(16) THE TREATMENT

When everything came bubbling out, I went, emotionally, mentally from Bruce Banner to the Incredible Hulk. I was angry, all the time. Even when I was crying, I was angry, even when I was eating, I was enraged. Even when I was walking, one of the only things guaranteed to make me let go of my anger and fear, I would be so angry, I would be screaming into the wind. That’s another aspect too: I would wake up some days screaming, other days crying. On other days, I wouldn’t be able to speak.

I felt like I was in a race between me and myself and the prize was my life. Because it was clear to me, clear to my parents, clear to everyone that I couldn’t go on the way I was going on. But there was still nobody willing to listen to me. They knew all about it. But I had been holding it in for 10 years at that point and I wanted to talk about it more than once. More thoroughly than someone telling me, “okay, we have heard. Ndo. Now stop talking about it”. Why did I have to stop talking about it?

I’ve said it before, and I’ll undoubtedly say it many more times, Evil and indescribable pain lurk in places where people want you to be silent. To let it go. No, I want to talk about it and by God you will listen. You will listen to my grievances, you will listen to my mammoth sized rage, you will listen to my terror. You will fucking listen. Because there has been too many years where I woke up from sleep and wanted to cut my wrists and feel my blood flowing out. There have been too many days when I flirted with thoughts of suicide. A huge truck is coming. Just step in front of it, and your problems will be over.

I unpacked my mind thoroughly. I love(d) psychology. Encarta was my favorite database when I was growing up and I’d always gravitate to articles about psychology and mental health. I loved reading articles on psychology.

And now I had a chance to practice. On myself. From my diagnosis, I found that I had severe anxiety, the manic depression was caused by severe stress and there were “tinges” of schizophrenia. All for me. You shouldn’t have. The perfect cocktail of mental health issues.

You could claim you have diabetes and you need insulin. Just stockpile the insulin for a couple of days, then buy a syringe and an intravenous needle. You’ll be dead in no time. Clearly, I had a lot of resentment buried too.

I was screaming and screeching at God and I firmly believe that is what saved my life. The Saviour who dared to cut me (paraphrased T.D Jakes. Crushing it: God Turns Pressure into Power)

I love walking. In the darkness, when the sun goes behind the clouds, my favorite thing to do is take a walk, bottle of water in hand. I was walking around Ikeja, near under bridge (I actually do not remember how or why I got there, it remains a blur) one such time when I saw the book for the first time. The title immediately grabbed my attention.
The Confident Woman by Joyce Meyer. It was applicable as I was having a severe crisis of confidence. And I knew that if I wanted to make myself over, break me down and build me up again, there’d be a new slate.

And I could make myself, the perfect version of me that I was always meant to be. So I bought the book. And having a new purpose, I decided to stop thinking about death, stop craving death and start working on my life.

It is and it remains some of the hardest work I’ve ever done. Ever. I used to set goals for myself, U-U smile at everyone today. U-U have a conversation with your mom/dad today, a friendly conversation and leave whenever it degenerates into anger or she tries to emotionally manipulate you. U-U, forgive yourself today. U-U forgive your parents, your friends, and Uncle Asshole today. U-U write the story of what Uncle Sunday Asshole did and share it with everyone. U-U, when someone upsets you, unleash all hell on the person. U-U, unleashing hell made you feel terrible, shebi. Now go and apologize. And from now on, learn how to correct people in love. (Still learning this lesson). U-U, celebrate your birthday on Saturday this year. Invite lots of people. Did your brother say he wants to save your ice cream cake for his friends? Let him do it. It doesn’t matter if he didn’t pay for it. Let him do it. Buy 3 cakes for yourself, you have been through the storm, you have been through the fire, you have come out of it alive. Celebrate. Things will get better for you when you believe truly that it will get better.

An uncle, whom Nebolisa was named for invited me and Nonso to spend a day with him. He took us out to Ice Cream Factory, bought us food, distracted Nonso with more food and ice cream and took me into his office where he had a very candid conversation with me where we unpacked yet more problems and yet more resentment. But at the end of that day, I was quicker to smile. And I was hopeful. Sometimes, just sharing how angry you are with someone who has a pre-existing relationship with you and your family greatly helps you feel understood, appreciated and hopeful.

I started playing Maroon 5’s She will be loved. Continuously. In addition to all the other songs Joy and Ife put on my phone or recommended to me. The only songs I used to listen to in that period were songs that made me either angry or very angry or depressed. But I started listening to happier music.

I once read a book; This song will save your life (Leila Sales). The songs that saved my life were Hillsong’s mix, 116 Clique’s Man Up Anthem (it’s non-gendered abeg), Lecrae’s More but in that period, most especially Hillsong’s Freedom is Here.

If you read the 2015 review, you might have guessed that I completed my self imposed treatment in February. But I definitely did not. It was a continuous process and journey. And I’m still not finished. It’s gotten a lot easier especially as the raw points of my pain, anxiety and anger were covered. But I’m not finished with it yet.

With the help of the Holy Spirit, I identified 5 major areas where my thoughts were perverted.

1. God: I truly believed at a point that God hated me. He’d have liked me to become a martyr. I once asked him, that if He could transfer the breath in my body to someone else, why wouldn’t He just do it? Because I was tired of living with his disappointment and disapproval. I would keep to our agreement. 6 months. But if he wanted to hasten my death, it was fine by me. Martyr behavior something πŸ™„.

2. Family and Friends: The lessons I learnt in pain were not so easy to unlearn. I felt like no matter what, I couldn’t count on anyone but my self. And that is a very painful belief. A very limiting belief in addition. It began to dissolve when the Holy Spirit showed me how Joy, one of my closest friends was sacrificing her time to go buy me lunch and make sure I ate it. It was in how my big brother finally listened as I unloaded so many years of pain and bought me jumbo sized Skittles and a carton of grapes. In how my parents were taking unprecedented levels of care and concern in my life; my dad was buying me shawarma, nkwobi, asun. In how my mom let me rest my head on her lap and kept on stroking my hair and calling her brothers and my dad’s sisters to tell them to describe how they loved me so much. My friends and family were there for me. And I didn’t have to be strong anymore. I could let it go. Because someone was always on hand to pray for me. Someone was always checking up on me.

3. Money: There was a reason behind why I started to check my motives for giving money in the first place. And a reason I hardly give out money of my own direct capability anymore. I speak too much big English. What I mean to say, is I rarely give money or provisions in such a way that people know it came from me. I prefer giving it to a church and watching them/being absent when they distribute it.

4. Sex: I’m not saying anything in detail about this oh. But I had a lot of miscommunication and misconceptions regarding sex and Wikipedia, girl’s/boys magazines, secular and Christian romance novels have helped me to clear it up. Still a work in progress but I’m nearing the end of my target goal regarding my beliefs and where I need to be. Please if you are following my game plan pro forma, ask yourself; is there anything/situation/relationship that would cause you to sin against God/your own body at the current moment? To decide whether or not to read a secular or a Christian romance novel. It’s very key.

