Happy Thursday Week 13/Talk Thursday Week 1


I don’t want to write 5 stories of things that made me happy today. I want in addition to that, to talk about completely, totally random stuff.
It’s filtered into Happy “Tuesdays” before even. Here for instance. The stories will be happy, because by nature, I’m a happy person. But today I just want to talk.

Since Thursday last week, Nonso has been giving me the silent treatment. Truth be told, I’m quite relieved. And can I say, I genuinely don’t care. He and I still talk but in stilted sentences(him); “Don’t put off the generator now, I want to watch something” and authoritative ones (me);
“Close my door and put off the light. Exactly the way you met it” but of course when in unfamiliar environments, he reverts back to the familiar, me.
The genesis of this round of silent treatment was on Thursday evening. Nonso has control of the remote about 70% of the time because he instituted a rule. The first person who touches the remote when they bring light or switch on the generator owns it until they take light or switch off the generator.
I don’t have a problem with this rule. When I have the remote, if he asks to watch a show, 8 times out of 10, I’ll let him. And vice versa. But on Thursday, going by his rules, the remote was mine. I didn’t have any particular attachment to what I was watching and if he had asked me to change the channel or asked to see something else, I would no doubt have given it to him. But no. Despite seeing me with the remote, he grabbed it and when I asked him to return it, he told me belligerently that he wanted to watch a match.
When I finally stood up and wrestled the remote from his hand, he began to insult me. I’m not by nature a very stubborn person. But it needs to be established again perhaps, that when I’m provoked to upset, I can and probably will be a first class bitch. But here I was, still being nice. I asked him why he didn’t say please, he insulted me again. Then I turned back to my fried spaghetti and salad and ignored him.
He didn’t eat spaghetti that day. Normally, between him, myself and my dad who had traveled, spaghetti tends to finish before my mom gets to eat. So like I said, the silent treatment has been on for five days now and I’m relieved because I do not have the energy to answer my brother’s regularly- asked profoundly stupid questions (he knows they’re stupid, I know they’re stupid, the whole family knows they’re stupid), or deal with how he takes offense at pretty much everything. I’ve dealt with moody teenagers before. I’m happy for this current reprieve. And I got to eat seconds of my amazing spaghetti. There is no downside to this.
On Tuesday, I was told to go to the Magistrate Court in Ogba to follow up on a file in a court. Although I didn’t know the address of the Magistrate Court, I knew that going there too early wasn’t advisable. So when I finally decided to go, I asked my dad to drop me at Berger. Before he did though, he had to stop at a bank. While he was there, the person who’d parked in front of him came out and seeing me in the car asked me to call (my dad) to move out. He said it a bit rudely but I wasn’t going to make a big deal. I called my dad, my dad assured me he’d be out soon. Then this person came around again and this is where I got pissed, he SCREAMED at me and left. I took it. Then driven by an anger and a refusal to let this situation repeat itself, I unhooked my seatbelt, got out of the car, all the while I felt not a damn thing, then I went over to meet him. And I told him that the fact that my dad’s car was blocking his did not give him the right to talk “at” me and scream at me. Then I went back to the car. When my dad came out, he started telling him a fictionalized version of the story. He cast himself as the beleaguered party. He told me to please call him to move the car. He told me the second time to please call him again. And I the witch, told him that nothing at all gave him the right to tell me to tell him to move the car. He was not my mate and I did not have any right to speak to him like that.
My point already having been made, I listened to this person paint me black with a bit of boredom. My dad apologized. Getting into the car, my dad didn’t say a word to me but after a while we started joking as per usual. And I told him my version. There is no point to this story. Just an annoying event in an otherwise lovely day. I felt guilty after a while though. I can be a bitch yes, but I hate that my dad was the one to apologize for my round of bitchitude.
Now the awesomest story of today, My family just grew!
A little boy named Akosa (short form of Akaolisa I.e the hand of God) was just born to my cousin. And of course, just like his big sister, he waited for an older cousin’s birthday to show up.

But look at that cuteness!

