Grey Matters

Carthasis

2012-01-14T00:46:00.001+01:00

It's no co-incidence that I achieved clarity on the last day of 2011.
Like the song says 'suddenly I see'.
I was 14 or thereabouts. Wé had only been in Bénin for a year. I dont
remember how wé as à family were introduced to him but whatever the
case he got so close to the family that hé could ask that we, the
kids, come and spend holidays with him. And of course the request was
very well received; hé was an elderly person, my grandmother's brother
and à catholic priest.
There was little hésitation on his part. According to the sleeping
arrangements wé would all be on the same béd, hé inbetween, flanked on
one side by me and by my two younger brothers on the other. When much
later in the night hé turned towards me, lifted his leg and placed it
on me I thought- no hoped- it was à mistake. I froze. I could feel his
erect pénis- though I didn't know anything about an érection then- and
the weight on both my thighs.
In my 'frozen' state I must have fallen asleep because I recall
feeling him attempting to insert his penis between my legs. I remember
freezing again and holding my legs tight together so hé could not get
in. I felt that if I stayed really still and stiff hé would believe I
was asleep. Not that I felt the would let me be if I was asleep but in
some way I hoped it would make him realise that any movement from my
body was not à sign of complicity in the act. Hé struggled, albeit
silently so as not to wake up my brothers, with ineffective thrusts
until in my fear and shock I obliged him by relaxing my legs à bit so
the pénis slipped between my laps, believing hé would not know there
was no pénétration. He emitted a satisfied 'mm-hmm' and having worked
himself into à frenzy ejaculated shortly after. I felt the wetness in
between my legs. Hé was 52.
I cant quite remember if hé said 'thank you' - à phrase hé would usé
often enough later on- or if hé stood up to wash himself, or whatever.
All I remember was waiting for the morning to come.
Hé never behaved like anything happened the next day, and when hé
brought us home, I acted the same. But it was à heavy burden for me to
carry so I wrote it down at the back of my diary, and cancelled it
out, but referred to it in the entry for that date. I tried to speak
to my cousin, à university undergraduate, about it. I showed her my
diary and she guesséd that the code BOB stood for back of book. She
checked the back and saw the scratched out sentence 'Fr --- M L to
me'. She asked what ML meant and guessed it by herself and just shook
her head and dropped the diary. I ran after her pretending to laugh,
telling her it wasnt what she had guessed. I was frightened and
ashamed, afraid that they would say I caused it somehow. And she was
from à staunch Catholic family.
one I résisted him the best way I could by being as rude as was
culturally possible in that situation and generally showing my
displeasure. Especially when hé caught me alone and would ask 'how are
you sexually'. Hé retaliated by making my stay terribly uncomfortable.
Hé would pût me down in front of guests, give me à load of chores to
do and make sexist, chauvnistic remarks about how I did them, make me
go on without food and pretend not to notice. So many things. And in
equal measure hé would lavish me with pampering gestures and items in
à bid to win me over.
When the actual sexual acts occured, hé made it physically,
emotionally and psychologically convenient for himself. Again hé came
to pick us up for holidays but this time hé dropped us off back home
in installments- I was the last.
While wé were all together, hé would sometimes waylay me in the dark
with more suggestive questions and -I believe- actions. I remember it
made me very uncomfortable. I also remember not given an answer that
hé liked to the 'how are you sexually question', prompting him to ask
me 2 more times in different situations. I also recall in my
Anger/fear/disgust(?) the last time I shouted a loud 'fine!' hé was
embarrassed and tried to cover up with laughter and à retort, 'i know
you will always be fine'. I also recall that à little punishment came
the next morning.
Another question hé would ask me was ' are you à virgin'. I always
said 'i dont know'.

(to be continued)

2012-01-13T18:52:00.002+01:00

From this day forward, I promise to do my utmost to nuture, honour and
respect my body and myself. I will no longer deride my looks but
instead encourage myself to be the way I want to be. I will engage in
physical and nutritional discipline that will be the precpitator of
that change. I will desist from eating things which are harmful to my
health or which add no value to my nutritional goals.
Most of all I will draw strength from my heavenly Father through whom
I can do all things.
So help me God
'chili!'

This Christmas

2011-12-21T01:40:00.002+01:00

I've never approached Christmas the way I am now. With fear; even,
dread, à little joy, and sadness. The reason is obvious, it's supposed
to be a time to celebrate but if I counted my blessings, I cant
celebrate:). Literally.
It's been one of the worst years ever and I dread à new one.
Yes, I know, 'thank God for life'. It's in the living that the problèm
lies. But the great thing about the human spirit is its ability/desire
to keep on. Regardless.

I remember

2011-12-13T23:51:00.001+01:00

Some painful things you just block away subconsciously because your mind finds it hard to deal with. But sometimes they come flooding back.

I remember when I went for the first scan for my pregnancy, I was maybe 10 or so weeks pregnant. The scan saw a gestational sac, that is the bag of water where the baby stays in the womb, but could not detect any heartbeat. The conclusion was that I had a blighted ovum. (This happens when fertilisation of the sperm and ovum actually occurs but the result does not form properly. A kind of false conception.) I was partly sad and partly relieved. I wondered if I could not have a child, and if I did anything to cause this one from developing properly. Anyway, I was sent away and asked to come for another scan in about two weeks or so (I can’t quite remember now). As God would have it, a few days later, I began bleeding. I rushed to the doctor and was sent for another scan and there they saw a healthy, happy overactive embryo, happily swimming away. That day was the first in a series of close calls in relation to my pregnancy but God saw the lil un safely through.

Another thing I remember was the delivery itself. Like I said in earlier posts, it was a 12 hour labour. And looking back now I remember the pain I was in- terrible pain, especially in the last few hours. I had several medical personnel around me but my mum who waited outside all through was not allowed in. I remember begging the doctor to hold my hand at some point, begging for some kind words... they were mostly just screaming at me. When the baby came out, her head tore my vagina quite a bit, and as if that was not enough, the placenta was stuck. They had to manually evacuate it and in English that meant putting their hand into my very sore and bleeding vagina, down to my even sorer womb and sweep through. Only a woman that has given birth will understand the pain. I screamed ! They had to give me anaesthesia to put me to sleep. I woke up to find them trying to stitch my torn vagina-without anaesthetics. Again that was hell and I couldn’t stand it. As a matter of fact I woke up to the pain of stitching and the doctor was saying ‘stay still’, stay still’. Apparently in my grogginess I had been speaking a lot and that was also irritating him because he told me to ‘shuttup’ as well. Things came to a head when he slapped me twice really hard on my thighs when I shifted them in pain. He complained that he was spending so much time with one patient when he should have been done with several. I remember begging them to give me local anaesthesia - injections on the site to deaden the site- that I would pay. But what did I expect? I was in a public hospital afterall. The pain was terrible, even for about 2 months afterwards. And to think that this baby had/has a father.

(But when I look at my lovely, happy daughter, it’s all worth it. No one can ask for a better child- honestly. And NO, I wont beat her when she is rude to me because of what I went through when I gave birth to her. Having her was not her decision- it was purely mine. She didn’t ask to be born and I refuse to raise her with that burden of misplaced guilt hanging over her head. She needs to be polite because it is the right thing to do.)

Finally, I remember the people that stood by me through this trying time, 2 friends I barely even knew, my mother and my brother. I remember tonight that I have to be grateful to them. I had no-one else.

Cats, dogs and reptiles

2011-11-17T19:09:00.001+01:00

Hey Folks,

I had a pretty awful day yesterday and I still feel bad about it.
So out of the blues a generous friend of mine sent me 10K. I was
ecstatic because it meant that I could afford milk and nappies for my
baby especially as she was close to running out. I spent 2k on some
essentials and planned to go to the market the next day to get my
baby's supplies.
Now, lately I would rather not drive to the market on Mission road,
here in Benin; parking is torture and backing out is even worse. You
have to contend with human and vehicular traffic!Anyway, that day,
because my mum sent me on some errands close to the market, I thought
it would make sensé to save the 'okada' fare I would have spent the
next day, if I just went to the market from there.
As I drove in I noticed that the low barricades on both sides of the
road had been broken, making it impossible for cars to drive in and
park, with their bumpers close to the stalls and their backs to the
streets, as was the usual practice. But there were à lot of cars
parked along the street, which I assumed was à result of the
démolition.
Anyway, after driving up the street looking for space unsuccessfully,
I drove back down in a bid to leave, but changed my mind when I saw à
car pull out. I waited for it to leave and parked there.I had barely
stepped out of the car when I saw à man in uniform standing by the
driver's sidé. I walked up to him and then noticed that à towing van
had actually pulled up to my bumper and the men were getting ready to
hook up my car! When I asked the uniformed man what was going on hé
said no one was allowed to park there. I was shocked cos there were no
signs to indicate that plus there were LOTS of cars parked there. I
mean I even waited for one to pull out and the speed at which they
arrived there meant they obviously saw that!
Anyway, to cut à long story short, the uniformed man, seeméd to change
his mind, due to the pleas from me and the nappy seller, who latér
joined me. Hé said hé would just tow the car à short distance and let
me go. The trader got into the car with me and we left. Unfortunately,
hé lied.
To cut à short story shorter, the car was towed to their office quite
à distance away - to Sapele road for those who know Bénin- and just as
we arrived there I was slammed with à 13000 naira fine. When this
happened, I wept. Not because of the fine or the towing but because
the precious money which would have solved my baby's pressing need was
gone for nothing. After à lot of verbal manipulation and liés from
them they said they could only reduce the amount to 7000. My mum
already asked for 1000 from the money so I literally was left with
nothing.
Thinking about it now, I'm just so unhappy. We are down to just 2
nappies and the last tin of milk and I cant tell how another will
come. I am so upset with myself for going to the market that day, I
imagine how I could have prevented this from happening, and finally, I
wonder when it will all end.

Cats, dogs and reptiles

2011-11-17T18:34:00.001+01:00

2011-11-17T18:30:00.001+01:00

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Cont

2011-08-01T02:48:00.001+01:00

Could get cost 2500 naira. There were some other ladies shopping in that store as well, that day, and for some strange reason 1000 naira slipped out of one of their bags- and I picked it up and paid for my baby's shoe!

I dont tell this story out of pride or aything. It is something that I am thoroughly ashamed of, but it was just a way for me to attempt to provide for my child. But as this month begins I worry about the rest of the year, about what/how we will get by, about the future.

All the same I thank God for bringing her into my life. I know a kind of joy and love that I never knew existed. I just need to do right by her.

So help me God. Please.

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Cont

2011-08-01T02:36:00.001+01:00

ability to take care of myself, even when I was kicked out by my friends, I was determined to be committed to this one thing. And i thank God for her.

But it's been tough. TOUGH. Tough watching your child wear undersized clothing and worn shoes because you cannot afford any other outfits. Tough begging repeatedly for money from friends, neighbours, anyone to buy milk. You see I haven't worked this year; not for lack of trying- God knows- but I cannot say what the problem is. God knows I have and I am trying.... And that is why today's date is so sad to me.

I remember a few months ago, my baby needed shoes terribly, and I believe she also needed nappies or so. Anyway, I got 3000 naira from someone and after buying the nappies I had only 1500 or thereabouts. Because it was a delicate time in her development - she was only barely walking- and because of our financial situation, I needed to make a good choice. Anyway, to cut a long story short, the shoe we
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Cartharsis

2011-08-01T02:19:00.001+01:00

It's the 1st of August today, and the reality of my situation presses down harder, sqiueezing the joy out of my life, and the breath from it's desire to live.
Talking about my problems in fora like this is a problem for me. I feel stupid and weak for having these issues, I only hear those laughing at me... But i shall speak tonight because if i don't I just might choke to death.
' I thank whatever gods may be/ For my unconquerable soul' - invictus

the only reason I am alive today, and still breathing- because I could easily have taken my own life a very long time ago- is because of my daughter. She didn't ask to be born and she deserves better- much better. Yet it is quite tough because of her.

I never knew what it took to raise a child, that is not to say had I known I would have gotten rid of the pregnancy. Absolutely not. Even when her father was screaming at me over the phone and asking why I was after him, even when I lost my job and consequent...
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Something Died

2011-05-17T23:00:00.000+01:00

Something died
But it left no smell
Just the mental evidence
Of a loss of life.

Something died
On Resurrection morning
When the Bone of Contention
Made an appearance

Something died
The death of acid on flesh
Stripping away, melting
Any semblance of hope:
No frivolities, no fashion,
No indulgences, no freedom...

Something died...
In me.

Chili
Sent from my BlackBerry® wireless handheld from Glo Mobile.

My Personal Meteorite

2011-05-01T01:10:00.001+01:00

So I watched a movie tonight that could only have been made for me. It's called 127 hours. It's one of those works that doesn't condone ambivalence; you either like it or you don't. I loved it.

It is a true-life story, but a relatively simple plot. A young carefree, adventurous man goes hiking in the grand canyon, gets stuck somewhere and through that experience relieves and changes his life. It's the execution and the details that get you.

The man Aron Ralston- google him- fell into a hole in the rock he was walking on, and as he descended, his arm got caught in between another relatively smaller rock that fell with him, and the large canyon slab that he had been walking on. Left with very little water and absolutely no other supplies, on the 5th day, he had to amputate his arm to free himself.

Now initially when I was watching the movie and seeing the guy hiking and jumping all by himself I thought that was dangerous. What if sth happened to him. And then it did. And that was the point of... I guess, his life.

You see as time progressed in the hole, Aron began to have flashbacks and hallucinations, and his life pretty much flashed before his eyes. For a lack of food he picked the contacts out of his eyes, into his mouth, and as he did that he remembered how he had refused to pick up the phone, the morning of the first day, when his mum called just because he couldn't be bothered from putting on his contacts, leaving it to go to the answering machine. He remembered how he deliberately did not tell his boss where he was going because he didn't feel like. He remembered the good times he had with his family and friends, but how he just walked away from them all, at one time or the other, discarding their friendship. Now no one had any idea where he was because he didn't want to tell anyone. You see he had that I-can-do-it-all-by-myself attitude that a few people have.

But the epiphany for him (and me) came in these words which I have paraphrased "I realized then that this rock had been waiting for me all my life...The meteorite had fallen... Everything I had done, every step I had taken had drawn me closer to the time when I would fall into this crack in the earth".

I almost wept at these words. For some people, a wake up call from God/the Universe or whatever you call it, can be a gentle whisper. For others a firm shaking, but for a few it's a blow over the head, a heavy,painful knock that makes you feel your core.

I am at my rock, my knock and my wake-up call. In the situation I am in everything I believed and trusted is being questioned. Everything I ran to for comfort has failed me. I am. Likely in need of an overhaul. And there must be a reason why this message is delivered with such intensity. I must decipher the message and not bother about the medium.

When Aron amputated his arm and turned to leave, he said something to the rock, even in his pain. It's the same words I speak into the universe tonight : Thank you.

Chili
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Managing Miracles

2011-03-26T04:15:00.000+01:00

So I saw a baby die today. He/She was four days old. Very light-skinned and fragile as babies that age usually are.

I had taken my daughter to the hospital because I noticed she had become a bit testy in the last two days; which is unlike her. She is usually a very happy kid. (Sometimes too happy; she wakes up by 4am and starts jumping on your stomach and reciting all the new words she learnt during the day. But I digress.)

So, I took her to the hospital to be tested, and treated for malaria. As I gave the receptionist my card, a woman walks in. She looks very disheveled, though not dirty, and anxious. Her hair was matted and short, as though in the beginnings of short dreads, and she wore a large blouse that most likely belonged to a skirt, and a mismatched wrapper . As she expressed herself to the receptionist who obviously had had this conversation she seemed to be crying, and pretending to cry at the same time, all the while staring at the tiny bundle, wrapped up in several wrappers, that she held in her arms.

The conversation they were having was about money. She hadn't enough money to 'open a card' as registration is called, and because of that she could not be attended to. On my prompting the nurse on duty went to take her to a doctor, so he could either attend to her or refer her to a cheaper (public) hospital. I offered to pay for her 'card', although I had no money for that. The doctor walked back towards us asking the nurse who would pay for her treatment if she did not have enough money for even her registration. The nurse shook her head and mumbled to me that all the doctor wanted at that time, was an opportunity to leave so he could pick up his children from school.

As I went about my business in the hospital I could see the woman moving helter-skelter begging for help and saying her husband was on his way, from a state about 45 minutes away. All the while I could see the tiny baby's movements become weaker and weirder. When I was at the dispensary getting my baby's drugs, I heard her screaming, and looked to see her pick up the phone and shout down it, ostensibly at her husband.

As I made to leave,another doctor held a stethoscope to the baby's chest, so I waited. Her expression was indiscernible, but after that she told the woman that the baby was getting worse and she had to leave for treatment elsewhere. She said to the doctor 'if he's dead, just let me know'. The doctor repeated her earlier verdict. Then I saw the child: the skin had grown quite pale in the few minutes that I went to be attended to. He was stretching out his limbs very slowly, very delicately, as in the throes of death. The child was almost gone.

The woman went out to the front of the hospital and began praying, speaking in 'tongues' and telling Jesus to give her baby life. That her baby could not die because she had no money. I didn't know what to do, I had my own baby with me. I decided to get her (my child) out of the sun and into the car. The woman was quite near us, and as she prayed she pulled at the limbs of her tiny, yellowish, still baby. His eyes were closed and his little arms fell lifelessly as she pulled-he was dead. A girl, probably her relative, looked at the baby and wailed and then held a phone to her ear.

As I drove away, I noticed a man had come in and after a while he held her and the other girl held her and she started screaming loudly. She had been told.

I know people die everyday, I know. But money or a lack of it should not be the reason why. As I reflect more on the incident I realize that this was a woman that just gave birth 4 days ago, she is most likely still in pain, definitely still weak and bleeding. And she had to add this to the problems. She had no money, how was she feeding after the birth? BTW, the registration fee was 1500 naira ($10).

I feel guilty. I feel I -we- could have done more. Before the doctor with the stethoscope came, a nurse had been trying to give the woman the registration money, then she realized it wasn't necessary. And she told me not to bother 'wasting' my own money. I admit I have and had little money, If all of us had pooled together in that hospital that morning, maybe that child would have lived, treatment and all. The doctor said he was severely anemic.

I could have been that woman, and that's what made me feel worse. When I was going to give birth, I literally had to beg for money to pay for the hospital, and, they discharged us quickly because they needed the beds we were in. And because I had no accommodation, I had to recuperate in one dank, airless room in the house of a 'friend' so uncharitable that her househelp did everything to make us uncomfortable. But unlike this woman, I was the one who was ill, not my baby, and for several days I could not afford the drugs that were prescribed for me, until some money happened on me .

What do you do with the corpse of your 4-day old baby?

Chili
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The Return of The Condiment

2010-07-26T01:17:00.003+01:00

Guess who's back? A lot of water has gone under the bridge, so much that I , Chili Pepa have given birth to a little chili. Yes o, I am a mummy now. How did this happen? Watch this space.

xoxo

Chili!

Where Is Chilipepa

2010-04-05T00:01:00.001+01:00

It's been a while hasn't it? Chilipepa had to go. Being Chili was becoming bland, she needed to become another type of pepper- which she is now.

Sometimes life throws you curve balls; several in rapid succession, and running away is not even an option.

Kisses

Chili!
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Register

2010-02-03T03:53:00.001+01:00

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Ze Plot Thickens

2009-08-15T21:47:00.001+01:00

Okay, let me just break it down a bit: Chili has a BIG secret. It's the reason she can no longer blog freely and the reason for her silence. Soon the secret will be revealed, and, hopefully, everything will come into the open. But for now she can only watch, plan, and pray.

And why is she speaking in the 2nd person? The matter is beyond just her.

How ya living

Chili!
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20/20 Vision

2009-07-15T00:35:00.003+01:00

And so it came to pass. Ex is getting married. For someone who 'doesn't want to be in a relationship with anyone', he's not doing badly. I was right, but there are times you wish you were wrong, and this is one of them. Because at the end of the day the evidence points to the fact that the problem wasn't anything / anyone else, but you.

And why it hurts so bad, I don't know. I guess I really liked the mofo.

How Can I Love My Neighbour

2009-04-19T19:17:00.002+01:00

Every time I sign into yahoo messenger these days, there seems to be one story or the other about a family that had been slaughtered by their breadwinner. Almost everyday. The specifics are different, but the scenario is the same: owing to the recession, the man of the house finds himself in debt and penury, and sees death as the only way out.

A few years ago, I probably would have seen the man as wicked and evil. If you want to kill yourself do so, but why take young innocent lives with you? I shudder to imagine the terror in the minds of the kids when they saw their protector, their infallible parent, attempting to harm them greviously, over and over again (in the most recent one the father was said to have stabbed all the members of his family before he shot them, probably because the stab wounds did not do the trick), their last thoughts. But now, I can see how easily one can slip from hopeless to suicidal, when faced with problems that to many people seem insurmountable. I, infact, have had those times, recently, when I felt my death would be a good solution- and I thought them very rationally, almost intellectually. It was when I watched 'Notorious' the story of Notorious BIG's life, that I realised that I was not the only one who thought like that, and that things may not be as bad as I think. In that movie, the character of Biggie, fell into some really hard times and was thrown in jail, and he said that was the one time he felt that if he died, his problems would be over. That was an epiphany for me because, in the hood, people, especially gangsters and drug dealers, like Biggie was, did everything to stay alive. The idea of embracing death showed how bad things had become, yet he overcame them. I had a friend, he's dead now, who thought that suicide was committed by stupid people; I don't think so. It's mostly by people without a reason to hope, and sometimes, without someone to help them put things in perspective.

Imagine this: a person I know, my neighbour actually, is in a quagmire and all he can do is pray to God, daily. I was attracted to him by his intelligence and his mind-my-own-business attitude. He lost his job about 8 months ago because the people he helped gain employment there stole something. A few months later, he lost his car to robbers. At the time of being in employment, like most workers do, he had bought a few things on a lease arrangement. Because he was frugal he was able to make his monthly payments until 3 months ago, now everyday, he lives in fear of repossession. To add insult to injury, he, like everyone in the house I live in, has been given an eviction notice, so he needs to move. He had been interviewing for jobs, and one seems, close to being a reality but it would mean his going to work everyday on the island, with no home, no money, and no means of transport how would he cope? The last time I spoke with him he told me he had 300 naira in his account. Both his parents and his siblings were/are dependent on him, so he has nowhere to turn. I asked him if he had tried to borrow from friends, and he said he had, but few could help him with what he needed, and truth be told if they did how would he pay back? Others would promise to help, but stop picking up the phone afterwards when he called. I try to talk to him every once in a while, but in that situation talk is cheap. But what can I do? I too am looking for accommodation. When I tell him that things will get better he asks me how I know. And really, how do I know? I'm only offering impotent platitudes. Anytime I hear, or read of someone committing suicide to get out of financial problems I pray for him.