5. Hope: There’s a verse in the Bible (1st Corinthians 13:13) that says: And now these three remain: faith, hope and love. But the greatest of these is love. I completely disagreed with that verse in that period of my life. Wholeheartedly disagreed. At that time the greatest struggle for me was believing that better things were ahead of me. Better things were coming for me. There was too much happening in my life at that moment in time and I just needed quiet and peace in my soul. And hope, hope that everything would get better. Hope that my nightmares and night terrors would turn into good dreams and my irritation with every human being in the world would morph into a calm, a silence borne of peace, tranquility and the ability to actively ignore anything and anyone that did not serve my purpose, my goals or my pocket.

I unpacked everything. And at the end of it, I would feel so tired. Super exhausted. My speech and elocution improved greatly (I used to get very easily tangled up over my words and unable to get them out in time when someone was waiting for me to speak. Oooh, I just realized, (the angel of) God did this same thing to Zechariah!)

I got so much sleep in that period. No bad dreams, no night terrors, I finally retired the small knife I was keeping under my pillow back to its spot in the kitchen. I felt safe. In my house, in multifarious family members’ houses. My godparents house. My friend’s houses.

Thank you God for bringing me to the realization that I’m where/at the place I wanted to be all along.
There is nothing you cannot accomplish once you set your mind to it. And ask for God’s help.

Peace be with all of you! Hugs and 😘.

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(15) Prepare yourselves for the blessing(s) you asked for (Ep. 1)

I saw this tweet on Saturday and at first I just retweeted it. But then I was in a mood on Sunday and I saw an opportunity to make my views known and educate some people.

So I said (embellished);

This how I’m praying that my relationship with the man I consent to marry will be (like).
I hate stress with a passion, don’t invite me into any tense family situations surrounding you please, resolve it on your own with my help if it’s asked for. Does your mama/someone else feel possessive of you?Don’t bring me in until you’ve worked that shit stuff out between yourselves. I’m not EVER going to argue about any man, fight over any man.
The energy I come in with is the energy I intend to keep.
I haven’t stayed single for 6 years and used those 6 years to be stupid. Plis dear.

Then someone asked me via Direct Messaging why I made a two tweet thread about a relationship I don’t yet have.

And here was my response:

First of all, thank you for asking me privately. It’s respectful and I appreciate it a lot.
Second, (it was) because I studied myself thoroughly and I know that if I join to someone, anyone, who isn’t free & unencumbered, a Christian in the truest sense of the word, who has worked on HIS mental health, kind and makes me feel like a princess, a queen, (then) my mental health, that hard won happiness will degenerate and give me anxiety on another scale that’s greater than anything I’ve heretofore faced.

During the portion of my self imposed therapy, where I worked out the family and friends portion, I dug very very deep into my mind. To find out and analyze what types of relationships I currently had and used a variety of books to know which kinds I should aim for.

When a relationship is broken, it’s sometimes extremely counter- intuitive to say, divorce, separation, hate is the best option. Very counter intuitive.

So many of the people who’ve gone through divorce have felt otherworldly levels of pain, feelings of abandonment, it’s caused them anxiety, stress and in cases of people who are terrified of having to deal with these feelings, I give the advice in below.

Write down exactly what you’re looking for in the marriage or in bearing children. What are you looking for. Which vacuum do you want to cover? Is it love? Sex without the threat of soul ties? Companionship? A partnership? Friendship? Someone to clean up after you? Someone who can make you feel validated? Be extremely, extraordinarily honest with yourself. If you’ve written the list and discover something new, you can put the something new there as well.

You owe your future self the gift of honesty, the truth of your feelings exposed in the most vulnerable places. Being honest with yourself makes you vulnerable with yourself. Makes you look at your own flaws and more willing to treat yourself with absolute kindness. And that is the goal. Finished up with the list? Not finished yet. It doesn’t matter. Now take it to God.

Tell him, you’re so excited to meet this person and have him/her fill this vacuum in your life. But you’re not sure you’re prepared enough. You’re not sure that you’re healed enough. God is a good good Father. I call him Big Daddy. And there’s a reason I can always talk to him about my future, my feelings and my plans, because I took the risk of inviting Him into every part of my life. (Complaining to God about a situation and asking Him what you should do about it, that’s inviting Him into your matters.

And for someone who has already confessed to having schizophrenic symptoms previously, it was an uphill climb choosing to trust Him. Choosing to believe that He would not let me fall or drown.

Back to the original post, divorce has to be an option for me in case you turn violent, sexual abuse my child or any other child. I’m not and hope never to be all about that cover his shame lifestyle that (old) Nigerian women like to preach. Nope.

If you dare to do to my DAUGHTER or MY SON what was done to me that made me want to commit suicide, that gave me the beautiful gift of (extreme) anxiety, I won’t just “not cover your shame”. I’ll make sure to report you and disgrace you in front of both our families and anyone else whose respect you crave or appreciate. Nature abhors a vacuum. If you’re not building a child up actively, you’re automatically tearing them down. Children respond too well to their parents emotions. Their parents’ moods and use that as an internal check.

There’s nothing I won’t do to defend my (future) children. And I’d like them to know that. I’d like them to know that they can hate me, they can come and cry in front of me when the world makes them feel so scared and I’ll hug them very tightly and stroke their hair until they (start to) feel better. They can/may want to see Daddy but I’ll be there. Always. And even if I’m not/cannot be physically present, I’ll have someone in place to watch over them.

There’s a verse in the Bible that says: “Catch for us the foxes, the little foxes that ruin the vineyards, our vineyards that are in bloom.” – Solomon 2:15.
I had always wondered what this verse meant. It was only until I read Joyce Meyer’s Battlefield of the Mind, that I understood.

She said, the “foxes” are anything that obstructs our natural inclination toward love or impairs it in any way.
And that the “vineyards”, are our ability to love other people. Strangers, people who hurt us, people who make us feel hatred. We’d like to love everyone all the time.

And I took that knowledge and added it to the things I already knew and had already put into practice. I like complete honesty. With me, it is much better to do and say everything upfront, IT NEEDS to be done and said UPFRONT. Whatever your thoughts, beliefs, I need to see whatever your opinions on Christianity, family, my and your continued health and well-being within the first 5 dates.

I once mocked someone, a woman I had not even met, because the person who had gone on a date with her, mentioned that they had gone to a restaurant, ordered the same appetizers and she’d liked it but he said that he found it too spicy. And she told him that she regularly cooked food as spicy as this, more spicy in fact and if that was a barometer on his feelings on spicy foods, he had a couple of options. Get with her program or let them have a nice meal together and then both part ways amicably.

And that was the 1st of January, 2017. And I said something like, “why can’t she just cook 2 pots of soup?” and the man himself defended her. He told me that, it was her right to defend her personal choices and to know better than anyone what she was capable of doing. And we had a friendly argument over it.

But these days, I find myself understanding that woman a whole lot more. See, if you take so much pride in your ability and willingness to do house chores, guess who the house chores will most likely be given to? And I don’t want to chain myself to a stove or to the dustpan.

I just want to breathe. Deeply. Be “lazy”. Hire a cook/chef. Maybe someone to come and clean my house thoroughly like twice a week. Without worry that my beliefs will offend someone, without stressing over what my parents in love believe about what kind of home I grew up in.

