Death, And All Of His Friends

I've been a terrible blogger, coming on here once a month for the last three months....not like the whole world is reading :D, but i hope someone is reading, and if you are, then I apologize for the absence. Hopefully, I will begin to take my writing more serious, and blog hourly :|....

But on a more serious note, Shall we talk about dying?

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Death is one of those things that never quite happen to you. I mean you hear about it, see it, read it, and even feel it sometimes, but in some unexplainable way, it still remains this distant theory that hangs in the horizon of your life.

Except for the few(not so few) who have lost a father, a mother, a sibling…the majority of us have never experienced death "first hand". They say the first time you die is when you lose someone close to you. Agreed. But even that isn't the only way you die.

Death is always viewed with this uncertain awe, or respect, sort of. It has powers that we cannot comprehend or understand. How is it able to turn a loving father aggressive? Or make an available mother become distant within the same space?

I've never understood death, never even tried to. A couple of times I've had people die. People I knew, or even cared for, but never really had a place for in my heart, so I never felt the hurt. I had a friend die in secondary school, and I remember how everybody was so hurt, it was like the school was thrown into a week of mourning, and I knew the girl, but didn’t quite know the girl, so I wasn’t as affected. Then this other time we heard about this twin brother and sister who died side by side in a hospital. I was affected, after all, I am human, but they were my juniors, and that was my excuse for not letting their death rock my world. University has been similar. People die everywhere. I've come to understand that where 10 people are, a high probability of one of them dying exists.

#Shrug….its just life happening, passing by.

But then, that moment comes where you realize that death hasn’t been so distant after all, the moment where you lose someone, I mean really lose someone who held such a huge chunk of your heart in their hands. The moment where you become aware of that looming shadow over your head, the not-so-silent clock that has been ticking away over your life. The moment where you fear death so fucking much like as if it has crossed out every other person on its list and a neon arrow is blinking and pointing towards your name. The moment where Christianity becomes your shield, and you appreciate life more than you ever have. That moment, is the power death has over us.

I got bad news yesterday, really bad news. *sigh*. That ugly assed death had reared its smelling rotten head somewhere close to me…the thing is, sadly, it wasn’t still close enough that I'd give up on all my social vices and become a devout 24-hour Christian. It wasn’t close enough that my world stopped. It was close enough that my world paused, allowed me count my blessings, name them and move on.

But in counting my blessings, I realized that we don’t have it lucky anymore.

Nigerians used to be so confident, God's own country. We couldn’t boast of a greed free nation, or an honorable government, good roads, stable electricity, and all those other problems that make you hate Nigeria, but we've always been able to boast of a country free of natural disasters. We have people in places in Nigeria who do not even know what a hurricane is, or tornado. Everybody knows what earthquakes are, but how many people understand the magnitude of it?

To an extent we are still lucky…Boko Haram killing 12 in Adamawa is not yet terrorism abi? A pregnant woman is shot dead in Maiduguri, but that’s just one person. Being made homeless by the floods in Lagos and being killed by the ones in Ibadan and Borno is really not that serious. A 400 level boy commits suicide in a hotel room….#Shrug. Bomb kills 20 at Abuja UN House, 68 injured, fate of 20 kids unknown. We are still lucky?

Death is one of those things that never quite happens to you. I mean you hear about it, see it, read it, and even feel it sometimes, but in some unexplainable way, it still remains this distant theory that hangs in the horizon of your life. Its in the papers, on the news, but somehow you are safe because of your ignorance in believing you are safe?

There are more serious things at hand that leave no space for us to start appreciating our lives even. We are too consumed by facebook, twitter, tumblr, and smart phones(guilty, guilty, guilty) to see that our neighbors are suffering depression and a hug would cure it. Or your gate-man has AIDs and the proper exposure would help him understand it. Even the government is too busy shouting about change in Nigeria, driving towards a better Nigeria with better technology…Vision 20/20 abi? Lets rebrand Nigeria?

Its now more serious than that, deeper than twitfights and nude avatars and tweeter celebs??….deeper than football matches and clubbing on a Friday night or the beach that could so easily steal your life. Because you see, even though death has always been one of those things that never quite happen to you. I mean you hear about it, see it, read it, and even feel it sometimes, but in some unexplainable way, it still remains this distant theory that hangs in the horizon of your life, death is now closer and bigger than before. The minute you think is so far away, is now just 60 seconds away from you, and the littlest things flare up, amplify and blow up in our faces.

I will never make a joke about death. Its powers astound me. I do not fear it, mock it, or try to understand it. I simply accept it as a factor that is unavoidable, irreversible, and teetering on an unsteady line. There is no justice in death. #Shrug….it just keeps happening. And closer.

Today, hurricane Irene isn't sitting in our laps, but tomorrow?

Death has always been one of those things that never quite happen to you. I mean you hear about it, see it, read it, and even feel it sometimes, but in some unexplainable way, it still remains this distant theory that hangs in the horizon of your life. 

Not anymore.

Untitled

#nponpermanentrepeat I Didn’t Know My Own Strength - Whitney Houston + Recover - Natasha Bedingfield

We hurt so gaddamn much, that we should be immune if we are still alive. How are we still alive?