Happy Thursday Week 12


You all know how much I dislike walking in the rain. Well, one more downside to walking in the rain, is that your shoes get fully soaked and then begin to disintegrate. Last week Wednesday, I walked a lot of places and then this heavy downpour came afterward. I was safely inside the courthouse by that time though. But afterwards, my favourite black shoes were extremely soaked, and the front of it was coming apart. I was extremely frustrated at having to take careful little steps while I was carrying a lot of files and documents. And I was hungry too. And then, on my way out of the office going home, I saw this woman. She works near my office, her car happens to be a distinctive two door and I unconsciously memorized her license plate number. I have all my immediate family’s plate numbers memorized as well. It’s a subconscious thing. But since that day, I’d never gone home with her because:
(I) I hate asking for favours.
(II) I’ve never managed to be out of the office at the same time she is. I don’t even know her office but I know it’s close by.
But that day, everything aligned perfectly, my wet shoes were spared a lot of the pressure I would have put on them and allowed to dry out in peace. We talked, I ate the food I’d been lugging around for an hour. I was so happy. I really love those shoes. It was such a perfect & timely testimony.


I’ve wanted to get baptized since 2012. I was baptized as a baby but a lot of people hold the view that unless I’m convicted as to the reason for my baptism, it’s only a ceremony and holds no real meaning. I hold that belief myself, in fact.
To that end, I took Believers Class (the only 3 year Believers Class ever I’m sure) at my former/parent’s church. Then there was Baptismal class. Since Believer’s Class took 3 years, I didn’t want to wait another 7 years to be baptized. So I made it a resolution. I can be ultra laissez faire and regularly go with the flow, but when I want something to be done as much as I wanted to be baptized, I had to make it a priority.
So I changed churches, enrolled in their baptismal class earlier this year. Lessons finished in late March or early April, and we just missed the Easter baptismal set. The next batch was due around September but we wrote the Exams in late May.
Then on Thursday last week, I got a call and was informed that my baptism was slated for Saturday morning at the Redeemed Camp but I had to attend a “vigil” first. It was a massive surprise but on Friday last week, I was at camp with my backpack filled with my phone, wallet, food to eat at the vigil, a novel to read on the drive, my hand cream and sanitizer, pashmina and a skirt in case someone told me my trousers were prohibited.
Quel surprise! It turned out that the “vigil” was a retreat. A 3 day retreat. I was angry for like 2 minutes then I rationalized again that I would stay, get baptized and then go home.
The morning of the baptism, they told me that they couldn’t baptize my braids along with my body and mind so they were loosened and after about an hour I was dunked into the water, teeth tightly clenched, nose filling up with water. They even had to do it again because my body was stiff.
Then we got back to the others for a prayer walk and breakfast. The accommodation provided was a bit like a hostel. A very clean one though. And it was very nice in retrospect, if I’d brought along my nightgown, toothbrush, bathroom slippers, SOAP, scarf, hairbrush, face wash and coverlet I have no doubt that I would have loved it. But I didn’t bring them so I just liked it.
The prayer walk took about 4 hours instead of the scheduled 2. One of my greatest blessings, I believe, is my ability to know my limits. Physically and mentally. To know what I will and will not accept, tolerate or do. On that walk, I realized at a point that if I continued, I’d probably die (serious exaggeration), have my first fainting episode or be so sore for days afterward, I wouldn’t be able to walk anywhere without pain. So like a self respecting person, I turned back, retraced my steps and started making my way back to base. My plan was to take a shower, wash my hair, eat breakfast and take a bus to my house. But as it turned out, my roommates had taken the key to the room, there were no duplicate copies at the reception either. So I sat down and waited in the cafeteria for almost 3 hours. When they eventually got back, I did all the above and got home safe and happy. It wasn’t hard to see the benefits to myself. I got baptized, the braids that would have taken me about 3 hours and a lot of arm pain to loosen was loosened in less than 20 minutes, I got an extra 3 hours to sleep and some time alone to commune with God.


One of the hazards of using the Oregun route is the unbelievable traffic that descends sometimes. When that traffic comes, you’d hardly see any tricycles or buses to take you. And although I generally don’t mind walking, I’d walked a lot during the course of the day and I was tired. Plus, there was the ever present threat of more rain.
Then after about 30 minutes of waiting and being on the losing side of battles for spaces on tricycles, I struck up a conversation with a girl but it was the stilted conversation of two people with much else on their minds. Then she got on a tricycle and while it was passing by me, she asked where I planned to stop. It was the same place she was stopping so she asked the driver for special permission to carry me. As she was carrying me, I wanted to pay but she didn’t even let me do that. I just sat there feeling really thankful.