Or wondering if someone will feel insulted by my unwillingness to kill myself with house chores because “in his family, the woman did all that. That was how she expressed/they knew that she loved them.”

I intend to express my feelings of love directly to my children, please. To continuously affirm them. And I’m sick and tired of people, using housework to measure if a woman loves her family. I hate stress. I hate stress. I hate undue stress. I HATE STRESS!

I believe in questioning all motives and all teachings, I tend to have a great big laugh at people who think they have to blindly follow something just because “their pastor said”, that’s how you get anxiety on another scale, how you get hatred, how you get suspicious of family members who have not or are not planning on doing anything to you, see how swiftly the “little foxes” snuck in?

I’m not saying I’m unwilling to love and respect my husband. No, I will love that man so much. I am willing to be his peace. A safe space for him to come and unload his feelings. A joint contributor to the family finances. Willing to “cover his shame” if he loses his job but still stays productive after a brief period of rest. And all that.

But (his) kindness needs to beget (my) kindness. (His) thoughtfulness will encourage (my) thoughtfulness. (His) respect will inspire (my) respect.

Once upon a time, I used to practice the opposite. Inspiring their own respect with mine. Their own thoughtfulness with mine. Their own kindness by showing mine first. And it is exhausting. It is so super tiring.

That’s how I dated someone who almost persuaded me to miss my father’s birthday celebration because I had promised to take him out for lunch to celebrate his graduation, and kept me in the hostel waiting for his call for 2 days straight, calling him every couple of minutes/hours.

I sussed out his game and I left the hostel for home and stopped calling him. When he finally responded to my call the next night, he gave me an extraordinarily stupid reason/excuse for “ghosting” me.

He was talking to our mutual friend to learn more about me.

HE. WAS. TALKING. TO. OUR. MUTUAL. FRIEND. TO. LEARN. MORE. ABOUT ME. πŸ™†πŸ½πŸ™†πŸ½πŸ™†πŸ½

And I began to get so Mad (angry) and sad. At him but mostly at myself. I knew even then that I wasn’t ready yet. I knew even then that I hated stress. Why did I then, take myself, and put in the hands of a child like this one biko? Why did I cause myself to be put in this position?

I hung up on him until he could come up with a better excuse. What the hell? He tried to break up with me soon afterwards using “style” and I got even more angry with him and myself.

Why did I do this to myself. Why? Put myself in the hands of someone who in just one weekend, tried to emotionally manipulate me, ghosted me and tried when all else failed, to break up with me by telling me to bring him his books of poem and some other stuff he’d given to me.

I immediately realized that he was trying to ghost me. AGAIN. PERMANENTLY. πŸ‘»πŸ‘»πŸ‘»

Why did I put myself in this situation, biko?

I mourned the presumed loss of my self respect way longer than I mourned that actual relationship.

Profesional Advice:
Before you know what you want in a relationship, what you’re looking for, what you will or will/cannot accept in any form of romantic or platonic relationship, I do not advise ANYONE to carry themselves into or accept just any relationship. Because the shame of a failed relationship is devastating for someone like myself, who is highly emotionally intuitive. And you run the risk of getting into sticky situations and soul ties. Please ehn. It’s not for me.

Also, I’m not saying either that some people should not be cut off just because your pastor said they should be cut off. No, I’d never say anything like that. Just because your pastor said so does not make an advice inherently bad.

The church, the body of Christ, is demonized too often in the world and I’m not willing to contribute to it.

Sometimes, I engage to make HIM known, according to my awareness of who He is in that period, other times I learn according to my own personal boundaries.

What I’m saying is that now you know…

(The second part of this thread is up now.)

(14) God “safe” us/Safe Spaces

Good morning beautiful people!

So, it’s clear to me that given the “performative Christianity” thread that got so much attention on Whatsapp, that you all really want to know about how I know so much about mental health issues and you’d like to harness the power of my shared knowledge to improve on your own lives and relationships, especially with God and your family.

I’m going to tell you my true story now: please don’t judge, seek to offend or mock me. Just respect that this is a safe space and I’ve realized that I do NEED to share this story with you.

Just listen (read) me. Please, just read along.

THE GENESIS

If you’ve read this story, you probably thought I was a strong person because of what I’ve been through. Um, that’s not even the full story. The full story might make you cry and weep for me.

I’ve been dealing with anxiety and depression for 15 years. 15. YEARS! And it kept on accumulating. The problems kept on coming from everywhere. Visual stimulation overload, auditory overload, some hediots and shediots in my life mocking me, my eating habits, my weight, my eyes. Basically any and every thing about me. I do not encourage that here. EVER.

One of the very worst things you can do to a person who has identified her two major love languages as Acts of Service and Words of Affirmation is calling me or chatting me up to say stupid stuff, or coming by my house, my room, my space and spewing hateful words. Sometimes, you know “Lifing/Existing” basically was a struggle for me.

I could tell when I’d uncovered a new level of my pain. Like 1 year’s worth. Poof. Gone with the wind. But when I prayed to God to make this the best year of my life, I could feel him smiling. Just smiling. And I knew that I was in serious “trouble”.

Because God was reaching deep into my heart and uncovering pain that I’d left covered. Forgotten about even. Because I believed that I was healed. ENOUGH. I believe that God had restored me. ENOUGH. I had just gotten ENOUGH of my laughter and peace of mind back so I could truly fall asleep. I could fall asleep without a knife underneath my pillow because I felt safe ENOUGH.

But it didn’t mean that I was restored fully. God wanted to restore me fully and I was like, “Do we truly have to do this today/this week/this year Lord?”. Sincerely speaking, I feel fine. It didn’t matter that I wasn’t feeling so close to my cousins sometimes because I thought I could aggressively love them ENOUGH so that it wouldn’t matter that my heart and mind didn’t feel close to them, I was obeying your words Lord, what would you rather I do?”

#NigeriaDecides2019 changed all that for me. I began to have anxiety on another scale, on another level and I knew that ENOUGH was not now Enough- for- me. The bad thoughts were returning full force and I constantly found myself losing appetite. Unable to eat. Unable to speak. I wasn’t completely healed in my heart yet. There were parts of the story that I still hadn’t told, parts of the terrors I felt that still had to come out. But I could choose how it came out this time, I could choose to regress to the level I was at in December 2016, making little, bite sized compromises toward a full on healing or I could choose to just let all my secrets go. All at once. All in one go.

And yes, another level of pain was unlocked but almost immediately I felt true, the truest peace. And that is what God is offering you today. Do you only want bite-sized pieces of peace? Or to feel an overwhelming flood of peace and finally, finally seek not to do it on your own anymore but recognize that there is somebody bigger and greater than you, whose strength you can rely on?

Before we start this post, I want to categorically state that I’m not looking for pity, there will not be a Gofundme link, a PiggyBank link or any other bank link, I have been richly blessed and I’m still expecting more blessings to come and I have very much to look forward to in my life.

I am also not looking to assign any blame. Unless you know how emotionally draining it is to make and maintain a friendship with someone with mental health issues; the fear, the worry, the terror, you don’t get to cast any stones.

This thread will not automatically attach the term, “victim” to my name. I am a conqueror. I am NOT a victim. And there is nothing wrong with me.
(Hello Google, please play me I’m no Victim by Kristene DiMarco.)

