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Wednesday 31 October 2012
A FATHER IN A MILLION
That whole day was a hazy affair, the crowd, the music, the hugging, the tugging, the laughing influenced by the steady supply of champagne. As opposed to the quiet private wedding i have always wanted, this was a gigantic affair, so i forced myself to go through with it as the most important thing for me was being with Julz. He was the one i was sure i wanted to spend the rest of my life with so i could endure even much more than this society affair.
"You may kiss your bride" i remember the Reverend saying and I gazed up into his beautiful brown eyes as he held me in a firm, yet loving hug and I couldn't believe he was mine. Not like I thought i didn't deserve someone good but because his beauty just takes my breath away everytime I look at him. My thought wonders to when we met exactly 11 months ago.
I was walking in the park on a bright saturday afternoon. It was a perfect day, the sun was up for the first time in many days following a spate of heavy rainfalls recently. I am not usually the park person, but i could not pass out on enjoying such a wonderful weather. So, i broke all my rules of spending my saturday afternoons cooped up in my room fiddeling with my computer, watching movies, or just being plain anti-social.
I had tossed on a pale pink and orange floral dress, thick dark glasses, flat shoes and tied my hair in a ponytail. I took my tote bag, in which i put in a novel, a bottle of chocolate wine, a wine glass, and a large veil. I hadn't bothered with my appearance much because i only needed a break from my norm and wasn't looking at socializing.
I got to the park and picked a choice location under a big shaded tree. I spread my veil using it as my mat, opened my bottle of wine, poured in a glass full and started reading my novel. It was a romantic novel by my favorite writer Sandra Brown, about two lovers who had been seperated by their families, but had jus re-united after ten years. They were trying to figure out how they were so naive to have believed the lies their parents cooked up while trying to re-connect and rediscover their passion.
I kept sipping my drink while i laid down to get more cozy and gobbled the entire romance of it (being a stickler for love stories). Unknowingly, i gradually drifted off to sleep. I had probably been dozing for 30minutes when i woke up abruptly. I was disoriented and confused until my eyes fell on the most beautiful little girl i had ever seen. She was an adorable baby girl of about 3-5 years old, and she looked like an angel in her pale blue dress. My gaze gradually recovered from thinking she was an angel into realizing how beautiful her eyes were. I managed a smile and she winked back! Now i was surprised, who taught her how to wink? It was then i realized she was standing there with someone and was saying something to him. Him??? oh my god! A guy had seen me so dishelved and confused, so i struggled to sit and try to reclaim my calm and poise (or atleast what was left of it).
I took off my glasses and looked at the man she was with. He is dark skinned, had a beautiful mischevious smile and looked very tall from where i was sitting. I immediately surmised that they must be related even though she was light skinned, as they had the same mischevious eyes and a wide grin. It was then i realized they were smiling about something the little angel had said. So i smiled and asked them what it was they were saying. The little girl responded "i said you are very pretty" i smiled and could feel myself blushing through my dark skin (lol) while i tried to finger brush my hair and straighten my dress that had gone awry from my nap.
I stand to my full 5ft 5"and i immediately wished i had worn high heeled shoes out instead of my flats. Mr. Mischevious was just as tall as i had guessed, i had to tilt my head back a bit to see his face. Upclose he was really beautiful and that;s not a word i use easily to describe a man. I noticed the girl had a spitting resemblance to his, the only different being that she was fair. While i drank in his physique and was really liking what i saw, i tried to peek at his ring finger to guess if he was married. The finger was ringless. As I sighed with relief, my victory was abrutly cut short when the girl said "daddy i think i wanna eat my lunch now" My heart stopped, damn! i was just open mouthedly admiring a married man.
I quickly recollect my confidence, and introduced myself. He said his name was Julz and his daughter's name's Jessica. I smile, and inwardly he struck me as a vain papito who had to name his daughter something close to his name. He asked if i minded them sharing the shade with me. I shook my head as i had lost my voice. He was just so damn hot! He spread their mat, opened up his picnic basket and offered me some food. I graciously declined and pointed towards my now almost empty bottle of wine. I realized i am now feeling light headed so i offered him the remainder and he accepted.
We chatted for a bit and i found out i liked them alot, especially Jess (as she liked to be called). She was full of activity and chattered easily, i found she reminded me of myself when i was that age. Suddenly my phone rings. Twas my boss, there was some kind of an emergency at a site where we were doing some construction and i had to go take care of the matter. I apologized for leaving and told them how much it was a pleasure meeting them.
While i packed up my things ready to go i notice Jess was pinching her father and smiling at me. I smiled back confused though and she said, "daddy ask her now!" As I wondered what that meant, Julz got up too and said in his very deep bass voice "i will love it if you gave me your phone number and we could go on a date sometime"
I tried to surpress my elation and asked him with a poker face "would your wife be okay with you asking me on a date?" Jessica quickly supplied, "daddy doesn't have a wife. my mother died when she gave birth to me. Daddy says she was very pretty and i look like her" she finishes with a smile. All of a sudden i am consumed with compassion for this little girl who never knew her mother and for the father who had had to raise her by himself.
I knelt down and gave her a hug instinctively and she hugged back. I fished into my bag for a pen, i reached for julz's hand and i scribbled my number on his palm and gave him a "call me" look. His palm felt so right in my hand so i held it a tad longer before releasing it. I bid them bye and walked away, but turned back once to wave at them.
On monday at my desk in the office, my phone rang and with my heart thudding in my chest with anticipation I quickly answered with much excitement. As soon as i did, i realized it wasn't him but some stalker i had been putting off for months now. I was immediately crest fallen, but had kept expecting his call.
Tuesday passed and wednesday morning came, still no call. Just before it was noon my phone rang. I answered and i heard a pause at the other end. while i tried to gauge if it was an error call, he spoke up and i recognized his voice. Damn, that sexy bass got me smiling sheepishly i had to pinch my cheek to contain my excitement. He apologized for not calling earlier, as he had traveled to go drop off Jess with her grandma. He asked if I would want to have dinner with him that evening. Usually i would fake a reason for a rain check with a guy so i don't come off as desperate for a date, but for Julz i couldn't dare. I would have ran out of the office at 12pm if he had said he wanted to see me then. Anyway, i accepted his invitation. He picked me up at 7pm sharp. He had chosen a lovely five star restaurant and i must commend his good taste in wine as well as appreciated his time consciousness.
We had a lovely evening and it seemed as if we had known each other forever. We had so much in common i could not believe my good fortune. At those few moments when our fingers brushed or our arms came in contact there was always that shivering electric spark that went off. We had a few drinks although it was a week night and he dropped me off at home at 10pm. Light headed cum the anticipation of the evening (i think) culminated into a lingering goodnight kiss at my gate (a first for me). The kiss was everything sweet and drugging. That was a type of kiss they referred to in mills and boons novels as jelly knee kiss.
Since then, we became inseperable, which came as a surprise to me, as i had always loved my indepenence. We were out together every other weekend and still stole few hours a week for lunch. And when he goes outta town i missed him so much it surprised me (a huge first for me again). He would send flowers, chocolate, cards when he was out of town to my office and that spiced things up alot. He was that sweet to me i could not help but fall head over heels in love with him. He was everything i had wanted and even more. I found his daughter to be every mothers delight and that endeared him to me even more. Four months ago while we were on a weekend trip to Ghana, he proposed to me and ofcourse i said yes. The rest is history and here i was in a white satin monostrap wedding dress with several layers of lace and net. I was his nubian queen and he was my knight in shining armor.
I had gotten my own brown eyed million dollar gift sent from heaven just for me..............
Tuesday 16 October 2012
FIRST CUT
FIRST CUT
He came into my life like one of those mystical beings we read about in novels when we were teenagers. Except this time i wasn't 18years old and i didn't still have those love struck scales covering my eyes. But yet, i could still feel the butterflies in my tummy everytime his name came up in converstaions and when he looks at me with those big intense sad eyes, my knees go weak. And then when his upper lip curve in that seductive mischievous smile that exposes a set of white teeth that looked like pearl, the nether region turns into jelly. My friends said i was tripping when i told them how he made me feel, and i thought, perharps i was, so i tried to fight it. I had always believed that if something was too good to be true, then maybe it certainly is too good to be true. And Ralph was just such.
Yet i wanted to uncover the mystry behind those sad eyes, so i stuck around. How could anyone with such sad eyes have such a beautiful smile? It isn't just because he was loaded that attracted me to him, (though i must admit i enjoyed knowing he had money to spend around). Especially after the the sad spate of broke ass guys who not only were too stingy but also took money from me that i had been with in the past. So, yes i liked to know that he could pay his bills + afford to take me out without constantly checking the price on the menu. But, i kept having the nagging feeling that there was something that was eating at him.
He didn't push to ask me out, which was something that concerned me. He obviously liked me, that much he said and had shown, and i knew he wasn't seeing anyone beacuse i had checked, trust me i investigated well, but he didn't come out to say what he wanted from me. I quizzed my cousin who had introduced us, so much that i was i twisted his arm to tell everything he knew, which wasn't much. And then every once in a while when we are together, someone or the other will call, his mood will become low and they seemed to be extending their sympathy.