From lots of experience, I know that if you drop anything in a bus, you shouldn’t expect any one to help you pick it up. It doesn’t matter if it’s directly in front of them, or that you being the one to pick it up will cause extreme discomfort. It’s not their job and they won’t do it. So yesterday when someone bumped my hand at the same time the bus took a sharp left turn and sent my book flying, I looked around for it and I saw it in a very hard to reach place. I decided to finish my phone call before I contorted myself enough to reach it so I turned to the front and kept talking when someone tapped me on the shoulder with my book in hand.
I thanked her and allowed myself enjoy a deep feeling of wellbeing. Something else to be thankful for; the road was very free and I got home in record time.


After almost a year of going to Water Corporation to find out the problem, buying water three or four times a week etc, we’re finally getting a borehole. I’m very relieved I must say. I moved past tired months ago.

Article Recommendation

It’s not an article. There’s this application called Wattpad. As a user, you can post chapters of books you’re writing for the Wattpad audience to read for free. I downloaded it because I like reading. But I never read anything on it. Last week Thursday, I was filing at court and it was taking a lot of time and I’d finished my paperback novel. So I opened the application and I got started reading one book, recommended by Wattpad called “The Good Girl’s Bad Boys” about bullying and friendship. It was massively unusual and it was written by a fourteen year old, which I’m jealous of, but I would recommend it over and over and over again. It’s really good. You don’t even mind when the story veers off into uncharted waters.
Read it if you can, hmm?

Happy Tuesdays Week 11

So, I invite you guys for quite a bit of stuff, but I don’t show you what happened at a lot of it. But here; a baby step.
So, #TheExcision was on Saturday, the 11th of June, 2016.
Getting there was my major problem. I knew to get on the BRT, take a bus and drop at Lekki Phase 1, but from there, I planned to play it by ear. I wasn’t worried. Not really. But my major problem lay in coordinating my plans with someone else’s.
She’s a friend of mine. I invited her for the programme and she, having had my phone and watched all the videos of Janette…ikz on it, fell like I did, in serious like with her.
When there’s a variable in my plans that I am unaware of, I prefer to go early so I can mumble, jumble, miss my way enough but still get there within time.
I suggested 12 noon, she said 2:30pm, I suggested 2. We agreed she’d call around 2ish. Then I waited, confirmed that I wouldn’t see two of my other friends there etc. And then I almost fell asleep waiting for her call. So I got up, got dressed, and started leaving.
I stopped somewhere and called her. “The MTN number you have dialed is switched off…” I waited and tried again. And after about 25 minutes, I knew I was about to combust with anger so I started walking. Got to Berger and on the BRT, chose a single seat, then her call came through. Where was I?
Then I moved to a double seat, the Ticketer came by, told me my ticket was for Metro not BRT, so I left my stuff and ran back to get a BRT ticket then ran back. By then the BRT was very full, standing room only, my friend wasn’t there and lots of people had come by asking about the seat I’d saved for her. (3:21pm) The driver entered at the same time her call came through. Needless to say, she did not follow me. I got there almost an hour late and I wasn’t happy about it at all. But, despite my irritation, despite my angst, it turned out that the event began late. Lucky me.
Now, you must know this, I primarily went there to see Janette…ikz. All the other spoken word artists I would listen to but Janette was the primary reason I went. The beginning of my puppy dog like was last year. Abuja. Cutie and Chike weren’t around, the others had travelled. My uncle had unlimited Internet. I watched one of her videos; her wedding video and I really liked everything so I watched and watched and watched.
And then I saw about 3 of my friends outside, was talking to someone when I saw a flash of red hair in an afro. I swear, I ran towards it. Literally ran. My thighs reminded me of that run for the next 2 days; I strained a muscle. When I got there I really wanted to give her a massive hug. But I’m not Mikey, and I do have self control. I should have hugged her. I don’t think she’d have pushed me off. #ineedahug. I contented myself with taking multiple pictures of her and the rest of them.
Well, the event went really well. I discovered that when she performed The Whole Truth, which I’ve watched about 60 times, I kinda dissociated. There was an extra verse in this particular one though. I listened to that the hardest.
Good thing I didn’t watch all their videos beforehand. The biggest revelations of the day for me, were Ezekiel Azonwu (@wordsbyezekiel) and Preston Perry (@Preston_n_Perry). I’ve listened to both of the foreign female artists, more to Janette…ikz though and a little bit to Ezekiel. But I’d never listened to Preston before. I’d read his Instagram sermons though and he seemed solid. But he blew my mind. He was the only artist I snapped my fingers for. Not that the others were undeserving. I just felt so attuned to his performances.
On the local spoken word artists, I was really impressed with Plumbline and Gaise. And one woman stood out for me. Atilola herself. I even follow her on Twitter not knowing she was the convener of the entire event. And I’ve binge read her blog before and I loved it. Check it out. Click on the link!
Also, I met someone in real life that’s been a great blogger friend to me. I won’t tell you her name. I’ll just add up a pic of the 2 of us.