For what its worth, I don’t expect you to be psychic.
Boys always get off saying that they cant read our minds, and know what we are thinking all of the time, especially whenever they ask and you reply saying the old, acceptable line of "I'm fine".
Boys get off saying that girls are difficult, always dramatic, overly dramatic, and looking for reasons to get into an argument. Boys get off saying that we have plenty trouble trailing our behinds, following us, making us seem irrational and inconsistent with our emotions. They find it so easy to blame it on PMS, Ovulation, or any other hormonal occurrences in our body.
So for whatever it might be worth, I really do not expect that you should be omniscient, knowing everything, reading every line on my face. For what its worth, I do not expect you to understand that as a girl, I'm complicated because things hurt me deeper, easier, and I heal slower. That I'm a true love lover.
I don’t expect a perfectly understanding boyfriend, actually I did, but all I got in its stead was a somewhat clueless boyfriend, immune to my tantrums, mood swings, and facial/body language. At first I thought it was cool that he didn’t care much, and didn’t let my overly outraged feminine tactics bother him much, but now I realize that he just didn’t get it.
For what its worth, I'm making a public announcement that I'm done looking for perfection…what does that even mean?
For whatever it might be worth, I want whoever reads this to know that I don’t expect him to be psychic…I just expect you to be sensitive enough to read my emotions.

My love is almost an experiment each time. To see how selfish I can be. To see if I can really carry on to snare a possible lover. To see if I am capable of debasing myself for the love of another. To see if I can stand not being wanted when I want to be wanted. To test my weaknesses and overwork my strengths. To expose myself to hurt each time, and see if I can withstand the pain of my heart breaking, almost each time.
I am a deliberate love addict. Humans are constantly hungry for love and I am proudly human, getting pulled to wherever I find love. Love means to love that which is unlovable, so I constantly test myself, push myself to the limitless walls of love. I constantly find those boys that give excuses, deliberately or otherwise, wound me. I experiment on their excuses.
Each boy a project, each relationship an experiment. My love is almost an experiment each time.

But loving someone is such hard work, constantly striving to please someone and place the person ahead of yourself. But I love love, and everything that it carries with it in its back pocket - jealousy, lust, trust, insecurity, passion, hurt, affection, and the crazy mind blowing sex?. I love love, and love loving love…I must have been down this road a million times(well, not a million times), and each time I let myself get sucked into the drama of it.
My love is almost an experiment each time, but for what its worth (In all honesty and precision), I think its love that's experimenting on me. I don’t know who's doing it, I thought I was but, I was stupid. I was able to be hurt, and that’s not real, not anymore. We should be immune to hurt if we're still alive.

How are we still alive? How are we stir able to love whole-heartedly, each time, after each hurt, after each heartbreak? How are we able to constantly debase ourselves for love, stripping our bodies of all ego and pride…only to have ridicule thrust upon us.
*sigh*

How are we still able to love? How are we still alive?
We Recover? We are not built to break? Don't know our own strengths?
Ok!

....not for the faint of heart :p

For the longest time ever, I have respected and envied Osisiye's form of writing, and now I have the opportunity to put up something of his on my blog...Yay me :)
Ion want it to seem like my blog has singularly become a "content explicit" blog o, but really, these posts are just too hmmmmmmm to remain unshared. :D
So, this is one of Osisiye's (@osisiye)narrative articles that i love and appreciate...i hope you do too...and you can check more of his write-ups on his blog, http://naijatouch.blogspot.com/ ....oh and, he writes for Business Day too (hadda chip that in X_x)


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You are standing with your back to me

I take a moment to stand and appreciate your beauty, elegant endless, creamy seductive legs and I admire the view for a few moments before I walk up to you whispering meaningless, mushy words into your ears in a hoarse tone

Nibbling at your ear lobe

Flicking my tongue into your ear and tapering feathery, flowery kisses down the nape of your neck

As you extend your hand backwards to press my head closer to your vanilla scented neck, I move closer and my engorged reaction meshes to your soft butt-firm and warm beneath the flimsy fabric

You arch your waist to meet my hardness and I turn your head around and kiss you full on the mouth-your mouth tastes of apple and I plunge my tongue deeper, exploring the crevices and hidden corners of that apple scented enclave

This kiss is not just lusty but reassuring as I kiss you softly, reassuring you that if everything is ephemeral, I am not-because I will always be here and constant like the North Star

I kiss you deeply and pass a lot of words and promises through this long, wet kiss which is reassuring, arousing and at the same time an education

My hands explore your body and move to your chest region, here I press the liquid fullness of your breasts and my erection seems to grow inches longer

I put my hands beneath your cotton top and finger your lacy bra

Same time you lift your arms up and I hoist your top away in one clean sweep
The sight of your beautiful, brown skin and contrasting white bra makes me groan with wanting, I unlatch the clasps of your bra and turn you around

As your breasts spring free of their lacy enclaves-full and grape-like round, I place a puckered nipple in my mouth and kiss it with wanting, desire and thirst

You arch your waist in return and fondle the flaps of my trouser

I hold the pebble-stiff nipple of your other breast and rub my coarse palms against it in circular motions

The ticklish, arousing feel of my coarse palm against your stiff, tender nipples makes you moan with wanting and bite at my earlobe

Now your hands are in my briefs and you need no fondling around as my rock hardness rises to meet you

You squeeze it like a sponge and whisper something in my ears about 'my hardness’, and you wanting it in your ‘softness'

I continue sucking on your nipples as I trace a hand downwards over your stomach, depressed belly button and into your flimsy shorts

It feels so warm in there, and I place my fingers at the outer walls of your private part drawing circular outlines till you moan as your wetness flows outwards and down your thighs

I finally plunge a finger in-passing your vulva and continuing in my inward journey till my finger is fully submerged in you and am sliding it in and out till your wetness and constant moans make me want more

I slide my mouth down from your breasts and kiss your pubic region softly as I bite cum tug at your hair

I move downward and put my mouth in front of your sugar spot
and am kissing your pussy walls with ardour

Plunging my tongue in

Sucking at it

You're moaning loudly now

I go further and flick my tongue in, deeper…you’re wet, smooth and smell of vanilla down there

Till am licking your clit and you're moaning hysterically and pressing my head in while your liquid dribbles down my mouth

I finally hoist you onto the cabinet and with one clean move, I plunge fully into you

My hard shaft fully ensconced in your velvety smoothness whose wetness glides against my shaft as the small hairs seductively tickle it

I start to rock you in steady motions as you hold onto ma back and whimper with each thrust

With each thrust, delightful sensations ripple from my cap to my spine and make me feel I’m cuming, this makes me rock faster and harder till am cuming so fast with grunts, I seem to be plunging and withdrawing in a blur

Soon, I feel it like the rush of many waters; my cuming, and the way your fingers dig into my back and your arched back rises makes me know you are not far from an orgasmic scream.