This came to me again as I was watching a documentary, on BBCKnowledge, about culture clash in the educational system in Uganda. At some point in the documentary, in trying to indicate the people's belief in superstition and animism, the camera followed the wrapped corpse of a parent that committed suicide because of poverty, to the evil forest where it was dumped. Poverty and suicide again. I just wonder how we can truly be neighbours, especially in country like ours where it is 'self' first. You never really know what anyone is going through. You never do.

Chili!

Notes On A Prayer

2009-04-16T20:24:00.002+01:00

I need to get through this because:

1. I need to arrange the kitchen in my new house like the Ikea one I love

2. I need to buy an Ipod dock/deck, hook up my I-Touch and blast my music loud, making everyone wonder where in heaven's name I got the Beatles, Al Green, James Brown and Marvin Gaye's greatest hits.

3. Of the smell of the untouched interior of my brand new car, while I relieve the Ipod docking station experience with my friends in the car

4. The documentary needs me

5. For the Pepa family

6. I want to grill in my brand new oven, light my scented candles and do my laundry without these hassles

7. The 40-inch flat screen has been in its box for over a year

8. I want to unpack my east african art

9. I am running on empty

so help me God

Chili!

Not So Anonymous

2009-04-08T14:01:00.005+01:00

' LOL, LOL and LOL!!!! Obviously dear, you have never done anything positive with your life which is why you would bitch about what other people are doing. You just came across like another unhappy, underachieved female...and might i add fat??? cos only ugly, unhappy fat people bitch about skinny ones!!! If you are such an authority on TV shows, wheres yours darling? Until you have one, pls go crawl back under your stone and die there...the world does not need you and what you dont have to offer! '

This was the message I received from an irate anonymous who had read this post and felt the need to make her 'contribution'. Unfortunately, the message came in on my blackberry, and I mistakenly rejected it before I had a chance to digest it. When I did go back and read it though, I found it so hilarious that I had to give it a post of its own. Now, ordinarily I would not bother replying a disgruntled anonymous, but because I know this anonymous in question is most likely the person I spoke about in the post, and because TV is an issue dear to me, and because I have long met her only criteria for critcising - which is having my own TV show(s) - I will leave a few 'last words' - it's my blog afterall. LOL.

1. Let's start from the bottom. It's a very Nigerian thing to think that because you have done something, however mundane, you have achieved something noteworthy. That's why TV is chockful of the genre crap that Style Me represents. I subscribe to the school of thought that postualtes that what we need, especially in this part of the world, is developmental journalism. Media that builds, not one that exists for the heck of it. You have a powerful medium to influence and bring about change, yet you waste it on self promotion.

2. Has it occurred to Mrs Anonymous that I am not the only one with this opinion? How many of us will she fight, or 'cuss out'? Years ago, Kenny Ogungbe, of Primetime Jams was on Ben TV, London, with , his partner Dayo Adeneye, as celebrity hosts or something. Someone called into the show, and asked what the rationale was behind having 2 men, over 40, hosting a program for people under 21. Kenny immediately flared up, and began insulting the guy, telling him to 'go and do' his 'own' ( host his own show) while Dayo tried unsuccesfully, over Kenny's rants, to explain in a more civil manner. At some point Kenny even told the guy to shut up, after which the station went to commercial. In those few minutes, Kenny had done more damage than he could quantify to his ratings, and his reputation, than any other action he had ever taken. When the show came back on, he had to apologize. The reason? The caller said it, but we were all thinking it. So how many people will you fight?

3. You're right , I am fat. It's no secret, it's even the reason for my fitness blog. But what you don't get is that I am not an oyibo. It is only in America and Britain that 'fat' is a bad word. Back here, in my lovely Naija, it's just a way of describing a lot of people. But the real issue is not whether you or anyone else is skinny - skinny by the way IS derogatory, so you know,LOL - the real issue is your incompetence and blandness on air. Slim ladies, like Funmi Iyanda, still have a lot to offer,because they know their onions and do not hide behind a totally useless accent. And plump ladies, like Oprah, haven't lost out on intelligence or ability either. So when you are in your quiet place where you tell yourself the truth (hopefully) find ways you can be true to yourself and to your audience. The key is mind-FUL not mind-LESS television.

(And don't even come at me with that lame quotation ' no statue was ever erected in honour of a critic'; that was said waaaaaay before Simon Cowell.)

Chili!

How Not To Kill A Rat

2009-03-31T01:52:00.015+01:00

Let's get this straight; I hate rats. Those small, squirmy, creatures that make wheezing shrieks, and eat everything in sight, to the point of waste. The shameless, graceless rodents scurry noisily around, leaving in their incontinent trail, hard, black grains of excrement and pungent, odious fumes of their own urine. They are disgusting and annoying, gate-crashing your house, your kitchen, like area boys to a white tie dinner. And I have lost count of the number of things these wretched vermin have done to make me almost run crazy with rage.

Once it was my plastic gallon of vegetable oil. In an effort to be frugal, I had decided to buy some foodstuff in bulk, including vegetable oil. Now, at this point in time, I only spent Saturdays at home, every other day was spent at work, or travelling, or being groomed, so I had no idea how serious the vermin problem I had was. I confidently placed my 4-litre gallon of vegetable oil in the larder, along with the other food items and promptly forgot about it until the next few times when I had to cook. One day, as I was making my lunch or dinner or whatever, and I went to get the oil, I noticed a dark pool around the container. I only had to pick it up to see where the problem was coming from: these useless rats, probably in an attempt to get the oil, had bitten several holes into the top, bottom, and side of the plastic container, causing most of the oil to spill out! It wasn't just the waste that enraged me, it was the brazen nature of the 'attack' . Another time, it was my plastic container of rice. (One would think that after the incident with the oil I would be an permanent convert to metal, but the rice bowl had escaped attention thus far.) I picked up the one-and-half foot container one day, only to discover that these wretched creatures had eaten a gaping hole into the cover of the container. And this happened in one night! At first I underestimated the use of that hole to the rats, until I noticed that the rice I kept in that container had disappeared. Apparently the little bastards had been entering the container through the hole, and enjoying their ill-gotten meal, while I was assuming they were trying to make the container leak.

So I had tried various unorthodox means to get rid of these unwelcome vermin, especially after fumigation proved futile, when done independent of the other (rat-infested) flats . The first was a drug called Indocid, prescribed to me by the lady across the street who sold condiments. At first I was sceptical that an over-the-counter analgesic, mixed with food, was capable of rendering that restless, tiresome, pest anything but more energetic. Turns out I underestimated the power of the drug- and the stench of a dead rat in the ceiling, behind the bed, and in all nooks, crannies, and crevices that you never knew existed, till a rat died there. My next trial drug was a powdery poison that my trusted taxi driver, Mr Sunday , bought for me. Unlike the former, this drug did not require that I add insult to injury, by mixing it with food. And it was very effective. The rats died and shrivelled up. The problem was that the rats did not know it; even though they died when they ate it, they were attracted by something in the powder, and kept coming back for more. (I mean it's not like the rats say to themselves 'let's try to avoid Chili's house o, Cousin Abe and them died there when they ate that powder that she placed on the ground'. They do not have small heads for something.) During that time, when I went into the kitchen at night, and turned on the light, I would see grandpa, grandma, mother, father, aunty, uncle, and baby rats scampering in all directions. It was so overwhelming, one night, that I wept shamelessly.

You can therefore understand my joy when I came across the glue trap; a rat trap that requires no bobs and bits, no food from my pantry, and leaves the dead rats where you catch them- pure heaven. (I first heard about this glue trap years ago in a story involving a former colleague of mine and a court in the US. Apparently, she had used the regular trap to catch mice in her apartment, and was sued by her neighbours, I think, for cruelty to animals. To them the glue trap which works by sticking any part of the rat's body placed on it in a very adhesive glue, until it starves to death, was more humane. Armed with this information, I bought two sets of the trap, with a clear conscience. But I digress.) I waited for an opportune time to use the trap, a time when I felt the god-forsaken rats would congregate for what seemed like their Monthly General Meeting, and I would trap as many as possible. When I found such a time, I carefully placed the trap near the garbage bin, turned out the kitchen lights and went to wait.

A few hours later, alerted by the shrill shrieks of the rats, I walked to the kitchen and turned on the light. My trap had imprisoned one Papa rat, and one baby rat. Upon sensing my presence, 'Papa' made a useless attempt to run, but its legs couldn't be moved. It tried again and again, with the same result. I was overjoyed. I moved close to thetrap and said to it, 'good for you,go now,let's see', after which I promptly shut the light and went away. Two hours later, I came back to the kitchen again, unable to resist another opportunity to gloat at my prey . Imagine my surprise when I turned on the light and saw only 'baby'! That shameless 'Papa' had somehow managed to break free, and, without even attempting to help the little one, ran away. Can you imagine the agbaya? 'Baby', on the other hand was having a hard time, struggling to escape from his sticky quagmire. With every move it made, because of its limited motor skills, it would entrap itself, by bending its legs into an unnatural position and getting them stuck. I was torn. God knows I would never touch the blighter with anything shorter than a pole, but watching the silly little thing suffer so much was equally as uncomfortable for me. I just stood and stared at the rat for a while, then turned off the light and went to bed. But I couldn't sleep. I would see the poor creature twisting itself deeper into its death. Which kain wahala be dis?, I asked myself. After a while I finally found rest and I fell asleep. In the morning, my first port of call was that trap. The rat was still alive, but battling very weakly. Even though I gave them all night to decide, those cowardly, older, agbaya rats still had not made any attempt to either give themselves up for the poor thing, or help it escape. In disgust I picked up the box, shut it and dumped it in the garbage, feeling at that moment, a tiny bit of the sentiment in the Holocaust Jews creed 'never again'.

I'm gonna get a cat, that's my solution now. Let someone or something else do the dirty work. My only fear is that I might find the dirty work lying next to my pillow ; the phrase 'what the cat dragged in' originated somewhere, you know. What can I say, you can't win 'em all.

Chili!

Before I forget, I must pay my dues. A shout out to my blog publicists. Do your job o!

Wanderings of Lust

2009-03-29T19:52:00.003+01:00

I was watching a reality series on BBC Lifestyle, titled The Baby Borrowers On Holiday. Briefly, it's a documentary of an experiment involving about 4 or 5 teenage couples with ages ranging from 16-19. Basically the idea, I think, is to give these lovestruck (or is it lust struck) teenagers a taste of reality in large doses, with a view to assisting them make less self-destructive decisions. The couples were sent to some holiday beach houses for a few weeks, and each week, were given the responsibility of adults, by first taking care of their 'homes' and finances and later children (beginning with infants and ending with younger teenagers), and then aged people. A worthy experiment especially when you consider that these teenagers come from typical British lower-class homes, with only one parent- usually the mother- and little discipline. (The discipline part goes without saying, I mean how many 16 year-olds would be left to shack up with their lovers, when they could be in school, age of consent or no?)

In this episode, however, the teenagers were given younger teenagers to look after. Probably because the teenagers were closer in age to their 'parents', the flaws in the teenagers relationships became more obvious. For one couple, Jason (18) and Zen (16) , their relationship met an unexpected end as Jason was cheating on Zen and had to leave. But it's how it happened and what happened thereafter that I found interesting.

For a long while Zen and Jason had been having issues. Ever since the arrival of the babies, the first set of infants , they had to care for, Jason gradually became emotionally and, often physically, unavailable and Zen became a nagging, pot-mouthed woman. Several times he would go out of the house to make calls, or would just stay home and clam up, not doing anything, not saying anything. Several times the parents of the children they were taking care of would intervene to bring sanity to the unhealthy situation their children were in, but nothing worked, until their mothers (Zen and Jason's) stepped in.

So in this episode, I don't know why, but Jason confessed to Mohammed, another teenager on the show, that he had another girlfriend. Mohammed told his girlfriend who then confronted Jason, leaving him with no choice but to tell Zen the truth, before anyone else did. If Jason thought that his confession was enough to exonerate him, he was so wrong. The entire teenage community rallied around Zen, who consequently threw Jason out. At home, Jason's Jamaican mother was not having any of that, it was only thanks to subtitles that we were able to make out the flurry of patois she angrily threw at her son who eventually cowered in the face of all that anger. Zen's mother, who spoke to her on the phone, was equally shocked and sad.

In all this, what amazed me was the reaction of the 3rd parties to the infidelity. I understand how big of an issue it is abroad, but I half-expected that , coming from the circumstances which they did, the teenagers and parents would react differently to the situation. To tell you the truth, that someone was shocked at infidelity in this day and age, was a huge surprise for me, and a refreshing feeling as well. I mean in my darling Nigeria, I have heard married women tell their equally married counterparts off, for even considering being upset with their husbands infidelity. Their argument is that there's nothing new about it and that they should not leave their homes because of another woman. Fair enough, but where is the place of self respect in all this? Or respect for your partner? But woe betide the woman if she ever ventures outside. A MARRIED WOMAN?!!!, would be their refrain. Apparently, the wedding ring is designed to zap a woman, no matter the circumstances, into frigidity and blindness, when she comes upon a man who is not her husband. If this situation happened in Nigeria, Zen would never have heard of it, because Mohammed would never had told his girlfriend- male code of conduct. And even if it had still happened, and Jason had gone home, his mother would have just waved it away saying,is it because of that small thing they sent you home? Or Zen's mother would have encouraged her to 'bring Jason closer, talk to him,'etc. LOL.

I honestly feel rage when I see a girl accepting less than she deserves from a guy. A few years ago, I thought Nigerian women had evolved and had become less tolerant of such acts of selfish indiscretion, but I have had to think about it again. It's the reason why I don't think much of marriage: people have little respect for their spouses or their vows. I know people have different reasons for staying in relationships but if you are sticking it out with your philandering partner because you are too afraid, too poor, or too stupid, to go on your own, stop dishing out your second-rate advice to friends who have the self respect to stand up for themselves. I've always said I will forgive a man who cheats on me, if he will forgive ME cheating on him. Not that I will retaliate by sleeping with someone else if I find out he is cheating on me, but I can only forgive someone who will do the same for me, if I were in his shoes. And you will know if he is that kind of person. I could go on and on about this but I won't talk about it today.

Speaking of television, American TV is getting weirder and weirder. Those who were protesting about Harry Porter should just give that up and face some more serious issues. First it was Weeds; a series about the distribution and sale of Marijuana. Well, with the current debate on legalizing it in the US, it should come as no surprise that such a story would make its way to the silver screen. (Apparently, there are not enough incidents of random shootings in the US to make them feel that, legalizing one more thing, that can impede rational thinking, is not a good idea.) But now, it's a romanticised series on Vampires living among human beings in a New America. These vampires are portrayed as unassuming, sexy, with high libidos and extra staying power. Talk about mindless television. Na wa o.

Chili!

Mini Update

2009-03-28T22:43:00.002+01:00

Was reading through old posts from Funmi Iyanda's blog and I saw this hilarious video. Too cute.

Yes, I Went There!

2009-03-27T22:46:00.004+01:00

I was watching the Ellen Degeneres show a few days ago and that was the first I heard that she had married her lover, Portia De Rossi, in August, 2008 . I admire Ellen a lot. I admire her energy, her wit, her comedy, her tomboyish nature, her ignorance of her age, and her fierce sense of individuality. When Ellen first publicly declared her sexual orientation, during a sitcom she was in, several years ago, her career was almost terminated. She did not get work for 3 years! (When I heard her tell the story I wasn't surprised because I remembered how, a while back, I was asked to write a proposal for a comedy show, and I described the show as a cross between Ellen, Letterman's and Jon Stewart's show. One of the guys in charge of it said' Ellen? Is this not that lesbian? Abeg remove her name before the sponsors see it!' It did not matter that her show format was the closest to what we were trying to achieve.) Also, I keenly watched Portia in the Ally Mcbeal series, so I knew who she was (although I thought she was quite thin). When I found out that they had been seeing each other, years ago, I was a bit shocked. I knew Ellen was a lesbian but I would never had thought that about Portia; on-screen, she had this palpable, flirtatious, sexiness. I don't know if it was the character she was playing, but that attitude was there and it did not seem aimed at women. (Not that women or lesbians are not sexy or cannot exhibit sexiness... but I am getting ahead of myself.)

So Ellen spoke about her wedding on her show, and promised to show pictures after a commercial break. (This is one of the things I absolutely love about Ellen, she behaves like an everyday person and still maintains a celebrity status. While other celebs would do everything to avoid the issue of their wedding/ marriage before and after the event, Ellen gushed about it like most happy people would do. ) After the break, true to her word, the pictures and video, came. You could tell that Ellen was smitten by Portia, just by the way she kept looking at her. You know that look one partner gives the other, even when he/she is not looking, that says ' how did I ever get so lucky to have you' . (I remember seeing that look first among a newly married couple that were friends with my older cousin, the guy - it's usually guys, isn't it- would just stare at his wife with a grateful(?) smile. I swore then, that I would not marry anyone, unless he gave me that look. I still feel that way, but now 'the look' is just one of the many things on the list, but I digress.) So, the couple was shown in different situations, before they dressed up for the ceremony, while they were getting ready, during the ceremony, etc. Their parents were also on tape, speaking of how excited they were, etc. I tried to watch all this objectively, taking note of all the indications of their happiness, but on my mind there was just one question: am I the only one who can see that these two people are BOTH WOMEN?

So you know where I am going with this. I pride myself in being open-minded and modern, but I can't get my head around how two people, of the same sex, can actually, SERIOUSLY, be in a sexual relationship. I can't. I mean in theory it makes sense, especially for women, because, in that situation, your partner can relate with you on a deeper level than a member of the opposite sex, but on the long-term, physically, emotionally, practically, isn't it rather weird? I mean you can only hang out with your girlfriend for so long before it becomes annoying. And what, in heaven's name, makes you want to kiss that person, who looks and feels like you, passionately. And, even though they are able to get their parents to come round, do the parents really feel comfortable with the whole situation, especially if it is a departure from what their childhood was.... But I guess it would be the same thing with a heterosexual relationship; you can get tired of your man/woman, and the thing that holds two people together in a relationship is a series of INTANGIBLE, INVOLUNTARY, emotions. So whose to say who you should love? And in truth, when we think of gay couples, all we imagine is how they have sex, not what they feel for each other.

Gay men, I just don't get. It's so extreme, because ordinarily, men find it difficult to even hug each other, or hold another man's hand. So to go from that to kissing and having sex with another man shocks me. But you know what's funny? Gay men are usually so in touch with their feminine side that they make great friends, to women. Talk about irony.

Having said that though, I am not one of those who advocate for legislature against homosexuality. I consider it very stupid to give someone permission to find out how people are having sex, arrest them, and punish them. In my opinion giving love, whichever way it is done, is a million times better than causing trouble. And at the end of the day, what happens between two consenting adults, who are free to pursue relationships, is really their own business, isn't it? At the same time, however, I cannot understand why people cannot speak up if they don't like homosexuality. Just as a gay person can march for his/her rights, I believe an anti-gay person should also be able to express his/her opinion without being labelled or ostracized. We see so many people abroad who are trying too hard to be politically correct, they look stupid. As long as I am not harming a gay person, or calling on people to do so, I think that I can, and should be allowed to, express myself shouldn't I? Straight people are people too.

Chili!

I Still Remember

2009-03-24T01:27:00.000+01:00

It was your 36th birthday yesterday.
I still remember.
Everything.

RIP 'Knight Rider'

Sent from my BlackBerry wireless device from MTN

Dolupo Kuti, DSAN, And Other Stories

2009-03-22T18:09:00.003+01:00

I was just watching a documentary on Femi Kuti, and the mechanics and emotions behind the shrine. One aspect that struck me particularly was a very brief interview with Dolupo Kuti. Now, I had seen this lady on two occasions when I went to interview Femi at the shrine. Both times I had just dimissed her as one of the many aged Kuti relatives. It was easy to do that, given the fact that she looked like the average, old Nigerian grandmother, in her ankara buba and wrapper, topped by her grey , short cut hair. Her looks were also accented by her few missing teeth which you would notice if she acknowledged or returned a greeting from you.

Anyway, in this interview, she expressed her opinion on why people flocked to the shrine. To my amazement, this old lady spoke flawless English that bordered on a British accent! It was when she was identified as Fela's sister that I said, 'okay'. Fela's family was no ordinary one. But Dolupo made me wonder something I had been wondering for a long time since I heard about Fela. What sort of parents did Fela have? What kind of people were they? What did they discuss when they sat in their home? How did they bring up their children that not one of them was just ordinary? I just wonder.

Speaking of children....................................

I have been feeling this pull, lately, to work with children who have Down's syndrome. I don't know why I am drawn in that direction, but I know when I had my first personal contact with a child with Down's syndrome.

His name is Babajide, they call him BJ. His father became a friend of mine by virtue of my work and we became do close that I started visiting them regularly. When I met BJ I already knew what Down's syndrome was, but I did not know what to expect from someone who had it. BJ showed me that there was nothing to fear. Children with Down's syndrome are the sweetest , most human creatures God put on earth. They have the ability to be angry but not the capacity for malice, they love routine, company and happiness. BJ would wake up in the morning and go immediately to do his chores. If for any reason he was unable to carry out his chores he would be uncomfortable until it was fixed. If you upset him, he forgot as soon as it was done, or as soon as he expressed himself, if you were introduced to him as a friend, he would welcome you with open arms. He loved to read his special books, loved (some) music and wouldn't mind listening to his collection over and over again.

There is a Down's Syndrome Association of Nigeria , I think I'll give them a call.

And in a totally unrelated development ....

I always knew my anonymity had gone to the dogs, but I never realised how much of myself I had put out there. Ex, who I spoke about here and here, and referred to here and here has been reading my blog. When he first spoke about my blog I thought he heard about it from someone and so I did not take him seriously, until a few days ago when he called and gave me some information and referred to my blog. Even talking about some things he had read there. Then to crown it, someone was able to trace me using this blog. He's also a blogger and has been- in his words- chasing me around for over a year, and,well, he found me. And even though that's not such a bad thing, ( cos we have very exciting conversations), it's the kind of thing that makes some people give up blogging. I toyed with the idea, but I have decided not to.

I love to write, I LIVE to write. People don't give up their passions because of some silly threat. I mean if Fela had stopped singing because he was persecuted or he suffered personal injuries, we would have forgotten about him by now. Music was his outlet, and this blog, writing, is mine. I mean if I don't write what will I do? And in truth, if you have a blog, you actually hope someone reads it and is moved by it, whichever way they are moved. Abi?

Chili!

Alhaji Baba Sheri

2009-03-22T01:33:00.002+01:00

This is a very short blog. For those who do not read my food blog I have to repeat this.

I found this fantastic blog quite by accident a while back. This is what you will get if BBC Food had a Nigerian version online. The chef is excellent in both his craft and his pictures. And from the way he replies other bloggers I think he's also a nice person. Dont take my word for it, see it for yourself.

Chili!

Korto Momolu and other rambles

2009-03-20T19:17:00.005+01:00

I've always loved Fridays on DSTV. For me that's when the series channel unveils the priceless jewels: reality shows of different types. My favourites are Top Chef, Shear Genius, Wife Swap, Janice Dickinson Modelling Academy, Trading Spouses, and now, Project Runway.