Without further ado;

I didn’t originally have 2 siblings. I had 4. My elder brother was born; Chike (March 10) then my elder sister Tochukwu, (April 28) then Obianuju, my name was originally supposed to be Ebelechukwu but I thank God my grandmother hijacked the name. πŸ™πŸ½ Do I look like an Ebelechukwu to you? (October 7), then Nebolisa (November 15) and Chukwunonso (June 8).

Clearly my parents were very, very busy creating babies, making use of Valentine’s day even. 😍

Tochukwu however didn’t make it to her second birthday. She died of malaria. Rest in peace Tochi.
And then there were 3. Nonso wasn’t born at this time. Nebolisa didn’t make it to his 13th birthday. He died on the 9th of December, 2007. Rest in peace BohBoh. Rest in power, both of you.

Now, Tochukwu, Obianuju and Nebolisa all suffer(ed) from sickle cell anaemia. Chukwunwike and Chukwunonso do not. For which I’m grateful. I remember contesting in @TheNakedConvos’ The Writer contest and the first week, they said we should write about our mothers.

Mine was a non-fiction piece. Rookie mistake but I regret nothing. My parents are strong, forget. With what they’ve had to deal with? To remain strong, hospitable and kind?


Nebolisa became very sick when he was 8 years old. We were all supposed to take a trip by air on Sosoliso Airlines to Enugu (that name was so rhythmic and funny). It was to be an afternoon flight and my big brother was assigned to watch over us. He started running a fever, he had malaria etc so my parents didn’t let him come with us.

Our vacation took 3 months, we met up with a cousin of ours and we enjoyed life in the way you can only do when reality has not yet burst your bubble.

Reality burst all our bubbles when we came back. My brother would be healthy one day, sick the next 3 days, my brother would have convulsions, he would have to be rushed to the hospital in the middle of the night. My parents spent more time at the hospital than they did in the house. Once again I say;

Then the worst happened, my brother had a stroke. It rendered him speechless and immobile. This went on for 3 and a half years. He literally couldn’t do anything for himself. He couldn’t move. He couldn’t talk. He could only smile and groan.

During that period we had about 15 people living with us in the house but come afternoon time, you’d hardly see a one.

And then the Bogeyman came. If I were narrating my life; I’d say watch out, bad man ahead. Super story; I thought to myself many times that my life was a candidate for that show. He was my lesson teacher. And a massive fucktard, a super dickwad. I think about him and I want to commit murder. But I won’t. That’s how you get sent up for felonies, because you didn’t keep your mouth shut when you should have.

It was super easy to get lost in the shuffle of my family in that period. I genuinely thought no one ever needed me until Nonso was crying or fussy. 10/11. I was in Junior Secondary school at that time. And I’d had pneumonia twice already. I was in that ultra emotional zone where I needed to talk with someone, anyone regularly about everything, including my diagnosis, my brother’s health issues, even my family being overcrowded.Too overcrowded for me sometimes, I felt.

But something I’ve noticed in life, it is very difficult to find people to talk to when you actually need to talk. No. What you’d get instead are lots of people who want to have sex with your underaged ass, who’d try to take advantage of your parents using you. I was a quiet child. An introvert. But I was a happy introvert. But after the “events” , I was a mostly silent, morose introvert. Very. big. difference.

At the time Nebo stopped talking, he was my closest friend. I very badly needed a replacement friend. I had friends, don’t mistake me. But it’s one thing to laugh and cry with a friend about Bingo who just died and quite another thing to lay on someone the kind of baggage I was dealing with constantly. Imagine, I thought about my everyday life as baggage. I knew, even then that I’d have a lot to deal with in the future.

But the stuff I was currently dealing with, I trusted someone with some of the pain at this point and the person spent the rest of that year avoiding me. I learned my Lesson. Deal with your shit yourself. I trusted a Minister at church with only a little bit of the issue, none of the assault and the advice I got was not good enough. I trusted another person at church, one of my teachers and when I got home, I could tell my mother already knew what I’d said and was waiting for a “good time to discuss it”

I learned another lesson. Unless you go to a different church, then either your mom or your dad, but mostly your mom will know every part of your matter before the end of that day.

I left that church when I was 19, and since then I’ve never felt the need to be in a church no matter what every Sunday morning.

And I’ve had everybody from my parents generation who found out about it, froth at the mouth because of it.

Auntie/Uncle, izzit your soul? Is it your soul that I am using? No, then ignore me. I want to sleep very deeply today.

I learned to hide. To keep secrets. I kept so many secrets, it scares me now how I could have gotten away with all of it.
It started with a kiss. This man, 20something years and me, 10/11 years old. I pretended I didn’t notice him trying to kiss me and continued with maths.

He did it again. I slapped him. Then he tried to hold me down, and forcibly kiss me. I slapped him again. And ran into Nebo’s room. Tom and Jerry. I remember, he used to justify himself, saying he wanted to marry me. Nigga, I was 12, 13, 14. Dafuq? What the hell is wrong with you? And even if I had been older, I would never, EVER in my life, get married to you. And on and on the merry go round till I was 16, in the University and caught this man watching me sleep for the 3rd time inside my room. That summer.

I called a cousin to get rid of him, I called another cousin when the first cousin wasn’t doing much that I could see, imagine he had the temerity to tell me that the man merely just liked me. He just LIKED me. πŸ™†πŸ½πŸ˜Ύ. Fuck you!

Enough was finally enough.

He had done it a couple of times before. What could have happened to me? My parents had absolute trust in this fucktard. What about me? My parents noticed that I was not so excited to see Uncle “Asshole” anymore. Why didn’t they ask me?

πŸ˜”πŸ˜³

My mom read my diary, completely sidelined the entry about the sexual assault and harassment, to be fair to her, it was written in a sort of code and chose instead to focus on my harmless crush on a guy in my grade and on my relationship with her.

This is the genuine reason I hate people knowing my business. Because when they know your business, and when you know that they know your business, you have to act/pretend on their behalf. And I don’t like acting or pretending. I want to be my most authentic self possible.

And then proceeded to humiliate me in front of some distant family members, and some of her “new” church members (I used to have nightmares about that church, and I won’t mention the name) all constituting the peanut gallery.

I was the lion in the middle

What about me? Why didn’t they take the time to ask me anything? I was literally drowning and there was no one I could safely process my feelings around. Everyone was busy, everyone had work to do, everyone was escaping the house. I used to seek refuge in my neighbor’s house, I used to tell Uncle Asshole to teach me outside where everybody could see us. I couldn’t get away with any of it.

Uncle Asshole would tell my mom some bullshit story and I’d be right back to putting pins in his chair and holding a small knife from the kitchen in my skirt. But I wouldn’t talk. No. We knew and played our assigned roles very very well. Me and the fucktard, the fucking twat. I will never play those roles, do that shit AGAIN in my life. God forbid!


I tried to get better at Maths. In SS 2, I worked harder than I ever did to not need Uncle Asshole any more. But unfortunately for me, Chike had problems with Further Maths. It be like that sometimes.

Then Chike had to go for A Levels in another state, so I was more alone than ever with this depraved pervert.