I keep plunging with manic speed and strength, rocking the whole of your body from the core of your cunt, till we cum together in a downpour and remain like that-I standing, you in my arms as we breathe deeply and amid the fine sheen of sweat that clothes us and makes our bodies stick

You lean on my shoulder and I kiss your neck tenderly

As I praise the creator for the magic of love, of you-because you make me complete...

A Quick Tryst (We Know What We Know)

("This is really happening?")

They are talking too much
There's little time left
Their mouths move in a rush-
His hand already up her shirt
Lazily unbuttons...
Her head screams, "Yank it off"
But not yet-
His hand cups her breast;
They are making too much noise
A distant voice cries out in pleasure.

("That cannot be my voice.")

Blood rushing
Love sounds
Adrenaline pumping
Second round?
Her feet cant seem to find the ground
Her heart?
The deceptive thing has left her
He's sliding up her skirt
Pushing his way inside, again.
GASP!

("He wants to go again?")

There's no time for this one;
Its already the break of dawn.
But persistently he pushes
Deeper with each thrust
Harder with each pound-
Ah! She says,
With the low moan on her lips
He's a beast;
He's her beast.
Then satisfaction gives way to alarm…

("Go! Go! Go!! My father's coming!!")

He's thumping down the corridor-
Thump! Thump!
He's scrambling for the back door,
She's tidying up the room floor,
Strewn clothes;
Sex smells spread through open windows;
He must not know!
He MUST not know!!
Askew rugs righted-
Father walks in, delighted

("My little girl, in all innocence")

Debased ...

He didn’t just take my innocence, he took my hope.

When I was 8, he said to me "Girl, look how fast you're filling out", as he played with my hair, "In a couple of years you're gon be all grown child".

When I was 10, he said to me, "Everybody gives Uncle Tony a kiss before going to bed in this house", as he stroked my cheek. My mother's house.

When I was 12, on a drunken night, he broke down my room door and covered my screaming lips and held down my fighting legs and thrust himself inside me.
When I was 12, he started killing my soul. Little girls like me never grow up, they just die.

The kind of hurt that he made me feel, it doesn’t go away.

My mother walked into the room and all she saw was the mess in the room, not the whimpering child curled up in a ball in the corner , and all she said to me, as she looked at the bloody sheets around my waist was "Child, You only got your period."

And I shook my head, "He hurt me ma, he pushed, and he held me down", I said with soundless tears streaming down my face.

My mother said to me, "Hush your mouth child, you only got your period"

….and now, its been 25 years, I can hear my daughter screaming in the room next to mine, her father had a bad day. When she comes to me crying, I'll hold her, wash her up, and tell her soothingly, "Hush little baby, Daddy loves you…you only got your period".

#TurnTheLightsDownLow ....

It had rained that night.

But the rain wasn’t the only reason why she picked up her phone and called him, repeatedly, till the damn MTN woman decided to put her through instead of lying about some unreachable network.
The rain wasn’t even the reason why she put her favorite Marvin Gaye record on as she swayed around her hotel room in her monogrammed white towel tied slightly above her breast and another wrapped around her shower soaked hair.
The rain didn’t excuse the tightness in her lumbus or the gently escalating throbbing that she had been feeling in that same region for the past hour….and a half.

It had simply been a rainy night, but what does one expect in the metropolis of Lagos?
She had even been stuck in an unending traffic that night, had been shouted on by her beer-stomached boss, and she had just had a fight with her best friend who, on any other night, would have gladly come over to share gossips over the this and the that of her life.

It was one of those nights where after soaking herself in the bath tub, she still had to stand under the cascading shower, letting the water massage her back and shoulders as she turned the knob from hot, to cold, to hot, and then to cold.
But even that still did not ease the annoying teasing and taunting that she felt in her clitoris like a button had permanently been turned on in her brain and it wouldn’t go off till she could feel him inside her.
So she called him. Repeatedly.
MTN is a cock-blocking network, but she refused to be daunted!
Tonight, she wanted someone to mechanically work her body through and through with the right touches, manually manipulating her breasts and nipples till they rose as a synonymous unit to bring her pleasure, Kneading and rubbing parts of the body, and using them as weapons of sexual satisfaction.

And he came over immediately. All she had to do was whisper in her naturally husky voice filled with emotions and sexual tensions and the desire to be fucked over and over. All she had to do was breath into the phone all the things that she wanted to do to him and have him do to her, in as few words as possible. All she had to say into the phone was, "I want you!".

No questions asked, no ulterior motives implied except that tonight he would have to leave his wife of 2 years and drive across islands and mainlands' to get to her hotel room.
No answers needed because in those three words, she had loaded, heavily, the past that they had built together, the familiarity of their love lost, love found, and love lost again.
You see, it was history that was calling.
No names even required on the phone, because the honesty of the situation was that he had known when her flight landed in Lagos earlier that afternoon, known her hotel room and number just as she booked it, and the luggage man had already told him that she had come alone. The housekeeping staff had already mentioned that she had finished her late scheduled meetings for the day. The honesty of the situation was that, he already knew. He was already waiting.

