Friday, 17 November 2017


At some point (and by that I mean at every given opportunity) in your life I am sure irrespective of your sex, you’ve heard that women are a basket full of issues. Top among on the list being 1.) They absolutely hate each other and 2.) They make absolutely cruel and demanding bosses.

Good Ol’ Google gives several definitions of a Diva of which I will take two. One defines a diva as “a self-important person who is temperamental and difficult to please (typically used of a woman)”. The second one defines the term as “a bitchy woman that must have her way exactly, or no way at all. Often rude and belittles people, believes that everyone is beneath her and thinks that she is so much more loved than what she really is. She is selfish, spoiled and overly dramatic”.

I am not writing to analyze women who are textbook cases of these qualities stated above, but to cheer on those who are anything but! Because you see, to not do so would mean that ladies who ought to be a celebrated as Proverbs 31 women will instead be badmouthed as divas.

The earlier definitions are what a Diva shouldn’t be. So let’s go ahead and define who a diva should be. To me a diva is a principles woman.

·         She has good grooming
·         She is Poised, with no hair out of place
·         Her words are seasoned with salt
·         She is kind to other women
·         She comports herself with decorum
·         She is purposeful and focused in her chosen career or field
·         She holds a crowd spell bound in rapt attention
·         She commands respect
·         She is one who doesn’t beat traffic rules
·         And finally, one who gives way to other people- especially other women at a busy road

I am delighted to say I had the privilege to meet one of those women, albeit briefly. My friends and I were heading out to a function and we got to this really busy road at the heart of town and there was just no way to get through. Many cars sped past, staring straight ahead and wouldn’t budge nor let us slide through.

In fact, those who dared to look our way only did so condescendingly. And then came this Diva who without a fuss slowed to a halt, flashed her light at us and gave us access through. Now that singular act showed me that there was indeed some hope of saving the woman to woman friendship dynamics.

I agree that typically one incident cannot change the world’s perception about how women treat one another, but one act can cause a rippling effect until there’s a change that can be felt the world over. I intend to do better, do you?

Let’s Make a Difference One Woman at a Time

Photo credit

Tuesday, 14 November 2017


Boy! Has it been so long since I picked up my pen from the basket of love to write you this love letter... Lol! I am full of jokes, if I do say so myself.

But really though, it has been over a year since I last published a blog. I must say, I am quite embarrassed to admit that I have left my first love to suffer, while I have been busy chasing other interests. But as the saying goes, the first step to repentance is acceptance, and so, I accept that I have been less than faithful to my dutiful followers who saw the writer in me when I didn’t and who put up with my musings and comical posts. I am sorry if I do not say “I love You” often, because I really do.

As some of you may know, I have been busy trying to be a matchmaker and I have had a few successes under my belt, so yaasss, I am super proud of myself.

The Professional Singles Meet Platform was born out of a desire to see busy, single professionals -young and old alike- married according to God’s desire. This has kept me busy, physically, intellectually and even spiritually, (because people on my platform must network and connect for a worthwhile relationship by fire and by force, LOL!). Afterall, the holy Bible says, ‘the weapons of our warfare are not carnal’, so therefore some mighty Rabababa eh must take place.

Well, now that we are all caught up, be it quite briefly, I will like for you all to take a peep at the platform’s site and social media accounts to see the work I and my team have done and to encourage and drop suggestions where you can.

Thanks and God bless…

Yours (un) faithful blogger,

Jemimah-Nikky Jates

Facebook: Professional Singles Meet

Instagram: Singlesmeetng

Thursday, 29 September 2016


There are several stages to grief we are told
Roused out of sleep with the news ‘Alhe is dead fa’
Oh no, that cannot be true, I thought
You had just dropped me a line a few days ago
You were going to inspire me to keep fit, nope, that couldn’t be

I hurriedly made my way to your house
Whether it was to confirm or dispel it I wouldn’t know
‘Baby, Alhe ta rige ki (she has beat you to death)
That was the first thing your mother said to me
It wasn't strange for her to say that for we competed fiercely as kids
Whether at the game of mortal combat or hula hoop

I sat outside, beside the swing set
It looks eerily like the one we both played on as kids
On it today sat swinging a little 4 year old girl dressed in pale pink
It could easily have been you
With an urge so strong I wanted to ask her to get down
Could she not see that I was mourning?
Instead I sent a weak smile in her direction
As her chirpy voice rang out in squeals of excitement
Those were always your exact reactions
You loved to swing so high till your head went past the poll
While you would scream with glee
You were always such a burst of sunshine