I graduated from Secondary school. But this man came around ostensibly to teach Nonso. And to brush me up pending university admission. My parents thought he was super kind to be doing this. I have to laugh.

Kind like a fox in the henhouse.

Kind like a vulture circling, providing shade before it snatches a dead baby. Kind like that. Sure. Why not. Dickwad. Stupid Bastard!

About 6 months after Nebolisa had the stroke, my dad was posted by his bank to the South East. I’m not very close to my mom but I am close to my dad. The previous metaphor is misleading AF. Foxes and vultures do need to eat after all. I could tell of no reason why Uncle Asshole had to do this.

So, my dad. I’m pretty sure if he had asked me around the time Uncle Sunday got wandering lips and hands, what was wrong, I’d have told him. But he’d been transferred and I had to deal. It took him a year and some months, the help of some friends and family members to work his redeployment back to Lagos.

By then, I was a master, a veritable sensei in the art form of pretense. “Obianuju is everything okay with you?” I’m fine, mummy. “U-U, whats up with you?” Nothing Daddy.

Also, it was around this period that my mom would come into my room in the night to be poking my belly and squeezing it to make sure that I wasn’t carrying a baby in my uterus.

Cover my/his shame. You have more of a responsibility to make sure they don’t throw you out of your ozzband’s house. My name is on the fucking deed!

Uncle Asshole: when Nebo died, he came, grieved with us, kept right on sexually harassing me. When my grandmother died, he hopped on a bus with my cousin to Anambra, my home state to come watch the proceedings, tried to grab a seat beside me, hold my hands. Gbesere oh. Are you mad, are you fucking insane?

But my closest in age cousin from my paternal side was there, so I blatantly ignored him. Uncle Asshole was not even an isolated incident.

I can remember at least 7 people who felt the need to follow me literally. Like, they’d make a crude comment, I’d ignore, avert my eyes and they’d start walking behind me laughing or posturing. One guy trapped me and forcibly grabbed and groped me. I hate markets so much. I fucking detest markets. So so much.
7 times. Tejuosho. Balogun. Yaba. Anambra. I fucking hate markets. I detest them with every fiber of my being. I hear @MarketMarch did something and they know now that touching you (in)appropriately and following you is not ideal. But I still detest markets. And more isolated incidents.

I didn’t feel the need to detail all those experiences on the blog, I thought I came through it okay. And I was ultra determined, it wasn’t going to destroy me. I would not be broken by stupidity.

I am never a victim unless I choose to be one. And I do NOT choose to BE one.

In my final year in the University, by this time, “Uncle Asshole” was a bad memory (he had attempted to scam my parents). I was still being tough geh, tough geh but I was moving on with my life. Then I had a stroke.I had a “little” mental breakdown. Just a tiny bit of what was coming.

Nevertheless, I managed to graduate on time with my set. πŸ’ƒπŸ½πŸ’ƒπŸ½πŸ’ƒπŸ½. So I dodged that emotional bullet.

But in law school, the bullet was literally running after me. It was chasing me. I would swerve, it would swerve with me. I would bend down, it would whizz close to my ear. I’d had insomnia for years but it was manageable and I was getting by. But in that period, when I finally slept, I would literally feel myself fighting to wake up. Not sleep paralysis. I’ve had that before.

Literally. Fighting. To. Wake. Up.

The only times I wouldn’t fight was if I slept in the afternoons. See how the devil works? The devil is a liar.

Still, I was handling it. Then third term came and exam preparations started in earnest. 3 weeks to my exam, I started running a massive fever. My temperature spiked and I was very very sick.

My mom had to swing by Law school to pick me up. I think it was a weekend or a Friday. I stayed home for a full week. The family doctor later told me that this was the illness that scared him most. The devil is a liar.

Now, I was aiming to get a 1st class in Law school to make up for the first class I didn’t get in the University. When I came back to school, I picked up my textbook and I couldn’t recall absolutely anything. I had worked. I had read at home. I had drafted, I had done most of our group’s homework, I had coached people.

But, I couldn’t, literally couldn’t remember a damn thing. I tried not to panic. I really did. I was taking it slowly, pacing myself. Drink your medicine, take a walk, come back. Read. It was coming back to me, slowly. But I was fine. It was fine. I had coached people. I had done the homework. But I couldn’t, literally couldn’t remember a damn thing. I tried not to panic. I really did.

And then I went to Worship Wednesdays at Joshuaville and spent the entire service screaming at my reflection in the bathroom.

But it was still fine. Just because I was facing a problem I didn’t mention anything to my family and friends about. Just because I had no experience with having massive waves of panic attacks didn’t mean that I wouldn’t magically get it together right before exams. It was fine. Shit happens. I was dealing with it.

Struck down but not destroyed

(13) Thanking My Scars: I really do not care about hurting your feelings (1), Ep. 3.

Hello everyone!!!!I know I abandoned this series for a minute there. I’m so sorry about any abandonment issues that my abandonment of both these series and the blog might have given some people. I lost my spark, I lost my literary way and I’ve only just recently rediscovered it. And pending rediscovery, I didn’t want to throw out too many half assed articles, I’d be betraying myself if I did sub-par work, betraying my talent, betraying the writers who believe in me and knew what I was capable of writing, betraying people like my brother who have supported this blog from its beginning and have shared so many of my articles to their friends, I’d be betraying my blog readers who after so long still remembered me, not to plug their own links (that’s very okay. I truly don’t mind), but people who genuinely look up to me, who care about me personally.But most of all, I would have been betraying God who gave me the talent to write; to say the things I couldn’t actually speak through words because the actual words would get stuck in my throat and I wouldn’t be able to get them out, who gave me confidence and divine blessings over and over again. If I put up too many “meaningless” posts, I’d have been shaming him. And proving myself unworthy of the gifts He gave me.I’m not saying that “meaningless” content does not have a place, even on this blog (meaningless in this case, in the fact that they do not help you or anyone in your journey of purpose), but my aim in creating this blog was to educate people about my views on everything, religion, music, pain, God, even celebrity and non-celebrity felonies. Absolutely everything, in the words, sarcasm, funny and sometimes inappropriate ways of Obianuju Jennifer Ebelechukwu Ayalogu. I’d have been betraying myself if I didn’t set a clear boundary/guideline for just how many posts I could write without any inspiration driving me.

And for anyone who wonders/is wondering what the meaning of Thanking my Scars is, and why scars should be thanked anyway? I respond, think about it this way; have you ever said anything grievously offensive to someone? Have you ever held a view that you now do not hold and told everyone about it?Those views, those offenses can be the scars and thanking them means that you show them the respect they are due because holding those views helped you in some way however slightly to becoming the amazing person you are today. I don’t really believe in holding views and seeing them in black and white. Good or evil. Too many people live in the shades of grey and while I believe in putting in the work to be a “white”, I also have to acknowledge the struggles of those people stuck living in the greys, who do not know how to come out of it, and be a white. I sound hella religious now, yeah? Occupational hazard. My thoughts are continuously jumbled, writing helps me articulate what I want to say and say it, but with a bit of ramble tossed in.Back to the original story, this post is a sequel to my previous post here. And once I’ve settled my mind on the best course of action for me, as regards to any situation, it’s quite difficult for me or anyone to change it.