So without much further ado, he had kissed his wife on the forehead, proclaimed a last minute outing with the boys as he drove out of his newly furnished house at one o'clock in the morning. He packed an overnight bag. Just in case, he said.

He knocked on the room door once, bag in one hand as he used a finger of the other to quickly push down the visible edge of the green Durex condom that he knew she favored because of its ribbed sensational feeling when he was sliding in and out of her.
She opened immediately after that single knock, almost as if she had been standing behind the door, awaiting his arrival.
He stepped through the brown glossed door and he used the back of his heel to shut it till he heard the click that signified the auto lock. He lowered the hand that held his custom made bag till the bag was flat on the blue plush rug, and in his head, if he could, he would have had her right there by the floor of the door. But he bid his time. They would have their moment.

This night had been a long time coming, through break ups and make ups and his engagement to another, and subsequent marriage to that other, they had kept coming back to each other, finding solitude and peace in each other's arms, episode after episode, no questions asked, so no answers supplied. They simply had an understanding.

And he was the only one that understood that sometimes she had to have it brutally rough in other for her to reach her climax of satisfaction. He was the only one that understood that she would rather have hours unending of foreplay, than 10 unsatisfactory minutes of some random ungentlemanly fellow plummeting into her feminine walls without a definite rhythm. He understood her.
And she understood him. In ways even his wife could not.
She knew how he liked to be ridden in regular recurrence with her body sliding up and down the length of him, tightening as she rode up, and relaxing her wells as she slid down. She had mastered him. She understood him

And so she understood when the very first thing he did was to unwrap the hem of her towel, letting it fall into a wad at her feet. He didn’t expect her to step out of it, so she didn’t.
He released the towel on her head and let her somewhat damp hair cling to her back and her shoulders and the top of her breast.
He wanted to look at her, and so he did. And in doing that he could see how tightly her aureoles had peaked into darkened rings of color, he could see the swelling between her slightly parted legs, so he placed two fingers in between her legs such that the heaviness of her clitoris rested on his immediately damp fingers, and the heat radiating from her aroused femininity made his fingers sweat.

She wanted him.......




Because of space, and well, because of continuance ...this post will be in 3 parts! I love you too :p

#TurnTheLightsDownLow .....(Dimmer)

"I want you", She repeated. In case he was too self-consumed to realize the urgency of her needs. But he understood. She had always come first with him. Always. Her pleasure, was his pleasure…her passion, was his passion.

He wanted her. She could feel him through the blackness of his tailored pants, the length of him, the thickness of him.

He stood slightly above 6ft, and she was slightly above 5ft. She was petite really, such that when he closed the distance between them, she could feel the strength of his masculinity on her toned stomach.
The heat between them could only be described under the hidden and buried pages of Jackie Collins novels or Harlequin romance.
He wanted to do explicit unsayable things to her that would make her knees buckle from too much pressure and her body quiver from too much intensity.
He wanted to fuck her, then make love to her, then hold her.

With all the hunger that could dominate his body, he pushed her naked slim figure on the wall of the hotel room, with her perky breast resting on the wall, and the curve of her ass thrusting up for access into the bodily cavity of her butt as he rammed into her with as much ferocity as he could muster. He had barely had time to let his pants drop to his ankles, he had barely had time to wrap up his member before applying the kind of internal pressure that could have caused the involuntary and sensual non-human moan to escape from her lips, and erupt from her throat.
This time was simply to acquire as much satisfaction as they could while quenching their animalistic thirsts.

He wanted her in every possible position, and in every possible flexibility. He wanted her shaking and begging and screaming and tearing at his back, and digging her fingers into his hair.
So he turned her to face him, her back against the wall as he kissed her already swollen lips deeper than he should have, with his tongue pushing, searching…he used his right hand to cup the under of her breast as he alternated between gently squeezing and then thumbing the insides of her breast to her nipple.
A soft almost inaudible moan escaped her lips as he bent his head to her bouncy bra-less breasts, sucking in on the hardness of her dark nipples, paying careful and thorough attention to the excitement that was building up in her utterances. He brought his head up to kiss her on the lips, and as she tried to push his head back, he held up both her hands on the wall above her head. She was powerless to the little pinpricks of pleasure she felt with each nibble on her neck, and on her shoulders, and on her breast. And with each kiss that he placed on her earlobes, and her navel, stomach, and every other part of her body her could get to.

With the effortlessness of an athlete, he lifted her size 6 body off the ground. He lifted her so high off the ground that her legs would wrap around neck and shoulder blades, and with an upward thrust of her lower back, his head would be buried inside her vaginal walls, and his tongue could dart in and out of her vulva, with his ready tongue wetting her clitoris as it flickered back and forth, before he settled into absorbing and soaking up her total femininity.

Without a moments hesitation he carried her sensitized body and laid her on the plush bed as he stripped himself of the rest of his clothing. Her eager hands attempted to help him but he brushed her fingers away and consumed her lips, earlobes and forehead with kisses.
With the pounding of her heart and the touching of lips, the kisses made her head useless, as if she was intoxicated by some elixir, an elixir of sensuality and passion that cannot be found in all the world. His smoldering seduction made it almost impossible for her to avoid the state of dissociation that she was reveling in. She'd never been so desired, so consumed by a man…this man.

Fingers traced her chin, her mouth. His breath on her neck, in her ear. Heat lay against her face. Teeth delicately held her lip, and then a sting, just the smallest one that left a longing for a deeper cut. The temptation of delicious wickedness. They played with each other and ran fingers over skin, as if they could only think, exist, if in contact with each other.