And I thought, Lord, why not wake her up
So we can share this reminisce?
But silence met my request
Then the flood of tears I had been holding back began a downward torrent
Oh, this pain. Why must you demand to be felt?
It was an ordinary day
You have plied that road countless times
But that was your last day, never to return home
Indeed, there's no way of knowing
That your last good day is indeed
Your Last Good Day
At the time, it is just another good day

But I have one reassurance
Heaven is all the more joyous with you there
Your beautiful soul was so rare…
And because of it, my childhood was memorable

Wednesday, 13 July 2016


As with most widely publicized celebrity weddings, a popular socialite got hitched a while back, and everybody had an opinion about her choice of husband. Many thought since it was apparent that she earned a lot, the guy was probably with her only because of her money or at the very least it was an added incentive for him being with her. Others thought he didn’t seem like a guy who would care about such things like an account statement that rang like a phone number. 

While everyone is entitled to their opinion, one wonders if it’s true that many guys care too much about how much their prospective woman earns or owns when making their decision as to whether or not to date her or to marry her.

It is not farfetched to say that many women are excelling above their male peers today, whether it is academically, intellectually, professionally or in other wise. There has been a massive outcry for the girl child/woman to develop themselves and vast opportunities are being provided to ensure that happens. It is little wonder that you find female students topping the best 5% in their respective courses. This then goes to translate to their getting great job opportunities and earning quite high pays.

With this new position comes the elevated lifestyle. She pays her rent, buys her own car, purchases a piece of land, and develops it. Now when a woman can do all these for herself, this then begs the question, doesn’t this qualify her to also decide to step up to a guy and ask him out? Does her doing so make her a pariah of sorts? Does that effrontery calls for her degrading? Shouldn’t that make her respected instead for growing a pair*?

I carried out a little recon on my own and I asked a guy this question the other day while we were having a discussion and I must say I was impressed by his take on this. Since he sees himself as a quintessential and social 21st century man, he believes and advocates for equality between men and women and so he thought it was admirable that a woman thinks so highly of herself that she can shirk all the trappings of acceptable woman behavior and approach a guy. To him, he feels it requires a lot of courage to ask anybody out. Being a guy, he can identify with the hours and days of preparation it takes a guy to study a girl he likes, come up with suitable drop lines, and then the courage to approach her. So to him, he gives any woman the thumbs up who can go through that preparations and still risk being let down. 

I asked another guy whom I thought a great liberal what he thought of this, but to my surprise he didn’t share the other’s sentiment. To him, he claims being very traditional at heart when it comes to men-women relationships and believes it should only be the man who has to do all the work at the onset. To woo, to flatter, to buy presents etc. He thinks if any woman is brazen enough to step up to him that would only intimidate him instead of gaining his admiration. In his words “I would totally become suspicious. I would think she has other ulterior motives and designs on me. Like there’s certainly way more than meets the eyes.” 

Even though I expected more from him, would I say I was disappointed to hear that? Not exactly. Because in reality, can we honestly blame him? Many of us grew up in societies where a man is in charge. And even if a girl fancies a guy, she would rather die in silence that to approach him. I am of the opinion that whatever’s good for the Goose is good for the Gander, hence it doesn’t matter who makes the first move. But I know many young women who would rather watch idly by as the object of their desire is carted away by someone else just because they cannot bring themselves to speak up.

Here’s something curious though, have you noticed that the next question guys ask women these days after what her name is, is “what do you do?”. In fact, one time my friend was at this barbecue party where they all sat around this long table and the guy who happened to be next to her didn’t even bother to ask her name but jumped straight to “so, what do you do?”. She straight-faced told him she was a prostitute and then sarcastically asked him what he’d do now armed with that information. He quietly skulked away.

You see, guys these days want to know what you do to judge if you’re worthy of their time right? They throw around words like ‘‘I don’t want any woman who is a liability, who is unable to lend me financial support when the chips are down’’, ‘‘I can’t date any girl who can’t return the favour and get me nice presents at Valentine or my birthday’’ etc. And yet when a lady who holds her own approaches him, asks what he does, gauges his status side by side hers, she comes off as creepy. Lol. Am i the only one reading the irony in this?