One day i couldn't take the anxiety anymore, i came out and asked him.We were at the swimming pool lounging on the pool love seats when i asked him what it was about certain calls from the US that made him so sad and withdrawn sometimes. As soon as i asked him, his countenance changed, his eyes were cast down, he swallowed hard while his adam's apple bobbed with labored emotion. He tried to speak with obvious difficulty as huge veins popped up in his forhead. And i regretted having asked something that unsettled him so. I was probably dumb to have brought a personal question to a public pool, so i quickly took back my question and asked him scratch that, and forgot i ever asked him that. Normally, he would smile and hug me, but this time he withdrew, stood up, walked up and down while i followed him with my eyes till i felt dizzy. I could already feel a huge wall building between us and i was scared. He walked back to me picked up his bag and told me in a low voice to go get dressed we'll talk when we leave here. I obeyed like a chastised child while i kept pinching myself mentally for not keeping my mouth shut.
The drive away from the pool was long, graveyard quiet and the air in the car was as thick as a black veil. It was 38 degrees that afternoon but i felt chilly like it was 0 degrees as he drove straight to his house. When we got in we walked straight to the bar while i lurked around in the background wringing my palms and cracking my fingers in anxiety. He poured himself some whiskey, and me a glass of redwine, held out my hand and pulled me to sit on the sofa opposite his.
In that deep baritone of his,he said "there are things i should have told you a long time ago, but i didn't, because i was hoping this moment wouldn't come. I'm sorry to have treated you coldly at the pool". As i hurried to apologize for even asking such a question, he cut me off, saying something like it wasn't my fault. He spoke in a low voice so i couldn't make out the exact words.
He went ahead to tell me how he was madly inlove with an American girl back in the US when he was doing his Masters degree. They dated for only 6months but he knew he wanted to spend the rest of his life with her. He asked her to marry him and she obviously loved him that much because she accepted. They had planned to come to Nigeria so he could introduce her to his family and they were both so excited. Two weeks before the day they were to come to Nigeria, they had a fight, it was the normal lovers fight and was over something so trivial but she took it too personal. He wondered what was the matter with her. But since they were running late to a friend's wedding they just got into the car and drove without talking to each other.
She broke the silence and apologized for her attitude. Said she didn't know what was wrong with her, she just seemed to always be in a mood of late. That was when it happened. A truck came out of nowhere, seemed the driver had lost control of his brakes, while Ralph who was driving tried to maneuver, it was too late as they were already so close, the truck collided with them at the side where she sat. She was badly injured though was rushed to the hospital. While the doctors battled to save her life he was informed that she was 6 weeks pregnant, and he thought, that was probably responsible for her mood earlier on. After two days in surgery, she died. Since then he hadn't been the same, he had vowed never to fall in love as a part of him died when he lost the most important person in his life and the little life that was growing inside her. He came to Nigeria days after her funeral as her parents did not want to keep the corpse for too long and has been trying to find solace, then he met me. He liked me too much that he felt he was betraying his promise to her
By the time he was done with the story, we were both crying uncontrollably. I went over to where he sat, i tried to put my hand around him to console him but he would not take it. I stayed there for as long as i could, but he wasn't coming around. He had blocked me out emotionally, and now i felt he was doing so physically too. When i couldn't take how he had closed me out, I picked my tote bag, kissed him on the forehead and walked out. Tears ran down my cheeks blurring my vision as i drove back to my house
I cried, not for what i felt for him or what we had had. But i cried for what we could have been. Maybe if we hadn't fallen for eachother we could still be together. But who am i fooling? i liked him too much i would never have been satisfied with being second fiddle even to one who wasn't alive. I tried to reach him days after and he just said he appreciated my concern and he is sorry for causing me any pain. Two weeks later he went back to the US and sent me an SMS to inform me, and wished me happiness elsewhere that he was sorry he just couldn't be the one to give me that happiness.
I was totally crushed and cried for days as i realized i had just had my heart broken for the first time.
He came into my life like one of those mystical beings we read about in novels when we were teenagers. Except this time i wasn't 18years old and i didn't still have those love struck scales covering my eyes. But yet, i could still feel the butterflies in my tummy everytime his name came up in converstaions and when he looks at me with those big intense sad eyes, my knees go weak. And then when his upper lip curve in that seductive mischievous smile that exposes a set of white teeth that looked like pearl, the nether region turns into jelly. My friends said i was tripping when i told them how he made me feel, and i thought, perharps i was, so i tried to fight it. I had always believed that if something was too good to be true, then maybe it certainly is too good to be true. And Ralph was just such.
Yet i wanted to uncover the mystry behind those sad eyes, so i stuck around. How could anyone with such sad eyes have such a beautiful smile? It isn't just because he was loaded that attracted me to him, (though i must admit i enjoyed knowing he had money to spend around). Especially after the the sad spate of broke ass guys who not only were too stingy but also took money from me that i had been with in the past. So, yes i liked to know that he could pay his bills + afford to take me out without constantly checking the price on the menu. But, i kept having the nagging feeling that there was something that was eating at him.
He didn't push to ask me out, which was something that concerned me. He obviously liked me, that much he said and had shown, and i knew he wasn't seeing anyone beacuse i had checked, trust me i investigated well, but he didn't come out to say what he wanted from me. I quizzed my cousin who had introduced us, so much that i was i twisted his arm to tell everything he knew, which wasn't much. And then every once in a while when we are together, someone or the other will call, his mood will become low and they seemed to be extending their sympathy.
One day i couldn't take the anxiety anymore, i came out and asked him.We were at the swimming pool lounging on the pool love seats when i asked him what it was about certain calls from the US that made him so sad and withdrawn sometimes. As soon as i asked him, his countenance changed, his eyes were cast down, he swallowed hard while his adam's apple bobbed with labored emotion. He tried to speak with obvious difficulty as huge veins popped up in his forhead. And i regretted having asked something that unsettled him so. I was probably dumb to have brought a personal question to a public pool, so i quickly took back my question and asked him scratch that, and forgot i ever asked him that. Normally, he would smile and hug me, but this time he withdrew, stood up, walked up and down while i followed him with my eyes till i felt dizzy. I could already feel a huge wall building between us and i was scared. He walked back to me picked up his bag and told me in a low voice to go get dressed we'll talk when we leave here. I obeyed like a chastised child while i kept pinching myself mentally for not keeping my mouth shut.
The drive away from the pool was long, graveyard quiet and the air in the car was as thick as a black veil. It was 38 degrees that afternoon but i felt chilly like it was 0 degrees as he drove straight to his house. When we got in we walked straight to the bar while i lurked around in the background wringing my palms and cracking my fingers in anxiety. He poured himself some whiskey, and me a glass of redwine, held out my hand and pulled me to sit on the sofa opposite his.
In that deep baritone of his,he said "there are things i should have told you a long time ago, but i didn't, because i was hoping this moment wouldn't come. I'm sorry to have treated you coldly at the pool". As i hurried to apologize for even asking such a question, he cut me off, saying something like it wasn't my fault. He spoke in a low voice so i couldn't make out the exact words.
He went ahead to tell me how he was madly inlove with an American girl back in the US when he was doing his Masters degree. They dated for only 6months but he knew he wanted to spend the rest of his life with her. He asked her to marry him and she obviously loved him that much because she accepted. They had planned to come to Nigeria so he could introduce her to his family and they were both so excited. Two weeks before the day they were to come to Nigeria, they had a fight, it was the normal lovers fight and was over something so trivial but she took it too personal. He wondered what was the matter with her. But since they were running late to a friend's wedding they just got into the car and drove without talking to each other.
She broke the silence and apologized for her attitude. Said she didn't know what was wrong with her, she just seemed to always be in a mood of late. That was when it happened. A truck came out of nowhere, seemed the driver had lost control of his brakes, while Ralph who was driving tried to maneuver, it was too late as they were already so close, the truck collided with them at the side where she sat. She was badly injured though was rushed to the hospital. While the doctors battled to save her life he was informed that she was 6 weeks pregnant, and he thought, that was probably responsible for her mood earlier on. After two days in surgery, she died. Since then he hadn't been the same, he had vowed never to fall in love as a part of him died when he lost the most important person in his life and the little life that was growing inside her. He came to Nigeria days after her funeral as her parents did not want to keep the corpse for too long and has been trying to find solace, then he met me. He liked me too much that he felt he was betraying his promise to her
By the time he was done with the story, we were both crying uncontrollably. I went over to where he sat, i tried to put my hand around him to console him but he would not take it. I stayed there for as long as i could, but he wasn't coming around. He had blocked me out emotionally, and now i felt he was doing so physically too. When i couldn't take how he had closed me out, I picked my tote bag, kissed him on the forehead and walked out. Tears ran down my cheeks blurring my vision as i drove back to my house
I cried, not for what i felt for him or what we had had. But i cried for what we could have been. Maybe if we hadn't fallen for eachother we could still be together. But who am i fooling? i liked him too much i would never have been satisfied with being second fiddle even to one who wasn't alive. I tried to reach him days after and he just said he appreciated my concern and he is sorry for causing me any pain. Two weeks later he went back to the US and sent me an SMS to inform me, and wished me happiness elsewhere that he was sorry he just couldn't be the one to give me that happiness.
I was totally crushed and cried for days as i realized i had just had my heart broken for the first time.
Wednesday 10 October 2012
Blueprint Newspaper
For Truth & Justice
Jemima: I wish the weekend could be extended
Drusilla David | Jun 01, 2012 | 1 comment
Jemima Nikky Jatau
Jemima-Nikky Jatau, an indigene of Kaduna state, spent her growing up years in Abuja. She is a graduate of Mass communication from Ahmadu Bello University, Zaria. Jemima is the last child in a family of four and hopes to be a Media Consultant mogul. She currently works with I and R Communications, Wuse, Abuja.