This will be the 2nd season of Project Runway I'm seeing on DSTV, but it's the first time I am actually paying full attention, all because of a girl called Korto Momolu. Korto was one of the contestants on Season 5 of Project Runway. She's a Liberian-American, but more the former than the latter. The first time I saw her I did not pay much attention to her, especially as I thought she was quite solemn and intense, but when they did a wide shot with her back to the camera , I did a double-take. Meeeeenn, that girl has got booooty! Not the South African version that makes it seem the lady stole it from someone twice her size, but the West African-meets- stripper type. She wore one of these pants where the waistband is as high as the stomach, on that she wore a singlet and over that a flimsy shrug. To me she was as gorgeous as - no, much more beautiful than- any super model. Seeing that lady was for me an epiphany, a testimony to all I secretly believed, but never dared to dream, about beauty and attitude. Now, I'm not gay, so to make you understand my dramatic reaction to Korto, I have to take you down memory lane. (Yeah,yeah)

I've always struggled with weight. All my life I was the big girl. As a teenager it was a huge problem for me, especially with the girls. I was the outcast, the one who could never do anything right (but I think I have spoken of all that before). With guys it wasn't so much a problem becasue facially I was, and still am, very pretty; but I noticed that it was much older guys - and some shameless older men- that were attracted to me. This bothered me a lot , then I went for youth service, and the grueling 3 or 4 weeks in ccamp, proved the tonic my body needed. I discovered I had legs, and a fantastic figure, girls wanted to be my friend. And the men did too. I was literally inundated with proposals and toasters and 'well-wishers', so much so that sometimes I would lock myself in the room, and pretend to have travelled. And it did not help that I served in a military base: military men cannot see a girl and walk past. Anyway, after service I got a job and met with the same reaction from men, until, gradually, due to a lack of exercise, the weight came slowly back, and (as far as I am concerned) the attention waned. ( I understand now that as much as weight does make one age, my self esteem was certainly very low, and I needed a lot of superficial aids to provide confidence.) Since then I had gone into a battle to bring back that attention and -maybe- the love. Now, although I would embark on a diet or an exercise regimen hoping for a dramatic drop from a size 14/16 to a 10, in my subconscious I always wanted to be a 14. i've never really liked skinny girls, I've always had a booty, and, as a testmony to the goodness of God in my life, my boobs developed in equal proportion to my sexiness. LOL. I didn't honestly think you needed to be skinny to be beautiful, but I also wasn't fully convinced that big could be beautiful .( Yes, I know: Monique and Jennifer Hudson and Queen Latifah, but I wasn't convinced. I didn't get it.)

Also, turning 32 (in June) has been hard for me. I feel old, really old. I know it is unreasonable but I just was so unhappy about coming to this age. I needed to know that it wasn't the end of the road for me or my achievements.

Now, I have this friend who exclaims whenever she sees me in my cleavage-baring or booty hugging clothes. She just goes 'hey! Na wa o. You want to give these men heart attack'? I used to just think she was exaggerating or being a prude, especially given the fact that she is a devout moslem. But when I saw Korto Momolu, I finally got it. Big can be sexy, really sexy. and confident. And attractive. And great!!! And all that at the age of 33 - at least as at when she was on the show. I thought it was only me that felt this way, but I googled the girl's name and found that people paid attention to that booty. Even this interview by E! online was a tribute to the booty.

Just because of how Korto affected me, I began to pay special attention to the Season 5 show. And I found that this lady, apart from being talented, modest, self-effacing and brilliantly creative, was a mother and a wife. I googled more about her and found that behind all that beauty and depth was a real story. Korto, as I said before is Liberian. She was born to Liberian parents. When she was a teenager, I think, her parents sent her and her siblings to Canada to school. A few years later, the war in Liberia broke out, and, because her father was a government official, he was a prime target for the rebels. Korto's parents had to pack up and leave the country, seeking assylum in the US. That was how she moved to the US and to tough times. Her parents had to buy a house with that last of what they had, because it's not as if they could liquidate their property before they fled the country, so you can imagine that it was a struggle for them to live at that time. The war lasted over 10 years, until the recent peace moves and new government it has witnessed. Then to crown it all, upon Korto's success in Project Runway - she came 2nd but was named fan favourite, and won $10000- the President of Liberia, Ellen Sirleaf- Johnson, invited her to Liberia to design a dress for her. Can you beat that?

So Korto Momolu is my new hero. If Project Runway is your thing she's still on for now, so we can all watch my new love. And when I go to the US I'm definitely looking for her. Talk about inspiration.

Chili!

Return of The Mac (or Maybe The HP)

2009-03-19T13:28:00.002+01:00

Hi Yawl

After all said and done I went to pick up my laptop which the guy had fixed. I don't know who asked him to do it o, especially since I did not give him the money he asked for, and expressly told him not to touch it anymore. Just goes to prove what I was saying that he was a daylight robber.

Anyway, Mike the dubious guy, called me the next morning and said my laptop was fixed. I told him that I did not ask him to fix it and that I was not interested in any further discussions. He later called again to ask for my password, saying that he wanted to ensure it was working properly. Of course I did not give it to him. Yesterday, I went to pick up the laptop. He saw me, went inside and brought it and made to turn it on. I just snatched it from him, asked for my power pack, collected that and walked away. I did not tell him to fix it so it was his loss, if he did.
Turns out he did. well, my gain.

Chili!

It Is Well... Isn't It?

2009-03-18T02:23:00.000+01:00

Morning has broken
Already,
Again.
Terror
In living colour.

Stay, Bogeyman, stay.
Your presence calms hasty hopes
Of another day.

With the light comes the performance,
Of the rites of the zombies:
Scurrying drudgery.

Until you come again
In Peace, with peace.

Chili!

Sent from my BlackBerry wireless device from MTN

I'm Not That Type of Girl

2009-03-17T01:45:00.000+01:00

These days it's easier for me to count what appliances are actually working than those that are not. My fridge seems to have packed up today, and that is in the wake of something even more serious that happened yesterday: my landlord gave me an eviction notice. And I have only 2 months. Now, there's a part of me that's ridiculously happy because I've been wanting to get the hell out of this house for ages but I've been putting it off , in order to deal with other priorities. The other part of me is terribly angry and shocked because I have no idea where this came from. I have not had a run-in with him and I only just went to pay him for this year, last week, and he never said anything. Not to talk of the additional psychological and financial crisis I have been thrown into. Of course he gave the notice to every tenant in this house, and I hear he has actually sold it, but that does little to make me feel less upset. And to think that he attached a court summons to each notice!
Without provocation! Anyway, I refuse to dwell on that, and on any other bad things that are happening. I know when things happen like this it's inevitable that good things are quite close. And there have been glimmers of hope....

In a related development....

I took my laptop to the place I bought it from, to see if it could be fixed. Unfortunately, the only guy who could fix it was unavailable, so I had to leave it , with a promise from the person who sold it to me that he would call me this evening. So this evening, true to his word, he called me and announced that it would cost 40k to fix my laptop. Initially I thought he had said 4k , but I told him that the first thing would not be how much it cost but what was wrong with the laptop in the first place. So he said he would send me an sms breaking it down.

About 30 minutes later I received this sms:
250GB hard drive. 25k. Formatting. 5k. Working on system board to recognises (that's him not me) dvd, webcam, wireless, fingerprints and others. 10K
Workmanship. 5k

Now before I launch into my 'Chirade' let me give you a brief background into the laptop and myself.

My laptop was one of those HP touch screen tablets that could swivel to a 180 degree angle. This model is prone to all sorts of hang-ups with all the bobs and bits, not 'seeing' its drives, ports, etc., and it needs to be constantly updated from the web. The problem that took me to the repairmen was that the laptop would power on, but the screen would remain blank.

I, on the other hand, am not your regular everyday girl. Granted, I like cooking and fashion and I hate football but that's where my girliness ends. I am a gadget freak, I understand electronics and mechanics and I can change my tyres, fix my light bulbs and replace the spark plugs in my generator. When anything goes wrong with my gadgets/car/electricals I am my first port of call. If it has delicate parts that are for experts only, then I am googling the problem thoroughly. My male friends actually come to me for advice on their gadgets/ cars. So if you are an electrician, or technician or something and you don't know what you are talking about I will floor you so fast your head will spin. and it's worse if you are trying to cheat me, cos I HATE to be cheated.

So before I had taken the laptop to the guy - his name is Mike, by the way - I had done my research. I had read all the threads on forums where people had the same problem and they were many. So I knew that the problem was likely to be the motherboard, because the motherboard is the part that ensures all the other parts of the computer work together, and receive info from each other.
So you will understand my rage when I saw the bogus bill.

If indeed the stupid guy was replacing my hard drive as he claimed , what would be the need to work on the board to 'recognizes' dvd, etc? You fix a new hard drive and connect it to the motherboard, simple! Then to add insult to injury he charged me for formatting. That's like selling someone a car and charging them to turn the key. You format simply by typing a command. Then to make it seem clean he charges me for workmanship. Anyway, I sent him an sms saying I was coming to pick it up. When he did not reply, I called him up, asking if he saw the sms. He then asked what I would want him to do for me. Then I went ballistic! Ole.

Why the hell do all these stupid artisans think that all women are dumb? Or maybe I should reverse that question and ask why do women allow themselves to be taken for a ride? All you need is a little research, or a second opinion and you are likely to find out the truth. But it's easier for them to play dumb and helpless, and have creeps like this make a pile off them. Not that that excuses the daylight robber, though. But I've seen so many of them, I actually assume they will attempt to cheat me, so if they don't I am pleasantly surprised.

Like my former mechanic, Jamiu. My car had developed a number of faults and when I had the money I decided to fix it once and for all. He gave me a bill , itemising all he needed to do and including his fee. I gave him ALL the money, knowing I was making a mistake, but wanting the car to be fixed ASAP. A few days later, he returned with the car well done and another bill. The difference between this bill and the other was just 5k, so I was practically paying the same amount again. But stupidly, he gave me an itemised bill again, and on this bill were the same parts he had written before, save for two other inflated items. I took my keys from him and gave him a good earful, not forgetting to include the fact that I knew the real prices of the inflated items, and that I did not forget the parts he wrote down previously. And I walked away.

Mechanics, technicians and the likes be careful with Chili Pepa. I'm not that kind of girl. Not now, not ever. Nonsense.

Chili!
Sent from my BlackBerry wireless device from MTN

Domestic Electronic Meltdown

2009-03-13T03:39:00.000+01:00

My laptop crashed yesterday. It was only a matter of time before it did anyway. I had been feeling like there was a conspiracy, among all the things I own and/or need, to go into their own recession. The laptop was just one in a long line of many. You know what they say, when it rains, it pours.

I'll try to update as much as possible, but it'll have to be from my blackberry for the time being.

Chili!
Sent from my BlackBerry wireless device from MTN

Friendship Matters 3

2009-03-10T15:54:00.005+01:00

I have to end this post soon, cos remembering all this is making me somewhat upset. Anyway here goes:

So for a while I did not go to Chinwe's house, as I was doing my own thing in my place. To my surprise she, on her part, did not even bother to call me. As far as I was concerned that was an indication of what I thought all along; she did little or nothing to help my situation in her home.

One day I went to Benin, and Chinwe was not home and hadn't been for a while. Apparently, she had found some other place to stay that would allow her carry on with her lifestyle. Anyway, for some reason, I went to my former university, and, I could have sworn I saw her there. I tried to call her but she did not answer. When I got home,I went to the business centre where Chinwe spent most of her time, to call her. But try as I might, I could not bring myself to make the call. The lady at the business center who happened to be somewhat close to Chinwe, noticed something was wrong, and wanted to know why I was hesitant to make the call. I told her after much persuasion that I saw Chinwe in school and she did not answer me when I called, and I wanted to know if she was indeed in Benin, or in her house in Lagos. I convinced the lady to make the call instead. Chinwe's brother picked up the phone and she left a message.

Now I cannot remember the order of events, but all I remember is that, in asking me what the problem was between Chinwe and I, the business centre lady revealed the extent of conversation she and Chinwe had had about my home and me. And the fact that she (chinwe) was obviously talking - as the British would say- out of turn, about my 'business'. According to her, Chinwe said that 'no matter what happened in my house, she would be grateful to my mother for making her comfortable'. I wondered what in heaven's name brought about this conversation and wondered the extent of things they had spoken of in relation to me and mine. I wondered what sort of friend looks out for only herself and is so selfish. I wondered many things... and I broke down. I told the phone girl everything that made me uncomfortable in Chinwe's house and the stark contrast it was to her comfort in my house. I described how I could not have an arguement with her in my house because my mother would say I was making her uncomfortable, and how in her house she and her mother would turn on me in situations like that. She calmed me down and told me that we, Chinwe and I, had been friends for long, and so we should be able to resolve stuff like that. She said she had a friend she lost because of a small thing, and she admired us so she would not want us to destroy our friendship like that. I agreed with what she said... and then Chinwe returned her call.

Chinwe laughed when I said I saw her in school and said I was halucinating. Apparently she was in Lagos. I then said that we needed to talk and that I would see her when she came to Benin. Again, the events after this day blur again, but what I remember is that I had to go away, maybe to Lagos for a while and Chinwe came to Benin. Whatever the case, in between that time and when I came back, a lot had happened. The business centre lady told Chinwe everything I had said to her, Chinwe told my mother and they (my mum and Chinwe) hatched a plan to confront me.

On the day I came back, my younger brother asked me to help him trim his fingernails so I took him to the patio at the back of the house. As we were doing that my mother came to the back along with Chinwe. When I saw Chinwe I said ' hello', with a look of surprise and a smile. In return she glared at me. Then my mum said spoke. She said something to the effect that when Chinwe walked into the house, she asked her about me and she didn't answer nicely so she brought her to me so we could settle the problem . The next thing I know, Chinwe is confronting me with the stuff I said to the girl, some of whichwere true, and some which was garnishing. I'm confronting her with the stuff she said about me, she starts insulting me, and screaming, when I raise my voice my mother tells me to stop shouting. My father comes out, thinks it is just a girls thing and jokingly tries to make us stop. I stop but she ignores him and keeps shouting, then she walks into her room- my room- and starts packing her stuff... I sat in the living room while she was doing that, as my mum sat with her, and I could hear strains of the conversation they were having. My mother would say something, and she would say 'I'll be fine, I have somewhere to go, don't worry'. Anyway, at the end of the packing, she left. I went back to my room and I saw that she had arranged her things in bags. I toyed with the idea of tossing them out of my room but decided to be civil. The next day she came with a car to pack her things, and as she was leaving she began hurling inaudible insults.

I write this because I have recently been confronting a lot of 'demons' from my past, in a bid to rebuild my future, but I was/am stillangry about the whole incident. I was angry with my mum who did not have the decency to call me privately, and tell me that Chinwe had complained about me, but brought her to scream, all in the name of being gracious to a visitor. For a long time I was angry with my mum over that, because she always treated me that way even when the issue concerned my siblings.It was my brother who told me, much later, how Chinwe came crying to my mum telling her what she had heard from the girl, he thought she was just acting, but of course, to my mum, I could never do right. I was angry at Chinwe for showing that disrespect to my parents and my house, something I would never do. I was angry that I had no chance to speak up, to defend myself. I was so angry with my mum that I left the house for Lagos in anger, and did not call her for a while. During a phone call one day she said told me Chinwe said she should greet me, I warned her that I never wanted to hear anything about that girl again. She realised I was very upset- and that I was no longer in her house- so the next time she called me she said she realised that the girl did wrong by not even respecting her presence during that incident. (Oh,you think?)

Update

Last year, many years after the incident, Chinwe sent me a friend request on facebook. I ignored it. She sent it again, and I accepted, but later I deleted her. Then today, I saw that she was on my brother's friend list and I sent her a message warning her to stay away from my family. I know it is petty, but for me it served for closure in a sense. It definitely took her by surprise because she wrote saying she did not realise I was still angry with her, and that she would stay away as I asked , blah, blah, blah. Now, I feel a bit better. I know the next step is to forgive and I will work on that. I will.

Chili!

Friendship Matters 2

2009-03-04T18:24:00.007+01:00

wow, I had a good day yesterday. Just when I thought things were going downhill permanently, a glimmer of light shone thru the darkness. I went to borrow 160k from a friend, cos I had a project I needed to finish and I was so out of cash, and he gave it to me! I know he's a generous person and all but this was quite unexpected for me.

Okay so back to Chinwe.

Later in the evening when I thought she must have arrived in her house and settled in, I called just to make sure. Her mum picked up the phone and I asked to speak with Chinwe. 'Chinwe is in school, now', she replied. I was shocked and a bit scared, ' she told me she was going home', I managed to utter. Of course any mother would be thrown into panic, and Chinwe's mother wasn't different. I tried to calm her down and promised to call her when I arrived home (I told her I hadn't been home yet) and tell her if Chinwe was there. After that call I was perplexed, worried and scared. What if something had happened to Chinwe? What if Chinwe had gone somewhere else? What was I supposed to do? Then there were no GSM phones, so you either called from the house of a friend, a business centre - usually few and far between, and bloody expensive- or you didn't call at all. So that was what I did- I didn't call at all, hoping that by the next day, things would have been made clearer.

The next day, my aunt's kids came to call me to receive a call in their house. It was Chinwe, she was in a panic wanting to know what I had told her mother. To cut a really long story short, she had made a detour to her boyfriend's house in Lagos with the intention of staying there for about two days before going home. Of course her parents never knew (or even suspected) she had a boyfriend, so they would never have thought she was there. Why she did not tell me was , and still is a mystery to me. Anyway, she called her house that morning and was told that her mother, not hearing anything from me or her the evening before, had travelled to Benin to look for her. Whatever we decided during that phone call remains hazy to me, but what I remember is me calling her mother - who by now had gone back to Lagos, because she had no idea where I was living, and had received a phone call from Chinwe telling her whatever - and telling her that I had made a mistake and that Chinwe was in Benin. Her mother was understandably angry with me and she told me things like how at my age I should know the implication of making such calls,etc., and hung up on me. I was angry about being put in that situation but my mum , who I tell everything, told me that that was what friends do for friends. It didn't matter anymore to me, until I noticed that if she phoned me from her house she would use another name if her mother was in earshot and would advice me not to call because her mum was around. Apparently I had become a persona-non-grata in her house because of that incident, and she did nothing to change that.

If that incident did not show her up for the kind of person she was, then another one clearly did. I had a lecturer in school who was my mentor, he wasn't in my department or faculty and never taught me anything but I was close to him and his family and he used to send me on personal errands like locking up his office or bringing something to him at home from there, etc. At night, when I would go to read in the classroom, as all students did, I would check to see if he was coming to do some work or if he needed something done, just so I could sit in his office and turn on the AC. at other times, during a free period I would go to him to try and get lunch money. LOL. He was my school father. But like it is in every such situation, there were rumours. Actually, I had no idea that there were rumours until the story I am about to tell you.

I went to see Chinwe in her room one day, and just as I stood at the door she began with a barrage of questions, all about the guys in my life. Of those guys I was not dating anyone, but they were hangers-on, men who wanted a chance, 'toasters'. How is A? She asked, What of G? What of H?, have you heard from...? Did B bring the .. he promised you?, etc. I was wondering why she asked these questions especially as she had a guest and she was painting me like some sort of slut? I frowned at her and waited until the guest left before I asked her why the hell she was 'putting my business outside'. She said the girl ,her guest had asked her what I was doing with the aforesaid lecturer, that she had always seen me going to his office or coming out of it during the day. Her answer to the girl was 'do you know how many boyfriends Chili has?'. And she proceeded to name all these guys who she asked me of at the door. I asked her if it was better to paint me as a slut -or an aristo, as it is referred to in these parts - than to just tell the girl off for not minding her business, or to just tell her the truth, and she said she did not know what to say, and the question embarrassed her.

We still remained friends, right through her surgery for ovarian cyst, and her break-up with her boyfriend. Then, when she was caught cheating during exams and suspended, pending a hearing by the disciplinary panel, it was I who was left to carry the pieces. I had to dispose of (sell) her stuff such as furniture and the like that she had left in school too embarrassed to come back, get some of her papers from her department since she was considering a transfer, and, always concerned about her image keep close guard on what information was going round about her. Like one time, when a guy came several times to search for her from God-knows-where, on his way to Lagos. He definitely could not visit her at home so he kept making trips to her school, but she would never allow me tell him what had happened so I told him she wasn't around, and avoided him. Her other classmate finally told him the truth after his fourth(?) visit, and she, of course, was irate.

Shortly after my youth service the disciplinary panel sat and decided to let some people continue with their education if they met certain stiff conditions, which I do not remember now. She asked to stay in my house, while I came to Lagos to get a job. In return, I could stay in her place in Lagos. Staying in my house would not be be an issue, I knew, because once my parents approved, they would welcome her with open arms, we were always like that with guests. Chinwe settled in well, so well that once she got close to my family she proceeded to tell my last brother all about my love life, began to bring have numerous relationships with different guys (including a married man) who came to the house- my house- to pick her up or visit her, and she literally spent all her time in the newly-opened call centre opposite my house, waiting for phone calls. Even though my brothers gradually began to notice her inconsistencies, my parents did not. My father really doesn't pay attention to such things anymore, and my mother thought she was the best thing after Jesus. They even used to stay in her (my mother's) room talking. And to her credit, she it was who stood by as my mum had her surgery for cervical cancer. They decided not to tell me, maybe afraid that I would leave everything and come home. Looking back I wasn't upset about that, but now I am. And you'll see why.

When I moved to Lagos, I did not consider Chinwe's house a place I would live in. First of all it was too far from my office, and secondly, her house was too 'stiff'. This would be only the 2nd time I would be in Chinwe's house since I knew her. I had stayed there once before on a 2-day trip to Lagos to buy some clothes during my youth service, so suffice it to say I had little idea what to expect, but I knew it was nothing like mine. I remembered vividly that her mum still had a not-so-good impression of me, and her father was very strict. When we woke up in the morning we spoke in whispers because she did not want him to hear us talking 'first thing in the morning'. So after a while, I got a little flat near my office, staying with them only on weekends.

I was 'tres' uncomfortable in Chinwe's house. I remember when I came in one night after work and I tried to get something to eat from the fridge, her brother said I had to hurry up and eat before their father came home or he would be angry that we were eating so late. By 5.30pm the kids had put on their pyjamas, meaning it was late. I once tried to go out to buy toothpaste by 5 and Chinwe's mum said it was too late. They lived in the residential area reserved for top staff of the multinational where Chinwe's dad worked, so phone calls were free, but you had to avoid talking on the phone when he was around or he would be angry. I had a run-in with the man over that phone once, a friend of mine had called and we were talking for about 15 minutes. I had no idea that Chinwe's father was in the habit of checking on his family every once in a while. I mean, the man worked right across the street and came home for lunch and dinner during the day, so I never thought he would call in from his office as well. Anyway, when I hung up, one of Chinwe's brothers came downstairs and told me that their father said I should drop the phone, he was trying to call home. I had already done. When the man came back from work, I was the only one in the living room downstairs, I greeted him and he just ignored me and went upstairs, so I quietly switched off the tv and went to bed. I never touched the phone publicly, again, and was only too happy to have my GSM, when it came. Another time, I arrived at the gate of the house, but the guard on duty did not know me, so he had to call the house to ask if I could be let in. Just then, Chinwe's father pulled up at the gate, I greeted him and he acknowledged curtly. The guard, obviously new, and still on the phone, just beckoned on him to wait a bit and the man got mad. He came out of the car and screamed at the guard, in the loudest voice I had ever heard, about how they were stupid to lock him out of his house, what they thought they were doing etc. The panicking guard opened the gates for him and he sped in. I was in shock. I wished I had somewhere else to go because I did not want to go into that same house, afraid that he would accuse me of being responsible whatever he thought happened. I went in anyway, by the time they had received permission for me to enter he had settled to a meal. I greeted him again and apologised for what happened. He hissed and turned back to his food. I disappeared upstairs.

