the room…weird!!

I had gone back to Energy city about 3 months later to see about starting phase 2 of the building project. Not surprisingly I stayed at Nancy’s place this time, and not at the hotel. I stayed only one night though.
We had gone back to phone calls...emails and text messages for more than another year, and it seemed like the long-distance relationship syndrome was taking effect. No expectations, no promises, no nothing (drama free, just like I preferred it).

Then one night she called me and asked if I was driving…

I said yes, I was still on my way home from work. She said she’d call me again later that night and hung up.
That was strange…she wasn’t sounding like her usual cheery self.
She called again at about 10:30pm..
“Hey Nancy…yeah, I’m home. Are you ok?”
“No…not really...was at my doctor’s a couple of weeks ago”
“Whoa…what’s wrong?”
It turned out that she was supposed to have a surgical procedure done, and had taken preliminary blood tests 2 weeks earlier which turned up showing that she was HIV positive…she confirmed it a week later and decided to call and tell me about it…Now THAT was a total mind-fuck for me. Torn between having to console her about the discovery, asking her about the up-coming surgery, and worrying about whether I was also infected, I only managed to fumble through my words on the phone. I could hardly put a coherent thought together, much less a sentence. The rest of our conversation was more of a blur…all I could hear was the blood pounding in my head.
She seemed to sense the turmoil I was going through at the time and started telling me words I would later hear almost verbatim from a counselor a week later. She encouraged me not to space out, to go take a test and take it from there. Needless to say, there was NO sleep for me that night.

First thing was to get a test done, right? Shit..I had NEVER had an HIV test done before...I know where they had a clinic close to a pal’s place at Yaba, but I’ve never been in there before.. it took me 2 days and 3 visits to the clinic before I could work up the nerve to walk through the door. I tried to look cheerful as I approached the nurse. Told her what I came for and she gave me a 2-page form to fill. Then had a counseling session…the counselor seemed to have assumed I already tested positive…and advised me on “appropriate behaviour”, diet, exercise and attitude “in case I tested positive”. Then it was off to the little room..a nurse came to take a blood sample from my arm. She seemed to be trying not to look me straight in the eye…quite disconcerting, that.
“Ok..that’s it”, said the counselor when I went back to her office, cotton swab on the needle entry point. “The results should be ready in a couple of days, you can come back then to pick it up”.
I said my thanks and stepped out into the street. Everything was different from then on. Work, play, eating, sleeping…nothing felt the same anymore.
It took me another week to finally go down to the clinic again….

...........................................................................................................

“Mr. Obi Eze?”
“Yes?”
The nurse had finally come back to the reception…
“This way sir”
She led me back to the counselor’s office…who waited till the receptionist left before addressing me. I noticed my pulse had become fast, heavy thuds in my ears..
“Mr. Obi, I wont mince words with you sir, your results are out and they don’t look too good. I’m afraid it came back positive”
I almost didn’t hear the words she said…my heart was pounding so loud in my ears, I felt it was going to explode right there...the room seemed to sway a bit. My forehead became instantly wet.
“Are you sure”, I said when I finally trusted myself to speak; I couldn’t even recognize my own voice…
“We triple-check these things, sir..it’s totally fool-proof”
She then went on to repeat most of what she said in the earlier counseling sessions, consoling me as best she could (or rather, as best her training could afford her)…I didn’t catch most of what she was saying, anyway…it was all a blur.
“Do you have any idea how you could have been infected”
I thought about Nancy then, but just shook my head…still in shock
“Have you had any intimate contact with anyone in the last 3 months?”
Still all I could do was shake my head. She didn’t seem convinced though…I’m sure she thought I wasn’t even listening to her (she was right).
“You might have to call anyone whom you feel you might have infected, and tell them to get tested…even if it’s just a routine test”
I nodded this time, looking at the floor…

