FEAR


Doorbell rings.
“Eriife!”, I screamed 

No answer. Sigh. I did not particularly like answering the door at my sisters, I hated the awkward meetings and questions. “Aha, The Law!, igba wo lode? Daddy ati Mummy nko? Bawo ni ise? Awon boda nko? When are we meeting them? Is your Sister at home? Her Husband nko? The kids? Grandma nko? “They are not home Ma”

“Ahan, where did they go?” … 

I got to he door, looked through the peephole. 

No one.

Who is there?. I called out “It’s me”, a child’s voice said

I opened up. 

A scrawny looking young girl of about 8 years was at the door looking like she was about to burst into tears.

“Good afternoon Ma”, she said “How are you?”, she was apparently from the next flat because the door was open and she kept looking in that direction. “I’m not fine ma”, she holds up a tattered black hairnet, “please help me sew it”

Ah!

“Sew it?”, I collected the net and held it up. A good portion of the net was ripped,”what happened to it?”

“I don’t know, please help me sew it before my mommy will come back, she will soon come back, please please”

She was almost in tears by now.

“There’s nothing I can do dear, just explain to your mommy, she’ll understand or come and call me when she comes I’ll explain to her”

“Nooooo, noooo, aunty please please help me sew it”

I was helpless and confused for a bit. Although I caught her eyeing the hairnet gently embracing my head, which was similar to hers.
Ok you know what? See all these loose ends? Start tying them together and it will be okay.
Okay. She said. 

I heaved a sigh of relief as I watched her close the door to their flat.

Barely five minutes later she was back at the door. 

Wailing.

“Please help me, my mommy will beat me, please aunty, please please ” “But what do you want me to do”

“Give me your own” she cried holding on to me.

Na wa o, which kain fear is this one, I thought.

I had no choice but to give her mine o. 

She wouldn’t budge till I did. 

I don’t ever want my kids to be that afraid of me! Because of hairnet?!

Haba!

And some parents will call it discipline.

WIG


I sat in the front seat, enjoying the evening breeze. The Car AC was bad, so I really had no choice. I glanced briefly at my boyfriend and smiled. He always made me smile. He was chatting away, saying something about one of his friends. He had come to pick me from work. Ahh. I loved days like this. When I didn’t have to hustle for a bus back home. We approached Adekunle bustop and joined the traffic building up. I called out to a steet hawker. “Oga gimme coke abeg, babe do you want one?” “Na””Oga … I want th…” I stopped mid sentence as someone yanked my wig off my head and ran in the opposite direction.

“Ole, ole”, I screamed as I opened the car door, running after him, my boyfriend behind me, screaming “Lola! Stop! .
I wasn’t going to stop till I caught the culprit. I had saved my salary for two months to buy that wig. I wasn’t going to lose it. 

The thief, probably surprised I ran after him, dropped my wig and ran away. 

I slowed my pace, got to the wig, picked it up, dusted it and wore it. “Lola!, are you crazy, you could have been shot”, My boyfriend, few feets away was shouting at me. “I’m sorry” I said sheepishly. Not sorry at all. “It would have been worth it tho”
He just stared at me in utter amazement as we made our way back to the car, wig in hand, a couple of people snapping away at us. “I hope we don’t make it to Instablog Naija, did you see people recording you” “I don’t care”, I said, “I have my wig”.

Rollercoaster 


Sade please I’m never letting you go ever again. Please forgive me.
He fell on his knees right there in the middle of the mall begging me to take him back. His date looking flabbergasted.
Oh man. People were beginning to take pictures.

Farooq was totally unaware, continued to plead.
I quickly removed my jacket and covered his head.

Stand up joor, people are taking pictures o.
He got up and I joined him under my jacket, our faces covered and then we burst out laughing. 

Omg Far, you are such a piece of work! He kissed me under my jacket and my heart missed a beat. It always did for him. He was my weakness and he didn’t even know it. I’m sorry Sade, he whispered. I love you so much. 

I didn’t say anything. I couldn’t. Far was so unpredictable, one minute he’s here, the next he’s not. 