Another thing I felt from that house was a lack of warmth of welcome. Sometimes we would be upstairs watching TV, then the living room would become empty as everyone else went to their mum's room to gist. At other times, they would go there to pray, before bed. I was never allowed into any bedroom other than the one I slept in, I never went into any till I stopped staying in that house.

It was a very small incident that made me actually stop going there. That afternoon, I decided to go back home, to my flat near my office. I told one of Chinwe's brothers where I was going and left. In the evening I received a call from Chinwe in Benin, saying that her mother had called her to tell her that I left the house and did not tell anyone where I was going. I told her that her brother knew but she said he forgot and I should have told her mother. I told her her mum wasn't around and would not have been back till late. She said I should have called later. That her Mum kept saying that all she wanted was for me to be comfortable. she was calling me to kinda tell me to mind how I behave in her house, without saying so. I knew I had not acted in any way deserving of that report, I did not understand why her mother would call her to tell her, or what I had done wrong and for me this was the last straw. She was doing a lot of stuff in my house that she would never dare at home but she could not be bothered to ease the tension for me in her house. I decided not to go back there. But if I thought she had done things she couldn't try at home, I was in for a surprise.

TO BE CONTINUED

Friendship Matters

2009-03-01T23:01:00.001+01:00

If ever I needed prayers, help and more prayers, now is the time. Just so many things, so many things,... I wish I could, but I'd rather not speak of them here, since my anonymity is a myth.

But I shall speak of other things, first of all is friendship, especially among girls. I saw this video, on facebook, involving some girls in Vivian Fowler Memorial School- a posh girls-only secondary school. Apparently, some girl, named Shola, had provoked the wrath of two of her obviously egotistical classmates, by saying something to someone (dem say, dem say). Anyway, the video opens on these girls walking up to the Shola girl and confronting her very dramatically, about whatever it is she has said. Gradually, the thing degenerates into an advanced bullying session with the two girls slapping Shola simultaneously and pushing her down when she tries to stand up and leave the room. At the end of the whole brouhaha Shola had received 18 slaps in addition to the humiliation and insults. I watched the whole video with a mixture of anger, hurt and empathy. In school I was that girl, the one always humiliated by her friends, her classmates. In answer to that, I became a very unpredictable, agressive friend. If I so much as sensed that you were going to do something to offend me, i would go off on you so fast, your head would spin. It took that video to make me realise why, after all these years. Lately, my mind has been going to the past and all the strange friends I had gathered, and dropped over the years, and here are some of the stories.

I met Chinwe in university. We went to lectures in the same faculty, and she had a friend who knew some of my acquaintances/ classmates. I don't remember how/when we became close but I know why. I greatly admired Chinwe; to me she was all I wasn't, and more. To her credit she was pretty, confident, secure, neat and organized. She had the ability to empathise on a deeper scale than most people I knew. But Chinwe had a deep, dark side. She was an expert at making herself look good at the expense of someone else, her first instinct was self-preservation, she hid her character from her parents and her penchant for organization bordered on OCD.

This self-preservation tendency came to the fore when Chinwe finished her exams, one semester, and had to go home for the holidays. She lived in Lagos, and I lived in Benin where our school was. Since the bus park was on my way home I saw her off , then went home. In the evening I called her to ensure she got home all right, and that was when the 'wahala' started.

TO BE CONTINUED

Maturity

2009-03-01T20:03:00.002+01:00

Maturity is defined as the ability to delay gratification. That's a good definition but it is too broad, because under that definition, the ability to diet would be an act of maturity. Instead it is an act of will.

Speaking of willpower, mine was slipping recently, as I noticed how I would allow myself a 'little' sugary snack, now and then. At last count I've had a snack, 3 out of four days on my diet, this week. So, today, I did what every sensible overweight person would do: I chucked all the forbidden stuff out. Now, I had nothing interesting like chocolates or ice cream in the fridge, but I found out that the ingredients for pancake turn up very easily from my near-empty pantry. I also realised that a good substitute for chocolate is a high calorie chocolate/ cocoa drink with lots of milk. And every cup of tea needs warm, fresh white bread, doesn't it? And that's how I was sabotaging my healthy eating routine and weakening my resolve.

So this evening they all went away. I didn't throw them away , o. I can't waste food. I gave them to my 'maiguard', the way he works he needs all the sugar he can get.

So help me God.

Chili!

2009-02-21T19:54:00.000+01:00

I honestly do not feel like writing today because it is one of those days/ weeks/ months when I am very depressed. The reason is not far-fetched, but I choose not to talk about it here primarily because I am stripped of most of my anonymity. Suffice it to say, however, that need all the prayers that I can get at this time.

I've been working on my weight and my diet and it has not been as difficult as it is now because of my dislocated ankle that refused to heal on time. I can't exercise the way I want to because of the ankle and I can't be inactive because I am dieting. Na wa o. But I am eating healthy sha. I think I am trying to cram all the fruits and vegetables I missed throughout my last 31 years, into my body in one go. I have found out that I can eat one whole pineapple, piece by piece, in one day! But I have to take it easy on the pineapples, it seems they irritate my stomach. The effect of the dietary changes are being felt though, 'cos all my friends couldn't get over how beautiful my skin looked when they saw me after about a month. I wish they had said the same about my weight, though, if not for this dratted ankle.

Speaking of ankles, the way I dislocated mine was too strange. I had just come back from a business trip to SA, which marked the end of the first phase of a looooong period of work, so I was looking forward to letting my hair down. As fate would have it, a friend and former colleague of mine invited me to a girls' nite out, that evening. I thought it was a good idea and I decided to attend. The problem was that I had nothing to wear. Really. For anyone who knows me, I am always in my work attire: wife beaters and cargo pants with running shoes or sneakers. I had become so accustomed to this attire that I had/ have all colours of singlets in my wardrobe and several types/ colours/lengths of cargo pants and jeans. I wanted to shop in SA when I went there but there was no time for my (then) assistant to send my money before I left. So I decided to go shopping for a top, or anything, really, to wear to the shindig.

I went shopping near the house of my nearest and dearest friend, J, to kill two birds with one stone. I had not seen her in a while and I thought it would be a good opportunity. Anyway, I went to the shop and the owner did not seem to really haave time for me. I tried on a top, it wasn't my size but she was reluctant to get my size for me saying she would do it later, as she had no shop assistant and that her back room was in shambles. In my mind I just decided to go to other neasrby shops to shop because she wasn't serious, afterall I was a regular customer. That was the first step towards my wahala. All along the road the state government was digging a drainage, there was literally nowhere to pass save for some planks placed across the gaping holes that had iron rungs on their edges. I had passed there successfully initially, going in, but on coming out I stepped on the plank nervously, felt it a bit steady and as I put my other foot out I saw a change in my visual perspective. I noticed that I was seeing the sky and then I felt I was on the floor. I felt no pain and I was about to pick myself up when I saw my left foot- it was bent towards the other leg from the ankle! (I tell you, if you have never dislocated your leg the worst thing imaginable is seeing a part of you contorted in an angle that is not natural to it. It's even painful for me to recall that incident, that look.) I was scared and devastated at the same time. I thought I had lost my leg! Freak accident. Thank God for the people around there, who quickly came to my aid, and a guy on particular, Paul, who pushed the ankle back in place. God bless them. You cannot imagine the pain thereafter. The foot wa swollen to at least THRICE the size of the other leg. As luck would have it, my my friend was driving past, just at that moment and she took me to the hospital. The foolish driver of mine who was parked right opposite where this was happening had fallen so fast asleep he wan't even aware anything was going on.

So that's how the story went. I was given crutches and told to rest but I went right back to work with the crutches, until that particular job was over. It's almost three months now, and I still have enough pain to impede my movement, I've read though that ankle injuries take forever to heal. I never knew how important a leg was until now... sometimes I wish it was my hand instead, but I thank God anyway, it could have been worse. From what I hear dislocations rarely go without fractures, but I had no fracture. And considering the fact that there were iron rungs on the sides of the drainage I got off easy. What if one of them had pierced my... I don't even want to think about it.

I'm still moving on though, it will take a little more than that to hold me down permanently.All this just came back to me today because I took a walk down the road and it was a huge task.I needed to do it 'cos I did not work out today, I feel I am doing it wrong cos of my foot and the funny pain I feel in some parts of my body. I am not pitying myself or anything, I just want to get back to work so bad, or maybe I should say I want the work to come to me. It's about time eh?

Chili!

Steve jobs speech

2009-02-08T20:12:00.000+01:00

When you know you are scared of something but you still bravely do it. Well, almost bravely. LOL

When I am sad and wondering if I am really doing the right thing it takes a lot to get me back on the right path. Especially cos I feel no-one really understands. That's why I love reading blogs; sometimes you just find someone that reads ( and writes) your mind. I found that in this piece on bunmmy's blog. I felt Steve was speaking about me. And I heaved a sigh of relief: it's not over.

Read the speech here.

Chili!

WTH Do You Want?

2009-02-07T14:01:00.000+01:00

I saw the call yesterday, at about 8pm or thereabouts. I say 'saw' because I heard the phone ring, checked the caller ID and just ignored it. Then my other phone rang. This time a different person but one equally as unwelcome. Then there was quiet , for a few hours before the first phone rang again. The same unwelcome first caller. I thought it might be something semi-important so I sent an sms: saw missed calls from you on this phone. what's up? Of course there was no reply.

What part of 'don't call me again' is difficult for men to comprehend? You are there and they treat you like you are invisible, then when you walk away they start calling incessantly. I know some girls find that amusing and think that if he tries to come back they have him in their grip. well, I'm not one of them. When I finally make to my mind to kick a guy out, I really cant stand him thereafter. He literally irritates me. So get lost, means that. Piss off!

Chili!

The Prelude To My 'Dear John' Letter

2009-02-03T19:28:00.001+01:00

I should be drawing up my company profile but I am here updating my blog. Priorities, priorities. Anyway, here goes.

I was sleeping in late, as is my usual practice these days, when I felt the bed vibrating. My phone was ringing and it was my mom. After the usual salutations, she told me she had a message from one of her prayer partners, for me. Before I go on to the message, let me just give you a brief background to my mother and her spirituality.

My mum is somewhat psychic. In this part of the world that is not rare. The mother-child connection is never really broken. And, because of that and the fact that she has guided me out of a few mishaps, I have a healthy respect for her insights. When they are insights. The problem with my mother is that she doesn't know where to stop. For her everything has spiritual significance, and it seems her obsession/ fascination with demons and other dark, flying, nocturnal creatures becomes worse as she grows older.

One day, I had just woken up to go to work, then I was working in one dead-end job on the Island, so I had to wake up by 4 am. To my surprise, my phone rang. I had seen this person trying to call me at about the same time or earlier, for a few days, so, against my better judgement I picked it up. 'Hello, Chili?' who is this, I asked (my usual gruff reply for unknown numbers). 'Austin, is the name- Prophet Austin'. Immediately I hissed and hung up the phone. What yeye prophet, next thing he would tell you some cock-and-bull story of how your life was in danger and he needed to pray for you. A little while after that, a few weeks, maybe, my mum told me about a pastor she had been speaking to who said he had a message for me and I should call him. That seemed very curious because my mother used to be a fanatical catholic and would not go near the pentecostalists except her life depended on it. Anyway, she gave me the number, and just to please her, and to calm my curiosity, I called the guy. Turns out his name was Austin (surprise, surprise) and his message was that I had a spirit that was preventing me from getting suitors (his words, not mine) and that the spirit manifests itself as anger. ( Yeah, right, and that's not related to my slamming the phone on you when you called, abi?) So I should get someone to pray for me about it. Now all that was cool except for two things: one , I do have a temper, and everyone who knows me knows that, so that is not news. But I NEVER get angry around the men I am dating. That was one of the problems I had, as I never really revealed myself to them and; two, I wasn't looking for suitors/ marriage. So when I put two and two together, I realised it was my mother who was giving him' prayer points' and the the go-ahead to call me at very ungodly hours. As if to prove me right, a couple of days after that my mother called me at about 2 am, saying that I should call that 'pastor who she sent me to that day' as he just told her he was seeing terrible things around me and wanted to pray for me. Can you imagine? At that time of the night? I said ok, and promptly switched off my phone. When she called me in the morning to find out the results I told her I did not understand a 'pastor' that could only 'pray' for people by that time of the day and that I would not speak to such a person. That put an end to 'prophet Austin', and her nocturnal calls. Well, until a few nights ago when she called me and said I should pray, telling God to send the holy ghost fire to anyone who is standing in the way of my success. After she calmed down I pointed out to her that the fire just might burn me as well since her call had made me so frightened that I could not sleep anymore. Honestly, I think my mother has taken shelter in these fantasies as her refuge from all the marital and family problems that she constantly worries about; it's her psychological way of not feeling so helpless.

Anyway, so that's my mother in summary. This morning, 10-ish or thereabouts- she's learned- she called me to give me a message from one of her prayer partners. The person ( a guy, by the way) said god told him to tell me that he will turn my situation around, if only I believe that things will change this year for me , in marriage. And she said this in that 'God voice' that they use in Nigerian movies. It was all I could do to stop myself from laughing. When she did not get any response from me she asked 'are you there?'. How can I be there? Obviously the guy has gotten his lines crossed again. I mean here I am , worried everyday, praying to God about how to revive my business and restructure my operations, and the first message I get from someone that claims to have spoken to Him is that I will marry this year! I mean, if God knows me- and I think he does - he knows I have NO INTEREST in marriage. None at all. I don't hate it, I dont like it. I dont even think about it. I never imagine how it will feel to be living with another man in his house. I don't see the point of marriage, and I dread having kids. So where did that come from?

In a seemingly unrelated development, I finally broke it off with my on-again-off-again boyfriend Ex. I know I said I was gonna do it a long time ago, but I chickened out thinking as my friend M would say, half bread is better than full chin chin. But I have since realised that bread and chin chin are very different. LOL. The nickel dropped for me when he said he didn't want a relationship with anyone. I can understand if you don't want to get married, or you don't want to have children. I've seen that a lot, and I feel that way too. But I have never seen anyone who doesn't want a relationship. Never. I I mean that's ok, but then you shouldn't be having sex with anyone either. What are we, call girls? Yes. And I said we, cos I believe there was more than me. That's how stupid I was. Anyway, he called me last night and I told him not to call me again. I had been waiting for 6 years for him to grow up, or at the very least come to his senses. 6 YEARS!!!! Enough was enough. It hurt but it was nothing compared to the hurt I had experienced over his rejection over the years.

So maybe that's the vision they saw for me yesterday. (In Nollywood God voice) 'Dont worry about Ex, I will send you a man who WANTS a relationship'. LMAO

How ya living?

Chili!

Those Whom The Gods Want To Kill...

2009-02-01T22:24:00.000+01:00

Hi Y'all

I'm very broke. Terribly broke. The find -me-ten-thousand-naira kind of broke.Of course being down with a leg injury for two months, and not working contributed greatly to this situation but it doesnt change how terrible it feels.

It is at times like this that my mind goes back to all the frivolous things I spent money on in the past, and wishes that I could retrieve that cash. My mind also goes to some people I know, or may not know very well, who have blown good money and I just want to flog them (after retrieving what is left though).

Tonight the first person on my flog list is Sam Edem. This story was as hilarious as it was shocking and annoying. This nincompoop, Edem, was the former chairman of the NDDC - the Niger Delta Development Commission for the uncircumcised.As the story goes he got wind of plans to remove him from his position, and, with the help of his assistant, got in touch with a native doctor/ juju man who charged him 15 million naira -yes!- to solve the problem.apparently, the native doctor did such a satisfactory job that Edem gave him 3 more contracts: eliminate Timi Alaibe, his boss, either by killing him or rendering him terminally ill (spiritually, of course), ensure Governor Akpabio always did his bidding, and make Vice President Jonathan continually on his side. For all these,, the native doctor charged 570 million naira . Edem paid a deposit of 310 million naira in instalments, and the native doctor went to work. Bt that is not what upset me. The thing that makes me want to flog the foolish man now is something from the confession the native doctor made to the police. As part of the ritual that they performed, Edem was required to come with 270 million naira cash (two hundred and seventy million naira), to a cementry at night, BURN IT(!!!!!), and have his bath with that. And he did.

For me that was the story of 2008. I mean this native doctor had a 50 room hotel, and several exotic cars. Before nko? If someone is stupid enough to pay me 300 million naira to perform spiritual hocus-pocus will I be stupid enough not to invest it? God , I so need to flog that guy.

Chili!

Moments WITHOUT Mo

2009-01-29T14:00:00.000+01:00

Okay,

So I said I was going to keep this till later but she had to go and say another thing that made me want to strangle her. Mo, that is.

First the good. I remember watching her show, the first time, with a mixture of jealousy and joy. Jealousy that someone else was able to bring the kind of quality we needed to Nigerian television, and I wsn't a part of it, and joy that , finally , we had the answer to Oprah and co. But that is where the good ends. When she spoke it was obvious she needed help- lots of it. She had on John Fashanu and Nkechi Okocha and contrary to her 'inspire Africa' idea, she did not ask them anything, or get any info from them that was supposed to inspire in any way. It just seemed to me like a gossip show. That notwithstanding I gave her another chance and watched another episode. This time it was Modenine, the rapper, who was the guest. From the get-go it was obvious the guy had lost her with all that he was saying; she obviously was unfamiliar with, and had failed to research, the culture of rap and hip hop. The 'crowning glory' came when Modenine described himself as a lyricist, and she said' You see, that's why I understand what you are saying. Because you do lyrics, you don't do rap'. Ye gads!!! Then I read an interview, last year, where she said someone had criticized her presentation and she had learnt from that to be involved in the production process of her show. Ok, I thought, let's give her yet another chance.

This year, o, Mo came again. First of all, it was obvious that she had changed one or two of her major producers because the topics seemed to be less personality-based and more abstract and/or society-based. Unfortunately, they did not take into account the person who was presenting. Although Mo might now have an idea of the topic at hand she still lacks the ability to steer the conversation in any reasonable direction. When she reads her introduction from the teleprompter- and it is obvious she is reading- you can almost hear the sigh of relief when she comes to the end. In that same breath (ok, not really) she turns to her guest and says the exact same thing she just read (eg. 'today's topic is men of steel' then to the guest - who was sitting there while she read those torturous lines- 'so we are discussing men of steel'. Eh he, you dont say!) Then she finally asks the guest (a) question(s) and doesn't even let him/her answer, interrupting at will, and steering the conversation clearly off- point! Is her director afraid of her? And can someone please tell her that not every episode can end with that stupid phrase' if you can think it, you can do it'? Where is the relationship between that and a programme on different generations of people in the same family? Na wa o.

The one she did today was a personal affront to me because I fit in the category she attempted to describe. (Maybe not exactly, but if I am not careful I might get there, but I digress.) The topic was plus-size women. Now I was eager to see how this would be treated, in relation to the western ideas of beauty. As I expected she handled it like plus-sizes (sizes 16 upwards, by the way) were an anomaly in Nigeria. She introduced her guest and said 'she was plus-size, then hastily added, 'but a beautiful one', as though plus-size were an insult. This lady sells clothes for ladies of her size and above, and so the interview went in that direction. The next guest was also a plus-size woman who made shoes. The conversation started with the question' have you always been this big?' and then quickly moved to her shoe making business . Then , out of the blues, Mo asks, So Bunmi, health issues, do you have any health issues regarding your weight?' Jeeeezus! MO!! Where the hell did that come from? If you are talking about business talk about business, if you are talking of weight , talk of weight. Haba. Going from one to the other, at random, made it seem like she is able to achieve things INSPITE OF her weight. And who are you to make a judgement call on that? Especially when she has checked out healthy as she told you?

Then the lady exhibits her shoes and Mo puts her other foot in her mouth. See, she says, brandishing the shoes to the audience, those of you interested in made-in-Nigeria shoes, you have good ones here. (I may have paraphrased, but the sentiment was the same: only for those who buy made in Nigeria, not for people like me.)

Her final blunder came on the heels of her interview with her third guest, Elvina Ibru. She definitely asked the right questions about weight at the beginning and then the conversation moved into Elvina's work, with Mo completing every sentence for her. At the end of the conversation, she thanks the guest and says to her audience, 'if you can think it you can do it'. Meaning what now? If you are big and you still think you can succeed at a business, you can? Or if you can think of being a plus-size person you can do it? Or what?

Such a topic would have been handled in a more interesting, culturally-specific way. Do a story on what perceptions were in relation to plus-size ladies in Nigeria/ Africa, years ago. Travel to Calabar, where they used to have fattening rooms, go to Ethiopia where no-one seems to be fat. (What are you numerous producers doing?) Then relate that to the modern-day perception of weight, not that vox-pop they do in front of your office gates. And then bring women who defy these perceptions and are proud of their stature, and even promote it. Not plus-size women who are making it in business. Jeez!

The despair I feel over Moments with Mo, is the same despair I feel over our Nollywood movies. A fantastic platform that tells the wrong story, in the wrong way. With programs like Moments, there is the Nigerian factor evident. It's this issue of people wanting to sit in on, and run their own businesses even though they are incapable. Must Mo be the presenter?

Style Them, Please!!!

2009-01-28T16:31:00.000+01:00

I've just been watching one show called Style Me on STV. This will be the 2nd or 3rd time I am catching it because , no thanks to DSTV, I find myself not watching the local television stations regularly. I kinda like this secretly, because I tend to get a bit star-struck and sometimes make a fool of myself around our celebrities. But when I don't get to see them on local TV I don't know them etc.

Anyway, speaking of celebrities brings me to the point of today's rant. So, I caught this show today, a show that was obviously poorly built on the BBC's What Not To Wear and the Style Network's, How Do I Look, and I marvelled at how easily Nigerians dabble into television without thought for content. So what's wrong with the show again, someone asks. A lot. And I intend to list them all here.

First is this our love for instant celebrity. Everyone wants to be a star and when they appear on tv, regardless of if they are spouting rubbish from their lips , they assign to themselves some sort of celebrity status and the right to dispense unwanted information, usually advice to their tortured viewers. That was the feeling that hit me when I saw the presenter(s) of the show. OK, in truth I have nothing against Buki De Lazaria who is obviously a co-presenter, and the better dressed of the two. The only thing is that she never manages to get a word in edge-wise with the all-knowing, domineering Isioma Aihie. If Isioma's intention is to be irritating and off-putting , believe me , it's working for me because she has nothing that qualifies her to be in the front-of-house as far as television is concerned. She speaks with a condescending, British (arrgh!) accent, is barely audible, and to add insult to injury she looks like she needs to eat or something. anyway, that's point no. 3.