She wrote out prescription drugs, re-emphasising the need for proper diet and exercise.
“There’s still life Mr. Obi…and so there’s still hope, you HAVE to live your life as carefully as you can from now on... Come back in another month for some more tests and evaluations, and we’ll see..ok?”
She said a few more practiced words of encouragement and even saw me to the door (I guess that was a gesture reserved for the VIP patients).
I stopped at the receptionist’s to make an appointment for the next month. Funny...she no longer seemed as cheery as she was when I came in.
The sun was bright when I stepped onto the street…people were walking along without cares in the world, kids playing on the street. It would have been a perfect day…if only..if only…
Everything was different now, plans I had might have to change, promises I made to people…things I wanted to do…ALL that has to change now.
“Damn”, I thought, as I crossed the street to where I parked.

Stopping at a phone card shop on my way home, I loaded my phone with air-time.
I had a few long calls to make…

My thoughts: The above piece, titled 'HIV+...so what next..??' was written by today's featured author Obi Eze





Activity feed

Your child is cute but...&other stories (Disclaimer: copious amount of sarcasm within bog!)

Cute child but...:

1. Since my last report, your child has hit rock bottom and has started to dig.

2. I would not allow this student to breed.

3. Your child has delusions of adequacy.

4. Your child is depriving a village somewhere of an idiot.

5. Your son sets low personal standards and then consistently fails to achieve them.



6. The student has a “full six-pack” but lacks the plastic thing to hold it all together.

7. This child has been working with glue too much.

8. When your daughter’s IQ reaches 50, she should sell.

9. The gates are down, the lights are flashing, but the train isn’t coming.

10. If this student were any more stupid, he’d have to be watered twice a week.

11. It’s impossible to believe the sperm that created this child beat out 1,000,000 others.

12. The wheel is turning but the hamster is dead

Naturally The school and teachers are being sued by parents who want their children's failing grades changed to passing grades - even though those children had terrible report cards, were absent 15-30 times during the semester and did not complete enough school work to pass their classes

The outgoing message:
Hello! You have reached the automated answering service of your school. In order to assist you in connecting to the right staff member, please listen to all the options before making a selection:
To lie about why your child is absent - Press 1
To make excuses for why your child did not do his or her work - Press 2

To complain about what we do - Press 3
To swear at staff members - Press 4
To ask why you didn't get information that was already enclosed in your newsletter and several flyers mailed to you - Press 5
If you want us to raise your child - Press 6
If you want to reach out and touch, slap or hit someone - Press 7
To request another teacher, for the third time this year - Press 8
To complain about bus transportation - Press 9
To complain about school lunches - Press 0
If you realize this is the real world and your child must be accountable and responsible for his/her own behaviour, class work, homework and that it's not the teachers' fault for your child's lack of effort: Hang up and have a nice day!
If you want this in Spanish, move to a country that speaks it!

------------------------------------------------------------
Just for smiles:





Gina returned from a doctor's visit one day and told her husband Patthat the doctor said she only had 24 hours to live.

Wiping away her tears, she asked him to make love to her. Of course he agreed and they made passionate love.

Six hours later Gina went to him again, and said, "Honey, now I only have 18 hours left to live. Maybe we could make love again?" Pat agreed and again they made love.

Later Gina was getting into bed when she realized she now had only Eight hours of life left. she touched Pat's shoulder and said, "Honey? Please? Just one more time before I die." He agreed, then afterward he rolled over and fell asleep.

Gina, however, heard the clock ticking in her head, and she tossed and turned until she was down to only four more hours. She tapped her husband on the shoulder to wake him up. "Honey, I only have four hours left! Could we...?"

Her husband sat up abruptly, turned to her and said, "Listen Gina, I'm not being funny but I have to get up in the morning and you don't."

-----------------------------------------------------

Anyone for a cup of ..Innuendo's

A man staggered into a hospital with a concussion, multiple bruises, two black eyes, and a five iron wrapped tightly around his throat.