All unspoken requests were immediately answered, but there was no urgency this time, only the patience of timely exploration of bodies that had been robbed of their familiarity. He wanted to get to know her again, and he did.

FreeWill....or Not Freewill

My life is not in my hands. They say we have freewill as a result of the fact that they want us to have a freedom of choice, but it is my strong opinion, due to recent and aggravating occurrences that I have finally concluded that that my life is not in my hands. I do not have true freewill. A choice was made for me!

Before I go any further, I must express that I do not mean any harm with this; I do not mean to cause blasphemy, because in this write-up I am going to question things that people would probably shy away from, the reason for this is that I am tired, and I need a reason to hold on.

For years in education we have been given the book "The gods are not to blame" to read, and through it we are obviously being asked if the gods are to blame for the fate that befell Odewale (please refer to the play for the full story)
I partly mean this in the aspect of religion, where we say that God is the creator of everything, hence he is the one who has picked out our destiny, and freewill has then been given unto us to help us shape our lives towards our destiny right?
I think not.
I think that if we really were to have been given freewill, we should have been given the choice to choose freewill in the first place!
They say that God is Omni-potent; he sees all. God is Omni-science; he knows all.
He therefore knows that some people in this life will, no matter how hard they try, find it impossible to choose the right path of life. It is in his knowledge that people will fall, and fall and fall, no matter how many times we hear about heaven and hell, eternal doom and eternal glory. It is therefore in his infinite knowledge that he knows who will still be sent/doomed to eternal damnation no matter how hard they try, because he would know that some people, even when given a thousand freewill moments to correct their ways, will subsequently fall back to the way of the world. Does this mean then that he already knows the end of everyone?

I think that if we really were to have been given freewill, we should have been given the choice to choose freewill in the first place!

You see, we are surrounded by a world where peer pressure makes it almost impossible not to sin, even the littlest sin, and then sebi the Bible now says that there is no such thing as a little sin or a big sin. In James 2:9 we are made to understand that even if you break part of a rule/law/commandment but follow the rest, it will be assumed that you have broken the whole law….at least that is my understanding of it. So now you don’t even have to commit murder, adultery or idolatry to be a sinner. You could simply lie, steal, or be covetous about your friends new pair of Louis Vuitton Shoes.
*sigh*
I'm not seeking to offend anybody because I know that religion is a very sensitive issue, but I'm doing this because, honestly, honestly honestly, my faith was recently shaken. And maybe I'm not the only one, maybe there is someone who can make things clear to me. They say that we have freewill in everything because God is a merciful God, and he has given us the grace to choose what we want in life, to make decisions.

All I want is for all this to have been explained to me before coming to this world. In simple English. All I want is for someone to have given me the choice between freewill on earth or total controlled submission to God on earth. I don’t know what I am saying right now, and therefore should probably not say anything at all….but what we have isn't absolute freewill, because we weren't told beforehand. Because the choice was made for us to come to earth to be watched as we made mistakes over.
Frankly its like an experiment where we have been put in a maze, with two outlets, Heaven and Hell. To get to any of the outlets they have dropped temptations every 2 minutes in the form of shiny gold objects that seem to be calling your name, and they expect you not to stop. Even though there will be castigations, and chastisement and contempt and disdain, and people will constantly turn up their noses at you when you try to do the right thing. They expect you not to budge.
Pastors and Men of God make it seem so easy, because their journey to God wasn’t majorly in the 21st century with an immoral world. I wish they could be young again, be in my world for a day.

Honestly, I am tired because 2010/2011 was kinda tough, spiritually. Its difficult not to question and wonder. And the only thing that is constantly on my mind is that why wasn’t I forced to love him completely, with the love that Job had…why wasn’t I compelled to praise him continually, in the way that David did…Why wasn’t I made to trust him totally, with the purity of Abraham's heart. Because that is what I want…that would have been my choice, and with that I would have been dead-sure that I will constantly do the right thing and flee temptations.

*sigh*
We should have been given a choice between freewill on earth, and total control of servitude to God. That choice right there, if it had been given to us, would be the true meaning of freewill. What we have isn't.

#ThatIsAll

Nigeria Immigration Service (The System)

Nigeria is a country that seems to survive purely on the "Who you knows" and "What you haves" and "Who you ares'" rather that on the system. And to be honest, before this, I had been selfishly okay with that, but on this particular day that I had to hustle and queue, watching people who had come after me waltz in, get their documents checked and then foxtrot back to their cars, this system didn’t work for me. I was angry!

Before you go any further, you should know that this is not an aimless venom being spewed on the government, of that I can assure you (See Green, White, Green for that ) and this is not even an article that aims at the Nigerian populace (See Dear Readers for that ). This is simply coming as a result of my 5-hour sojourn at the Nigeria Immigration Service(NIS) center today with my 9-month old brother on a quest to get his first Nigerian Passport.

I am not even angry for myself. I am angered for my 9-month old brother who has not yet developed a resounding voice with which he can speak of the disdain he feels towards the government of this so-called developing nation. What exactly are we developing if we have adamantly resisted any atom of positive growth in the areas that count?

Don't get me wrong, I do not even blame the immigration officers who are understaffed and are expected to work in these poor environments and conditions of no fan, no ventilation, no clean or even attractive uniforms. I see people walking round me in their dirty brown-colored immigration uniforms, proudly carrying around the stale stench of sweat with the marks visible around their armpits, some even have it on their buttocks, and I feel sorry for them.
Therefore I do not fully blame them, for they are as angry as I am.

I do not even fully blame the people who are using their own connects to get ahead and cut corners. It is the way they are used to. This has become the Nigerian system. I blame the system. But more than that, I blame myself for still believing and holding out a candle of hope for a country that has remained rigid, I blame only my optimistic and expectant mind that still sees a change in the future of Nigeria.