Isn't that supposed to be a show about style? So shouldn't it be hosted by someone WITH style? (No offence Buki. ) Why then does Isioma look like she just got out of her car and onto set without a moment's thoughts as to what she is supposed to be hosting? And why does she have this long, drawn, badly made-up face which puts a huge question mark on her I-am-cool-cool-is-me attitude?

Then to the show, proper. Isn't it time someone in this country had an original idea? What's ingenious about pulling a girl's name from a box and sending her shopping, to the hairdressers and the make-up artist? Half the time all I see from the before and after pictures is a girl who wasn't dressed up before, decided to get dressed like she was going somewhere. Finish. It's a change any fool could organize. Here's an idea; pick out some celebrities/ socialites in the Lagos (Nigerian) society, who need a make-over, and provide them with that. There are lots of people; the ladies with thick layers of foundation that look like masks, the actress who wears the most outlandish outfits to events, etc. Or give a makeover to someone who cannot afford outfits, but is in need of a wardrobe change. Think for Christ's sake!

The moral of this story is become an act before you become a star. Jeez! And that goes for you too, Mo. I'm getting to you very soon.

CHILI!

R-E-S-P-E-C-T

2009-01-14T19:16:00.000+01:00

re⋅spect [ri-spekt]

esteem for or a sense of the worth or excellence of a person

Friend 1: So I am trying to get over him

Friend 2: But what seems to be the problem. You said you like him

Friend 1: Yeah, well I do. But the problem is that he is commitment-shy. I see him today, we have a good time, then I dont hear from him for 2/ 3 weeks , then he comes and then another 5/6 months , etc. We've been doing this for 6 years.

Friend 2: ha! pray to God for strngth to break away from this relationship. It is dangerous. He will marry someone else and still keep coming back to you.

Friend 1: last week he told me he did not want a relationship with anyone. Can you imagine?

Friend 2: Why do you allow him back? Honestly?

Friend1 : Honestly? I like him. He is nice to me, he treats me with respect, he introduces me to new, exotic, luxurious, places, things.

Friend 2: respect?? and he disappears like that then comes back when he is good and ready?? don't you need him when he is gone??he pays attention and switches on the charm when he wants something. You deserve better?

Friend 1 : maybe respect is the wrong word...

Friend 2: What is respect to you?What differentiates him from other guys you have dated who have hurt you?

Friend 1 : Good question.

Chili!

Opening New Doors

2008-12-31T20:38:00.000+01:00

Oprah Winfrey, Madeleine Albright, Dora Akunyili, Tyra Banks, Beyonce, Debra L. Lee. When I pray, those rare moments when I can string my sentences together and tell God what I want/hope/feel, I never ask too be like these people. I feel that there can only be one of anyone in the world. You are the only you, and that is what you are meant to be.

This morning when I prayed, being that it was New Year's Eve, I prayed for the New year. I thanked God for the fantastic things he did for me this year and I asked for a consolidation. Not for prosperity, because I know that will come, I asked to fulfill my purpose. you see, this year, I took the step into the unknown and came out smelling roses. What I needed, waht I want, is a chance to use what the Lord has put in me to make my presence on earth beneficial to a few. This evening, God answered me.

It is the BET honors ceremony. They were honouring black people who haave contributed a lot to the American growth and Tyra was one of them. And even though she is someone I would not ordinarily listen to for long, she mad a great deal of sense to me tonight. she thanked all the women who had opened doors so she could make a headway, and the nickel dropped.

I have always had an issue with female role models in Nigeria. Either they do not live for what they claim to, or they are too frivolous to be grounded. With my business God had given me the opportunities- yes, several- to step into places girls have ordinarily been forbidden to go, and conquer. To open doors so young girls know they can do much better. And that there are no limits.

So 2009 is my year to open doors. It means conquering my fears and doing what I only whispered about to myself, it means being committed to a path I have chosen, it means living positively, regardless. And I am writing this so I can refer to it later, and remind myself where I am going, and why I am on that path, and why I can't stop.

So help me God.

Chili!

2008-12-31T00:55:00.000+01:00

Hi Y'all

At the beginning of this year all I could think of was how long it would take for me to have done a year on my job (then) so that I could resign. Luckily for me the months raced on, helped along by several things I had to do then, and I made progress and eventually made my way out. To Kenya.

It just happened that another company wanted me for a job in Nairobi, so off to Kenya I went. It also turned out that the company had several issues so what would have been a working trip turned into an all-expenses paid holiday, and what would have been my next job tuned into a one-month stint. So I left for uncertainty, and chickenpox.

I've never been as grateful to have an illness as I was to have chicken pox at the time I did. I was able to look critically at my life and decide what directions I would and would not go, and the universe heard me because everything just fell into place, including another all-expenses paid trip abroad. Then I fell and dislocated my ankle, but due to the help of fantastic Nigerians and South Africans, and my employees - yes o, I had employees- I still finished off a job successfully with crutches.

I know it may not always be like this, but I also know it may. And however it is, whatever the situation, I thank God for the year that I put my best foot forward, and felt solid ground. Thank you 2008, for showing me, me.

Chili!!!

Men And Animals

2008-12-27T22:02:00.000+01:00

Wazzap!!

So a lot has changed in my life over the past few months. MTV had taken full control of the wheel that's one. And love-wise all the exes were coming out of the woodwork. well almost all, the professional Ex hasn't come round yet- but, all the same, I have Snuffy, Pied Piper and Ex to think about. And I can only compare them to animals.

There's this 'quiz' we used to do in University which was said to be an extract from a psychologist's questions. You asked the person several questions, including favorite animal and colour, and the answers helped you understand the person's character. I was always a cat lover, even though I gravitated towards dogs at times.

EX I will liken to an exotic cat. A black panther or something. The type you stand in awe of and are attracted to at the same time. If it comes to you and allows you stroke it, you feel blessed, and you ar eonly too happy to let it be until the next time it indulges you a bit.

Pied Piper is like a Cheshire. Purely decorative, utterly selfish. Will not come around except it is hungry and will wander off as soon as it is fed. Knows the way home, but uses it at it's convenience.

Snuffy is a dog. Not the gorgeous, enormous, great dane or alsatian types, or the cute, lovable chihuahua types, but an ugly, uncouth local breed. The type that has tits dangling and is always drooling. They have no loyalty and all they want is food. As a matter of fact I dont know any dogs like that so I would say he is an alley cat.

Like most alley cats do, he came out of the alley again on Christmas day. Probably looking for a place to eat free food, or just chill without paying for it. Or maybe one or all of his 'igbotic ' girls went home for Christmas and he was bored. It was Christmas, anyway, so I let him in- and immediately regretted it. All the reasons I kicked him out just came and slapped me in the face, one by one. I couldn't wait for him to leave. Now, instead of analyzing him and his actions I just dismissed them and dissed him.

Pied Piper received almost the same treatment, maybe worse. He came to the country, I saw him once or twice and then told him to pretty much get lost. It didn't help that he asked me for money, though. I just thought, you sorry mofo, get your ass off my bed and out of my life. The question ' what the hell am I doing with you?' suddenly came to mind. A man whose 'proposal' to me was that I should have his baby, because having it with his wife would take too long since she had fibroid. ( Don't even go there! I was there before the aforesaid 'wife', she was just richer and a resident of a foreign country. But that's another story that I am too ashamed and too weary to even go into.) so he's history.

The last of my romantic cleansing acts is a mental one devoted to ex. It has to be mental; he exists more on that level than on any other , for me. As with all exotic cats, he is best lsft at a distance. The reason is that they are so unpredictable; you never know when thay will turn around and attack you.

The point of all this is this. I stil love animals; cats and dogs especially. But I need a new pet, and I'm kicking out all the old ones. But I want a cat that warms up to the owner and is loyal and faithful. Or a dog that has grace and confidence and sagacity. Confidence, grace, loyalty, intelligence, honesty, genuineness, faithfulness, beauty, those are the qualities I am looking for, those are the qualities he must have. but if it's too much to ask and he does not exist, that's perfectly okay- I haven't had a pet for years.

How ya Living

CHILI!

Nothing (Gold) Can Stay

2008-11-04T01:21:00.000+01:00

Nature's First Green Is Gold
The Hardest Hue To Hold.
Her Early Leaf's A Flower;
But Only So An Hour.
Then Leaf Subsides To Leaf.
So Eden Sank To Grief,
So Dawn Goes Down To Day.
Nothing Gold Can Stay.

Robert Frost, 1928

My first contact with this poem was on my - I think it was my 18th?- birthday. My elder brother had written it out in the card he sent me. (A beautiful card that had a tree which looked like it had just been touched by autumn: leaves of gold, red,brown and some green.)

My initial reaction when I saw that poem was glee. My elder brother had always been a bit stand-offish and a loner. He is also a highly cerebral and intelligent person, so I felt proud that he would see me that way as well by quoting some classics for me. After reading it though, I did not know whether to be offended or amused or concerned. I still don't.

I had always felt a sense of disapproval coming from him, but I chose to ignore it. It didn't help that my parents - especially my mother- practically worshipped him, and, in a way, compared both of us, using a measure that made me always come up short. I gradually grew to resent him, and that 'atmosphere' in my home, making a mental vow to change everything by moving away and being successful. (Wow! Therapy. I just realised the reason for a lot of my issues.) But I digress. I kept the card for a very long time and chose to ignore the unspoken sentiment, which I know/knew was unfounded.

Anyway, today, over a decade later, and all that resentment dead and buried, it's his birthday. And the words on that card ring so, so true. Not just for me, but for him, and my whole family in a way. I can imagine how disappointed my mother must feel that her children haven't achieved much. Maybe more worried than disappointed, but upset all the same. Especially for the ones she held close - and I say this without malice. More importantly today, I imagine that he must also feel grossly disappointed in himself, knowing our aspirations as kids, his hopes, qualifications and his abilities. Or maybe he doesn't who knows?

It's his birthday, anyway, and my reminder that life is like a flight to an unknown destination: you think you are moving slowly,until you look down and see how far you are from the ground, and until you land you can't tell what will happen on that journey. The only thing you have control over is what seat you want.

Happy Birthday ,' Kasparov'.

Chili!
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Wish

2008-11-02T09:45:00.000+01:00

'Elo Luv,

Here's a brief glimpse into my aspirations, my demons and my future (hopefully).

I WISH I...

Had my own house, in a nice part of town, where the taps actually let out water!
Had a cat , or maybe that should be less illiterate neighbours who do not see a cat as an evil sign. (They are illiterate, not superstitious)

Had a car that would double as a van, a 4by4, a pick-up and luxury vehicle when I need it. (Or just another car would be fine , actually.)

Didn't have to clean up as much- or didn't hate house cleaning so much

Wasn't always skimping and saving especially when I so want to be generous with my family.

Didn't have this nagging feeling that time is running out on me. (I've had that feeling ever since I can remember and it has kept me from doing some pseudo-important things and hasn't pushed me enough to do the important ones.)

Had a boyfriend -so, there! I said it. Not the modern types that seem to come from a factory, these days, without a warranty, or a manual , and with factory defects, and a secret expiry date. No. I want the old-fashioned types that listen and actually hear, that are capable of staying how and where you left them and have no speech/ language impediments.

Had a future that would let go of my past (God knows I have!). So I was sexually abused, so I was emotionally scarred by the neglect, I'm moving on! Don't keep bringing those arseholes to me! Jeez!

Would stop believing it when artisans say they will 'soon be there' . It will save me a lot of stress and negative energy when they saunter in three hours later.

Could make things a little less difficult and unpredictable sometimes...

How ya living?

Chili!
Sent from my BlackBerry wireless device from MTN

Giving Thanks Matters

2008-10-30T00:35:00.000+01:00

Dear God,

Thank you for it all. I am so used to chasing after the next new thing that I fail to see all I have in my kitty.

Thank you for work, you know my work is my life.

Thank you that the dollar is so familiar to me, even though I live in Nigeria ( you know what I mean).

Thank you for the courage to walk away from dead-end jobs without a plan for tomorrow - the very thing Snuffy advised against.

Thank you for creating a massive opening for me thereafter, one I would never have been able to imagine or achieve by myself.

Thank you for my ambition to do more, that makes everything I have already done negligible, to me.

Thank you for my food, it has always been an important part of my physical and psychological development.

Thank you for chocolates; how would I have sat through some useless TV programs, or survived the Enugu shoot?

Thank you for coke, which it can go it's own way now. It was great while it lasted, though.

Thank you for fresh fruits, foodstuff, and vegetables. For crayfish, dry fish, egusi and ogbono which I seriously craved abroad.

Thank you for prawns. Jumbo prawns. Yummm.

Thank you for sisi eko from La Cachette; my former daily lunch.

Thank You for my mind

Thank you that I love and understand gadgets, and that most of my female friends don't get it (tee hee).

Thank you that a good conversation is on top of my list of my priorities.

Thank You for love

Thank you for my family: my brothers who never stop teasing me, my parents who give a new meaning to unconditional love, my grandparents who try unsuccessfully to hide a smile when I murder my language.

Thank you for my friends who have become the family that I had a hand in choosing.

Thank you for all my exes, those that still bother me and those that have faded into history. Without them what would I chat about with my girls? (LOL)

Thank you Lord, for all the times I forgot to say those words. For all the pleasant surprises, for all the blessings in disguises, for a word of inspiration from a stranger, for the ability to move, to breathe, to speak, to eat, to laugh, to dance, to be, without considering it twice.

If I die today, it would have been be well worth the journey.

Chili!
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Virginia Slim's- Slim Chance

2008-10-20T02:36:00.000+01:00

You've come a long way Baby, I never quite understood those adverts as a child, but now as an adult I so desperately want to say those words to myself. And mean them. But.....

If I pay for the living room who pays for the ceiling? And the roof? Five years is too long to stay in this sort of place.

I grew up under the wings of some fantastic mentors. Many if not all, male. I sensed that I was being groomed for something big, and I thought by now I'd be grooming others. Now, 15 years later, I'm yet to see it. It' s getting kinda late to discover myself, isn't it? 'Who do people say I am?'

Which is better, being wealthy without social responsibility/ relevance, or being popular or socially relevant without financial strength?

So if I wanted to maintain focus what would I have focused on then? How do you maintain your self-respect and integrity if you stay in a man's company without a salary? Or continue working for a person who pays you the barest minimum he can get away with, while living fat off your ideas? '... To thine own self be true. '

I am crazy about people that have this self-satisfied demeanour. People who seem to know exactly where they are going in life, regardless of the moral, social, economic, religious or otherwise opposition to their opinion. I want that. And if I have it, I want to know that I do.

I used to listen to success stories, become star-struck by achievers, in awe of celebrities, when I met them. I put them on a pedestal; assuming they were full of virtues. Until I saw their vices, and they we're so ugly, it was unbelievable. So, what did they have over me? Absolutely nothing. '... But time and chance happeneth to them all...'

Lest we should be the last
To appear before you
We left our corn in the barn
And unprepared
We followed the winding way to you hut.

Our children begged for bread
From the women bearing golden gourds
And laughing on their way from the well.
But we did not stop.

Knowing that in your presence Our thirst would be assuaged
And our hunger banished
By the flowing milk of your words.

Now we have come to you
And are amazed to find
That those whom you loved and respected
Mock you to your face.

I'm not high. The reason for my semi-coherent rambling is that I am very low, too low to string ideas together sensibly.

Sometimes you wonder what the point of all this stress is, it is always an uphill journey. At least for me, it is.

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Joie De Vivre et Morte

2008-09-18T02:56:00.001+01:00

I don't know if I wrote that right but I meant to say the death of the joy of life.

I noticed it about a week after he was gone... From my mind that is. Despite our very vibrant sex life I never once recalled any of our 'sessions'. It seemed that I had put everything that related to him out of my mind, because even when I tried all I got were very tiny bits of vague memories.

And it's still like that now. And not just with him, but with any man. No man including The Ex turns me on. ( Well, M did for a hot minute, but without follow up it went as it came.)

I know my heart is still mourning. And my body sympathises... It just bothers me 'cos it came out of nowhere, and I wonder if I'll ever know what it's like to feel it again. Not the feeling of lust - that's easy to get- but the feeling of abandon and ecstasy and security that comes with knowing someone has got your back, somewhere.
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The Story So Far, And Why It Matters

2008-09-01T23:57:00.000+01:00

So I know that I am famous for taking forever in making my decisions but this takes the cake. Really.

I feel like I am in the middle of a major change in my life's direction. I feel that whatever decision I take now is absolutely crucial to my way forward for the rest of my life.
In the next few months I will either go bust or get the best direction I need in my life. I hope I will not be making a mistake, cos it seems as if when I make one decision, I should have made another. And I feel so alone cos there's no-one but my immediate family standing by me. And my best friend's. God bless them both.

Lord help me; to see results from my labour in whatever direction, to see beyond my limitations and to break through the dark clouds. Amen
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How Do You Say Goodbye?

2008-09-01T23:49:00.001+01:00

She's really gone. I cannot believe it. It's been 5 long years of closeness, and I saw her almost everyday!

She was with me when one reckless lorry driver ran into us because he had no brakes. She came out slightly bruised and I badly shaken.
She was there when I gave rides to the German film crew, the Endemol team, Uncle Olu Jacobs, Aunty Taiwo Ajai Lycet, and so on.
She suffered with me through Aunty Bisi's maniacal driving, through those early mornings when we went seeking interviews with victims of human rights violations, through the different indifferent 'boyfriends', through my struggle for survival and unemployment.

I remember when Daddy met her he wept with joy, happy at his daughter's maturity.

And now she's gone. I know I let her go but it was reluctantly. I knew she had passed her prime, and was becoming more of a burden. I watched as strangers opened her up and rummaged through her insides, inspecting her almost disrespectfully. But I couldn't stop them. I had been blinded by riches and my aspirations for the future.
Then, in a flash, she was gone.

As she was taken away I ran inside the house. Not because I did not want to see her go, but because I did not want them to find me there if they changed their minds. And now, at home, with my head clear , I miss her. But it was time to let her go.

So this is for you, Nadine the Nissan. You were more than a car, you were my companion. I miss you.
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Moving Forward

2008-05-05T23:19:00.000+01:00

It wasn't as bad as I thought it would be- and believe me I thought and thought. About what I would be missing (nothing), about what I would be losing (regular ...) About everything. There was no arguement, maybe because I didn't give room for any. Then it ended.
I can't lie, I felt bad. It's not easy handling the idea that you are not worth fighting for. Then I heard the story, and it confirmed all my worst fears.
My friend's husband is at it again o. This guy is a notorious flirt, we thought he would relax when he got hitched but things took a turn for the worse. His most insensitive escapade was with his brother-in-law's girlfriend. It's not as distant as it seems, the guy is his wife's brother who lives in the same house with them. At the same time he was asking his wife's colleague/employee out. That matter ended- until now.
Today she told me she was looking for a house. To move out to. Alone. Apparently her husband is on an extended trip abroad and she wants to get out before he comes. He had something to do with her younger sister, who lives with them. And this wasn't his first attempt at sleeping with her sisters. But hopefully this would be the last.
The theme of this discourse is: these things we do for/ take from our men in the interest of 'peace', are they worth the effort? And at the end of the day does it not chip at essential bits of that confident, beautiful young lady that used to say ' I won't take that from a man, if I were in her shoes', and transform her into that drained, drawn, resigned old lady who just shrugs her shoulders and says ' we are looking to God'.
Do they exist, men who are honest and faithful? Is the order of things that men reign as supreme philanderers and women the degraded subject?
Is God a chauvnist?

Chili!
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Sufficiency Matters

2008-04-11T01:35:00.000+01:00

It's possible it's me. I've been accused of being a perfectionist, having unrealistic expectations and views of life. A little part of me agrees with that. I see that I regularly get disappointed and dissatisfied with both mine and others results. But the other part of me rebels against that idea. In several aspects of my life I don't ask for much. A lot of people including Snuffy have said so. I know it myself. I just need to be above average. It's in my work that I attempt perfection; and like it or not, I (believe that I) am defined by my work- and that is how I assess everyone else.
I lie on my bed in this hotel room in Port Harcourt, on yet another business trip, apprehensive of the outcome of the assignment I am about to execute. Not because it is necessarily technical or voluminous but because the clients are problematic and keep changing ideas at every possible moment , without regard to the practicability of the idea. And I can't even as much as threaten to quit out of frustration: my company thinks they need the business. The fact that they are the 2nd most stingy, most problematic client that we have! And to further compound the situation, I don't like my job. The duties bore me, I am starving my soul. I do not feel I am making a difference. A year or two ago I would have quit just for these reasons without giving it a second thought, and without a fallback plan. I have done it at least 6 times. But not now. For the first time I am receiving a regular salary. For the first time I am working for money, little money, but money all the same.
Some people may call it 'being an adult', 'financial wisdom', for me it' s the rat race. The never-ending pursuit for the elusive-maybe non-existent- good life.
And at night I go home and turn the key and there's no-one there. No-one. For those who know me my views on marriage haven't changed; I still feel it's unnecessary, impractical. I just need companionship, like everyone else, but a lot of factors stand in my way, the major factor being myself. Lagos, life, men, and friendships have made me so hard. Sometimes my coldness, and indifference to my own family, my dear brothers with whom I grew up amazes me. I reduce all they say to how much it costs me, how much I am expected to spend. And I can't tell how much that hurts them, but it kills me to go that way. The very attitude I detested in my father is the attitude I have nutured. I assess everything froma perspective of materialism. God forgive me.
And as for relationships, all the years of hurt have made me ... they call it strong, I call it paranoid. To me no man is good enough, no man is honest. And when you think like that who do you attract? The same type you are avoiding.
I hate where I am now: the point when you feel you are 'no longer a child' and you can't take risks anymore, or you must accept anything (or anyone) that you are (un)lucky to get.
I hate my job. When I was in tv I felt I was making a difference, I felt like my presence on earth was pre-determined. Now I feel like a drop in the ocean. And not just a drop, an undefined drop. You are not sure if it is oil or water.
I've always felt in life, like I was someone standing outside a well-lit house, looking thru the gaps in the gate. Funny, but that was the reason I woke up every morning- to experience all that life unfolds for me. TV gave me that opportunity to go through that gate and see the house and the residents. (The only problem was that I was let in like a handyman or an artisan. The irrgular and paltry salaries ensured that. ) Now I don't even see the glimpses through the gate anymore. I'm so preoccupied with buying my own house that I don't even see the gate either! In other words, I no longer enjoy life. Travelling which was always my passion, has become drudgery for me. I no longer bother about the sights, any spare time is spent sleeping. I am sooooo tired- literally and figuratively.
I need to rediscover my life. I need the manual on relationships and friendships. I am too young for middle-age crisis. I need the blueprint, I need to get me back.