How does your weekend start?
After work on Friday, I hang out with friends, have a few drinks and some good laughs and then head back home. Sometimes we go clubbing if we are not exhausted before heading home.
Do you go to club?
Yes, I do and I love to go with friends who make it worthwhile.
Peer pressure
That is a rarity for me. This is because I have always been a leader among my age group from childhood. So I do not usually get roped-in to doing what I have no intention of doing. I have my unique personality that stands me out and so I try to maintain that ingenuity without bending to pressure from peers. However, one’s peers must definitely try to influence. In that case, I have to stand firm. Sometimes I could oblige my friends to do what they want, for instance, I hang out with them, because I can never imagine staying home while my friends are out having fun.
Saturdays
I sleep longer on Saturday mornings because that is the only day in a week that I get to sleep past 7am. When I am up, I do a bit of chores, eat breakfast, watch TV and then buzz my friends. Usually, I go to the swimming pool with friends, and play in the water. From the pool we go hang out at a lounge, eat finger foods, have cocktails and gist. Later on, if we are not exhausted, we could go watch a late movie, and then head back home.
Hobbies
I love dancing, hanging out with friends, listening to music and gisting. I love to mimic people, from my mom to my siblings, my bosses and TV personalities.
Sports
I love to run and sadly, that is the only sport I engage in. It used to be every day, but now I do it once in a week or once in two weeks.
House chore(s)
I wash the bathrooms, sweep the house and mop.
Music
I love country music, rock songs, oldies and contemporary Nigerian music. I like Don Williams, Kelly Clarkson, Daughtry Nickelback and Avril Lavigne.
Role model(s)
I admire Mo Abudu a lot because I want to have a show like hers someday and maybe better. Another person is Eugenia Abu. She is a wonderful public speaker, composed and eloquent and also an intelligent writer.
Greatest achievement(s)
Well, at the risk of coming off as someone who is trying to blow my own trumpet, I would say I have had an exceptionally fast education. I left the University at a very early age. Currently, I am the Operations Executive at the firm I work at and that is pretty remarkable for a young person.
I write and consult for a couple of magazines. I have hosted a few programmes and red carpet events in Abuja and Kaduna. I dream that one day I will have my multinational company and be one of the youngest CEO in the history of Communications.
What do you wish you could do more of at weekends?
I enjoy every bit of my weekend and can’t complain, much as I do love my job well also. However, it would not be a bad idea if the weekend was extended by one more day (Monday)! Then my week will officially begin on Tuesdays. That would be bliss!
Filed Under: My Weekend
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DEDICATION TO MY NEXT
DEDICATION TO MY NEXT
It was over the phone, the break up. That is probably the most debasing of all jilting. It made my mind ponder, was there no respect enough to let me speak in defense of my pride? Was i so repulsive he couldn't wait to do it face to face? These questions and many more ran through my mind and i think one of the things that probably sunk me into pits of depression even more than the initial matter at hand did.
When the EX left, it was a difficult time. The whole facade of keeping the brave front came tumbling down. It is more trying for someone who is known to be a "stone cold bitch" to nurse through a heart break. Harder still because you are expected not to feel hurt after all you are a tough nut to crack, thus you should be able to dust your shoe and strut off.
These expectations put me under coersion to act as society expects of me, but those psychological strappings of these societal norms choked me like a strait jacket.
Atleast once in our lives we may have our hearts broken, be it by our own doing or the mischief of someone else. One thing is it really cannot be an easy thing to go through no matter how tough a cookie you are. Not unless you didnt't like the person a whole lot.
Getting through it, i had to build a strong support for myself, and with the help of a close confidant. Problem shared is half solved they say. But what i do is, share some, keep some. Not unless the person has the capacity to take away the hurting. If they don't, then no need baring my entire heart out. Some say that's me being secretive. To me, thats me being calculating, careful and mindful. Not to say it always works, but atleast it gives some kind of peace to feel that i am in control of my life.
Problem with break ups is that many of us don't give ourselves time to breathe after a bad relationship. We just jump right back into another with the hope of "getting under someone to get over the former". It works to an extent, only if you make sure your heart doesn't get involved too quickly. But how do you trust your heart to stick only to its duty of pumping blood and not interfering with your affairs?
Best to give yourself a breather, enjoy being yourself, be selfish, enjoy your own company before making that commitment again. Savour the feeling of being your own person, not Miss A's boyfriend, or Mr B's girlfriend. And when the Next comes along, they should meet a free person, one who is witty, happy, comfortable in your own skin. Not one still pulling the excess carry over burdens from past relationship(s).
This is just my analogy, if anyone thinks different and begs to differ, please do so by all means, the floor is all yours.
It was over the phone, the break up. That is probably the most debasing of all jilting. It made my mind ponder, was there no respect enough to let me speak in defense of my pride? Was i so repulsive he couldn't wait to do it face to face? These questions and many more ran through my mind and i think one of the things that probably sunk me into pits of depression even more than the initial matter at hand did.
When the EX left, it was a difficult time. The whole facade of keeping the brave front came tumbling down. It is more trying for someone who is known to be a "stone cold bitch" to nurse through a heart break. Harder still because you are expected not to feel hurt after all you are a tough nut to crack, thus you should be able to dust your shoe and strut off.
These expectations put me under coersion to act as society expects of me, but those psychological strappings of these societal norms choked me like a strait jacket.
Atleast once in our lives we may have our hearts broken, be it by our own doing or the mischief of someone else. One thing is it really cannot be an easy thing to go through no matter how tough a cookie you are. Not unless you didnt't like the person a whole lot.
Getting through it, i had to build a strong support for myself, and with the help of a close confidant. Problem shared is half solved they say. But what i do is, share some, keep some. Not unless the person has the capacity to take away the hurting. If they don't, then no need baring my entire heart out. Some say that's me being secretive. To me, thats me being calculating, careful and mindful. Not to say it always works, but atleast it gives some kind of peace to feel that i am in control of my life.
Problem with break ups is that many of us don't give ourselves time to breathe after a bad relationship. We just jump right back into another with the hope of "getting under someone to get over the former". It works to an extent, only if you make sure your heart doesn't get involved too quickly. But how do you trust your heart to stick only to its duty of pumping blood and not interfering with your affairs?
Best to give yourself a breather, enjoy being yourself, be selfish, enjoy your own company before making that commitment again. Savour the feeling of being your own person, not Miss A's boyfriend, or Mr B's girlfriend. And when the Next comes along, they should meet a free person, one who is witty, happy, comfortable in your own skin. Not one still pulling the excess carry over burdens from past relationship(s).
This is just my analogy, if anyone thinks different and begs to differ, please do so by all means, the floor is all yours.
Monday 8 October 2012
SHENANIGANS OF WORKING AN 8 - 6 JOB
SHENANIGANS OF WORKING AN 8 - 6 JOB
Usually when i share with people about how my boss and i relate at work they are surprised! I cannot blame them for being surprised because i have realized that many bosses are stuck up, unapproachable and carry all that air of "self importance" around like they are demi-gods.
I used to work at a reputable firm some time back. The job description was good but the bosses were asses! They believed employees under them were just shit heads and would probably not amount to anything as good as them in life. But as my friends and i used to say "koko for their head, na dem go carry last". They wielded their power to fire people at will and used it as a dagger to cut off anyone who remotely stood up to question their operations. They didn't realize nor appreciate the loyal employees they had until 70% of them couldn't take all that shit again and resigned. The bosses were probably unperturbed. After all, thousands of graduates were out there looking for jobs, so despite the huffing we did, they just weren't concerned.
This scenario i believe is what many people go through day by day. Hence, their surprise when i tell them how cordial and friendly i am with my bosses. My bosses are the most down to earth people i had ever met. Don't get it wrong, they have got their own huge dose of ego too, but they never rub it in. One of the hugest advantage of working with men and very sensible and decent ones at that.
At the close of every week when time permits, we have our own Thank God Its Friday (TGIF) gathering just a bunch of old friends. That allows employer and employee to discuss matters affecting the office and also our personal lives without the strappings of official lingua. This is great as it allows us to catch up with happenings in our lives outside the office.
My favourite Boss is the one whom i nick named Papi. He is the ideal father/friend figure. Playful, yet disciplined, friendly, yet assertive, jovial yet serious minded. He is the first person to notice if my countenance is foul and will quickly show concern and want to know what the problem is. Did i mention that he is incharge of vetting my prospective BFs? oh yeah, thats his jurisdiction.
Then there is boss 2, the very social one. He is incharge of making the office TGIF happen. He is the one to notice when i'm carrying a new hairstyle, the one to tease me totally when a guy comes to visit me at work. But strangely enough, he is the workaholic of us all. With him liking fun so much you wouldn't think so right? But he is the slave driver! The one who puts action into words and make me do better at work.
Then there is me, Little Boss 3. LOL.
Working with these amazing men has taught me alot of things, the major ones being that no superior should get it into his/her head to feel too high above his subordinates. Employees shouldn't be treated as dirt bags, but should be given an opportunity to harness their full potential.
Food for thought!!