We had arrived at their office because the man who was to help us had said to come by 8 o'clock in the morning, but my mother being the person that she is, we got there by 9:30am. Fair enough.
My unknowing mother had packed only one bottle for the baby because according to her, she thought it was going to be a "breeze in, and breeze out" scenario.
Our car was even the first to get there, and we were in high spirits, ready to just collect his passport and go.

Alas! The system had other plans for us.

I must have stood in front of that Acquisition room for hours, since it did not even occur to our able government workers to provide sitting arrangements in the waiting area.
I was waiting for my name to be called as I silently observed the mannerism of the workers of this highly placed government system.
I was trying to explain to that grumpy young man that even in the developed and first world countries that we try so much to emulate, preference is given to the elderly, the pregnant, and to children/babies.
I was frantically trying to explain to him that we didn’t even bring a change of diapers, and my brother had already taken the only bottle we brought to feed him with around 11am, and that he was missing his 10 to 12 am nap and that is why he had been screaming the building down.
I was begging this man to understand that my baby brother who is on the heavy side had to be carried rotationally by my mother and I, but even at that, it was tiring.
I wanted him to get that my 9-month old brother was coughing and hiccupping at the same time, running a temperature even.
My guy didn’t budge.

The system.

Needless to say I was answered around 2pm, and as they were thumb-printing my brother, one of the officers who had been in a private air-conditioned office while we had stood in the bronzing sun opened his foul breathed mouth to ask me, "Is this the boy that you went to put inside AC car? Why I go answer him now?".
Only an alcoholic who has been sober for like a maximum of 2 days, and is facing the strongest smelling liquor can understand the amount of restraint it took me to stop myself from giving that man a smart-ass comeback, because the truth of the matter is that I still needed him to complete all due processes.

I must have stood in front of that Acquisition room for hours, staring blindly at the pieces of white A4 paper pasted on the grey chipping cheapened wooden door. One of the red Servicom posters even stared back at me, mocking me, with the sign saying "You have the right to be served right".

I wanted to laugh at myself for the predicament I was facing, on a day that I could have used to achieve much else, but I was too hungry, tired, irritated, and frustrated to even try. So when my name was finally called, I wasn’t even as much relieved as I was fed-up, I just wanted to carry my agitated baby brother and go home so that I could take a long well-deserving nap myself.

There I was, thinking I was immune to the system, because of the connects I thought we had, the connects that somehow decided to fail; thinking I was above the system because of the breakable rules that surround the system, but all in all, today, the 18th of February, 2011, all I can say is that the system fucked me,simply because of my lack of connects, the system screwed me!

Labels.

This is actually an old article that i just found so I thought to put it up before I'd lose it again, plus someone recently made me re-think my view on labels, so I'd probably write a follow up soon...look out for that, but for now this is simply an article I wrote about two years back ithink...and I did not want to touch it up, so allow me even though it might seem a bit rough! :)

Labels.....

http://www.facebook.com/note.php?note_id=57602281556


I once heard that labeling spoils the uniqueness of a product, and now I agree.
 
Why do we feel the need to brand people-even ourselves? We often fail to see that putting a name on a product turns the product into that name- thin rice isn’t thin rice anymore, its Uncle Ben’s rice; cereal isn’t cereal anymore, its corn flakes. Similarly, we label and brand ourselves so much that we lose the vitality and beauty that warranted such a label.

I want to talk about people, because in the end that’s what we all are, people. Men, women, black , white, stupid, smart, husband, best friend, bitch, lesbian- in the end all these labels replace who we really are, so much so that we start to forget who we were before we became who we are. The love dies in a marriage because the husband and wife forget the friendship and love that brought them together and start to act in completely different patterns just to fulfill the expectations of their label. He's a bossy husband, she’s an argumentative wife, and soon enough they are completely different people.

Basically, I’m just trying to understand why a boy you’ve liked for so long, and wanted for so long suddenly becomes less interesting once he asks you to wear the brand of his girlfriend. He fails to see that without asking you, you both have everything, friendship, love, companionship, and trust. But once he labels you, jealousy sets in, mistrust over little issues and squabbles that could have been avoided.

It’s all so simple but people don’t see. Why can’t we all just be who we are- humans? Let go of labels that put people in tight situations and categorize us. We are not what people say we are-we are who we choose to be. You don’t have to be dependent on a man just because you are a woman, you don’t have to be less of a friend because you have been called a girlfriend, and you don’t have to be more dominating because you are now a husband. It’s all very simple but people don’t see- you are not who they label you to be. Indie Arie sang a song saying “I am not my hair, I am not this skin, I am not your expectation…” similarly, we are not who we are branded to be. Boys, girls, cheerleaders, jocks, husband, clerks, boyfriends, musicians… In the end, when it comes down to the very end, we are all just people.

We are all human beings.

How To Know You Like Him.....

Having thought for about week on how to go about this without being too mushy, love-struck/infatuated, I simply decided to put together some of the things that made me know that I like him, and apparently I really do otherwise I wouldn’t be doing this! And from henceforth I shall name him "My stop nao boy", and he's waaaaay cooler than "My 5-naira boy"……..(Yes, you are *tongue out*, whatever!)

How To Know When You Like Him….