Naturally, the Doctor asked him, 'What happened to YOU?'

'Well, I was having a quiet round of golf with my wife, when at a difficult hole, we both sliced our golf balls into a field of cattle.

We went to look for them and while I was looking around I noticed one of the cows had something white in its rear end.'

'I walked over, lifted its tail, and sure enough, there was a golf ball with my wife's monogram on it - stuck right in the middle of the cow's butt.

Still holding the cow's tail up, I yelled to my wife, 'Hey, this looks like yours!''

'I don't remember much after that'

-----------------------------------------------------
Ladies, do CATER to your husband:

Sani and his bride had been married only two weeks.

Sani, although very much in love, can't wait to go out on the town and party with his old buddies. "Honey," says he to his new bride, "I'll be right back..."

"Where are you going, Coochy Coo?" asks the wife. "I'm going to the bar, Pretty Face. I'm going to have a beer." "You want a beer, My Love?" She opens the refrigerator door shows him 25 different brands of beer from 12 different countries: Germany, Holland, Japan, India, USA including six places he's never even heard of.

Sani is nonplussed, and all he can think to say is, "Yes, Honey Pie, but the bar you know...the frozen glass..." He hasn't finished the sentence before wifey interrupts him by saying, "You want a frozen glass, Puppy Face?" She hands him a mug out of the freezer that is so cold that it burns his fingers "Yes, Tootsie Roll," hubby says a bit desperately, "but at the bar they have those hors d'oeuvres that are really delicious... I won't be long. I'll be right back. I promise. OK?" "You want hors d'oeuvres, Pookie Pooh?"

She opens the oven and removes 15 different hors d'oeuvres: chicken wings, pigs in a blanket, mushroom caps, pork strips, etc. "But, Sweetie, Honey...at the bar...you know...the swearing, the dirty words and all that..." "You want dirty words, Cutie Pie? Here...DRINK YOUR FUCKING BEER IN YOUR FROZEN FUCKING MUG AND EAT YOUR FUCKING SNACKS, BECAUSE YOU AREN'T GOING ANYWHERE! GOT IT, ASSHOLE?!!"

------------------------------------------------------------------------


Nightmare:


One night a guy takes his girlfriend home. As they are about to kiss
each other goodnight at the front door, the guy starts feeling a little
horny. With an air of confidence, he leans with his hand against the wall
and smiling, he says to her, "Honey, would you give me a blow job?"
Horrified, she replies, "Are you mad? My parents will see us!"
"Oh come on! Who's gonna see us at this hour?" he asks grinning at her.
"No, please. Can you imagine if we get caught?"
"Oh come on! There's nobody around, they're all sleeping!"
"No way. It's just too risky!"
"Oh please, please, I love you so much?!?"
"No, no, and no. I love you too, but I just can't!"
"Oh yes you can. Please?"
"No, no. I just can't"
"I'm begging you ... "
Out of the blue, the light on the stairs goes on, and the girl's sister
shows up in her pajamas, hair disheveled, and in a sleepy voice she says,
"Dad says to go ahead and give him a blow job, or I can do it. Or if need
be, Mom says she can come down herself and do it.

But for God's sake tell him to take his hand off the intercom!"



--------------------------------------------------
As women grow older...

It is important for men to remember that, as women grow older, it becomes harder for them to maintain the same quality of housekeeping as when they were younger. When you notice this, try not to yell at them.
Some are oversensitive, and there's nothing worse than an oversensitive woman.


My name is Jim. Let me relate how I handled the situation with my wife, Peggy. When I retired a few years ago, it became necessary for Peggy to get a full-time job along with her part-time job, both for extra income and for the health benefits that we needed.


Shortly after she started working, I noticed she was beginning to show her age. I usually get home from the golf club about the same time she gets home from work.