So let’s assume a girl decides to wait for a random guy (probably even a loser) to come toast her, where is the guarantee that he would do right by her? And when he messes up she ends up beating herself up just cause she thought by his approaching her, it means she meant something to him but apparently she didn’t. Wouldn’t you rather feel better knowing that you chose a man for yourself and even if things do not work out at least you put yourself out there right? At least in this case, you have the right to be the designer of your own destiny. 

If men expect women to bring something to the table, to be smart, hardworking, and to be an achiever, then so what if she makes the first move? Shouldn’t they be willing to accept that in addition to her qualifications she is entitled to have a mind of her own and have the liberty to make her own choices? 

So guys, when a lady makes an honest move on you, before you feel emasculated or threatened by her guts, first assess yourself and see if you two level up hmm? And I bet if you believe you do, you will feel honored and not intimidated.

Photo credit: IG

Thursday, 30 June 2016


I was a stubborn child growing up, but that goes without saying. And I remember as kids we would sneak up behind women as they walked and mimic their walking step, choreographing it with the tune “seventeen, eighteen , nineteen, zabadam”. And usually these mommies will chase us with canes and we will run away laughing, till our stomachs hurt. It was all mindless fun to us.

But then the other day, as I was walking past my friends, unbeknownst to me, I heard them burst into laughter. When I inquired about their jest, they told me I was walking like one of those mommies we used to jest as kids. It was funny to me also, because I had assumed I was strutting in such a way that would rival Naomi Campbell on the runway. But it turns out, I was just so much an African and no matter how much I try to do the catwalk, my ‘Africanness’ exudes even through my walking step. 

So I took out time to notice the form, pace and gait of people as they walk past.  I bet some found my staring creepy, but then again I couldn’t walk up to everyone and explain to them that I was only conducting a research. Now this is what I deduced. As girls, we walked with a spring in our steps, like a bouncy, leaping walk, mainly because we were wafer thin. But as we grew older and filled out our curves, our steps were altered a bit. No more jumpy walk like we did as kids, but we still walked with speed as much as our young bodies could carry. However, filling out more as women, the hips, the buttocks and breasts all culminate into holding us back as we walk. We lose the spring and jump to our steps and replace it with a slower, short paced walk that undeniably brings the wiggle to our steps.

Being Africans and bountifully endowed with these, I think it has contributed indubitably to our uniqueness. We lack the briskness of Europeans, Arabians and other ethnicities. And this gait of ours goes as far as inflecting how we behave, act, and our general behavior and attitude towards things and people. An African is unhurried in pace, hence when we walk someone who’s leaving a place to another place, we tarry long while we walk and catch up on some last moment gist before we part. Same applies to when you visit someone at their house, we linger over food, mainly because we want to hold meaningful conversations. We ask about each other’s welfare because we really care to know. And then we also lend our ears for as long as necessary to listen to them in their unhurriedly response, unburden their hearts. 

This distinguishes us as a race. We care enough to happily share our time with others even if only to listen to their babble. We aren’t too time conscious that we snuff out one’s flow just because we need to hurry somewhere. 

An upside of our unhurried gait also shows how we aren’t prone to panic attacks and the likes. We are conscious of our environment and very much in tune with it in that we anticipate occurrences and hence aren’t easily spooked. Though I have found we can only enjoy such solitude in the suburbs now seeing as the city has been taken over by the hurried chaotic speed of the western world.

As usual, a cause and effect relationship ensues, in that the longer we take strutting and wiggling before we get to where we ought to be, the more time we lose. Hence, why it is aptly tagged  ‘African Time’. 

I once read somewhere, that the speed in one’s walking step, determine the mental alertness and resourcefulness of one’s mind. For instance, have you ever taken note of the Chinese and how they walk so briskly? Maybe this contributes to how fit they appear and probably the improved quality of their thoughts which is quickly making them the greatest country in technological advancement.

But you see, we are an unhurried people, so much that our walking style says it all. This therefore is a bane to a large number of us, as we have the tendency of approaching life in much the same way. We easily let go of things that appear stressful, and in similar fashion, we move our focus and attention to other mundane things.

Photocredit: African tribal women

Thursday, 14 April 2016


For years I have had this recurring thought in my head about structures. Not so much what materials go into the making of the building, nor the aesthetics of it or the lack thereof, or even the form its facades take. But I find that every time I drive through or take a stroll on the streets of this city that is dear to me, I ponder more interestingly on the people who live in them. Is it a house? What kind of people would I find in there? If it is an ostentatious structure, I would wonder, did they grow up in such opulence? Or did they suddenly come into wealth and amass property? Are they mere squatters within the premises pending when the real owners return for their house? 