You know you like him when you talk about him incessantly to your friends, always bringing something he said, something he did into the conversations that you have with other people, until they know almost as much about him as you do;

You know you have begun to like him when you see him from a distance and your heart skips a beat, a smile shapes your lips, or even the faintest sweat breaks out on your forehead, because the anticipation of talking to him builds momentum each day;

You know you can no longer deny liking him when sappy love songs like J-holiday's suffocate begins to remind you of him, and old songs like Bow Wow's Like you, with Ciara starts to come back to your head on the randomest day;

You know that you like him when you are trying to make a plan with your friends and you need his opinion to move forward, and you need his own plans so you can work around them, and you don’t even want to be somewhere he wouldn’t approve of;

You know you like him when you have an exam by a lecturer that is literally a brain drainer, a lecturer who seems to specialize in making examinations a living hell, but you are up really late, still talking to him on the phone, BBM, or even YIM;

You know you definitely like him when you start to download the music he likes, look for authors he favors, begin to use his phrases in your daily conversation unconsciously, and even have a prejudice against things he doesn’t like;

Your head should let you know you like him when you look out for him in crowded places, speak to him in hushed whispers, want to be with him always, #nothingsexual :)

You know you like him when you think about him at random times, because something equally as random, like a smell, walk, memory, daydream, laugh, and outfit has made him become alive in your head;

You know you like him when you have had a bad paper, or you think you are about to have a bad paper - panicking, and you are wishing he was there to hug you, hold you, and tell you he believes in you;

You know you like him when you believe Bruno Mars and his many many exaggerated love songs-you know catching a grenade is unlikely, jumping in front of a train would probably not happen, and dragging a piano over highs and lows and lengths and breadths of Lagos would not be possible,- but yet you understand the idea behind it;

You know you like him when he does the littlest things, but it invariably makes your whole day, and you have crammed him just like a difficult 400level Eco formula to the extent that in your head you know what he is about to say, how he'll say it, and with what expression;

You know you like him when nearly everything he says makes you want to write about him, blog about him…

Yes, this is a subliminal blog, but *in his voice* who sai? I have to express myself frequently otherwise I am going to go insane with all the non-verbalized emotions, I am not only human, but a chronic love-hunting human at that! #Shrug

I guess what I am trying to say is that once again I have fallen victim to being in the exact same position I always, always try to run away from. I am back where I was with all my unwanted shakara, and yet again, I am taking a leap of faith…..My only hope is that it would not be another "Ill-fated leap of fate" http://cremekidd.blogspot.com/2010/07/my-ill-fated-leap-of-faith.html

Because I really do like this one, but I cannot take anymore heartache, this time I want it all…..All or Nothing!

Where Did All The Slim Ties Go?

There I stood on aisle four (4) with my ushering tag around my neck on that Tuesday morning, a little nervous I must confess, since I was dwarfed in the middle of Daniel hall and John hall boys. Not just that sef, I was right there in front and hence had to keep trying to side-step the babe behind the camera so that I wouldn’t come up on the projector.

I was silently praying that nothing embarrassing would happen to me amidst all these 300, 400, 500level boys, who would most definitely laugh mercilessly at the faintest show of embarrassment.

So there I stood, conscious of my surrounding, conscious of myself, and therefore looking at everybody but not quite looking at them, but beyond them. I was trying so hard to make as minimal eye contact as possible when it dawned on me- Where Did All The Slim Ties Go?

The era of slim ties was gladly accepted by boys of all ages, class, and stance. It wasn’t welcomed, or bargained for it just sort of happened. It just suddenly happened on them, us. One minutes boys had fat ties, the next minute even CST/CHD/CBS college ties were being slim fitted to the thin-ness requirement of slim tie (I swear I'm not lying).

The era of slim ties was admirable though--because apart from looking fashionable boys still looked responsible #MyOpinion. And because, well, the ties weren't fat. Simple.
I liked spotting slim ties; leather ones, cotton ones, patterned ones, plain ones, colorful ones, dull ones, ties with pointy tips and even ties with a straight cut/no tip.

Slim ties were practically everywhere: In school -- On students, and even on the café guys, At home--On bankers and even the security guy at the bank. They were EVERYWHERE!
There were Cedarwood ties, T.M Lewin ties, Thomas Pink Ties, Tim Burton ties, H&M ties, George ties, and loads more that I obviously don’t know because a.) I am a girl, and b.) I even had to ask a friend for the labels I just stated.

Simple truth is slim ties became part of an era of fashion, they became THE era.

So you can imagine my surprise on that Tuesday morning chapel service when I looked up from the floor, and looked up from staring at the tip of my cute black flat shoes, to realize that I could only sight fat ties. Huge ties. Enormous ties.

I was seeing fat ties of different patterns, on row 1, on row 2 row 3, row 4, row 5, row 6, row 7, row 8, row 9, and row 10--All the rows that were under my wing for that Tuesday service.
I was seeing floral ties, dotted ties, plaid ties, Ankara ties print ties, abstract print ties, horizontal stripped ties, vertical stripped ties, and even Mickey mouse ties (I honestly am not lying).

Okay, the thing is I am just using ties as a basic example of the circular merry-go-round that fashion puts us on. We are constantly chasing after some sort of quota. Slim ties are in, then they are out. Fat ties are in then they are out, then in. Geek glasses are in, then out, then in. Big tummy belts are in then slim belts are in. Big bags are in, then slim bags are in.
*dramatic pause*
Boot-cuts are in, then skinnies are in, Pantyhose is in, then showing skin is in. the list is endless, knowing fully well that in the next couple of days, months, years, or decades, the trend WILL change, and yet again we will have to adjust our life to fit the "accepted fashion".

Do you want to know why? It's because we are enslaved to the ideas of fashion.

So do you want to know where all the slim ties went? They are in hiding, along with the mini skirts and the afro weaves, patiently waiting to spring back up when we least expect.

Inspired by Chiddy Bang’s Opposite Adults.