How ya living?
Chili
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What Did I Do

2008-03-30T01:17:00.000+01:00

I flew off the bed and ran to the toilet. The excruciating pain had begun again. On the toilet seat naked, I realised it was just pain, I didn't need to go. But I sat there anyway. My head in my arms, thinking and staring. He knocked on the door and came in, I jumped, startled. Caught in the act, he said, I thought you never sit and stare. I smiled. He said I'm sorry baby I know you want to be alone in this situation (laugh) but I just wanna sit with you for a minute. Are you ok?, he asks sitting on the edge of the bathtub? I nod my answer. Are you sure? Yes, why do you think I'm not? You've been asking me all night. Yes, so are you? Yes darling, I'm fine. Ok, he says and he bends down and kisses me, french kiss with my dragon breath and all.
I decide I'll take a bath afterwards, and he comes in again, looks at me and says you're having a bath? Without me? I smile. Then he looks me in the eyes and says Baby, do I make you happy? Are you happy?
And I am numb with shock. Snuffy did good this time. Now if only I could bottle it up and preserve it.

How ya living

Chili!
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Surprise Matters

2008-03-26T15:44:00.000+01:00

Hiya All,

I have to tell this story or else God might become angry with me. It was a rather funny and nice incident that occured at Easter, and just when I had given up on the individual in question.

If you live in Nigeria you already know that we had a loooooong weekend last week. I was so looking forward to it because I needed sleep like mad. So on Friday I did nothing but sleep all day. On Saturday my plan was to get my house cleaned and then sleep some more. Those plans were interrupted by a phone call from my darling Snuffy. He started by accusing me of abandoning him and not taking care of him, saying he was ill and I didn't even bother to ask him how he was feeling, blah, blah, blah. I reminded him that it was possible that I had given up on him. That launched another long monologue after which he asked what my plans were and invited me to 'come out'. At first I shrugged that statement off and continued rambling on. He said it again and caught my attention. Where do you want me to come out to I asked ? Come and meet me he said. Where I wondered. He has always told me he has no house and that the official guest house where he stays was not open to visitors and I left it at that so where was he expecting me to go to now? He said when I arrived at Ikoyi I should call him and he would come pick me up. I said I was driving, he said I would park my car somewhere. Now I was curious, slightly shocked and suspicious. I mean the notorious Snuffy was actually asking me out on a date, me,his girlfriend! I had died and gone to Limbo.

I agreed but not after telling him that I was worried about this turn of events especially because it was so weird I wasnt sure he didn't want to sacrifice me to ritualists.

So that's how I started trying to dress up. Unfortunately that day was a bad hair day (make that a bad face day) so I had to beg that we postpone it to the next. Come the next day and I got dressed, called Oga who said he hoped I looked hot which prompted another lengthy outfit changing session . Luckily I stumbled on the right outfit in less than 2 hours and I was on my way again.

To cut a long story short Snuffy drove to meet me at Kingsway road, got me a place to park my car and then took me to his residential quarters!!!! I almost died of shock-I didn't show it though. Then he got dressed and took me to lunch at a fancy restaurant, with -wait for it- his colleague and his closest friend. All this while I was wondering, what did I do right this time? After the meal he and his friend began to search for a place to watch the match (Arsenal/ Chelsea) and since its "for better or for worse" I had to hang in for the ride. They settled on Grotto after which we went window-shopping at mega plaza and then went for drinks at News Cafe. We were supposed to go clubbing later on but by then I was bushed; both out of surprise and from over-feeding. Of course we could not go to his official residence cos it turns out it was true about the 'no visitors' rule, sorta. So we stayed in a hotel. Great night.

The next morning I stumbled out of bed while he was on the phone a little grumpy and a little tired (I'm always grumpy in the mornings). And the rest as they say is history - or better still read my blog what did I do?

Chili

Here We Go Again

2008-03-09T02:35:00.000+01:00

I feel ashamed and guilty to complain about my relationship. The shame comes from the fact that I am speaking about it to strangers over and over again. (I imagine they are saying " enough already, dump the twit and let's have peace".
I can't for the life of me get why I feel guilty -and it has nothing to do with me feeling that I have something to do with it- but I feel it anyway.
I'm sad today, really unhappy. I wish I could say I don't know what to do... But I do.
I want to go through the process of losing weight-and develop the confidence, health and happiness that comes with it.
I want to move house- I'm tired of this rat-infested, dilapidated, ugly house.
I want to feel like I am making a difference in my or someone else's life. I want to feel like my existence is necessary for something or important to someone.
I called him this evening to invite him to accompany me to a tv show I was to appear on. Not as a guest just for moral support. He didn't seem very enthusiastic. I asked him what was wrong, he said nothing. Infact let me transcribe the whole coversation:
Chili: hi, em... are you coming to my place on Sunday (we usually hang out on Sundays)
Snuffy: I should
Chili: Is that a yes or no
Snuffy: Yes
Chili: ok I'm supposed to be on a show on xyz television and I'd like you to come with me
Snuffy: (silence)
Chili: not to be on the show just go with me
Snufy: eh, ok tomorrow we'll talk now
Chili: the thing is that I'm trying to plan my day and I'm planning you into it. I have to leave home by 12 to get my nails done .
Snuffy: ok I'll come
Chili: yeah but when? Can you make it before 12? Or will you meet me there?
Snuffy: I don't know now, sebi we'll talk tomorrow
Chili: but I need to know so I can decide whether to leave my car or not
Snuffy: I can't say but I'll try to come before 12
Chili: ok what's preventing you from knowing?
Snuffy: nothing
Chili: (lists all the impossible reasons why he can't come, jokingly)
Snuffy: no
Chili: why are you so cold? If its me you'll complain. Are you ok?
Snuffy: Yeah, I'm cool. I will come before you leave
Chili: okaaaay
Snuffy: ok, bye. (Drops phone)
Now the background to this is that Snuffy has never taken me anywhere. We've never been anywhere together except for Shoprite which I made him take me to when I was mad at him but needed someone to accompany me shopping. Also though we hang out on Sundays at my place a lot-even though I haven't done that in 4 weeks- he NEVER comes early. The earliest he's ever been was 2 pm.
So while I was speaking to him these were the fears I had, along with the thots that he was kinda cold and that he hung up rather abruptly. And all this barely a day after we had a fight over his lack of enthusiasm!
I'm sick of that. I'm sick that I'm not enough or rather inadequate for my man.
I'm sick that I have to come up with little ways to remind him that I exist and being met with coldness.
I'm sick -no hurt and disappointed that I can't really get myself out of this situation just because I am weak and I let him persuade me everytime.
I'm sick that I've fallen into the trap that I never believed I would get into: hanging on for dear life for fear of letting go. Afraid that there's nothinh to go to, and there never will be.

How ya living
Chili
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Smoking Matters

2008-01-14T13:01:00.000+01:00

Hi Everyone,

It's been a while, yeah? A lot has happened. A lot that I want to blog about, but half the time when I try to write I lose my gusto.

AnywayI read something that got me a little worried. It's about smoking and you can read it on Jeremy's blogspot here. Now if you do read it, please go as far as to click on the link in that blog and see the BBC story on smoking. That is the issue today.

I'm not a smoker. I really DO NOT like cigarette fumes and I'm slightly asthmatic. I understand that lung cancer and emphysema are deadly killers. So any moves to get me away from the pollution caused by cigarettes is welcome. That said, however, I have lots of friends that smoke, male and female. And I love them so much that I will hang around them even if it means falling a bit ill. That is a choice I have made BY MYSELF. Not because someone made me, or because of excessive advertising by the tobacco companies. So what I don't understand is why people who call themselves adults, grown-ass mufuckers, will get up from their sick beds one morning and say, you know what, I'm gonna sue the tobacco company for killing me. Did they force the bloody thing into your bloody mouth?!!!!

Now before I go on , let me clarify something. There are those who actually know who I am, and they will conclude that its because one of my clients is a multinational tobacco company, that I am naturally in support of them. Let me tell you a few home truths at the risk of this getting to the wrong ears:
1. I am not a huge fan of that particular client (and that's putting it mildly). Not the organization, but the individuals who work there, especially the ones I have to relate with on a daily basis. I think that they are just a bunch of over-priced, overworked people living detached from reality. Outside their all-important, over-serious behaviour at work, they tend to be pricks at play as well.
2. I really do fall ill when I inhale tobacco fumes , and I encourage my friends, who smoke, to quit.

That said, I still attempted to smoke twice in my life. When I was, maybe 10 and when I was 21. The first time was the usual experimentation shit that kids do. My dad had kicked my mum out of the house because of this over-sophisticated chick he had started seeing (another story for another day). This babe smoked like her life depended on it. So one day my elder brother stole a cigarette and ran to the back of the house to smoke. I met him there and he allowed me a drag. It was terrible.(Neither of us smoke to date, by the way.)

The second time was when i was in University. Almost all my flatmates smoked, so I picked up a cigarette. The taste still hadn't changed from 10 or so years ago, so that was that. so what am I driving at with all this?

If people feel aggrieved and they want to sue to prove their point, fantastic! But when the reason for the suit is illogical I think someone has to say something. And that someone is me.

Wetin concern tobacco company if you get cancer after smoking? I mean it's actually preposterous that people sue tobacco companies after they voluntarily started smoking! Did anyone force you? As far as I am concerned it's a cheap way to get money from these companies.

Another thing I'm aggreived about is the BBC news story which alleges that in the north underaged people are convinced to smoke. That I know, first-hand to be a blatant lie!! But so that I wont be seen as a Tobacco Company Apologist , I'll leave that defence at that. However, I will go a step further on that underaged issue. I know for a fact that teenagers in the US and England begin smoking at the age of 13. And some even smoke 'pot' in some situations. Are they less prone to the health hazards than those here? Are they being encouraged as well?

As I write this there is a mixture of trepidation and nonchalance. I KNOW some do-gooders will want my head for expressing myself. Is she saying it's ok to spread disease, they will ask? Well, here is what I'm saying: I have a right to express myself as much as those placard-carrying people. It beats my imagination that those who most want to be heard, are the strongest in suppressing those opinions that are contrary to theirs. (Like those who march for gay rights and lynch people who march against it or express dislike for it.)

Taking care of one's health is good but don't blame someone else for your own mistakes.

How ya Livin'

Chili

Exhale, it matters

2008-01-06T15:13:00.001+01:00

I'm choking again
I can't breathe
It's these walls
My defences, my protection
My barriers.
They are caving in
Again.
And at the time when they were only picket fences
Merely demarcating my personal space.
Now they mark the premises of my reluctant prison.

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I'm Mobile!

2007-12-13T10:51:00.001+01:00

I can blog from my phone! I'm in heaven.
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My mobile blog

2007-12-13T10:17:00.001+01:00

Ok
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Untitled

2007-12-11T17:30:00.001+01:00

I've really grown

Years ago I would never have been that brave or honest. When I turned 30, within me I was quite sad. I felt , 'ok, here goes the trip over the hill'. But 30 is a magical number.

I just finished chatting today with a good friend of mine. Now i use the term 'good' very loosely.You know those friends with whom you have a weird relationship? Like the on again-off again boyfriend or the girl who you ALWAYS fight bitterly with but end up telling all your secrets? Well, he falls into that category.

We met about 4 years ago at the world famous Motherlan'. I knew who he was, so I was just staring at him. He saw a pretty girl and loved the attention. ( I no get time for modesty today, jare.) So he did the right thing and asked my friend to introduce us, we chatted into the night, hung out the next day, I dropped him off at the airport, and he went back to his country. On his next trip to Nigeria, I became i became his official girlfriend, at least of Nigerian extraction. I knew what I was doing and what the game was, it's just that there are some people in your life who can wind you up real good, and he was/is(?) that person for me. My major weakness.

Looking back, I really can't see the basis for our 'relationship', except for our regular conversations on the phone. (It's funny how a few sentences can skew one's vision ,yeah?) Oh! and the physical intimacy -my brother might read this so I can't spell it out but 'ya get me' (wink)- we shared when we met. All of a sudden, I was 'gone' and he was 'my boyfriend'. Like any red-blooded man would do, he took advantage of my blurry vision- I was wearing rose-tinted glasses- and made me his errand girl, his driver and his chattel. And like the romantically- and probably intelligence- bankrupt girl that I was, I would happily oblige his demands, reasoning that I was unlovable and if he loved me- that was love to me- then I was lucky.

Unfortunately, his 'love' was temporary and sporadic. Like someone splashing milk on the floor for a hungry cat. And my stupidity was legendary. I would lap it up voraciously; the fleeting kisses, the sex, the brief hugs, introductions to a select few friends, my soul slinking in the corner of my personality, waiting for that look that was equivalent to the kick one gives a stray dog, hanging around the dining table. Am I being unfair when I compare that to the times he went off with his friends and abandoned me in the middle of an event, or all those times when he cut me down with a rude, disrespectful remark in public? I thought it was love, hell, he probably thought it was too. We went on like that for four years. I didn't know better. I had a man who cared for me, be it in another country,at his own pace,for his own convenience. I laugh now, but it was a crushing feeling ofslightly sweet and very sour.

Recently, he came for a visit again. I was excited. I wanted to look great for him. I even took a loan from a friend to buy stuff to complete the image. He stayed with his crew in a hotel, the people with whom he works. I stayed with him. It was the usual round of love and hate. His waking me up to call for breakfast for him while he slept, his treating me funny around certain people, his unexplained coldness in certain situations. And just when I had had enough, the steamy nights. (Sex is powerful, I assure you.)

He wanted me to have a baby for him. That excited me. It meant we would be together, with a tighter bond. Maybe even married, I dared to think. But no, he didn't want anything more than just a baby together. His girlfriend back home was unable to have a baby,plus he wanted a Nigerian-bred child, not all those spoilt brats they were bringing up there (his words, not mine). That really, really hurt, but it still wasn't enough to do it for me. I was in too deep.I needed something more. I needed a 'sign'. LOL.

The sign came at the departure lounge of the Murtala Muhammed International Airport. I had to go to work, so I dropped him off at a place where he was supposed working, promising to see him later. Later had to be at the airport. He was checking in his luggage, making ready to leave. He and his colleagues. I went up to him. I might as well have been one of these vendors on the streets, who push stuff in your face, when you are impatiently waiting for that meaningless traffic to ease up. The look he gave me told me as much. I waited for him to finish up, pretending to talk on my blackberry- I NEVER TALK on my blackberry- and sweating profusely. It wasn't hot, I was just nervous and embarrassed. He pretended to be busy with his baggage. When I noticed that I was truly not wanted, I decided to say goodbye to everyone, the idea being that he would tell me to wait until he was finished with the checking-in formalities. Everyone else did. He didn't. He merely said goodbye without raising his head. Then, probably realising that it wasn't mature to do so, he called my name and waved. I waved back and walked outside fast, into the night air. It was a long, stifling walk to my car, and by the time I was driving on the freeway, I was bawling. LMAO.

I can laugh now. It's been many apologies later, given from his "obodo-oyibo' home base, primarily because one of his colleagues thought he was cold and heartless, and told him so. But I was already cured by then.

The proof came today. He is supposed to be in town next week. He sent me an offline to ask that I pick him up at the airport. I said 'that one no go work'. He said I could drop him of at his cousin's place. I said no. He said no problem, he would ask someone else. I said, please do. And I couldn't believe it! The spell was broken! (It's a small step for Mankind but a giant leap for Chili! especially in these shoes.)

Right now, I'm going to call my Baby. The love of my life. Now, more than ever, I appreciate the good guy I have. I know where he is at every point in time, he calls me everyday, religiously. He apologises, without hesitation, when he upsets me, he obliges my whims. He's God's gift to me after all the frogs I've had to kiss, and I'm going to nuture what we have SO HELP ME GOD! (I just hope it's not some woman that picks up his phone tonight o. With these men you can't be too sure. Abeg I wont call him jo.)

How ya living?
Chili!

Boyfriend Matters

2007-12-10T15:58:00.000+01:00

Na wa O!

This my boyfriend has done it again o. I don tire, I no do again. I mean what sort of mental harassment is this? See me see trouble o. I mean can't a girl just lay her head down to rest for one minute? Must she watch her man like a hawk? Wetin dey do all these men sef? Can't a guy who looks and acts gentle, quiet and kind just be gentle and quiet and kind? Ok, let me just tell you what happened.

This Oga of mine- I'll call him Snuffleupagus, Snuffy for short- he has the same name as another character on Sesame street- has been out of town for about one week. Generally we speak to each other everyday. (He basically behaves like a good person and tries to do good by me, apologises every time he does something wrong, calls me regularly. But that's as far as it goes. Sometimes he just drives me up the wall.)

I had just finished getting my hair done and I really liked it. I thought of wearing it to see my boyfriend when he came, and just thinking about that made me want to call him. Na so I pick phone o, dial Snuffy number and the following conversation ensued:

Chili!: Hi Baby
Snuffy: Hello
Chili!: Hi Sweetie!
Snuffy: Hello!!!
Chili!: Ah ah, can't you hear me?
Snuffy: Oh, I can hear you now. How are you?
Chili!: I'm ok. Can you imagine? I've been calling you all sorts of nice names and you didn't hear me. It was when I said Ah, ah, that you finally heard.
Snuffy: (small laugh) So, how is Mumsy, now?
Chili!: (double take) sorry?
Snuffy: Se today is her birthday, are you with her so I can wish her happy birthday?

(PS. I live alone, and I've known this man for all of 2-3 months during which I've seen him at the office or HIS place. Long and short, in no know my mama)

Chili!: (deliberately) w-i-s-h w-h-o w-h-a-t?
Snuffy: Oh! sorry! I thought it was my cousin, her mum's birthday is today. I didn't even look at the phone when it rang.
Chili!: mmm mmh
Snuffy:(nervous laugh) see how person dey enter trouble? I was surprised when you didn respond. I really thot it was my cousin.
Chili!: (coldly) I'm still surprised.
Snuffy: So how are you now? Where are you?
Chili!: I'm just driving into a friend's place on Allen.
Snuffy: You never seem to come out of that axis. What's happening there? How was your day?

(At which point in time I hear a girl in the background saying 'open the door')

Chili!: Who's that?
Snuffy: (silence)

(Then I hear the voice of another guy. Snuffy then says 'just enter the car', and the guy says 'Snuffy, Snuffy! and laughs. You know that I-know-what-u-will-do this-summer laugh.)

Chili!: Where are you?
Snuffy: I'm outside I'm about to drive to get something to eat.
Chili!: Talk to you later.

At which abrupt point I hang up.

See me see trouble o. Can't a girl just engage in some love ventures without all these obstacles along the way? Eh?

Snuffy called me back about 30 minutes later and started his conversation with 'Hi Baby'. I made small talk with him but he could tell I was irritated. I knew he would be a bit nervous because, the day before, I had spoken to him about how i dealt with such inconsistencies in my partner's character/ behaviour- by leaving. He called again the next morning, then I decided to just let it go.

But I'm watching him and I'm tired of this crap. I am already paranoid as it is. I don't trust any man farther than I can touch him. And then some guy who I picked for being different from the playboy types I am used to, suddenly turns playa on me! It may be a normal thing for most women but Chili! aint having none of that shit.

Snuffy be careful o. This na yellow card.

Chili!

Protest Matters

2007-12-10T10:55:00.000+01:00

Waz Happenin',

Na so I siddon jeje o on Friday, minding my blogness and staring at the clock in anticipation of the close of work- you know the usual Friday itinerary- when my phone rang. Now this friend of mine had been calling me all day, but I had been in one meeting after the other, so I couldn't speak to her. But she persisted, so in the evening I was finally able to answer her. She had said previously that she wanted us to hang out that day, so I was expecting her to tell me to meet her up somewhere. But she didn't say that. Instead she said she wanted to invite me for something. No wahala. I'm up for being invited for things. What's it, I wanted to know. A protest, she said, we are protesting the felling of some trees on Bourdillon road (IKOYI).

Now to understand this story properly I'll give you a little intro to Chili!'s personality. When children, women and human rights are concerned I will take leg waka the whole of Lagos and even Nigeria to protest. I no fit siddon dey look my fellow women and children dey suffer for nothing. But, my dear brother and sister, I no fit carry my jalopy Nissan, begin drive from Ikeja or Ojodu-Berger, cross Third Mainland Bridge- wey dey vibrate, by the way- come enter that Awolowo- Kingsway traffic, because I wan maintain the position of some inanimate objects. Yes! Inanimate! And before you turn all Al Gore on me and start giving me a lecture on the environment, the danger of our civilization becoming extinct due to a lack of oxygen( yes she said that!), I will list a few things that are sure to make us extinct faster than a few felled trees:

a. Our nonchalance to the number, and plight of children begging, hawking and generally hustling on the streets of Lagos. (Bear in mind that winding up your windscreens in your car does as much to prevent you from being brutally attacked, as calling the police in the middle of the night.) I don't see anyone protesting about that.

b. And still speaking of police and attacks, no one operates on you, if you sustain a gunshot wound, unless you have a police report. And the amount of time it takes you to get a report is dependent on a number of factors, few of them being the mood of the police officers and the amount of money you have. I don't see anyone protesting that.

c. And speaking of hospitals and surgery have you noticed that a simple task like turning on, and keeping on, the equipment needed to perform a life -saving medical operation, is a HUGE deal in Nigeria? No thanks to the ineptitude and inefficiency of the sole provider of electric power, in our country of 100 million. Things that are done mindlessly, using electricity, in other countries including our next door neighbour, Ghana, are a huge struggle for us in Nigeria. I don't see anyone protesting about that.

d. The high unemployment rate in the country vis-a-vis the number of 'graduates' churned out by universities, yearly. Graduates cannot afford ONE meal a day. I don't see anyone protesting that.

e. And while people are languishing in poverty, politicians are making headlines with accusations and counter accusations of multi-million dollar scandals. taking away the equivalent of years worth of food, health and livelihood of millions of people. We shake our heads and sigh. No one is protesting about that.

And the list is endless. Na im you siddon think o, say na Chili! you wan invite come help some jobless Ikoyi wives make sense of their feeding allowance. (Yes I said it, call me anything you like, I'm jealous, I'm shallow, na you sabi. I no send.) When the government is trying to provide the much needed respite along that road by providing a dual carriage way, so my Nadine, my jalopy, no go dey overheat for our 4 hour traffic.

Abeg commot for road before I jam u jo. Protest ko, Testpro, ni.

How ya living

Chili!

Weekend Matters

2007-12-07T18:30:00.000+01:00

Hiya everyone,

Much as I have complained all week, I must say that this has been a great week for me. I mean, I literally had to just say I wanted to buy something and I had several people jumping up to pay for it for me. I kid you not!!!! (Na that soap wey I take baf sha, I know. Now if only it works on my absent-minded, never-get-a-hint, boyfriend. )

Anyway as I go into this weekend, I will strive to meditate and focus on the next year. For the first time in my life, I'm writing my goals for the next year, AND mapping out strategies with which I intend to get there. And I'm actually speaking of personal goals! (It's a small leap for Mankind, but a giant leap for Chili!, especially in these shoes.) What got me started in this direction, was a little goal I set for myself for the end of this week, which I achieved to my surprise, and one for the end of this month, which I am close to achieving. They seemed impossible to do, but I guess as they say, it's mind over matter. If you mind, it matters. I know I haven't said much , but there are a few things I managed to do this week, that would seem very minor, and almost irrelevant, for most, but are a tremendous achievement for me. And I am so proud of myself.