Usually when i share with people about how my boss and i relate at work they are surprised! I cannot blame them for being surprised because i have realized that many bosses are stuck up, unapproachable and carry all that air of "self importance" around like they are demi-gods.
I used to work at a reputable firm some time back. The job description was good but the bosses were asses! They believed employees under them were just shit heads and would probably not amount to anything as good as them in life. But as my friends and i used to say "koko for their head, na dem go carry last". They wielded their power to fire people at will and used it as a dagger to cut off anyone who remotely stood up to question their operations. They didn't realize nor appreciate the loyal employees they had until 70% of them couldn't take all that shit again and resigned. The bosses were probably unperturbed. After all, thousands of graduates were out there looking for jobs, so despite the huffing we did, they just weren't concerned.
This scenario i believe is what many people go through day by day. Hence, their surprise when i tell them how cordial and friendly i am with my bosses. My bosses are the most down to earth people i had ever met. Don't get it wrong, they have got their own huge dose of ego too, but they never rub it in. One of the hugest advantage of working with men and very sensible and decent ones at that.
At the close of every week when time permits, we have our own Thank God Its Friday (TGIF) gathering just a bunch of old friends. That allows employer and employee to discuss matters affecting the office and also our personal lives without the strappings of official lingua. This is great as it allows us to catch up with happenings in our lives outside the office.
My favourite Boss is the one whom i nick named Papi. He is the ideal father/friend figure. Playful, yet disciplined, friendly, yet assertive, jovial yet serious minded. He is the first person to notice if my countenance is foul and will quickly show concern and want to know what the problem is. Did i mention that he is incharge of vetting my prospective BFs? oh yeah, thats his jurisdiction.
Then there is boss 2, the very social one. He is incharge of making the office TGIF happen. He is the one to notice when i'm carrying a new hairstyle, the one to tease me totally when a guy comes to visit me at work. But strangely enough, he is the workaholic of us all. With him liking fun so much you wouldn't think so right? But he is the slave driver! The one who puts action into words and make me do better at work.
Then there is me, Little Boss 3. LOL.
Working with these amazing men has taught me alot of things, the major ones being that no superior should get it into his/her head to feel too high above his subordinates. Employees shouldn't be treated as dirt bags, but should be given an opportunity to harness their full potential.
Food for thought!!
Monday 24 September 2012
ME PARY
Disclaimer
Any resemblance of characters in my blog to real life, whether of persons, objects, or circumstances are purely coincidental. Also, try as much as you can not to use contents of this blog to judge my persona, well its not like i care anyway. For the sake of your psychological health, take everytthing on face value. This is because alot of crazy things may be spewed here that can turn even the most stoic into locos and may even depress some -__- . You should just enjoy the read and you could even pick up a few things that will help. *that being detrimental to you ofcourse*. The lot of sane things here will most likely to have been written by Jemimah. However, any inhibition you may have as regards the use of profanity in this blog is purely the fault of Nikky. She is my co-blogger and as others may well know "my alter-ego". Therefore any and all complaints should be forwarded to her desk. And to tell you the truth, she usually doesn't give a hoot. So you might like to do yourself a favour and ignore anything that may offend you.
ME PARTY
I was always one to have a party everytime my birthday came along. This has been so since forever, or atleast for as long as i can remember. It was probably a benefit i enjoyed being the last child and having the last birthday in the year. This meant that everyone in the house looked forward to my birthdays as a cure to their boredom. And i made sure never to disappoint them, so I would pester my mother till she gets me a beautiful birthday dress. From the little i remember of Papito, i know he usually sent me a gift from whatever part of the country/world that he was at.
I grew up being the most celebrated birthday celebrant in the house. And when i went to secondary school, that didn't stop. Every visiting day following my birthday came with a party. The host of my family all came to my school on that day bearing so many different cuisines, drinks, canopies and mats. I would rally all my friends to our tent and we will party. Even after secondary school, i made it mandatory to celebrate every birthday of mine or atleast mark it in some way if i am too preoccupied to have a party.
It got to a point where i started to fund my birthdays alone. I was thrilled about that because that meant i was independent enough to do it without Momma pitching in some funds for it. But later that thrill began to dwindle. This i noticed for a certain two years ago. I had just started working and i was feeling like the ideal "big girl", but that status didn't last long. I realized i was spending almost more than the worth of 2 months salary for a birthday party. Last year was the eye opener, for my birthday, i had two parties, one was a buffet at my house and another party for my friends the next day. When the cobwebs had cleared from my eyes after the binge weekend, i noticed my account was bleeding red, it was then i knew i had to draw a line.
With my birthday soon coming around this year, i informed my very close friends that i had no intention of celebrating my birthday this year and they went berserk. They protested vehemently stating that my decision was irrational and outright mean! Hmmmmm, now that got me wavering,
"to do" for the sake of my friends, or "not to do" for my own sake and my sanity?
I came to the conclusion, i was gonna do my birthday alone. After all it was just i who was born on that day, thus i am at liberty to decide just how i wanna mark it. I intend to go shopping for the most beautiful outfit, don it and spend the day alone in the cinema, watching movies and indulging in all types of food that i can eat that day. After that, i will buy supplies and then rally the support of my friends and together we will go to an orphanage and bless the kids with the supplies. At the end i could appreciate my friends for their support by taking them all out for dinner.
Now that would be a worthwhile birthday celebration! I do hope it goes well, so i can regale you with tales after.
Ciao.
Any resemblance of characters in my blog to real life, whether of persons, objects, or circumstances are purely coincidental. Also, try as much as you can not to use contents of this blog to judge my persona, well its not like i care anyway. For the sake of your psychological health, take everytthing on face value. This is because alot of crazy things may be spewed here that can turn even the most stoic into locos and may even depress some -__- . You should just enjoy the read and you could even pick up a few things that will help. *that being detrimental to you ofcourse*. The lot of sane things here will most likely to have been written by Jemimah. However, any inhibition you may have as regards the use of profanity in this blog is purely the fault of Nikky. She is my co-blogger and as others may well know "my alter-ego". Therefore any and all complaints should be forwarded to her desk. And to tell you the truth, she usually doesn't give a hoot. So you might like to do yourself a favour and ignore anything that may offend you.
ME PARTY
I was always one to have a party everytime my birthday came along. This has been so since forever, or atleast for as long as i can remember. It was probably a benefit i enjoyed being the last child and having the last birthday in the year. This meant that everyone in the house looked forward to my birthdays as a cure to their boredom. And i made sure never to disappoint them, so I would pester my mother till she gets me a beautiful birthday dress. From the little i remember of Papito, i know he usually sent me a gift from whatever part of the country/world that he was at.
I grew up being the most celebrated birthday celebrant in the house. And when i went to secondary school, that didn't stop. Every visiting day following my birthday came with a party. The host of my family all came to my school on that day bearing so many different cuisines, drinks, canopies and mats. I would rally all my friends to our tent and we will party. Even after secondary school, i made it mandatory to celebrate every birthday of mine or atleast mark it in some way if i am too preoccupied to have a party.
It got to a point where i started to fund my birthdays alone. I was thrilled about that because that meant i was independent enough to do it without Momma pitching in some funds for it. But later that thrill began to dwindle. This i noticed for a certain two years ago. I had just started working and i was feeling like the ideal "big girl", but that status didn't last long. I realized i was spending almost more than the worth of 2 months salary for a birthday party. Last year was the eye opener, for my birthday, i had two parties, one was a buffet at my house and another party for my friends the next day. When the cobwebs had cleared from my eyes after the binge weekend, i noticed my account was bleeding red, it was then i knew i had to draw a line.
With my birthday soon coming around this year, i informed my very close friends that i had no intention of celebrating my birthday this year and they went berserk. They protested vehemently stating that my decision was irrational and outright mean! Hmmmmm, now that got me wavering,
"to do" for the sake of my friends, or "not to do" for my own sake and my sanity?
I came to the conclusion, i was gonna do my birthday alone. After all it was just i who was born on that day, thus i am at liberty to decide just how i wanna mark it. I intend to go shopping for the most beautiful outfit, don it and spend the day alone in the cinema, watching movies and indulging in all types of food that i can eat that day. After that, i will buy supplies and then rally the support of my friends and together we will go to an orphanage and bless the kids with the supplies. At the end i could appreciate my friends for their support by taking them all out for dinner.
Now that would be a worthwhile birthday celebration! I do hope it goes well, so i can regale you with tales after.
Ciao.
Saturday 22 September 2012
YOUWIN 2! FOR WOMEN
YOUWIN! 2 - YOUTH ENTERPRISE WITH INNOVATION IN NIGERIA.
The Coordinating Minister for the Economy and Honourable Minister of Finance Dr. Ngozi Okonjo-Iweala, along side, The Honourable Minister, Ministry of Women Affairs and social Development, Hajia Zainab Maina (MFR, FCIA) and the Honourable Minister, Ministry of Information Technology Omobola Johnson invites Nigerian women from 18 - 45years with innovative business proposals to apply for Federal Government Grants. You should register online at www.youwin.org.ng for a chance to win N1M - N10M each under the FGN/Youth Enterprises with innovation in Nigeria 2nd Edition (YouWin women programme) from 3rd september- 14th October 2012. Please share this news with everyone. Let's help our female youths to join in weaving the fabric for Nigeria's development! Resourceful women, please apply and win enough to start or expand your business + be an employer of labour. Thank you...