Something set me off today. A situation where someone was trying to emotionally manipulate me into giving them money. I’ve told you all about my brother, the one who died?Well several of the “holdovers” from that period till this day, plague my family. That was the period in which my mom was too generous with everyone. There was nothing anyone asked her that she’d not stress herself trying to obtain for the person.She passed that trait of frenzied giving (take all my money, would you? πŸ™„) onto me but with the help of God, I came up with a strategy. Sentimental giving (60%) and Strategic Giving (40%) of my Charity Budget. I have stuck to those levels by his grace and no power of hell, no demon(ic pronouncements), no emotional manipulation from the pit of hell, no amount of pain will cause me to stray from those levels of giving. Please say Amen on my behalf!

So this “holdover”, this extremely problematic auntie knew somehow, I’m guessing they all gossip about our family still, that I’d be home. Because she came all the way to my house, strategically when she knew my mom wouldn’t be around nor my dad either.Immediately I saw her, I knew what her intentions were. And I really wanted to go hide in my room and blatantly ignore her. But I reasoned, I was in my father’s house, spiritually, physically, whatever I sanctify on earth is sanctified in heaven as well and all that and I really needed to embrace the coming confrontation and not keep running whenever anyone looks at me with hatred/guile or emotional manipulation on their minds.I’d been practicing; on Twitter, in online chat groups, in real life even, the spirit of ignore them/nod and just move on is strong, but I have to make Him known, make my opinions known and not back down. Boldness and confidence need to be built upon previous boldness and confidence.

If I could tell one problematic auntie yesterday that I’m very comfortable not going to church regularly and I’d really appreciate it if she wouldn’t try to force her own opinions (of mostly performative Christianity) down my throat and I ended up not backing down from the confrontation but instead welcomed a mutually respectable and logical discussion with facts backed up about my views and her views, then I could stand up to this woman today.

So I went out, I did what I planned to do, greeted her, offered her a seat, some water to drink, some food, told her to go in the sitting room where there were many fans to cool her down (knowing how to confront people does not have to involve yelling and screaming, that’s actually terrible manners, I’d wonder if you were okay. If the frustrations of Being Nigerian were getting to you, if you needed to talk to someone who wasn’t me because abeg, don’t pass on your shituations to me because if you knew the mental load I carried ehn, you’d pity me. Not necessarily the case currently, but…)

There’s always an easier way to do everything. To bell/skin the cat. I like looking for the easiest way to get it done for the sake of myself, so I’d not have reflux (secondhand) embarrassment or any remorse about what I’d just done. I’d feel supremely confident that I was right and tomorrow, if someone wants to body shame me or marriage shame me, I’ll have supreme confidence in telling them to kindly mind their own businesses and leave me alone to mind mine.

Unless of course, they knew of anyone they were willing to introduce me to who was free & unencumbered, a Christian in the truest sense of the word, who had worked on HIS mental health, kind and was willing to make me feel like a princess, a queen at all times.If they didn’t know of anyone like that, could they please mind their lives, their primary business and stop pointing a searchlight onto mine? Thank you.

In the case of this particular problematic auntie, she had incurred my wrath the day I’d been told by my mom that she ambushed my youngest brother at a time when she knew he’d be alone and literally scammed him of money. It might seem like I don’t give a damn about much but you do not EVER project your stupid issues onto my younger brother. No bloody way I’d ever let that happen and do nothing. No way.

I’ll come up with a revenge so cold, you wouldn’t ever believe I’m capable of executing it.The presumption when you wear glasses, have an “innocent face” is always that you’re quiet and non threatening. So, many people have sought to take advantage of me because I’m supposed to be quiet and non threatening. And it’s okay when they try to. Sometimes I’d even roll over and play dead for them to take advantage. Because when they do, the next time they can’t is always so perplexing to them.But, but, but this was my younger brother. Nothing, absolutely nothing is ever as important as my younger brother’s confidence and mental stability. And you do not EVER seek to diminish him, make him worry about anything, shame him about his weight in my presence. NEVER. I’ll immediately put you in your place in front of him so he knows that no matter what, I’m always there for him.

Returning to the story, I told this problematic auntie to go put her feet up and we’d discuss things, just as soon as I’d had a bath and brushed my teeth.I confirmed what she was on about the minute I asked her to call my mom (who’d warned her that she wasn’t willing to keep giving her her salary basically) and she kept giving excuses. No wahala.But this woman did not understand this key point: I might fight with anyone and everyone in my family, but I make sure no matter what, we’re UNITED against all strangers, all “unfriendly friends”.I bathed, brushed my teeth and made my bed. Then I went into the sitting room where she was and called my mom on her behalf. Awwn, you’re welcome. πŸ˜‚πŸ˜‚πŸ˜‚πŸ˜‚πŸ˜‚The way she looked at me ehn, if you see me laughing by myself with no external stimulation that you can see, just know I’m still laughing at that look on her face. You dare mess with my baby brother?

Ahhhh, these people don’t know me. Or the God I serve. While she was speaking with my mom, I was giving her “helpful tips” on how to properly tug on my mom’s heartstrings. Because I knew for a fact that even if my mom relented in her position, it’d be something I could afford without having to go withdraw money.

In the end, my mom instructed me to give her a token sum of money. But I can guarantee that shame will not let that woman see me and look at me in the face when I greet her. I’ll spend some time praying for her shame this night. But as you see me so, I don’t really care.

When someone, anyone shows you their true colours, when someone does something as grievously unfair as asking my then 13 year old brother for a substantial sum of his savings (my dad used to give him his pocket money monthly/weekly and he used to save up), when the same person tries to emotionally manipulate you into forsaking the boundaries you put in place to protect your peace and your mental health, I encourage you to not give a damn about hurting their feelings. Selah! Go and prosper people. Much love to everyone. πŸ’•πŸ’•πŸ’•β™₯️

(11) Tufiakwa

πŸ™„πŸ™„πŸ™„πŸ™„πŸ™„

My thoughts

I am not angry at this article per se. I am angry that Nigerians still glorify and romanticize poverty and suffering.

And now they have passed the “suffering glorification” baton to a white woman who lives in Amsterdam with a Nigerian husband. Would she glorify it so much if she lived here, I wonder πŸ€”.

I understand her point. I truly do. But you can’t claim it makes sense to anyone with a logical mind. Ko wole.

A government is supposed to provide infrastructure, it’s supposed to seek to help, seek to serve its citizens before election time comes around with all the frenzy and violence associated with elections in this country.

This government, I’ve noticed relies very heavily on propaganda, threats of violence, insults, cheap tricks and fake news to win the continued support of its followers.

The Minister of Power, Babatunde Fashola said in a statement that some Nigerian states have almost constant electricity.

Electricity has been very good in these parts, I’m not denying it. But for the last 2 months, we have suffered extended bouts of darkness. 5 days last month. 8 days this month. I tend to sweat through my clothes even when I have both my ceiling and standing fan switched on. Imagine the torment during that extended period of darkness. πŸ˜“πŸ˜“πŸ˜“πŸ˜“πŸ˜“πŸ˜§πŸ˜°πŸ˜§

They fixed the problem last week Friday. But it will not surprise me very much if the problem recurs next month. Because that’s how it is in this country. Suffering Olympics everywhere.