Anyway that's it for this week. It's unfortunate that you can't blog on a blackberry. So that means no gist till next week. So see ya then.

MMMuahhhh

Chili!

2007-12-06T00:27:00.000+01:00

'Sup!!!

I confess, I don't understand men. I've been struggling with this issue for ages but I didn't want to seem weak and unstable to you guys so I never spoke about it. But now 'water don pass garri' o. I need help. And if washing my dirty Agent Provocateurs/Victoria Secrets in publog is going to solve this problem, then wash I shall!

I don't get it. What is the purpose of a relationship with the opposite sex? No, scratch that, not the opposite sex , with men. ( Some over-intelligent people go tell me say the relationship na for say make una marry. Ok o, but they will also tell you that you don't tell the man that, at the beginning of the relationship. Then how will you both know what you are aiming for? Sounds really stupid to me. )

Then when you are finally in a relationship- or to put it more succintly- when you think you are in a relationship you find a blog that suggests that you really aren't paying attention to all the important things, and that you are actually in a relationship with yourself!!! And to make matters worse, it's true!!! (I hate you Kpakpando). I mean, why in heaven's name can't women just get into a relationship and relax? Why must they always look over their shoulders, checking to see if he is introducing them to his friends, if he comes in during the day to visit, if he calls as often as he says he will, if he is just 'that into you'.

You meet a girl, you know that in a thousand years you would never marry her. That notwithstanding you allow her cook, clean for, and have sex with you for four(4) good years. Then, one day, you think it's time to put her out of her misery, and you rudely request for your keys, tell her to be out of the house before you get back,and that's it. (True story,I swear. My friend says that, before he married her, her husband had been dating a girl for years. But because she was calabar or akwa-ibom, (that side sha) he knew he could never marry her. He waited for her to do something to upset him so he could send her away but she never did, for four good years. So one day he just said to her "Can I have my keys please?" and unceremoniously kicked her out of his life. Now that's heartless.) AND these stories abound.

I told a male friend of mine that story and he said the girl was not wise. To him the man would have been giving signals that he wasn't in for the long haul, to the girl, but she wasn't paying attention. He says when it comes to issues like that men can't express themselves And that seems to be the argument of a lot of people. But to me that is callous. When it comes to telling the truth to a girl they've been living with for ages it becomes difficult. But it seems pretty easy to bark intimate instructions like 'go down on me' and 'don't stop', when the situation lends itself to it. How can you sincerely be in a relationship and be watching your back everytime your man opens his mouth? It's the situation that I am in and I don't like it one bit. Not one bit.

I want to love and be free
I want floating love,
The freedom that comes from a union of love and peace of mind
I want to fight and not be afraid that this will change his mind
I want to say goofy things and not slap myself when I hang up the phone
And
if it doesnt work out I want to know its because it just didn't
No story of Shalewa lurking in the corner waiting for me to leave him so they could get married
No leaving the bridges on fire but never actually burning them
So you can make your way back stealthily one cold, lonely night,
No lies! No lies!
Condoms don't offer protection against a permanently broken heart.
Let me let go
Or let me go.
Ah!!!

Call me soppy if you like, stupid if you like I don't care. I hate falsehood and pretence and I'm tired of these men.

Chili!

MAD Matters

2007-12-04T08:29:00.000+01:00

Hi

Chili is mad!!!! Again. I mean REALLY mad. What the hell is wrong with Nigerians? Why is it that we cannot differentiate being professional from being friendly? It's annoying. You give someone a job to do, give them a deposit, and they never deliver. And when you confront them they ask you to understand, or get angry that you are asking in an angry tone. Can you imagine?

I gave a colleague a printing job to do, a simple matter of some complimentary cards for my younger brother. The design was already on a CD and my brother came by himself to explain how exactly it should be done. That done, I asked when it would be ready, and he said Tuesday (it was Friday then). Ok no problem. He gave me a bill and informed me that he needed half the amount to begin the job. I gave it to him. On Monday he came to me and said the price he gave me for the cards was incorrect and that it would increase by about 500-1000 naira. I teased him about his cut throat practices but still conceeded. On Tuesday he came into the office, we exchanged pleasantries, he went about his duties, no mention of the cards. Close of work he went home. The next day as he came into he office I asked about the cards he began to smile sheepishly and then changed the subject telling me how pretty I looked. That got me very irritated and I scolded him, telling him that we were making these cards for a purpose and there was a deadline. He said I should try to understand , then began to tell me some cock-and-bull story about how it's the festive period and one thing, one thing. You know that just IRRITATES ME!!!! REALLY!!!

I mean you call someone up who is supposed to have done a job for you ages ago- you call him/her up - BY YOURSELF- to ask for it, and they give you a ridiculous story of how 'their dog got sick so their cat had to do the security patrol in the compound and so they didn't get any sleep and so were too tired to work that morning'. Accepted, some serious family issues can prevent one from carrying out their occupational responsibilities. I mean, far be it from me to scold you for not doing your work when you had to rush your child to the hospital, or you had a vehicular mishap, or you were ill, or you sha ran into some misfortune. But when your excuse is "it's my son's birthday tomorrow and I'm shopping', -yes I've heard something as stupid as that- or 'I have a lot of work and yours had to take the back seat'- and that too, even when I'd paid- i will FLIP. And my flipping is notorious (or should I say I'm notorious for my flipping?) Anyway you get the gist. And if you dont here's what I'm trying to say: Business is Business. If you expect to be paid (well) for a job, then do it well, and on time. Period!!!

So back to this 'yeye' colleague of mine O. This guy did not bring the cards until a week later , Monday of the next week, by which time my brother had travelled. Without aplologies he dropped them on my desk- pleasantly though- and walked off. He then came back a few minutes later to ask when I thought I would be able to give him the rest of the money. Wrong day, wrong time for that nigger. I FLIPPED and FLIPPEEED!!!!! I was pissed. I hadn't even got the chance to check the bloody thing!!!! He apologised and walked off-not that he had a choice because if he hadn't I would have filled his ears with enough venom to cover his unborn generations. Only for me to check it and find that they did it all wrong!!! Only two colours black and white, the black was grey and the white was 'tearing'. What the hell is up with that? I pointed it out to him and said he needed to do it again. He immediately returned my money in anger. The idiot. He better!!!

Nigerians seem to have little sense of responsibility and even less sense of timing. Today ,means anytime within the week, and now, means in three hours! And it seems the timing slows down even more when you've paid!!! I met a guy recently who is very conscious of quality of service. I used to yab him that he was too stingy but I see his point. He always says "Is the money so easy for you to come by that you want to spend it without getting value for it?'' Why don't we even demand value for our money? And why don't the stupid service providers realise that your money is the reason they opened for business in the first place?

I could go on and on with tales of similar situations but I'd rather not. I'm getting worked up again.

I dey go jare!!

Chili!

My Whereabouts Matters

2007-09-14T14:56:00.000+01:00

Hiya Peeps,

It's been a while, hasn't it? Be careful what you wish for.... I've been busy at my work for a while. I wish I could regale you with tales of the 9 week long- including preparation- carnival, that I got nominated to spearhead, but I can't. (Sorry, client- consultant privilege.) However suffice it to say that in those few weeks I've been everywhere but at my desk and in my home. Boy, did I travel, and boy! did I love it.

Anyway, back to the present, I've missed you guys. I mean what is life without someone, or some people to pour out your feelings to? But I'm back now and I have a lot of happiness, aspirations, desires and frustration, to vent so watch this page!!

How ya living

Chili!

Tell me how what I'm wearing Matters!

2007-08-06T18:37:00.000+01:00

Hiya Everyone,

This life is funny. Look at it this way. I turned 30 this year and it was such a terrible birthday that I promised myself a present, as soon as I came into my fortune. So fast-forward to this month and I'm going to purchase the phone that has the tag-line, 'what computers have become'. (If you know it,great.I'm a gadget freak.) I'm looking forward to having it, but at the same time I'm planning where and when I will take it -or not take it. The reason is that phones get stolen these days; either by default or by omission; if you are in a place like a pub, or a bar, or even a club, people can just walk in and line everyone up and start collecting 'offerings' of phones and/or cash. (I even heard recently of one robbery where the people were asked to line up and withdraw money from their accounts using their ATM cards!) And if my 'what cameras have become' is under threat of being whisked away from me, I won't give it up without a fight o.

So you can imagine my happiness when I heard the present governor of Lagos, Babatunde Fashola, had decided to do something positive about it. To me that showed what sort of person he was/is and how committed he is to making Lagos work. I guess I spoke too soon.

Next thing I know everyone is complaining, on the radio and on the streets. Nigerian police have increased their level of lunacy. Apparently, the latest thing is to stop pedestrians, male or female, and harass them, over what they look like, or what they are wearing! Believe it or not! Girls have called radio stations to report how they were beaten by policemen over the type of outfit they were wearing.Their MO is that they drop something and then ask the girl to pick it up. If she bends, and her g-string shows, or her shirt lifts, she is beaten, put in their patrol car, taken to their station,and thrown into the cell. Other versions say she is charged to court. For the men, if they have dreadlocks, or are wearing shorts or something they are immediately picked up. Imagine that!!

Now, I don't care for the sentiments of those who think the government has a point because girls dress provocatively. I dont care for it primarily because its not the provocative dressing of girls that's responsible for the decadence and sexual misconduct prevalent among government officials. It's not responsible for the corruption and stealing that is the norm in our seats of power. It's not responsible for the incessant power seizures, fuel scarcity and lack of infrastructure we are faced with. It is not responsible for the unabated poverty we are so comfortable with. And it certainly is not responsible for the alarming level of insecurity in Lagos!

(This was the post that I had been trying to get out for over a week now,for some reason, some of it being that I was ill, I couldn't get it done. Anyway, I'm happy I didnt because I got new info on the issue. Apparently, the new commissioner of police, some sharia-bound thug named Muhammed Abubakar, gave the order, probably after becoming tired of intimidating his wives and children at home. But he and anyone who has him under their purview should be arrested and whipped. Apparently, they all dont know what they are meant to be doing. and that includes Fashola. Stupid People!!!)

Chili

Material matters

2007-08-03T22:19:00.000+01:00

OZYMANDIAS
I met a traveller from an antique land

Who said: Two vast and trunkless legs of stone

Stand in the desert.

Near them on the sand,

Half sunk, a shatter'd visage lies, whose frown

And wrinkled lip and sneer of cold command

Tell that its sculptor well those passions read

Which yet survive, stamp'd on these lifeless things,

The hand that mock'd them and the heart that fed.

And on the pedestal these words appear:

"My name is Ozymandias, king of kings:

Look on my works, ye mighty, and despair!

"Nothing beside remains: round the decay

Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare,

The lone and level sands stretch far away.

-Percy Bysshe Shelley

Hiya Lovelies,

Now, I'm not attempting to display my literary depth here - though if you noticed that, I really appreciate it- I just stumbled on a poem which happened to be one of my favourites in secondary school. It speaks of the futility of materialism: how we acquire and acquire, priding ourselves in being the only ones who have these things, or that many of these things, etc. (Tracy Chapman's 'Mountains O' Things' is another artistic work that I love, which speaks of this issue.) But I really want to go to Shelley's 'Ozymandias', today because it evokes specific feelings in me.

Have you ever felt in awe of someone because of the person's material possessions or physical attributes? Or intimidated by someone for these reasons? Well, I have, and it used to really bother me. And I would be more bothered when the aforesaid person really let it be known that he/she is 'all that'. That is kind of what the poem speaks of when it says, "My name is Ozymandias... look on my works... and despair", a very intimidating coinage, huh? It describes the sculpture as having a 'sneer of cold command'. (You know 'that look'.)

At the end of the day , years after, despite its size,its import, it turned to rubble '..two vast and trunkless legs of stone... nothing beside remains: round the decay of that COLOSSAL WRECK ...'. so how did my 'all that' people turn into 'colosal wrecks'? Dont worry, I'm not going to tell you a story about how time heals everything. But the solution was a bit far-fetched and is not for the acrophobic.

I always try to secure a window seat when I fly. I guess my claustrophobia is stronger than my acrophobia.( I'm not showing off, I swear.) When the plane takes off, and it gains height, everything begins to look little . People, cars, houses, everything. They all look like toys. And you really can't distinguish a gorgeous babe from an ugly one, a jeep from a jalopy, or a mansion from a BQ. And everytime that happens I always wonder, what the heck is the point? What's the point of all the 'shakara', the falseness, the pride? We are all people in the eyes of the Creator. And we can only become bigger in His sight when we move closer to help each other. That's the way I feel whenever I see from that angle. Just thought I'd share that with you.

How Ya Living

Chili

Virtual Matters

2007-08-01T09:53:00.000+01:00

Yo My Peeps,

There is a whole new world outside this our world o. Has anyone heard of that online world called Second Life? It is another life online! I had been a member of that world for a while but I didn't take it seriously, until BBC and CNN did a story on it. Then I knew the possibilities that existed, and now I'm hooked!

But I'm scared o. Could this be the new way of getting us into the anti-christ mode? (Wetin? Am I not entitled to think intense spiritual thoughts?) Its scary that a website can pull you into living a whole life online, frills and thrills inclusive-if you know what I mean.

A big shout-out to Nigeria Politricks. Thanks for visiting my blog and leaving a comment. Your blog is quite unique and interesting.

How ya living?

Chili

Independence Matters

2007-07-30T17:38:00.001+01:00

Wazzap,

I promised you two stories emanating from this weekend so here goes the second.
I was in a supermarket on Saturday ,to do a bit of shopping for cosmetics, when I ran into an old boss of mine . At that meeting, he seemed quite happy to see me and even offered to pay for my purchases. Then the usual questions emerged: where are you now/ what do you do now? I was so happy to hand him my business card, as my present job is a departure from where I used to be. I could see that his respect grew when I told him what it was I did, and what kind of car I drive now- although, my darlings, I embellished the story a bit. He then suggested we went for a drink, and we did.

As we had our drinks I tried to catch up on the news in his office, my former office. One of the things I liked about this man was his candid nature, at least towards me. He gave me advice,even when it hurt, and always told me the truth about himself. Because he was a notorious philanderer, I asked him about his 'official' girlfriend, he told me where she is, presently. Then he proceeded to tell me how he would never have a 'new' girlfriend anymore, but would try to stick to his (numerous) regular dates. The reason was simple. In his short time philandering with new, 'big', girls outside and within Lagos, he realised that a lot of ladies were just looking for men they could fleece or live off.

He gave several scenarios: one which involved a mulatto who drove a Peugeot 307, but could barely afford to feed. They fell out over his reluctance to buy a generator for her. Then another one he fell for because her fiance cheated on her, and jilted her. She needed him to pay her rent, he didn't think that wa a good idea. They parted ways. All these happened barely within one month of a relationship with them.He wondered why these women didn't seem to want to find something to do to fend for themselves.

As he spoke, I remembered a girl I had worked with who never seemed to buy anything for herself. It was always one man or the other. Her relationship with men was purely dependent on if he could afford what she wanted. She used to laugh at my old, reliable, jalopy until a day I caught her in a statement. She said one of her boyfriends promised her a brand new car if he got the contract he was pursuing. I scoffed at the promise but she said he was the one who bought her first car for her. I then told her never to laugh at my car again, because I bought it with MY money, when I WAS 25 years old, not with the help of any man. That shut her up. But for a while, I had been feeling low because I had been comparing myself to a lot of people, especially ladies, and I felt that I came up short.

When I had finished my chat with that guy, I walked back to my car elated. That I had my own issues with finance is not a minus against me. It is infact a plus. I may not have the furniture I want, or the car I'd like or the clothes I'd like but at least what I have is mine. My house, my car, my clothes, my everything. Bought and paid for by me.

I'm proud of me.

Chili

Invectives, Malice and other matters

2007-07-30T17:22:00.001+01:00

Hiya,

Its the beginning of another working week, and a new beginning for me, because I learnt a lot from a series of events this weekend. As I said previously, I had stayed away from work for a few days, and in that time, had attempted to catch up with my life, so to speak. Unfortunately, putting my life in perspective, in the midst of healthy home cooking (mine), and unhealthy treats, like chocolate and coca-cola, was a wee bit difficult. But thanks to providence and my penchant for over-organization I have a few stories to tell.The first of these stories is the issue of fights. Catfights betwen women. It doesn't interest me when the exchange degenerates into fisticuffs, because I think that's just bad manners, but my interest is the situation a lot of women, including myself, find themselves. The situation where we let it all out, mouth wide,arms flailing, eyes wide open, screaming invectives at each other over anything.

Now I have always admired people who can be provoked and still manage to keep their cool and walk away, but I had never been able to actually accomplish that until two incidents occured. The first was a verbal exchange between a colleague and I, which resulted in a serious warning from my overall boss (because we used swear words) , and this incident which I am about to tell you of. On Friday, one of the days I lay at home, I heard two of my neighbours arguing. (Now to understand the situation, I must describe the house to you. I live in a building that houses 4 flats; two above and two below. I live in the right flat above,if you are facing the building. The two neighbours in question live beside me, one above and one below.) My next door neighbour- the one above- has a small child of about 17 months. This notorious little rascal has several amusing habits, one of which is a penchant for standing on their balcony, and screaming the name of anyone who passes, in his baby-speech, as long as he knows them.( You can imagine that he's one of my favourite people.) Unfortunately, one of his other habits annoys my other neighbour, the one below. He throws paper, water, slippers,and even urinates from the balcony, downstairs. And this was the cause of the problem.

Apparently, whenever he performed his aggravating ritual,my 'downstairs' neighbour -not known for her patience- would scream at whoever was the adult around him, or whoever was responsible for him (at that time). My 'upstairs' neighbour, however, had apparently become tired of someone screaming at a child's nuances and decided to reply her, and the whole thing went downhill. From 'I'm tired of you' and 'I'm disappointed in you' , the 'conversation' went to 'You will labour in vain in Jesus name', "your generations will not see peace', 'prostitute', etc. Come On!!! That was one of the ugliest sights I had ever seen in my whole life. And what made it more disheartening was the fact that I could sense the reasons why none of these women, with children, backed down for each other.

When we are angry with other people, most of the time its an image thing. What that means is that we are more bothered about the way people around, or the person we are quarrelling with, perceives us, than how we feel about our reaction. We don't want the person to think we are fools for being silent in the face of insults; or we don't want other people to think we are not bold enough, or proud of ourselves enough, or courageous enough to confront insults. In the end we turn out to be foolish enough to take the bait.It was terrible watching these two women, in the presence of their neighbours and their children, insult each other, their families, and reveal shared secrets about each other. Note that I am not speaking of stark illiterate women. The 'downstairs' neighbour particularly, had something to prove. She carried out her mission of launching invectives up till Sunday! Encouraging her children, who were thoroughly ashamed of her, to do the same. (The oldest of those children is 9 years old!) She needed to show that she would not give up easily. All she showed was that she lacked maturity and self-control, and my heart went to the (kind of) children she was raising.

For me this is a real lesson. If you have a quarrel, and you feel the need to yell and curse at someone,DON'T. In trying to get the last word you actually do yourself a great deal of injustice and harm. The impression you leave other people with is indescribable. And the damage you are doing to each other may be irreparable.

How u dey?

Chili

Occupation Matters

2007-07-28T12:39:00.000+01:00

Hello My Fantastic People,

As you probably guessed I've been away for a while. Its been out of no fault of mine but I had something to do with it. Maybe someday, in the distant future I shall tell you what went down but for now let's keep to the matter at hand.

Before I proceed I must give acknowledgement to whom it is due. I was at home for a few days, unwilling and unable to leave my house but I transacted my business with my bank , conveniently and comfortably, without talking to anyone, from my phone. In all honesty, GTB actually exceeds my expectations most of the time,save for the occassional ignorant customer service personnel- which is to be expected, this is Nigeria after all- by a wide margin. Kudos to them, but i digress.

Ok. So here I was at home, minding my business (as I usually do) when a sistah brought a problem to me. Now I'm not in the business of solving everyone's problems, one interaction with me will tell you that, but this problem seemed unavoidable primarily because I was beginning to sense some mutual reactions in that area. (In English, I felt the same way as well.)

For a long time I took job satisfaction for granted. In my mind, it was not negotiable. I couldnt do a job where I wasnt satisfied in every way, or so I thought. Then a job came along that fit the criteria for my personal abilities and psychological interests. Although it was a different career path entirely it had a relatively good pay package to go with it, and didn't require the amount of time I was putting into my other line of work. I took it. But appearances are deceptive. That was when I began to find out the real meaning of boredom. For a workaholic like me that is hell, pure and simple. And I really didnt know whether to just get up and go, or to stay.

So my girlfriend had a similar problem; she has what everyone called a good job but she is so dissatisfied it's hard for her to get up in the morning-literally! She can't resign because she needs to maintain a decent looking resume, and she can't stay because she has no idea what the hell she is doing there. Her question to me was, ' how am I to know if I am in the right job? What is the right job?'. Now I couldn't give her an answer because for me the choice is emotional not practical. But I happened to stumble on an old copy of a magazine, O, where that topic was well treated. As a matter of fact it was addressed by Suzy Welch, the wife of Jack Welch, the author of 'Straight from the guts' and 'Winning' -one of my favourite books which I read constantly. (Yes, it's with me Tony, and I dare you to come and take it back. Speaking of taking it back, a friend of mine was telling me about some books she was reading, one of which had such an exotic title I had to ask what it was about. She had no idea. I then asked why she bought it and she said she didn't. She stole it from the house of a friend's boyfriend, as punishment for his keeping her waiting for a long time. Some punishment, huh? But again I digress. )

Suzy Welch realised that a great many of us would have this problem and gave 5 guidelines in form of questions that we could ask to help solve that problem. (Caveat: As I have already said, I am not in the habit of solving problems and there are only that many copies of O in my house, so please, the next question will have to go to an agony aunt.) The first of these questions is: Does this job allow me to be with people like me? You could be an introvert, or an extrovert, out-going, with varied interests. Hanging out around passive, conservative types would never work for you.

Does this job make me smarter? I have/ had a friend who I felt could endure any working condition. She worked with the meanest bosses, stayed longer than anyone else, and contributed more than everyone else. Now make no mistake, she wasn't a hanger-on on the job, infact she is something of a celebrity in our field. So I asked her how she could work under the circumstances in which she did. She said she always gave herself a time limit (two years) and if she was learning anything new in that time she would stay. So there you have it.

Does this job open the door to future jobs? If you are in the job market, ensure that the job you are doing will aid you in getting others.

Does this job represent a compromise for mine or my family's sake? After all said and done, some jobs have to be taken (or dropped) for personal reasons. You may need to be nearer an invalid relative or more available for your children. Only you can make that decision.

Does this job - the stuff that I do everyday- touch my heart and feed my soul? For me, this is the most important part of any job. You have to like what you do. It helps the long days, it helps your self esteem , it helps your benevolence. That was where i was stuck in the scenario above, and I believe that was where my friend was stuck.