I could also ponder, is it an office? What do they do in there? Is it an IT firm? A retail outlet? Or a warehouse? On and on my mind wanders… on days I give my imagination free reign, I would create whole personalities for those people. 

There was a small bungalow house a few streets away from the house I grew up in, and every time my sister and I walked past it, we would call it ‘the haunted house’. Inspired by the movies we watched growing up, like Casper the friendly Ghost, Home Alone, and the likes, I would create an entire story around the house in my mind. I imagined a close knit family of maybe five, living a secluded life, without socialising much. I would assume they were probably members of one of those houses of worship that shrouded itself in mystery and possibly diabolism. While this was all a creation of my mind, every time I walked past it, I found my steps hastening while I chanted ‘The Blood of Jesus’ in my head. Lol!

Across the road from that street was a tall 6 storey building painted in a bright imposing white colour. Whenever my tiny child-like legs walked past it, I would notice a halogen light beam in my direction and then when I had walked past, it would go off. Those were years before I understood motion sensors and the likes and so I would keep wondering why they couldn’t just fix their light and stop it from going off and on. 

One afternoon I walked past it and I noticed the gate opened electronically for an SUV to drive out and the gate again shut itself and I remember dashing home to tell my siblings what I had found. Looking back, I remember they looked at me quite weirdly, like ‘duh, of course it’s electronic’ and my little brain was still unable to discern it. So I would search for errands that would take me around there so I could peer around the structure for any sign that would highlight what they did in there. After watching some of the James Bond series and Terminator, I decided that inside that building, they must be running a highly classified covert operation, hence the security and lack of any signpost outside the building.   

For many years, there was this house I passed by on the way to my village which I called ‘Aeroplane house’. In case you were wondering why that tag, well you see, that house was probably by far one of the ugliest houses I had ever seen. It was this rundown and shabby looking one storey building perched on a hill. But what made it stand out was this design of a large concrete aeroplane at the top of it. I could only imagine that since the owner or maybe the architect went through so much effort to perch on it an airplane that seemed to be crushing the house into the ground, the structure must mean a lot to him. So I spun my wheel of imagination and painted an identity for the owner. To me, the house must have been owned by a pilot who had a huge obsession for airplanes who maybe died or became bankrupt and so couldn’t complete the structure. Hahaha.

You would think after I grew up I stopped right? But no, I still find myself staring at structures. However, with the confidence that age brings, I would usually stop by, walk up to the gate and ask the security what they did there. And whenever I am unable to do so, I would look for a taxi driver around there and ask him what he thinks the structure is about. 

A few of the structures that have preoccupied my mind in the past few years is the Igbinedion house or shall I call it estate or maybe it is a palace at Maitama. The compound encased within it a couple of buildings with two huge sculpted lions standing guard within it speak of wealth, power, and royalty. Some days I would wonder whether it was owned by the entire Igbinedion family or maybe just the one. From the outside it looks almost sad and uninhabited, and I imagine that for a huge structure such as this, there was probably a time when a large family of maybe twenty children lived within the walls and frolicked day and night. I imagined myself living within those walls. I would probably have 10 children, just so I can fill that place up with laughter and tiny feet running around. Anything short of that will be putting to waste such a beaut.

Another structure that always takes my breath away is the ostentatious building right on the entrance of Gana street, adjacent to the Hilton. In my imaginings, it is a fortress, built by a rich and powerful king who lives alone with his princess daughters at the towers above. They have hundreds of servants who attend to their needs, with a garden, a horse stable and a zoo out back. I imagine the gallant sculpted horses, Lions and elephants which are poised as monuments around the building, decorate it during the day, but then come alive at night and wage wars against the enemies of their master. And then I imagine myself as one of the princesses, living up in that ivory tower looking down on the peasants in the streets scrambling to make a living. Lol.

I had often thought that a house or a building should represent even in the tiniest of ways, the identity, style, or even what inspires the owner. I would find it totally confusing if a house takes the shape of a ship and yet is owned by a pilot. Or a dingy unkempt house is owned by an architect. Or a man who lives alone and in seclusion chooses to build and live in a mansion with 13 rooms and 15 baths.  But then again, these are just the ramblings of a weird mind.

I wonder though, does anyone else think similar thoughts as I do? 

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