But I wonder, how long do we have to wait before Nigeria gets the kind of leadership that doesn’t wait until 8 months before an election year to introduce policies that benefit the population?

Ganduje. Audu Ogbeh (what world is that man living in. I’d like to apply for a visa to that dream land). The Minister of Health. Osinbajo. Buhari. Tinubu. Are all complicit in this dance of fools.

I’m tired of this country. Nobody should ever have to live for 2 weeks without electricity. Nobody should be so stressed out and exhausted they fall asleep behind the wheel of their car at 11AM. Nobody should be denied sleep because their neighbors generators won’t allow for silence.

This post needs to be thrown into the dustbin. Nigeria should aspire to be better than it currently is.

(10) The need for Emotional Intelligence

One of my friends posted a picture on Whatsapp.

I copied it here and these were my contributions:

#Copied. But I spent a lot of years wondering about the same thing. You a grown ass human being.
(Let women) leave that my husband is my crown, my man is the head and I am the neck bullshit with our parents generation. 😀 It has already been proven not to work. There are so many stories. So much toxicity.

So many weak men who haven’t finished growing up, depending on women to cover and keep covering their shame and their stupidity. And then returning to the same toxicity time and time again.

Everyone: free advice here, go and learn, possibly master the skill of Emotional Intelligence. You can’t come and be stressing my life. I can still remember 2014 and 2015 when I fought the hardest battle of my life to build a life worth keeping. A life that uplifted people. It was a daily struggle. But it was worth it. And I won’t now come and join myself up to a man who diminishes me and my hard won happiness under the guise of “love and support” according to the Nigerian society.

Grow up. Men. Women. Everybody. All of you. Yes, I don vex too.

Photo Credit: Amanda Oleander. Sourced off Twitter.
Photo Credit: Amanda Oleander. Sourced off Twitter.

Knowing God is Good, Knowing and Loving God is better

I’m a very, very picky eater and a slow one. I don’t particularly understand the craze about drumsticks and unless the chicken/turkey wing is soft, please don’t give it to me, it’s so difficult to bite into without staining your clothes and I prefer to use cutlery, even at home.

My cousin is a clown

I don’t eat most swallows, I hate boiled eggs and I do not like garden eggs. Unless you have a couple of hours to spare, please don’t give me pounded/poundo yam, I like yam pottage but only once every couple of years, I like beans but in extremely tiny quantities, one of my cousins (I forget which one) has a picture of me taken when my mom made me finish my garri by fire by force. She gave me the garri (half a cup by 1pm, by 7pm I was still eating it). My family has learned to if not embrace my picky eating, tolerate it. I hate throwing food away so I’d leave it in the fridge until myself or someone else ate it or until someone else threw it away.

A revolution started for me in 2016, when I decided to try making garden egg sauce (it was desperately bitter) but I managed it with sweet potatoes, I tried grilled plantain with egg and sausage filling, I tried boiled plantain and I discovered I loved it and I was thinking perhaps the restrictions I’d self- imposed on my food were too strict but it wasn’t until I tried snails that I knew for sure.

I hated snails until August 27, 2017. I remember the date because it was one of my closest friends birthdays. We were invited to a birthday party in her honor and I knew that I did not want to eat rice that day. So, I scoured the menu, ordered nkwobi as a starter and then a dish called Chef’s combo platter with snails. The only other non rice/ poundo/beans related option was The Chef’s combo platter with prawns and you guessed it, I didn’t like prawns back then. So I settled for the snails and I reasoned that if I couldn’t stand it, my friends would help me finish it or failing that, I’d bring it home for my dad, mom or brother. Imagine how shocked I was to realize that I loved it.

The Chef’s combo platter with snails

I recently watched this Airtel advert, #3G is good, 4G is better and it illustrates Iya Rainbow battling with the traditional gele while her daughter- in- law easily puts on her auto gele. The traditional gele comes apart when Iya Rainbow bends her head, and the amount of flustering over her amuses me. She finally tries the auto gele and can bend her head without worrying about the gele losing its shape. And she chooses to replace all her geles with the easier, shape retaining auto geles. (Just watch the advert).

Proverbs 3:5 & 6: Trust in the Lord with all your heart, do not depend on your own understanding. Seek His will in all you do and he will show you which path to take.

It pains me to realize, but sometimes I forget about God when I’m considering solutions to my problems. I relegate him to the level of prawns, snails or worse, boiled eggs and I completely forget what a mighty, mighty absolutely fantastic God I am serving. The God who makes a way where there is no way, the God who brings to fruition every word that comes out of His mouth. The God who surprises and delights me at inopportune moments. And a problem when faced with God by your side, is a problem you can face squarely, head on. So, today spend some time with the God who makes everything beautiful in His time.

Rush Podcast (Podcast Go)

“How do we know what our hearts need this Christmas, if we don’t connect with the one who knows what our hearts always need?” – Healing your heart this Christmas, 00.07.27, Rush Podcast.

“There’s only one thing we need to do… and it’s this, worship” 00.08.25.
“What is worship? Worship is simply telling God who He is, who we trust Him to be”- 00.10.14.

So today, Trust in the One who created you. He more than anyone else knows just what you need at every point in your life. And worship Him.

P. S – I have tried prawns now (love them), plantain and egg frittata (adore it), a bigger quantity of beans and even boiled egg white. (I did not like it very much). I still take ages over pounded yam but I’ve made progress and I’m proud of myself.

P. S 2: Loving and worshipping God in no way means sending Whatsapp Broadcast messages or Facebook or email chain messages. Those are extraordinarily annoying and emotionally manipulative to the extreme.

Please stop doing this if you already do. You will not die. The quality of your life will not be reduced, you will live a happy, peaceful life with greater quality relationships if you put down your phone instead of threatening people with stupid messages like this-

Thank you and God bless you.

Merry Christmas everyone!

THE DAY AFTER 7/10

As I move further into my 20s, I find that I tend to feel happier the day after my birthday. The pressure to be visibly happy is reduced greatly as is the pressure to do things you’d rather never do for the sake of social media.

I’ve found that there tends to be so much pressure put on birthdays and it starts from childhood. I’m sure some of us can still remember the days of primary school when we’d share goody bags. And there was always that one person who had everything in their goody bags. So we’d go home and wonder why we didn’t have all that stuff in our goody bags and then resolve to change it up on our next birthdays. Except by then, the goalposts would have changed once again and the cycle and questions would continue, and the pressure would increase.

I don’t do well with pressure. It makes my heart race and gives me what I call pressure paralysis. It makes me feel extremely anxious like I’m back in Law School, up on stage in front of 5,000 people and I know what I’m supposed to say but the words won’t come out and I start having a panic attack.

I figured out a hack that has helped me greatly: if the pressure to do something a certain way is choking you, scrap that idea and do it another way.