People had gathered by now, we could hear whispers and I saw people’s feet from under the cover of my jacket.

We tried to figure out the exit and holding hands we walked towards it, totally blind. 

This was ridiculous. 

I could hear the cameras clicking away and the excited voices of people nearby. We would definitely be on instablognaija soon. Let’s make a dash for it, I whispered. Okay, he said just as he stole a kiss. 

One, Two, Now! I removed the jacked and we took to our heels admist cheers of onlookers . 

It was alway fun with Far. Never ever a dull moment.

But at what cost? 
Out of breathe, we made it to his car laughing. He stopped suddenly, hugged me and whispered.. I missed you.

I missed him terribly but I wasn’t going to say anything.

What are you doing here anyways? 
Good question I thought, trying to pull myself together. 

Shit!

I had a date. I checked the time. Damn! I was late. 

Sorry Far, I have to go, I have a date.

You have a what? Babe, it’s been two weeks, what do you mean you have a date? 
Excuse me? It’s not like you came here alone either…speaking of which, where is your date? I asked 

Muffled laughter. His eyes were twinkling. 

I guess there was no space under your jacket for her when we ran off.

Far!!!, I screamed, you just left the poor girl in there?

She’ll take Uber home. 
He made a call but she apparently hung up on him while he was trying to explain.

Goodbye Far. I said, reluctant to leave him.
If you go back in, I’m coming with you and sitting in on your date.

Far!! 

Sade! he said, mimicking me

C’mon, just call to say a car hit you on your way down or just tell him the truth, tell him you with the love of your life.
I hate you, I said, sliding into the passengers seat as he held the door open.
I love you too baby. He kissed me again.

Sigh!
What was I gonna do with this boy and this roller coaster called our relationship.

Babe, you won’t believe what happened last week. Gosh, been dying to tell you, remember that shirt I told you Momsi bought ….. Just like that we were back together, laughing, gisting, the fight from two weeks ago completely forgotten.

2nd Most Embarrassing Day!

IMG_0949

 

 

Please don’t ask what the first is.

My chest is still paining me from that experience

So I have never been a very social person. I struggle with it. I hate meeting new people, especially if it’s a physical meeting.  I call it Peoplephobia. I really love to hide behind my phone screen and remain as mysterious as I can. Most times I feel like a meeting would jinx things. I’ve had issues at work and school because of this.  But I think I’m beginning to get the hang of socializing.
Well kinda.
I would still prefer to hang with people i am very familiar with.
The other day I was having lunch with a girlfriend and a guy came and asked if he could join us. I wanted to say “No” it was at the tip of my  tongue sef, before my big headed friend said “Sure”. I sighed in resignation. Now I had to endure forced convos, eat properly and be polite. Argh. But at the end of the day it turned out well and was quite enlightening. But still I don’t look forward to meeting  new people.
I’m drifting. Lol.
This story is supposed to be about my second most embarrassing experience.
Ok so I hate socializing as much as  I  hate public speaking.  But as luck would have it I was nominated assistant group leader in Law School, no thanks to Ganiat Lawal (enjoy your ten seconds of fame love *wink*). So my group had this presentation and for so long I had succeeded in escaping presenting for the group. I rejected the role vehemently. I would come up with all sorts of excuses to avoid presenting. I wasn’t so lucky on this day. I can’t remember how it happened but I was chosen alongside a couple other people to present to a class of almost a thousand students. I was sure I would faint just staring into the sea of faces.
So fast forward to presentation day, I was up on stage with my note and then I started talking making references to cases and all feeling like i had actually gotten the hang of it. Then I quoted a case. Can’t remember which but an example is ” Wale Olawale V UBA & Anor.”
So “Anor” in law means “Another”.
I had no idea, please don’t judge me.
 I was never curious enough to ask. I had an idea what it meant, I just didn’t know I wasn’t suppose to pronounce it as it was written.
That’s how I said “ In the case of Wale Olawale V UBA and anor”.
 Laughter !
 The ridiculous part was I still repeated same thing about three times because I didn’t even know why they were laughing.
I lost composure after that but still managed to finish well.
As I approached my group, and proceeded to my seat I heard Ganiat and others laughing and calling me “Lola Anor”
They still call me that till date.
Sigh.