The Coordinating Minister for the Economy and Honourable Minister of Finance Dr. Ngozi Okonjo-Iweala, along side, The Honourable Minister, Ministry of Women Affairs and social Development, Hajia Zainab Maina (MFR, FCIA) and the Honourable Minister, Ministry of Information Technology Omobola Johnson invites Nigerian women from 18 - 45years with innovative business proposals to apply for Federal Government Grants. You should register online at www.youwin.org.ng for a chance to win N1M - N10M each under the FGN/Youth Enterprises with innovation in Nigeria 2nd Edition (YouWin women programme) from 3rd september- 14th October 2012. Please share this news with everyone. Let's help our female youths to join in weaving the fabric for Nigeria's development! Resourceful women, please apply and win enough to start or expand your business + be an employer of labour. Thank you...
Wednesday 19 September 2012
You Lazy (Intellectual) African Scum!
I have a rather interesting read for you all. I wonder what your thought about it would be. But i really do hope it touches you like it did me and spurs us all towards progressive thinking. Enjoy the read.
DISCLAIMER
This is not my publication, it was culled from an email i received. But i do think it relates an awful lot to our country Nigeria. If the words/slander of the the white man annoy you while you read, please i urge you to take it in good faith. for only then will we be ready to stand up for Nigeria, for Africa and for the whole of the third world.
You Lazy (Intellectual) African Scum!
Posted on January 18, 2012 | 738 …
They call the Third World the lazy man’s purview; the sluggishly slothful and languorous prefecture. In this realm people are sleepy, dreamy, torpid, lethargic, and therefore indigent—totally penniless, needy, destitute, poverty-stricken, disfavored, and impoverished. In this demesne, as they call it, there are hardly any discoveries, inventions, and innovations. Africa is the trailblazer. Some still call it “the dark continent” for the light that flickers under the tunnel is not that of hope, but an approaching train. And because countless keep waiting in the way of the train, millions die and many more remain decapitated by the day.
“It’s amazing how you all sit there and watch yourselves die,” the man next to me said. “Get up and do something about it.”
Brawny, fully bald-headed, with intense, steely eyes, he was as cold as they come. When I first discovered I was going to spend my New Year’s Eve next to him on a non-stop JetBlue flight from Los Angeles to Boston I was angst-ridden. I associate marble-shaven Caucasians with iconoclastic skin-heads, most of who are racist.
“My name is Walter,” he extended his hand as soon as I settled in my seat.
I told him mine with a precautious smile.
“Where are you from?” he asked.
“Zambia.”
“Zambia!” he exclaimed, “Kaunda’s country.”
“Yes,” I said, “Now Sata’s.”
“But of course,” he responded. “You just elected King Cobra as your president.”
My face lit up at the mention of Sata’s moniker. Walter smiled, and in those cold eyes I saw an amenable fellow, one of those American highbrows who shuttle between Africa and the U.S.
“I spent three years in Zambia in the 1980s,” he continued. “I wined and dined with Luke Mwananshiku, Willa Mungomba, Dr. Siteke Mwale, and many other highly intelligent Zambians.” He lowered his voice. “I was part of the IMF group that came to rip you guys off.” He smirked. “Your government put me in a million dollar mansion overlooking a shanty called Kalingalinga. From my patio I saw it all—the rich and the poor, the ailing, the dead, and the healthy.”
“Are you still with the IMF?” I asked.
“I have since moved to yet another group with similar intentions. In the next few months my colleagues and I will be in Lusaka to hypnotize the cobra. I work for the broker that has acquired a chunk of your debt. Your government owes not the World Bank, but us millions of dollars. We’ll be in Lusaka to offer your president a couple of millions and fly back with a check twenty times greater.”
“No, you won’t,” I said. “King Cobra is incorruptible. He is …”
He was laughing. “Says who? Give me an African president, just one, who has not fallen for the carrot and stick.”
Quett Masire’s name popped up.
“Oh, him, well, we never got to him because he turned down the IMF and the World Bank. It was perhaps the smartest thing for him to do.”
At midnight we were airborne. The captain wished us a happy 2012 and urged us to watch the fireworks across Los Angeles.
“Isn’t that beautiful,” Walter said looking down.
From my middle seat, I took a glance and nodded admirably.
“That’s white man’s country,” he said. “We came here on Mayflower and turned Indian land into a paradise and now the most powerful nation on earth. We discovered the bulb, and built this aircraft to fly us to pleasure resorts like Lake Zambia.”
I grinned. “There is no Lake Zambia.”
He curled his lips into a smug smile. “That’s what we call your country. You guys are as stagnant as the water in the lake. We come in with our large boats and fish your minerals and your wildlife and leave morsels—crumbs. That’s your staple food, crumbs. That corn-meal you eat, that’s crumbs, the small Tilapia fish you call Kapenta is crumbs. We the Bwanas (whites) take the cat fish. I am the Bwana and you are the Muntu. I get what I want and you get what you deserve, crumbs. That’s what lazy people get—Zambians, Africans, the entire Third World.”
The smile vanished from my face.
“I see you are getting pissed off,” Walter said and lowered his voice. “You are thinking this Bwana is a racist. That’s how most Zambians respond when I tell them the truth. They go ballistic. Okay. Let’s for a moment put our skin pigmentations, this black and white crap, aside. Tell me, my friend, what is the difference between you and me?”
“There’s no difference.”
“Absolutely none,” he exclaimed. “Scientists in the Human Genome Project have proved that. It took them thirteen years to determine the complete sequence of the three billion DNA subunits. After they
were all done it was clear that 99.9% nucleotide bases were exactly the same in you and me. We are the same people. All white, Asian, Latino, and black people on this aircraft are the same.”
I gladly nodded.
“And yet I feel superior,” he smiled fatalistically. “Every white person on this plane feels superior to a black person. The white guy who picks up garbage, the homeless white trash on drugs, feels superior to you no matter his status or education. I can pick up a nincompoop from the New York streets, clean him up, and take him to Lusaka and you all be crowding around him chanting muzungu, muzungu and yet he’s a riffraff. Tell me why my angry friend.”
For a moment I was wordless.
“Please don’t blame it on slavery like the African Americans do, or colonialism, or some psychological impact or some kind of stigmatization. And don’t give me the brainwash poppycock. Give me a better answer.”
I was thinking.
He continued. “Excuse what I am about to say. Please do not take offense.”
I felt a slap of blood rush to my head and prepared for the worst.
“You my friend flying with me and all your kind are lazy,” he said. “When you rest your head on the pillow you don’t dream big. You and other so-called African intellectuals are damn lazy, each one of you. It is you, and not those poor starving people, who is the reason Africa is in such a deplorable state.”
“That’s not a nice thing to say,” I protested.
He was implacable. “Oh yes it is and I will say it again, you are lazy. Poor and uneducated Africans are the most hardworking people on earth. I saw them in the Lusaka markets and on the street selling merchandise. I saw them in villages toiling away. I saw women on Kafue Road crushing stones for sell and I wept. I said to myself where are the Zambian intellectuals? Are the Zambian engineers so imperceptive they cannot invent a simple stone crusher, or a simple water filter to purify well water for those poor villagers? Are you telling me that after thirty-seven years of independence your university school of engineering has not produced a scientist or an engineer who can make simple small machines for mass use? What is the school there for?”
I held my breath.
“Do you know where I found your intellectuals? They were in bars quaffing. They were at the Lusaka Golf Club, Lusaka Central Club, Lusaka Playhouse, and Lusaka Flying Club. I saw with my own eyes a bunch of alcoholic graduates. Zambian intellectuals work from eight to five and spend the evening drinking. We don’t. We reserve the evening for brainstorming.”
He looked me in the eye.
“And you flying to Boston and all of you Zambians in the Diaspora are just as lazy and apathetic to your country. You don’t care about your country and yet your very own parents, brothers and sisters are in Mtendere, Chawama, and in villages, all of them living in squalor. Many have died or are dying of neglect by you. They are dying of AIDS because you cannot come up with your own cure. You are here calling yourselves graduates, researchers and scientists and are fast at articulating your credentials once asked—oh, I have a PhD in this and that—PhD my foot!”
I was deflated.
“Wake up you all!” he exclaimed, attracting the attention of nearby passengers. “You should be busy lifting ideas, formulae, recipes, and diagrams from American manufacturing factories and sending them to your own factories. All those research findings and dissertation papers you compile should be your country’s treasure. Why do you think the Asians are a force to reckon with? They stole our ideas and turned them into their own. Look at Japan, China, India, just look at them.”
He paused. “The Bwana has spoken,” he said and grinned. “As long as you are dependent on my plane, I shall feel superior and you my friend shall remain inferior, how about that? The Chinese, Japanese, Indians, even Latinos are a notch better. You Africans are at the bottom of the totem pole.”
He tempered his voice. “Get over this white skin syndrome and begin to feel confident. Become innovative and make your own stuff for god’s sake.”
At 8 a.m. the plane touched down at Boston’s Logan International Airport. Walter reached for my hand.
“I know I was too strong, but I don’t give it a damn. I have been to Zambia and have seen too much poverty.” He pulled out a piece of paper and scribbled something. “Here, read this. It was written by a friend.”
He had written only the title: “Lords of Poverty.”