Although she knows how hungry I am, she almost always says she has to rest for half an hour or so before she starts dinner. I don't yell at her. Instead, I tell her to take her time and just wake me when she gets dinner on the table. I generally have lunch in the Men's Grill at the club so eating out is not reasonable. I'm ready for some home-cooked grub when I hit that door.


She used to do the dishes as soon as we finished eating. But now it's not unusual for them to sit on the table for several hours after dinner. I do what I can by diplomatically reminding her several times each evening that they won't clean themselves. I know she really appreciates this, as it does seem to motivate her to get them done before she goes to bed.


Another symptom of aging is complaining, I think. For example she will say that it is difficult for her to find time to pay the monthly bills during her lunch hour. But, boys, we take 'em for better or worse, so I just smile and offer encouragement. I tell her to stretch it out over two or even three days. That way she won't have to rush so much. I also remind her that missing lunch completely now and then wouldn't hurt her any (if you know what I mean). I like to think tact is one of my strong points.

When doing simple jobs, she seems to think she needs more rest periods. She had to take a break when she was only half finished mowing the yard I try not to make a scene. I'm a fair man. I tell her to fix herself a nice, big, cold glass of freshly squeezed lemonade and just sit for a while. And, as long as she is making one for herself, she may as well make one for me too.

I know that I probably look like a saint in the way I support Peggy. I'm not saying that showing this much consideration is easy. Many men will find it difficult. Some will find it impossible! Nobody knows better than I do how frustrating women get as they get older.

However, guys, even if you just use a little more tact and less criticism of your aging wife because of this article, I will consider that writing it was well worthwhile. After all, we are put on this earth to help each other.


Signed,

Jim


EDITOR'S NOTE:

Jim died suddenly on May 27 of a perforated rectum. The police report says he was found with a Calloway extra long 50-inch Big Bertha Driver II golf club jammed up his rear end, with barely 5 inches of grip showing and a sledge hammer laying nearby.

His wife Peggy was arrested and charged with murder. The all-woman jury took only 15 minutes to find her Not Guilty, accepting her defense that Jim somehow, without looking, accidentally sat down on his golf club.

When Bobo met Baby....

Hello..please permit me to seek your opinions on a very important issue in relationships and that is, when EXACTLY is a gentleman and lady officially an item???


To expantiate i will give four scenarios which i hope covers the four basic characteristics of many heterosexual African ladies.

Baby A is 20 yrs old, she met Bobo(sharpguy) A when she was a jambite. Baby A's mum has always told her to marry as a virgin.so she kept off sex at the beginning while dating Bobo A, but after a year, Bobo began to put pressure on her. So one night on his birthday she was deflowered. In her head she believes that they are now Oko and Iyawo, but is this true?

Baby B is 26 years old. She heard that internet dating is now the latest koko so she put up a profile. Soon she met Bobo B(myspacelover) and they became close friends. each of them eager to get to a laptop to send romantic/racy msgs to each other. Now Baby B wears a ring bcos she belives she is now off limits. guys/gals is she justified??

Baby C is 34 years old. She met Bobo C(longtermfriend) when they were in primary school. They have shared stories together of love,flings and heartbreak. They visit each others houses and sometimes goes for trips together.BUT THEY HAVE NEVER TALKED DEEPLY OR BEEN INTIMATE.Now this babe is old fashioned. She believes that a relationship should be defined or else it is not a rlship but as far as Bobo C is concerned this is his last busstop. my people who dey right here?

Baby D is 42 yrs and loves the good things of life.
She met Bobo D(Older guy) three years ago.infact she stored his name as "runs" now baby D believes that her own man wll be the guy that buys her a Bentley. Bobo D has taken care of her but prior to this time had bought her a car. In Jan 1st she received the keys to a Rav4 from Bobo D.in Jan 2nd she prompty removed changed his name from Runs to My heartbeat. Do you agree with her?

If any of this ladies come across signs of infidelity in their bobos, will they be right to get upset?
Thank youxxx