I eventually met up with my friend, we shared a plate of small chops, and my Shortbread and my papa came to pick us up. I’d planned to sleep over. Finito. I got a picture of myself with all four spoken word artists but I’m super disgusted that I didn’t even open my mouth to say anything encouraging. I’m ashamed of myself. As simple as that.
But I wouldn’t trade my attendance for a carton of Shortbread and skittles and that’s saying a lot.

I’ve learned to recognize particular days. For instance, there are days when it seems that every car would like to hit me. It’s not an exaggeration, merely a fact. And for a long while, I victim blamed, in other words, I blamed my self for a bit, my way of walking, not crossing the road fast enough. And then I noticed a pattern, whenever these days came around, the drivers of these vehicles were either running red lights, going the wrong way, careening too close to the sidewalk, driving angry or blind or just plain stupid. But the point is that I am always the intended victim of the fallout. I don’t want to tell y’all any long stories. Yesterday, I was running late and my thighs still burned when I walked, so I hopped on a bike to get to the park. It registered only later, but in the thick of Berger traffic, a danfo bus almost collided with my spinal cord. Barely an inch apart. It’s easy to be brave when there’s no immediate danger or when it has passed. Just thank God for my life. I’ve heard and seen too many accidents arising from incidents such as this to take my near miss for granted. The day of course brought some more over adventurous drivers my way, my boss and one other person who almost ran over my leg; this clown who misjudged the space between a parked car and the road and almost splintered my knee, one human being who started reversing without bothering to check the rearview mirror. But hey, Obianuju is safe and happy. Obianuju is fine. Thank God.

So the Sunday before this one that just passed, one of my cousins graduated from Babcock with a degree in Accounting. We went for his graduation and I’m super happy about it.

The graduand's mother
Is it weird that Nonso is taller than most of us now?
So much cuteness...

A couple of weeks back, my boss asked me to go file something at the National Industrial Court and well, I won’t get into the why of it, but he asked me to keep whatever change there was after paying the filing fees and the lateness fees. But here’s the thing, the calculations for the lateness and filing fees we did were way off because the lateness fees were a whole lot smaller than we’d calculated. Which means, therefore that….
I was so happy that day. And so thankful.

I have a confession, I’ve never particularly known how I look. I can take a picture of myself and look at the expression on my face but never really at my face itself. Am I making sense?
Added to that, I don’t use makeup, except lipstick and whenever I’m applying it, I use the mirror on my phone and keep it pointed at my lips. I know I’m attractive, but I’ve never really cared either which way. And my skin tone changes so often, I’m never sure if I’m dark or light skinned. Or how it really matters in the grand scheme of my life.
Also, pretty much everyday, someone would come up to me, commenting as to how much I look like someone else they knew.
Anyway, recently on a car ride, something caught my attention, my face. It’s one thing to know that you’re a “good person”, that you don’t have too many acne battle scars, that you don’t have pointy ears but it’s quite another thing to look at the whole picture and realize that you are in fact, quite beautiful. Outside and in.
This particular post might seem vain to some of you, I know that. But it’s groundbreaking to me.