Thunderstruck, I had a sinking feeling. I watched Walter walk through the airport doors to a waiting car. He had left a huge dust devil twirling in my mind, stirring up sad memories of home. I could see Zambia’s literati—the cognoscente, intelligentsia, academics, highbrows, and scholars in the places he had mentioned guzzling and talking irrelevancies. I remembered some who have since passed—how they got the highest grades in mathematics and the sciences and attained the highest education on the planet. They had been to Harvard, Oxford, Yale, Massachusetts Institute of Technology (MIT), only to leave us with not a single invention or discovery. I knew some by name and drunk with them at the Lusaka Playhouse and Central Sports.
Walter is right. It is true that since independence we have failed to nurture creativity and collective orientations. We as a nation lack a workhorse mentality and behave like 13 million civil servants dependent on a government pay cheque. We believe that development is generated 8-to-5 behind a desk wearing a tie with our degrees hanging on the wall. Such a working environment does not offer the opportunity for fellowship, the excitement of competition, and the spectacle of innovative rituals.
But the intelligentsia is not solely, or even mainly, to blame. The larger failure is due to political circumstances over which they have had little control. The past governments failed to create an environment of possibility that fosters camaraderie, rewards innovative ideas and encourages resilience. KK, Chiluba, Mwanawasa, and Banda embraced orthodox ideas and therefore failed to offer many opportunities for drawing outside the line.
I believe King Cobra’s reset has been cast in the same faculties as those of his predecessors. If today I told him that we can build our own car, he would throw me out.
“Naupena? Fuma apa.” (Are you mad? Get out of here)
Knowing well that King Cobra will not embody innovation at Walter’s level let’s begin to look for a technologically active-positive leader who can succeed him after a term or two. That way we can make our own stone crushers, water filters, water pumps, razor blades, and harvesters. Let’s dream big and make tractors, cars, and planes, or, like Walter said, forever remain inferior.
A fundamental transformation of our country from what is essentially non-innovative to a strategic superior African country requires a bold risk-taking educated leader with a triumphalist attitude and we have one in YOU. Don’t be highly strung and feel insulted by Walter. Take a moment and think about our country. Our journey from 1964 has been marked by tears. It has been an emotionally overwhelming experience. Each one of us has lost a loved one to poverty, hunger, and disease. The number of graves is catching up with the population. It’s time to change our political culture. It’s time for Zambian intellectuals to cultivate an active-positive progressive movement that will change our lives forever. Don’t be afraid or dispirited, rise to the challenge and salvage the remaining few of your beloved ones.
Field Ruwe is a US-based Zambian media practitioner and author. He is a PhD candidate with a B.A. in Mass Communication and Journalism, and an M.A. in History.
DISCLAIMER
This is not my publication, it was culled from an email i received. But i do think it relates an awful lot to our country Nigeria. If the words/slander of the the white man annoy you while you read, please i urge you to take it in good faith. for only then will we be ready to stand up for Nigeria, for Africa and for the whole of the third world.
You Lazy (Intellectual) African Scum!
Posted on January 18, 2012 | 738 …
They call the Third World the lazy man’s purview; the sluggishly slothful and languorous prefecture. In this realm people are sleepy, dreamy, torpid, lethargic, and therefore indigent—totally penniless, needy, destitute, poverty-stricken, disfavored, and impoverished. In this demesne, as they call it, there are hardly any discoveries, inventions, and innovations. Africa is the trailblazer. Some still call it “the dark continent” for the light that flickers under the tunnel is not that of hope, but an approaching train. And because countless keep waiting in the way of the train, millions die and many more remain decapitated by the day.
“It’s amazing how you all sit there and watch yourselves die,” the man next to me said. “Get up and do something about it.”
Brawny, fully bald-headed, with intense, steely eyes, he was as cold as they come. When I first discovered I was going to spend my New Year’s Eve next to him on a non-stop JetBlue flight from Los Angeles to Boston I was angst-ridden. I associate marble-shaven Caucasians with iconoclastic skin-heads, most of who are racist.
“My name is Walter,” he extended his hand as soon as I settled in my seat.
I told him mine with a precautious smile.
“Where are you from?” he asked.
“Zambia.”
“Zambia!” he exclaimed, “Kaunda’s country.”
“Yes,” I said, “Now Sata’s.”
“But of course,” he responded. “You just elected King Cobra as your president.”
My face lit up at the mention of Sata’s moniker. Walter smiled, and in those cold eyes I saw an amenable fellow, one of those American highbrows who shuttle between Africa and the U.S.
“I spent three years in Zambia in the 1980s,” he continued. “I wined and dined with Luke Mwananshiku, Willa Mungomba, Dr. Siteke Mwale, and many other highly intelligent Zambians.” He lowered his voice. “I was part of the IMF group that came to rip you guys off.” He smirked. “Your government put me in a million dollar mansion overlooking a shanty called Kalingalinga. From my patio I saw it all—the rich and the poor, the ailing, the dead, and the healthy.”
“Are you still with the IMF?” I asked.
“I have since moved to yet another group with similar intentions. In the next few months my colleagues and I will be in Lusaka to hypnotize the cobra. I work for the broker that has acquired a chunk of your debt. Your government owes not the World Bank, but us millions of dollars. We’ll be in Lusaka to offer your president a couple of millions and fly back with a check twenty times greater.”
“No, you won’t,” I said. “King Cobra is incorruptible. He is …”
He was laughing. “Says who? Give me an African president, just one, who has not fallen for the carrot and stick.”
Quett Masire’s name popped up.
“Oh, him, well, we never got to him because he turned down the IMF and the World Bank. It was perhaps the smartest thing for him to do.”
At midnight we were airborne. The captain wished us a happy 2012 and urged us to watch the fireworks across Los Angeles.
“Isn’t that beautiful,” Walter said looking down.
From my middle seat, I took a glance and nodded admirably.
“That’s white man’s country,” he said. “We came here on Mayflower and turned Indian land into a paradise and now the most powerful nation on earth. We discovered the bulb, and built this aircraft to fly us to pleasure resorts like Lake Zambia.”
I grinned. “There is no Lake Zambia.”
He curled his lips into a smug smile. “That’s what we call your country. You guys are as stagnant as the water in the lake. We come in with our large boats and fish your minerals and your wildlife and leave morsels—crumbs. That’s your staple food, crumbs. That corn-meal you eat, that’s crumbs, the small Tilapia fish you call Kapenta is crumbs. We the Bwanas (whites) take the cat fish. I am the Bwana and you are the Muntu. I get what I want and you get what you deserve, crumbs. That’s what lazy people get—Zambians, Africans, the entire Third World.”
The smile vanished from my face.
“I see you are getting pissed off,” Walter said and lowered his voice. “You are thinking this Bwana is a racist. That’s how most Zambians respond when I tell them the truth. They go ballistic. Okay. Let’s for a moment put our skin pigmentations, this black and white crap, aside. Tell me, my friend, what is the difference between you and me?”
“There’s no difference.”
“Absolutely none,” he exclaimed. “Scientists in the Human Genome Project have proved that. It took them thirteen years to determine the complete sequence of the three billion DNA subunits. After they
were all done it was clear that 99.9% nucleotide bases were exactly the same in you and me. We are the same people. All white, Asian, Latino, and black people on this aircraft are the same.”
I gladly nodded.
“And yet I feel superior,” he smiled fatalistically. “Every white person on this plane feels superior to a black person. The white guy who picks up garbage, the homeless white trash on drugs, feels superior to you no matter his status or education. I can pick up a nincompoop from the New York streets, clean him up, and take him to Lusaka and you all be crowding around him chanting muzungu, muzungu and yet he’s a riffraff. Tell me why my angry friend.”
For a moment I was wordless.
“Please don’t blame it on slavery like the African Americans do, or colonialism, or some psychological impact or some kind of stigmatization. And don’t give me the brainwash poppycock. Give me a better answer.”
I was thinking.
He continued. “Excuse what I am about to say. Please do not take offense.”
I felt a slap of blood rush to my head and prepared for the worst.
“You my friend flying with me and all your kind are lazy,” he said. “When you rest your head on the pillow you don’t dream big. You and other so-called African intellectuals are damn lazy, each one of you. It is you, and not those poor starving people, who is the reason Africa is in such a deplorable state.”
“That’s not a nice thing to say,” I protested.
He was implacable. “Oh yes it is and I will say it again, you are lazy. Poor and uneducated Africans are the most hardworking people on earth. I saw them in the Lusaka markets and on the street selling merchandise. I saw them in villages toiling away. I saw women on Kafue Road crushing stones for sell and I wept. I said to myself where are the Zambian intellectuals? Are the Zambian engineers so imperceptive they cannot invent a simple stone crusher, or a simple water filter to purify well water for those poor villagers? Are you telling me that after thirty-seven years of independence your university school of engineering has not produced a scientist or an engineer who can make simple small machines for mass use? What is the school there for?”
I held my breath.
“Do you know where I found your intellectuals? They were in bars quaffing. They were at the Lusaka Golf Club, Lusaka Central Club, Lusaka Playhouse, and Lusaka Flying Club. I saw with my own eyes a bunch of alcoholic graduates. Zambian intellectuals work from eight to five and spend the evening drinking. We don’t. We reserve the evening for brainstorming.”
He looked me in the eye.
“And you flying to Boston and all of you Zambians in the Diaspora are just as lazy and apathetic to your country. You don’t care about your country and yet your very own parents, brothers and sisters are in Mtendere, Chawama, and in villages, all of them living in squalor. Many have died or are dying of neglect by you. They are dying of AIDS because you cannot come up with your own cure. You are here calling yourselves graduates, researchers and scientists and are fast at articulating your credentials once asked—oh, I have a PhD in this and that—PhD my foot!”