My birthday was yesterday and I did nothing out of the ordinary. I had planned this birthday to the last second, I’d have 2 cakes, small chops, juice, I’d have professional pictures taken, I’d go out and turn up etc etc. And then on the week of, I noticed I had literally no energy to do anything towards that. So in the end, I did absolutely nothing. No cakes, no professional pictures, de nada.

What surprises me is the peace of mind I had yesterday. I’d bought small chops and asun for the ones who gave me life on Friday and I’d praised the One who made it worth living on the day of and there was no one and nothing for whom I had to pretend anything for. So relaxing.

It’s the day after my birthday today and what started out as a thank you post has now become an op-ed. 😊
Getting back to the purpose of this post, I’d like to say a HUGE thank you to my village. The people who stand by me every day, every time. My brothers, Olayinka, Ayomide, Joy, Fifi, Mobi, Tomi, Rukayat, Yanmife, Nedoux, Bisola, my cousins, my uncles, my aunties etc etc etc.

I’M SO GRATEFUL I GET TO DO LIFE WITH YOU ALL!

I kept a pen for 6 years and other short stories

I kept a pen for six years…

I have a fascination with unusual pens, whether their unusualness is color related, the place I got it from or the shape. I have a pen shaped like a toy car. And basically everything most people lose often, I have a tendency to keep for ages. Bobby pins; I’ve had my current pair for 3 years. Hair bands, nail cutters, hair decorations, there are some in my room that my mom has threatened to toss out. They’ve been with me for a long long long while. Think 11 years and above.

The point, a colleague of mine received a green pen from a customer and after a while, she forgot it at home. Now I had a green pen too. So we were hanging out after work and she mentioned that I’d taken her green pen. Lol. I then fully explained all the differences between my green pen and her green pen and then I ended with the statement, “Don’t test me oh, I’ve kept one pen for 6 years before.” I had indeed, from age 12 – 18 only ending once my pen bag was filched, probably because of the N1000 I’d taken to keeping there. But as a lesson to everyone who has a pen similar to mine, “do not test me oh, I’ve kept pens for 6 years” and not for lack of usage too. πŸ˜ŠπŸ‘πŸ‘ I’m clapping for myself.

DiCS personality testing

So in one of my bank’s training sessions, the facilitator had a breakdown of this personality test and she explained that dominant personality types are drivers, result oriented people who don’t particularly care if they hurt your feelings, how they look etc etc. I know some dominant people. Influential people are the kind who care, who’ll take the time to explain why while making you feel like the choice is completely yours but you’d definitely want to do as they say because you see the benefits. And then she explained C and S. Cautious/conscientious (prone to reading everything before signing or agreeing (I’ve read the terms and conditions of quite a few online agreements, think 60 pages of small print), have unbreakable, sometimes unreasonable routines, conscientious people really really don’t want problems and they look for lots of ways to not get in trouble; and Steadiness. I was listening to the personality traits she described and I was like, Uju, this is so you. And then she said, everyone has little bits of all these personalities but the difference is the ones they exhibit constantly. Imagine someone being a C and an S in one body. Basically me. Chai. Chim o. I almost burst into nervous laughter. I’m a bloody hero guys. I’m a super hero. I’ll sign autographs for you as long as you feed me for an entire day day. And I eat, a lot. 😊

P. S- I have absolutely no idea why the I is always in non capital. I completely forgot what the opposite of capital letters is. I just remembered, it is Small letters.

John Oliver- Last week tonight

Please take some time out to watch this show. It’s crazy funny and very very informative. See,

This is my rule, ignore it

I wrote on a previous post, that I’d stop reading blog posts if the blogger didn’t reply comments I’d left on their posts. So here’s an amendment and an apology; shit happens. I realize that lots of people have commitments to more than just me and I’m cool with that. I don’t like it at all. But if I like a blog and leave a comment and I’m not replied to, I’m cool. It’s very peaceful not caring too much about crap like that.

Jevinik Place: A review

Went out with a friend today. I suggested Jevinik and he agreed. I had to be at work by 7am and we were to meet by 2. So I was quite hungry by then. Remember, I like food and Jevinik is known for its huge portions.

I ordered Abacha and my friend ordered pounded yam and vegetable soup. And then I ordered Nkwobi to go.

Things to note, you had to order your sides separately. Basically, my friend had to order goat meat separately. My Abacha was good. I had to answer questions about Abacha and what it was and by the time I was done, I was exhausted. Also, my abacha came with zero “encouragement”, zero “motivation”. I had to pick out my friend’s dry fish and munch. I didn’t know you had to order sides separately.

P.s: I didn’t know I was going to do this review until halfway through my food. So there are no full pictures. Sorry.

Then there was the bottle of water we did not ask for which the waiter gave us. A confused order perhaps. But still. I’d ordered the abacha as a starter but in the end, it was starter, main course and dessert. I have a tendency to overestimate my appetite. Adaeze can tell you. We had fresh juice, as the waiter called it. He did not make a distinction as to what the fruit was but, come close 😳 it was pineapple juice with lots of foam. You’re welcome. The prices were fair, except I just noticed that the price of the goat meat was more than the price of the soup. Lol.

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Everything considered, including the 10 minute power outage, I give the place a 3.5/5 star rating.

P. S- Thank you so much dear for being the kind of person whose food I can grab and chew without shame. Thank you for the long ass walking tour and everything else.

The men in my life (2)

Sorry I’m just posting Part 2 now guys!

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Honorable mention must also go out to Eleazar, Chinedu, Bimbo and more for being parts of my squad at one or more parts of my life.

After Law School part 1 was over and done with, I didn’t attach myself to any one person.

Then penguin school part 2 came and I didn’t succeed in making a new boy friend but then again, it wasn’t looking out for it.

But NYSC came round, and it brought Chimaobi into my life and it completely changed my perspective on lots of things.

Currently in my office, are Damola, David and Leke. And I like each and every one of them with everything in me. I make them laugh, they make me howl with laughter. As much as I like them, as much as I wouldn’t want to compromise contact with them when I swan off to chase my pie in the sky, its a story as old as time. Boy likes girl, girl likes boy, boy and girl teach each other multiple lessons, boy and girl part ways, all the richer for having met each other.

I could have named this post, The women in my life, but I like the shock or humorous factor when I title any post. Or failing that, I just aim for respectable interestingness.

I believe, as one commenter on my last post said, that this is the plan God has for me concerning my future husband. I believe that. But this post is not about the men in my life as it pertains to me exactly right now or even to my future plans regarding marriage, its more about how so many things are transient.

Friendships, seasons, in some cases, family. Maybe I should have kept more in touch with Bolu. Or Tayo. Or Mobi. Maybe. I did in fact keep in touch and we’re more like acquaintances right now than really close friends. But I know they’d make good husbands one day, if that’s where their life compass leads. But they’re not in my life anymore, not for want of my trying, They are just not part of my life so intimately anymore.

So often, I find that I chase things a lot longer than I should. We all do to be honest. I’ve made friends and I’ve lost them. I’ve made money and I’ve lost money. the friends i lost were not lost because i forgot to keep in touch, they just faded out of my life. Every so often, i call an old friend up and then we make plans but never follow through.

These days, i know to embrace the transitory nature of situations. To realize that circumstances and situations are only there for a short while and to squeeze as much of the experience as I can.