This is for her. I hope she finds her way through. For me, I didnt resign. I just used my leisure to pursue the job that made me happy. Of course it was hard combining the two, but I was happy and exhausted; and to my workaholic self that's pure heaven.

How ya living?

Chili

Everything matters

2007-07-16T17:16:00.000+01:00

Hello My Favourite People,

Again another weekend has gone, and with it my earnest desires to regale you with pictures and stories of the one-of-a-kind, gargantuan, and of course, expensive concert that was supposed to take Lagos by storm, and leave it stunned and reeling thereafter. (Now make no mistake, I would NEVER shell out 10 000 naira of MY money to go and watch some over-hyped, under-fed vocalists display the reason why America is Babylon -no offence UB40- but because my office decided that we are into events, and we should watch, and learn, from other events, they bought me a ticket.

So there I was, when I had more important things to do, rushing around in a frenzy, trying to make sure I did not keep the company driver waiting endlessly, and that I made the 1pm timing written on the 'ticket'. Well, true to type, my type that is, I made it to the office at about 3pm. To cut a long story short, I arrived at the venue, the much-publicised, state-of -the-art ThisDay events centre, at about 5 pm,to find the usual Nigerian hypocrisy at the gate. Apparently people were supposed to buy stickers bearing the phrase 'VIP parking', so that they could park near the door of the venue. The difference being that non-VIP would park a few metres away. Anyway, though I didnt buy any 'yeye' sticker, I was in the 'owner's corner' of a posh car, so the 'security guards took one look at the car, one look at my harsh, questioning, face and directed us straight to VIP parking.so much for the 1000 naira sticker!

Now I was, as I said earlier, I was about 4 hours late, but I noticed that no-one was being let in through the tiny, makeshift dor that was set in over 30 feet of wall. I waited until I saw people I knew coming out of the venue, apparently tired of waiting. This was at about 6pm.They finally let us in and I went in to find construction work still going on! Surprisingly, I was the only one who was surprised. Apparently it was/is the MO of ThisDay to fix an early date for a show and start 8 hours later. So I decided to wait, ensuring my driver was well taken care of. But an hour into my conversation with my friends, I saw everyone troop out of the hall, as I went closer, I heard some of them swearing, and just generally venting their rage. Apparently the organizer(s) had come into the hall, boasted about the number of planes, people and hours the entertainers had put into coming to Nigeria- as though that were the issue- and then announced that the show had been postponed to the next day! So all those people, including me, who had come from long distances, bought 10/25/100 thousand naira tickets for themselves, and their family members, (some people came with their children) and waited, would have to go home and come back the next day, or forfeit their money. I no go better for ThisDay o!

So I went home, not disappointed, but irritated at our lack of self-respect. Everyone who was angry just got into their cars and drove away. No-one could even ask for their money back or at least hold the stupid ThisDay to acknowledge that they had messed up. Anyway, if you think that was the end of the fraud, you are wrong.

The next day, the show began at 11am.; but you wouldnt know that if you didnt buy the ThisDay newspaper of that day, where it was published.but God has His way of dealing with crooks. I heard the show was thoroughly disorganized and that Kelly Rowland fainted on stage. (Poor girl. I hope they didn't give her "Igbo' o. Although the rate at which she has lost weight, she should faint at the slightest opportunity.) Rihanna's performance, I hear, left a lot to be desired- I dont know why they brought her o, didn't they say it was musicians they were bringing?- and she was dressed like a tramp.

See Kelly's pre-collapse display in the pic on the right and Rhianna's-em- outfit, on the right. (Thanks bella-naija!) Nduka give me my money o. Ole.

Chili

Client Matters

2007-07-13T13:45:00.000+01:00

Hey, What's Up,

I was going to speak about tagging on blogspots today. You know the recent practice where Bloggers write five things about themselves that people dont know. Or if that didn't seem too inviting, I was going to give a lecture titled 'Tecchie 101', just to bridge the gap between my readers and those who ask, 'what is a blog?', and all other gadget/technology-induced questions. Or at the worst I was going to elaborate on the 'other woman' issue I spoke of and tell you of a series of encounters with hard drugs. (Not mine.)

But now Chili is mad. MAD! I mean what is wrong with Nigerians? Have you noticed how we disregard our customers and clients? How rude receptionists and front desk people are? How easy it is for organizations to take your money but so difficult for them to give any back to you, giving rise to such situations as ' I don't have change', or 'sorry, my Madam has to come back before I can know if we will refund your money'. And unfortunately, you can complain on air but you can't name the company. But here I can. Let me cut to the chase.

Reality Scenario 1: I give my clothes to a drycleaning outfit, they return the clothes with one of them stained. Initially it was white with black flowers, it becomes cream and brown- in patches. I complain, they apologise, then they ask me to leave it so they can rewash it. And they do. This time it comes up worse than before. I have to drop it again, along with other outfits. This goes on for six weeks. During this time, a topshot in the company calls me and apologises, claiming they have sent the outfit to be washed, for what should be the last time, and that they would bring it to my office,and that if I am not satisfied they will pay for it. I agree. I do not hear from him anymore. Instead, what happens is that someone calls me to list the details of the stains on the other clothes I have sent,'just to be on the safe side', as though the other ruined outfit was in my imagination. Anyway, I have to go and pick up the outfit fom the outlet myself, along with other outfits I had dropped. Of course the disputed one was ruined. And when I asked what was to be done to it, the girl in attendance said her boss asked her to apologise and tell me he would call me. Well, i deduct the price of the outfit from the drycleaning bill. Unknown to me, another shocker awaits me: my denim skirt is missing, and they switch my trouser with someone else's. And the best they could say is they would look for it!!!!
Please, if you live in Lagos, avoid Urban and Trendy Drycleaners, abeg.

Reality Scenario 2: We intend to have a musical at the end of the year ( we meaning my company) and I am in charge of that project, so we hired a scriptwriter to script the play. The guy sends a first draft. We are dissatisfied with it and I send him an email detailling what we do not like and what we expect. The guy replies in anger at being critcized, saying amongst other things,'... I am no small fry, I do know what I am talking about... I will not be waltzing into the office tomorrow..., I suggest that someone versed in the artistic interpretation of stage scripts... look[s] at the script..., etc. And I am paying this ass-wipe! I won't mention his name because that will be making him famous for doing a crappy job.

Scenario 3: You go to a fast-food joint to buy food. The service girls- usually girls- look at you and say, "yes?". You ignore that and make your order. They take forever to attend to you, dilly-dallying between talking among themselves,and arranging stuff. Then they give you your food. You pay ,they search, hand you some money, less 10/20/50 naira and say, we dont have change. As though they work for your money for you. If you wait for your change you are stingy/ Ijebu. Will they accept the same amount from you, less that 10/20/50 naira, if you were making a purchase?

Scenario 4 : You go to a shop to buy something. You ask, do you have ... , they reply '500 naira'. Is that a yes,or a no? Are you trying to say I cannot afford it? What does that mean?

Reality Scenario 5: The day before the nationwide labour strike. I call my bank ,GTB, to make enquiries. Then I ask if they will be open the next day. The lady replies, "And why should we not be open?". Of course, that is from customer service.

So that's the Nigeria we see o. Your money is not good enough to get you respect. Even when you are purchasing something.

Stupid people.

Chili

Men matters

2007-07-10T08:55:00.000+01:00

Hi Again,

Let me ask this question: why do we women like to punish ourselves? We know a man is attached, actually married, and we sttill go on with the relationship. A guy makes it clear that he is unavailable but we persist, hoping and praying that he changes his mind. I'm not judging anyone because I'm guilty of it but I really wanna know why we do it. Why do we do it?

A man would walk away at the first sign of trouble. He doesn't ususally share. and if he does, its usually because he doesn't like you very much. But women, we feel inadequate and empty, and we go into a relationship with a man who sees us as an avenue for free and constant sex, without feeling insulted or sad.

Why do we feel that a man who lies to everyone else will be true to us? Why do we feel he will keep to us, when he couldn't keep to the person with whom he exchanged vows? Why? And why is that relationship usually more interesting than others? Why is it always the best or the more emotional?

Let's think about it.

Chili

2007-07-10T07:53:00.000+01:00

Hi,

Sorry about yesterday. I was overwhelmed with work and I couldn't write as much as I needed to. But here is the continuation of the weekend saga.

(I was trying to say yesterday, that I work in an events management agency, which is actually an arm of an advert agency so we organize events around brands, as opposed to organising events for the sake of it. Anyway, because of our job, attending other events is also very important to us, at least to see what else is going on. so that was why I would give the flyer for an event to my boss and expect him to pay for it.)

So I had successfully completed phase 1 of my 2-phase plan by Wednesday. I had given my boss the flier and he thought the show was a good idea. So I was just biding my time till Friday before I launched the reminder.

On Friday I saw my boss, remembered all the things I needed to say to him, but like magic at some point in the day he picked up his briefcase and travelled!!! I was devastated. So no event for me, no dressing up and looking good. Na wa o.

Anyway, I still tried to find a way, I learnt my company was supposed to be there to represent a client so I was sure of free passes at least. But what would I do about my transportation, and my looks? Remember, I was broke.And in addition to that my hair needed doing. Somehow, I managed to fill my tank up to the half mark , so that was eliminated. Now for my hair.

Try as I could, I didnt seem to have any luck in the hair department. I had favours to curry and I couldnt go looking the way I did. Then God heard my prayer and it began raining heavily. At that point I realised that there was no need to bother. I decided against going. But it bothered me o. ah! I felt as if everyone was having a blast and I was the only one 'roasting'.

Fast forward to yesterday and I was discussing with the assistant who made it there to set up props. Apparently the show, billed to begin at 6, didnt begin until 9, and ended at 1.30am!!! How would I have come home? And then to add insult to injury, the show wasn't all that. It was boring, cos a lot of people didnt come. Thank God for small mercies.

Anyway my boss has informed me that I am going to represent him at a very big show this weekend. That is assured so I am looking forward to that.

How ya living

Chili

2007-07-09T18:06:00.000+01:00

Hi Beautiful People,

Another week, another few dollars, eh? Or is it the other way around?

This weekend I was looking forward to going to a very special event that had been seriously hyped on radio. So I had it all down to the tee. On Wednesday I would show my boss the flyer for the event, on Friday, after work, I would subtly suggest to him that the show was the next day. He would approve it, and I would be on my way to the show.
Well, wednesday turned out ok. He bought the idea. (By the way because I work ...
to be continued

More matters

2007-07-06T18:22:00.000+01:00

Hi,

Na wa o. Today was such a wierd day. Not a wierd day but a kind of difficult day. Ever had such a bad day that you fear the next? Well, that was such a day.I dont normally dread the weekend but I find myself doing that this weekend.
If you read yesterday's blog you'll know part of the reason but the other part is something I hold dear to my really fragile and broken heart. My home and my finances. ( You know, after I wrote the last sentence I went to do sth else and when I came back I blinked in disbelief that I actually wrote those words.)

Anyway, I learnt a valuable lesson yesterday and today. Last night I stopped at an open air bar, where I normally go to avoid traffic, and I met an old friend(?), more like acquaintance, from my brief stint at a business school. Well, after the pleasantries, he accused me of abandoning him, of just cutting him off without any contact info. I didnt deny it, and I tried to explain why I did that. I told him that I felt he was not an effective leader in the school.He was the co ordinator of the whole school. I cited an example of when one of my classmates was rude to him, and he took it too personally. And that was where it got interesting.

This guy explained and argued, with all his power and might, about how he said and did the right thing, how he was absolutely right about the situation, how he would never concede to feeling wrong, etc. I tell you we were there for over 45 minutes with him trying to prove his point to me. At some point I walked into my car, in a bid to leave, and he followed me and continued pressing his point! A point which I already felt he was wrong on about 2 years ago, and which I was feeling was wrong again because of his unyielding stance.

But that is not the issue. As he spoke I began to notice something. I could see myself in him! You see, a lot of people complain that I never accept when I am wrong, or that I fail to see other perspectives, and I know it is true but most times I just cant help it. Years of disappointment and hurt-and I am not excusing my behaviour- have trained me to always be suspicious of anyone and any perspective. And to justify my sometimes unwarranted behaviour to these people whose perspectives I refuse to see, I argue and argue endlessly.
So listening to that guy yesterday I realised that its not just pointless to waste energy on that sort of vehemence, its also ugly. I remembered something I read in a magazine. It involved an exercise. They said write down three things which you feel strongly about, and on which you refuse to yield. These are your principles, anything else is not worth fighting over. And I can tell you, thinking of even one was a task!
So back to this guy, well he is supposed to be a sweet and gentle person, but I'd always felt that was a mask for something else. Lat night I saw it. A stubborness that is generated out of fear. Tonight I will face my fears and write those things. And then I will stop fighting.

So help me God.

Have a good weekend.

Chili

Money matters

2007-07-05T09:48:00.000+01:00

Hi

Today I'm going to speak of something that is of utmost importance to everyone. And is the bane of my existence. Its called money.
Now its just the - what's it, 5th?- of the month and I have almost totally wiped out my account! Now taking a look at my expenditure I do not see much that I spent o that I didnt need. Yes, even that black blazer. I will attend meetings soon, God willing, and Creative department or no, there are ways to look for a formal appointment.
Now dont get me wrong, I've read all the how-to books on keeping your money and all that. Pay yourself first, they say, plan your expenditure. But do they take into account the companies that owe you for endless months? Or the fact that if you do not pay your landlord you will be out on the streets no shortcuts, or NEPA, or fuel hike.
How do I manage my money and take care of my expenses? How do I manage, period.

God help us o

Chili

A lot matters

2007-07-04T10:59:00.000+01:00

Today I'm just chillin'. I'm trying really hard to do my job to specifications but its becoming increasingly difficult. First of all I have no idea how to go about what I have to do, and secondly I dont know if I will be able to do it right.

I've been in TV all my working life, and when it comes to TV, be it scripting, editing, presentation or production, I'm an expert. A Pro. But this is a whole different ballgame. And, unfortunately, I was thrown in the deep end, fast.

Please if there's anyone who knows about events management, sponsorship and promotion in relation to branding, please hola.

God help me.

Lagos Matters

2007-07-03T13:59:00.000+01:00

Hi People,

Na wa o! Na God dey save person for this Lagos wey we dey o.

Usually I wait till its really late before I go home from work, primarily because I cant stand traffic as it wastes fuel and energy, and because it gives room for mugging or robbery. Last night, as I was on my way home, at about 11pm, I decided to pass the Adeniyi Jones/Ogba route, rather than the Allen/Agidingbi route for reasons best known to my subconscious. As I turned into the WEMPCO axis of Ogba, I saw two young men holding their shoes in their hands, running, frantically waving down cars, and shouting at the same time. I was scared. I looked around and saw that all the other drivers were still going in the direction I wanted to so I continued. Then as I drove on, I saw a commercial bus parked on the side of the road and on the opposite end a young man stood and was speaking to someone inside it. The next thing I knew he raised up both his hands like he was surrendering or something. I didnt wait to see what else occured, I zoomed off with all the speed I could till I got home.

I've seen and heard of robberies severally in Lagos, but I was particularly bothered about this one because I was alone. And I imagined that if someone held me up and snatched my car, and all my belongings, I would be left to run around hysterically and senselessly all over the place, with cars zooming past me! As soon as I got home I began to ponder the level of insecurity that exists in this country. My first thoughts were on the feasibility of my relocating to another country. But the more I tried to decide what country I would move to, the more I realised there really isn't any difference in terms of safety.

South Africa is worse, it's just that they keep records of their crime. I remember reading a story of a lady who accosted a burglar in her home in Johannesburg. The guy fell on her and began giving her what she felt were hard blows, then he escaped. She later found out that he had found a pair of scissors and stabbed her ten times!

You can get shot walking the streets in New York, or stabbed in the streets of London, so what's the difference? The only attractive places seemed to be France, Sweden, Switzerland,and the Netherlands -before France dropped from the list due to its recent race riots- but what job will I do when I get there? If I get there?

so we just have to go on holding on to the belief that life is not a spectator event and that God preserves us to make that difference.

Weekend matters

2007-07-02T14:07:00.000+01:00

Hi everyone,
I had just taken about two hours out to write this blog out carefully, generating about 7 paragraphs, when the unthinkable happened.Everything got wiped off because I inadvertently pressed the 'back' button! What this means therefore is that I cant tell you the gist I wanted to tell you. Simple.Its not your fault or mine. I just believe that incidents do not just occur. There is always a purpose or a conspiracy theory .
Anyway its another Monday and the daily grind resumes. As a rule, I dont really feel much for Mondays except for the fact that I always feel like I need more sleep. But today I need a little more than sleep I need medication. I have a cold, a really terrible one, but I know ' this too shall pass'.
Speaking of 'passing' something passed over the weekend and I will 'claim' it cos I wont let the devil 'steal my joy'. I sound like 'them' now, dont I? But this is really a serious matter and I want to discuss it with you.
I like to go to church because, somehow, it gives me a sense of belonging and achievement, but for the past few weeks I found out that I couldnt or wouldnt go. Anyway, yesterday I made an effort to go although I knew it was the first Sunday of the month, aand a thanksgiving sunday at that. Now I have nothing against giving thanks to God but I think that that kind of pre-planned thanksgiving is misguided. Why start jubilating because its a new month or new year? Doesn't the bible clearly tell us that God doesn't see time the way we do? Anyway that's another matter for another day. But this was the spirit in which I went to church on Sunday. I was quite late, which is not unusual but I quickly sat down and waited for the sermon.
Now when it was time for the sermon An old lady pastor walked to the pulpit. Now when I see this woman come to preach I feel elated because I know she speaks from her heart. And every time she speaks she seems to address a vice that I am struggling with.
Sunday's message was on Forgiveness. Immediately she said the word I smiled. If there is anything I struggle with, and indeed hold on to, it's malice. As at Sunday, I had a long list of people I never wanted to see, speak to or relate with again. Its a defence mechanism that has become an art for me. So the lady spoke about this vice and at the end of the day called out for those who felt they had a real issue with forgiveness to come to the pulpit to be prayed for. I didnt go because I was too ashamed to be seen in that light as I dont think anyone has as bad a problem as I do. But while people went I was not amazed that most of them were women. which brings me to the issue:what is it about emotions? Intangible stimulants that can cause wars. someone utters words, words that cannot be replayed and we immediately feel so bad we could commit suicide. So bad that we sign off on them- permanently. Or so we think, until something makes us sign on again.
A friend once described malice-keeping to me very vividly. Let's say someone stabbed you in the back with a knife. Keeping malice is like taking that knife and thinking, this girl/man stabbed me like this( and you stab yourself again) he didnt even think to stab me like this(and you stab again) or like this( and you stab again) or even in the back ( and you go again). Hilarious, I guess, but that is the truth.
Well, I guess I should take my own advice. I still have the people on my list to settle with and I'm telling God that if they come to me I won't turn them back but I don't want to go myself. I should have stepped to the pulpit yesterday. God help me. That's tha reason I'm called Chili pepa.

Chili

Lagos Matters

2007-07-02T09:22:00.000+01:00

Hi,

Its another Monday morning and, even though I generally hate Mondays, this one is particularly unwelcome because I had a crazy weekend! Prior to this, it was my style to have a mad dash every weekend, from salon to party, to friendly gathering, to god-knows-where, and to end up panting on Monday morning. ( My younger brother always wonders how I can manage that kind of life.) But I decided to slow down cos I love sleep, men! It is a brilliant biological invention. But, unfortunately this weekend I couldn't avoid it.

My office- its the events management arm of an advert agency- organized a party for a client on friday. Anyway I got home at about 6.30 am on Saturday morning. I slept for a while, but at the crack of dawn, a couple of guys who are just moving into my building began construction work on their flat. I dont know if they are demolishing the place but I tell you the sounds emanating from that flat- which is below mine- make it sound like that. Gba! Gba! Gboa! I woke up instantly.

I then decided to carry out some repairs in my house since that seemed to be the trendy thing that day. I pulled myself out of bed and went to call a carpenter. At this time I was starving! He came relatively promptly, fixed a few things, and went to get the materials for others. I decided to use that opportunity to run some errands and get something to eat. A big mistake as it was raining. Which brings me to part 2 of this matter. Lagos, rain and roads.

The drive from Ojodu to Ogba under normal circumstances should take 10 minutes max. In that persistent rain it took about 45 minutes and that was even good. What is it about Lagos that makes it difficult to drive through when there are even two drops of rain? It was terrible. Everybody struggling to move within the least available amount of space. All of us, me inclusive, swearing at everyone else. But thank God for LASTMA, I dont care what anyone else says, they always save the day. Come rain, come shine, they are always on the road. And Saturday was no exception. They made sure I got home before nightfall so that the carpenter could finish off his job. But because of the traffic I deided not to do the shopping i originally intended to. So when the carpenter was through I had to go back to do the shopping. Long and short my day ended at about 9pm that day as well.

Ok, fast forward to Sunday and I wake up by 6 am to attend church service by 7.30. During the service it starts raining and I decide I needed to complete my weekly ritual of newspapers, food, and preening before the rain caused any traffic. Well, I completed the first two but couldnt do the third before the rain came down in all its glory. So i went home to sleep.

I was able to catch some shut-eye until the construction workers arrived again. Then it was time to sort my clothes for dispatch to the drycleaners, to clean up and to go for preening. Needless to say my day ended at about 10.30 p.m again, with a head cold despite my turning down an invitation from my friends to sit in for drinks at our local joint, Uncle Ben's.

So, here I am on Monday morning in tyhe office with a cold and a runny nose praying the day ends quickly.

How was yor weekend?

Chili

2007-06-28T13:12:00.001+01:00

ps.

Because of the problems I identified above, I will have to stick to a topic per day or per week, or per month, as I desire. The topic for now is in the title. (IF I MIND IT MATTERS, for the 'hard of seeing'.)
So chat with you soon.

If i mind it matters

2007-06-28T12:00:00.000+01:00

Hi Yawl,

Its the very first day of the creation of this fantastic blogspot- even if i say it myself- applause, please, thank you very much.

Now, off the top of my head, I can see that I am going to have two, maybe even three problems. ("There are three things pleasing to the Lord, four indeed that delight him" remember that? Oh whatever!)
Anyway, the first problem is likely to be the fact that my penchant for grammar and punctuation is going to show through! It already is isn't it?

The second is the fact that I'm always at work when I can get access to the Web. So, how do I dodge a possible boot, and feed my excessive cathartic desires- i warned you, didnt i?- to the extent that I need?

And thirdly, the age-long problem of journalists- what do i leave out?

ok, gotta go now beautiful people, talk to you soon. Please talk to me.

Grey Matters

Carthasis

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How Can I Love My Neighbour

Notes On A Prayer

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Steve jobs speech

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The Prelude To My 'Dear John' Letter

Those Whom The Gods Want To Kill...

Moments WITHOUT Mo

Style Them, Please!!!

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Opening New Doors

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Nothing (Gold) Can Stay

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The Story So Far, And Why It Matters

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