What do you do if you’ve accidentally killed someone?

I actually had to face this situation, once in my life, and I learned something about myself because of it.

Traveling down a back road, one night, and rounding a curve, I saw a man suddenly lean out toward the road, thumb extended. Then, thump! Like I had hit a melon or pumpkin. My truck had big, west coast mirrors, and I could see the one on the passenger’s side had been turned quite a bit by the impact.

No one around, no one saw. I could keep going. But, I didn’t. I found a place to turn around and returned to the scene.

No one there. I dismounted and started looking along the bank which fell away from the road. The only thing I found was the guy’s hat!

In a moment, I heard some thrashing around in the bushes, and a man staggered out, holding one hand with the other.

“Can you help me, mister?” he said, sobbing. “Some son of a bitch just hit me and I think my hand is broken!”

“Well, I’m the son of bitch who hit you, and that’s why I came back. Here, get in the truck and I’ll take you to the hospital.” He climbed in, moaning. I drove off to the ER.

He was admitted promptly; I was advised to stay in the waiting area, which I was going to do, anyway. I suppose it was protocol, but obviously the police were summoned, because 4 State Police Troopers marched in, walked right by me, and went into the treatment area.

One finally emerged. “Are you the man who brought in the guy?”

“Yeah,” I said, nervously. “I hit him, but I swear it was unavoidable, an accident.”

“Not to worry,” the trooper said. “You did the right thing, you brought him in. And you also saved us a lot of trouble. He had just escaped from jail, a few hours before. You can go, sir.”

And so, I did, thinking about those few moments when I was tempted to just keep driving.

Glad I didn’t. We don’t know, really, what we will do until the time comes.

WEDNESDAY PT.4

Papa had a big bulge protruding through his boxers.

I was not too young to know what it was.

An erection.

For Mama.

I was embarrassed for all of us. But mostly afraid of Papa’s reaction to the intrusion by church members of his weekly snack.

Sister Agnes was in shock as she couldn’t seem to lift her eyes from below Papa’s waistline.

“I….I….we…..” she finally closed her eyes, took a deep breathe and stepped away, pushing Brother Dele forward.

Papa, a smirk on his face was greatly amused by sister Agnes’ reaction to his still bulging male member.

“Good evening Sir,” Brother Dele, attempted a weak smile, “ we are here to see mama Ejiro, she did not attend the weekly service as promised ”

He looked down at me, “Ejiro, how are you?”

I stepped back and said nothing. Tricia had disappeared into mama’s room. Mama remained in her room.

Scared to death, I imagined.

I was waiting for Papa to slap him or something but it never came, instead he said “ why don’t you come in and have a seat”

What!!!

Even brother Dele couldn’t believe it. Sister Agnes looked agitated.

“Huh, we can always come back later, there’s no urgency”

He turned to leave but papa said “Haba, young man, come on in, I insist” He pulled Brother Dele in and looked at Sister Agnes, motioning her to come in as well. Sister Agnes was distraught, she looked ready to pass out.

“My wife is probably sleeping right now” He said this loud enough for Mama to hear and know not to come out.

He gestured at the chairs, “please have a seat”.

Sister Agnes, highly uncomfortable sat opposite him, trying with little success to stop staring below Papa’s waist.

Papa very aware of this sat with his legs wide open.

I looked at him in disdain and he motioned for me to go join Mama in the room.

I reluctantly obeyed.

Mama was behind the door as i opened it. Tricia sat on the bed, staring into space. Mama put a finger on her lips, a sign to not say anything.

As if, I thought.

She leaned on the door as it closed, eavesdropping on papa’s conversation with her guest

I looked at her wondering why she put up with papa’s nonsense.

Mama was very beautiful.

She had a kind of understated beauty, her skin fair, almost like a porcelain dolls and completely flawless, eyes the shade of burning coal and velvety black hair like leaves in the autumn breeze, her long lashes framed her eyes, the full cushion of her lips, her ample bosom and slim waist to the round curve of her generous hips, She was a beautiful and a very timid woman.