I was deflated.
“Wake up you all!” he exclaimed, attracting the attention of nearby passengers. “You should be busy lifting ideas, formulae, recipes, and diagrams from American manufacturing factories and sending them to your own factories. All those research findings and dissertation papers you compile should be your country’s treasure. Why do you think the Asians are a force to reckon with? They stole our ideas and turned them into their own. Look at Japan, China, India, just look at them.”
He paused. “The Bwana has spoken,” he said and grinned. “As long as you are dependent on my plane, I shall feel superior and you my friend shall remain inferior, how about that? The Chinese, Japanese, Indians, even Latinos are a notch better. You Africans are at the bottom of the totem pole.”
He tempered his voice. “Get over this white skin syndrome and begin to feel confident. Become innovative and make your own stuff for god’s sake.”
At 8 a.m. the plane touched down at Boston’s Logan International Airport. Walter reached for my hand.
“I know I was too strong, but I don’t give it a damn. I have been to Zambia and have seen too much poverty.” He pulled out a piece of paper and scribbled something. “Here, read this. It was written by a friend.”
He had written only the title: “Lords of Poverty.”
Thunderstruck, I had a sinking feeling. I watched Walter walk through the airport doors to a waiting car. He had left a huge dust devil twirling in my mind, stirring up sad memories of home. I could see Zambia’s literati—the cognoscente, intelligentsia, academics, highbrows, and scholars in the places he had mentioned guzzling and talking irrelevancies. I remembered some who have since passed—how they got the highest grades in mathematics and the sciences and attained the highest education on the planet. They had been to Harvard, Oxford, Yale, Massachusetts Institute of Technology (MIT), only to leave us with not a single invention or discovery. I knew some by name and drunk with them at the Lusaka Playhouse and Central Sports.
Walter is right. It is true that since independence we have failed to nurture creativity and collective orientations. We as a nation lack a workhorse mentality and behave like 13 million civil servants dependent on a government pay cheque. We believe that development is generated 8-to-5 behind a desk wearing a tie with our degrees hanging on the wall. Such a working environment does not offer the opportunity for fellowship, the excitement of competition, and the spectacle of innovative rituals.
But the intelligentsia is not solely, or even mainly, to blame. The larger failure is due to political circumstances over which they have had little control. The past governments failed to create an environment of possibility that fosters camaraderie, rewards innovative ideas and encourages resilience. KK, Chiluba, Mwanawasa, and Banda embraced orthodox ideas and therefore failed to offer many opportunities for drawing outside the line.
I believe King Cobra’s reset has been cast in the same faculties as those of his predecessors. If today I told him that we can build our own car, he would throw me out.
“Naupena? Fuma apa.” (Are you mad? Get out of here)
Knowing well that King Cobra will not embody innovation at Walter’s level let’s begin to look for a technologically active-positive leader who can succeed him after a term or two. That way we can make our own stone crushers, water filters, water pumps, razor blades, and harvesters. Let’s dream big and make tractors, cars, and planes, or, like Walter said, forever remain inferior.
A fundamental transformation of our country from what is essentially non-innovative to a strategic superior African country requires a bold risk-taking educated leader with a triumphalist attitude and we have one in YOU. Don’t be highly strung and feel insulted by Walter. Take a moment and think about our country. Our journey from 1964 has been marked by tears. It has been an emotionally overwhelming experience. Each one of us has lost a loved one to poverty, hunger, and disease. The number of graves is catching up with the population. It’s time to change our political culture. It’s time for Zambian intellectuals to cultivate an active-positive progressive movement that will change our lives forever. Don’t be afraid or dispirited, rise to the challenge and salvage the remaining few of your beloved ones.
Field Ruwe is a US-based Zambian media practitioner and author. He is a PhD candidate with a B.A. in Mass Communication and Journalism, and an M.A. in History.
Thursday 13 September 2012
"THINK" DO WE?
"THINK" DO WE?
On a certain Thursday, a couple of weeks ago, i and my boss went to one of this "important high rolling" ministry. We needed to work out some paper works with some officials of the ministry about a contract we had just been awarded with the ministry. We had done some work with them before so i was already a house hold face with the staff + security guards and so we were ushered to the top most floor (more or less where the Ogas stay).
It was a typical cozy government office, with the shiny table top, executive swivel chair, chilling AC unit, and yeah a floor length mirror. Ofcourse i will notice that, as it fuels my vanity anytime i walk in there. However, that is not the aim of this story. Upon arrival i gazed into the mirror, fluffed my hair, smacked my lips and sat down. The SA to the minister walked in and we exchanged pleasantries. Just then three ladies from another firm walked in, as the SA also had another meeting with them. It was something about helping them tender their case to the Minister so the company they were representing could be paid its monies. (oh yeah, i eaves dropped. As a media person it is expedient to have a nose for news). Somehow they struck me as stand off-ish kind of ladies. They seemed to carry an air of somewhat importance and exuded an aura of "we know what we are doing here" that made me make a mental note to give them my most bitchy attitude. Just then the Minister summoned the SA, so he had to "neglect" us for a bit. Thank God for that window period as that is what inspired this write up.
When he stepped out, my boss, the three ladies and i introduced ourselves and exchanged conversation on a few general national topics. Just then, my boss had a ring on his phone so had to excuse himself out of the room to answer it. I was left alone with these ladies and as we conversed, they turned out to be a great inspiration. One was Igbo, another Yoruba and the third Hausa-Fulani. You would expect that they will counter each other in every discussion (as we see in todays politics) but that wasn't so. They were colleagues but seemed to be friends also.
Somehow as we conversed, we meandered into the aspect of "thinking". Usually we just throw that word around without taking time to understand what it entails. Most of us who have been out of school no longer know how to think. We pour ourselves deeply into our work and we get soaked into the constant ups and downs of our occupations that we never find the time to imagine other things we could be and/or could do in our lives. We are so encumbered with providing solution-oriented thoughts that we do not give our minds the credit to create something new, unique and innovative.
While we argued back and forth, we came to the realization that "worrying" "anxiety" cannot be categorized under thinking. They are solution-oriented mullings. The ability to think constructive thoughts is in all of us, but we need to learn to sometimes shut down certain worrying/anxiety thoughts to be able to allow us truly focus our energy into thinking productive thoughts.
That conversation taught me 2 things:
1. Never to judge a person before you have given them an opportunity to express themselves.
2. Strike up conversations with people I meet. I just might learn a great deal from them or in the least, impart my knowledge to them.
After our conversation, we exchanged our cards and promised to keep intouch sometime in the future. Who knows my company just might be called upon to be their PR Consultant in the future?
"WALKING" CHARITY
Writing a disclaimer often is very tedious and energy sapping, so i intend to keep this disclaimer as short as possible.......
Disclaimer
Certain people close to me may be quoted in this blog, in such cases they will be duly attributed. In any case where there be any resemblance of characters in my blog to real life, whether of persons, objects, or circumstances besides the ones who i attribute to are purely coincidental. Thank you!
WALKING CHARITY
Couple of weeks ago I, along side a number of my friends hosted a charity event for teenage orphans from an orphanage in rural town Gishiri, Abuja. It was a PHOTO POWER Initiative, with theme "Hope For Gishiri" .
My friend Yinka Taiwo came up with the vision and then requested our help to contribute into bringing that vision to fruition. Many people i spoke with about this project thought it a smart and thouthful idea but never believed a few youngsters like us could pull it off. That upsetted me greatly. Many people do not understand the plight of less priviledged people especially where it affects kids. Some are fortunate to have grown up in a home with two parents and many relations to help cater for their every need, thus they take such advantage for granted.
Well, pull if off we did, and may i add, remarkably well. This project ran for two weeks, we taught the teenage kids of the orphanage all aspects of photography. From camera functions to taking shots, editing to framing and so on. Several photographers volunteered to teach these kids and also take them on photo-walks around Abuja metropolis to take pictures of their sorroundings.
At the end of the photo taking sessions, the photographers helped teach them how to edit the best photos which were about 30 in all. They were framed afterward and we began to plan an exhibition to bring the project to a close. We contacted sponsors many of which supported in whatever way they could to the success of the event. Most of us emotionally blackmailed our parents and friends and bosses into supporting such a wonderful cause, and i might add, we really did get them.
We had intended to use the coutyard of the orphanage for the exhibition but decided against that for several reasons including the fact that many peolpe may not be able to easily find their way to the sub-ub where the orphanage is located. A well meaning supporter cleared his Art gallery situated in Wuse 2 right inside town and allowed us hang the photos taken by the kids for the exhibition and auction. It was a big event, even more than we had expected. Many people turned up and came with the intent of buying the photos and/or donating to support the orphans.
The auctioneer was a beautiful lady 'Lara" who gave such a perfect delivery that even people who had no intention of buying these Arts were gingered into doing so. And many who had planned to buy only one or two, ended up bidding for a couple of photos.
At the end of the auction, every one of the photos was sold! remarkable! We were greatly astounded by the love shown for our cause and the donations! When all monies were reconciled, a group of volunteers went to the orphange and donated all of it to the Administrator for the upkeep of the orphans. A couple of cameras were bought and given to the orphans who showed the brightest flair for photography. This is to enable them pursue a career in photography if they wished (and we do hope so), or atleast enjoy it as an Art. Who knows, they may be the next TY Bello of Nigeria or a photo reporter for TIME.