I Once was A kid

All I had was a dream

Reality snatched time it seems

Away with all the other kids

Eaten bit by bit to pieces

By hopes of tomorrow

Now I’m grown

And all I want to scream

To the walls of own inflicted asylum is

If I could do it again:

I’m

Never

Growing

Up.


Ade-Unuigbe

Musings On A Random Tuesday Night!

Musings on a Random Tuesday night!

So I just learnt, from a very reliable and trust-worthy source, that a boy could practically fake a whole relationship. Unbelievable wickedness. This has only further enhanced my cynicism towards relationships.

Okay, to be honest I have never been really cynical towards boys, relationships or love. To be brutally honest I am what you can practically call a “love slut”. What this means is that I love love, and everything that has to do with it. I love being loved, being in love, being a victim of love. Honestly if you see how many poems I have written about love, heartbreaks and what-not, then you would be on the same page with me.

I recently told a friend (name with-held) that I actually don’t mind heart-breaks. You see, I am so badly into the idea and concept of love that I don’t mind experiencing every bit of it, even the bits that people run blindly away from; the heart wrenching ones, the ones that seem to tear you up so much inside that you feel like you will surely be damaged forever, love that has been empowered to give you permanent ulcer attack.

Honestly!

Honestly, I am what you can call irrational when you talk about love. You see, I have never ever learnt how to love half-halfheartedly. My friend(name with-held again) has one boyfriend in CU, one in Babcock, One in the obodo, and one that even has a son. Another friend(no I won’t say her name) has one really hot boyfriend, one that is constantly on her P, and one that is the son of a big time person(name with-held ;p). However, none of these friends have ever rubbed off on me.

Okay okay, I would be obviously lying if I say that I haven’t dangled or been interested in two or more boys at a time(guilty) but the difference between me and these girls is that once a boy makes it official, I am his, only, period. I have never learnt how to love more than one person at a time because when I do love, that love is so pure, so unconditional, so sincere, and so total that I fear for the safety of the boy self. (Who has the strength to do that for two people at a time?) For instance, my 5-naira boy that I loved till so many many chances seemed to make him become too self-assure, or my first love that I gave everything to: body, soul, and spirit.

Hmmmm…I seem to have forgotten the point of this article…..

Okay, yes, a boy can fake a whole relationship.

Becoming aware of this fact has affected me like as if interfering cupid himself thrust a dagger in my heart. Hypothetically, how is it possible that I will be in a relationship with you for 2 years only to discover that you are still waiting on ONLY because of sex? Boys are shallow bastards (no offence to the ones that I care about).

I have a cousin who hasn’t slept with his girlfriend because she is still a virgin. They have been together for 4 years and in that time I cannot say that he has been celibate, because he hasn’t. But does he sleep with his own girlfriend? No! He’d rather deceive some other poor unknowing girl till he gets what he wants and then it is on to the next!

Sad, but true.

Apparently a boy can whisper sweet nothings to one girl just to get something from her, without never really even caring about her feelings or emotions. Apparently a boy can waste so much attention, money and “love” on a particular girl when he has his mind set on screwing her brains out. Pathetic, because for girls like me who are always willing to lend an ear to these “sweet nothings”, we become too vulnerable.

But now I have learnt, and my never-before-thought-of-cynicism has turned drastically into a doubt-the-bastard-out-of-every-word-he-says-cynicism.
I apologize to the boys that haven’t met me, but will meet me, probably fall in love with me, or even simply want to (forgive my language) fuck me. Because I have learned, and I have no one to thank except the boys that groomed me, the ones that hurt me, the ones that didn’t even want me. I have no one to thank except the boys that schooled me, consistently, till I became the master student.

You see, today I graduated!

#GBAM

First Blog Of The Year 2011...things I wanna have with You!

Entering 2011 is quite a big deal for me because I plan on starting afresh, or better still, giving everybody around me a clean slate. It might not be easy, but I plan on leaving behind all the negativity and channeling my remaining energy into so much positivity that it radiates off of me and bounces on my friends and family.

So I have managed to quickly pen down only a couple of names (forgive me if your name isn’t here, it’s not that I didn’t think of you, it’s just that u haven’t had enough time to compile this properly).

If your name is beside a word, and you don’t understand, don’t get angry abeg, it’s a new year, you can simply call me to ask me.

The word beside your name simply means that it is something I wish for you, have for you, or meant to have/experience with you! #GBAM

Happy New Year!


Chinedu @Maazi_Chiboy – Curiosity – Ope Olapade

Audrey Akagu – Excitement – Teekay @Slimboi_D

Cynthia Usen – Happiness – Betty @Omaegube

Dotun @dotchillz –Courage– Banke Fasominu

Mike Ojiakor –Contentment – Femi Ayileka

Ohimain Unuigbe –Appreciation – Safiya Sule

Mercy Etukudoh –Love – Shade Ola

Kumi @slavedriverkumi –Longetivity – Peter Salah

Akoh @Mr_Bondito –Laughter – Biodun Olapade Jnr

Chiedozie Ubadike –Forgiveness– Kayode Ehindero

Damilola @arogzz –Hope – Gary Ezeugo

John Tuki @johnddon –Confidence– Japari Ben-Hirki

Demola @Daymohla –Trust – Yeyemide Sanni

Deji Fayoyin –Optimisim – Sophea Mohamed @kekere_ekun

Ezrel Adelaja @ezrelaja –Comfort – Korede Ogidan

Ifeoma Johnson @Eformah –Peace – TY Lamba

Isioma @Isyormah –Second Chance – Kolade Faroun

Wande @wandeSpice –Friendship – Sonia Nwakama

Ibukun Coker –Faith – Toye Adeyemi @toyefreshboi

Ireti Abiola –Inspiration – Niyi Okeowo