Timid, perhaps because she was so disarmingly unaware of her beauty.

Men desired her.

People held her gaze for a split second longer than necessary as if to digest her prettiness.

But Mama was stuck on Papa. That treated her like crap.

“Sister Agnes what do you do?, apart from serving God”, we heard papa say.

Mama cringed.

“Huh….ermmm” I could imagine her trying hard to stare papa in the face.”

“I’m a teacher”

“Hmmm”, Papa said ‘Why would a beautiful young woman like you choose such profession? Surely you have a lot more to offer?”

I looked through the keyhole just in time to see Sister Agnes blushing profusely.

Sister Agnes was far from beautiful… She was not overly old, but her body had aged passed her years so much so that she wore the wizened features of an old crone. Her dark hair peeping through her beret lay limply framing her aging face. Her forehead was wrinkled by many peaks and trenches – caused by years of consistent scowling. The scowl was missing today though, thanks to Papa. Her entire face always seemed drained of any signs of joy, instead her frumpy cheeks told a tale of regular displeasure, she despised Mama for her beauty but always acted like she was her best friend.

She was a church bully, an overly self righteous so-called Christian.

Why was Papa flirting with this woman?

Mama was also looking confused.

“What is your name young man?”, papa asked brother Dele.

“Brother Dele…err Dele”

“Ahh….can you excuse us for a minute brother Dele, I would like to speak to sister Agnes alone”

“errrr, yes yes” Brother Dele practically ran out of the room .

Sister Agnes shifted on her seat. “err…”

“i don’t bite” Papa said and laughed.

“Come closer” He said.

“Have you ever heard of a three-some?

Mama froze.

RELIGION CULTURE LIMITATIONS- Titi’s Muse

How do we separate religion from Culture. Can we actually separate the two or there’s been a diffusion somewhere? Has Culture influenced religion or religion influenced our Culture. Is smoking a moral issue? Abi health issue? Drinking nko? A colleague once told me he “hates” smokers. Said he wouldn’t allow his sister marry a man that smokes. Okay. So I asked, what if he is well behaved and has all the qualities of a husband material but he smokes, does that automatically qualify him as a bad person? Why do you hate smokers? He couldn’t answer. The wife beater and murderer that doesn’t smoke nko? 
So I was at a public gathering recently, sitting with a number of old folks. A well dressed young man with plaited hair walked past us. If looks could kill the young man would have died several times over. Their disapproval was almost palpable. According to Culture, this young man is tagged irresponsible… because he had corn rows…you probably want to check what that means again. I was on the bus one time and a guy preaching said you’ll go to hell if you smoke, drink, party or you are doing boyfriend and girlfriend? Is that true? Does the Church teach prosperity? If they do why are there still so many poor people in church? Or they only preach spirituality? Is Christianity or Islam a religion? Or a way of life …a lifestyle? Should being a Christian be cool? Like cool cool..or boring or better still drab. Is that what God wants. Must you look terrible because you are serving God? Why do you frown at people who look good in church? Their offence is that they look good. Will I miss heaven if I don’t observe church protocols… no earrings, long skirt, skin all covered… hmmm… is that my ticket to heaven or what lies beneath. 
If I sleep with my bible or Quran open and place it on my pillow… will all the witches and wizards die once they see the bible? So what is God now doing? Is he sleeping too? Or maybe he put the bible in charge…hmmm…
Is religion or culture helping me to be a better person? Am I self driven? Motivated and active? Or I just prefer to sit in church and wait for something to happen. Okayyyy… 
mama said I must not use the internet because it will corrupt me. 
Why do people frown when I do something different though? I told my pastor I wanted to start a business, he said It won’t work, many have tried and failed. Bring the money to church, God will multiply it. 
“The Holy book says…….”…….”It is our Culture you can’t change it” I’ve heard this too many times. So many do’s and don’t from religion and culture. 
How do I break free?!
These are my thoughts tonight as I struggle to find sleep…
Please forgive any grammatical error…