Yinka the founder of the initiative was featured on NTA Network AM Express show and she went along with the best student/orphan of the programme. So also, the story of the event was featured in several Newspapers for the whole of the country to see and even beyond! Truly our hearts were gladdend by the smiles we put on the faces of these kids.
It was a worthwhile programme. And i engender everyone who reads this blog to know that it is our duty to give back to the community. Support the cause of charity in any way you can, be it music, free Healthcare delivery, environmental sanitation or donating your resources into any number of causes.
Do the Walk, not just the Talk.
Gracias amigos.
Disclaimer
Certain people close to me may be quoted in this blog, in such cases they will be duly attributed. In any case where there be any resemblance of characters in my blog to real life, whether of persons, objects, or circumstances besides the ones who i attribute to are purely coincidental. Thank you!
WALKING CHARITY
Couple of weeks ago I, along side a number of my friends hosted a charity event for teenage orphans from an orphanage in rural town Gishiri, Abuja. It was a PHOTO POWER Initiative, with theme "Hope For Gishiri" .
My friend Yinka Taiwo came up with the vision and then requested our help to contribute into bringing that vision to fruition. Many people i spoke with about this project thought it a smart and thouthful idea but never believed a few youngsters like us could pull it off. That upsetted me greatly. Many people do not understand the plight of less priviledged people especially where it affects kids. Some are fortunate to have grown up in a home with two parents and many relations to help cater for their every need, thus they take such advantage for granted.
Well, pull if off we did, and may i add, remarkably well. This project ran for two weeks, we taught the teenage kids of the orphanage all aspects of photography. From camera functions to taking shots, editing to framing and so on. Several photographers volunteered to teach these kids and also take them on photo-walks around Abuja metropolis to take pictures of their sorroundings.
At the end of the photo taking sessions, the photographers helped teach them how to edit the best photos which were about 30 in all. They were framed afterward and we began to plan an exhibition to bring the project to a close. We contacted sponsors many of which supported in whatever way they could to the success of the event. Most of us emotionally blackmailed our parents and friends and bosses into supporting such a wonderful cause, and i might add, we really did get them.
We had intended to use the coutyard of the orphanage for the exhibition but decided against that for several reasons including the fact that many peolpe may not be able to easily find their way to the sub-ub where the orphanage is located. A well meaning supporter cleared his Art gallery situated in Wuse 2 right inside town and allowed us hang the photos taken by the kids for the exhibition and auction. It was a big event, even more than we had expected. Many people turned up and came with the intent of buying the photos and/or donating to support the orphans.
The auctioneer was a beautiful lady 'Lara" who gave such a perfect delivery that even people who had no intention of buying these Arts were gingered into doing so. And many who had planned to buy only one or two, ended up bidding for a couple of photos.
At the end of the auction, every one of the photos was sold! remarkable! We were greatly astounded by the love shown for our cause and the donations! When all monies were reconciled, a group of volunteers went to the orphange and donated all of it to the Administrator for the upkeep of the orphans. A couple of cameras were bought and given to the orphans who showed the brightest flair for photography. This is to enable them pursue a career in photography if they wished (and we do hope so), or atleast enjoy it as an Art. Who knows, they may be the next TY Bello of Nigeria or a photo reporter for TIME.
Yinka the founder of the initiative was featured on NTA Network AM Express show and she went along with the best student/orphan of the programme. So also, the story of the event was featured in several Newspapers for the whole of the country to see and even beyond! Truly our hearts were gladdend by the smiles we put on the faces of these kids.
It was a worthwhile programme. And i engender everyone who reads this blog to know that it is our duty to give back to the community. Support the cause of charity in any way you can, be it music, free Healthcare delivery, environmental sanitation or donating your resources into any number of causes.
Do the Walk, not just the Talk.
Gracias amigos.
Thursday 6 September 2012
THE LATE BLOOMER
Disclaimer
Any resemblance of characters in my blog to real life, whether of persons, objects, or circumstances are purely coincidental. Also, try as much as you can not to use contents of this blog to judge my persona, well its not like i care anyway. For the sake of your psychological health, take everytthing on face value. This is because alot of crazy things may be spewed here that can turn even the most stoic into locos and may even depress some -__- . You should just enjoy the read and you could even pick up a few things that will help. *that being detrimental to you ofcourse*. The lot of sane things here will most likely to have been written by Jemimah. However, any inhibition you may have as regards the use of profanity in this blog is purely the fault of Nikky. She is my co-blogger and as others may well know "my alter-ego". Therefore any and all complaints should be forwarded to her desk. And to tell you the truth, she usually doesn't give a hoot. So you might like to do yourself a favour and ignore anything that may offend you.
THE LATE BLOOMER
My name is Keren and i'll be 22 years old in December. I had always been a late bloom child. Sort of like the ugly duckling who only became a lovely swan long after his peers.
Growing up in a typical Nigerian home, in a typical Nigerian society, with typical Christain Northern parents + adults around me had its perks. Trust our ancient parents whose idea of fun was to match make their kids. Probably twas all a joke, and probably in a little corner of their hearts they hoped their kids will grow to marry each other someday, so the family's ties could be knotted forever. For as early as i can remember, everyone teased me and called me TY's wife. I was probably 5 or 6 at that time and i was very embarrassed! I will wail and run into any room and hide under the bed anytime TY and his family came over to visit. And trust boy kids, he will embark on a search campaign to find me and drag me out to the parlour. He seemed to really enjoy being "mijin keren".
One thing you should know was that I was never a shy girl. I sang at the children's church choir and was always at the front row. (In retrospect, i dont think they let me stand there because i had a good voice, its most likely because i was just knee high + i had a tendency of bringing down the house if i didn't get what i wanted). Besides that, i was always at every debate and literary function in school. But for some strange reason, i never liked the whole match-making thing.
Maybe, that should have warned me that i was probably building an apathy towards friendships and all that, because as i grew up i really didn't like boys. That was partly because i went to a girls school through out my secondary education. And also because it was frowned at if you had many male friends, as you were easily tagged "a loose girl". And for a teenage girl in secondary that was a huge insult. The fact that i didn't mature early also played a huge part. Guys only "toasted" the girls who were "grown". By that i mean, girls with developed boobies. As for me i was just poor ol' tiny winny black Keren. At age nine a couple of girls in school already had boyfriends and were overly pleased to show it off, while i was forming Tomboy and busy still playing "hide and seek" with match made boyfriends.
When i started "growing up", i would cover myself in Baggy trousers to hide a rather fine body that was forming. Unknowingly, i was passing off the wrong signals. Guys who liked me thought i would never like them back and so never bolstered enough courage to ask me out, even as i grew older.
It wasn't totally a bad situation though, because while other girls were more bothered about their appearances and such, i focused my entire energy into my books. That, did reap good fruits somewhere along the line. But as a hausa adage goes "ko wata gauta jah ne, sai dai bata sha rana ba", when it was time to blossom, the Rose (that is ME) really did bloom. An awareness of my feminity(which i never knew existed) continuosly bloomed like a big red rose flower.
Then i got all the attention i had missed out on + had a better standing, as all those years of burying myself in books and novels paid off. I wasn't only just a beauty, but one with even more brains.
Enjoy your day!
P.S
Please comment, share + Subscribe to my blog. Lets help build a strong online presence. ONE LUV.
Any resemblance of characters in my blog to real life, whether of persons, objects, or circumstances are purely coincidental. Also, try as much as you can not to use contents of this blog to judge my persona, well its not like i care anyway. For the sake of your psychological health, take everytthing on face value. This is because alot of crazy things may be spewed here that can turn even the most stoic into locos and may even depress some -__- . You should just enjoy the read and you could even pick up a few things that will help. *that being detrimental to you ofcourse*. The lot of sane things here will most likely to have been written by Jemimah. However, any inhibition you may have as regards the use of profanity in this blog is purely the fault of Nikky. She is my co-blogger and as others may well know "my alter-ego". Therefore any and all complaints should be forwarded to her desk. And to tell you the truth, she usually doesn't give a hoot. So you might like to do yourself a favour and ignore anything that may offend you.
THE LATE BLOOMER
My name is Keren and i'll be 22 years old in December. I had always been a late bloom child. Sort of like the ugly duckling who only became a lovely swan long after his peers.
Growing up in a typical Nigerian home, in a typical Nigerian society, with typical Christain Northern parents + adults around me had its perks. Trust our ancient parents whose idea of fun was to match make their kids. Probably twas all a joke, and probably in a little corner of their hearts they hoped their kids will grow to marry each other someday, so the family's ties could be knotted forever. For as early as i can remember, everyone teased me and called me TY's wife. I was probably 5 or 6 at that time and i was very embarrassed! I will wail and run into any room and hide under the bed anytime TY and his family came over to visit. And trust boy kids, he will embark on a search campaign to find me and drag me out to the parlour. He seemed to really enjoy being "mijin keren".
One thing you should know was that I was never a shy girl. I sang at the children's church choir and was always at the front row. (In retrospect, i dont think they let me stand there because i had a good voice, its most likely because i was just knee high + i had a tendency of bringing down the house if i didn't get what i wanted). Besides that, i was always at every debate and literary function in school. But for some strange reason, i never liked the whole match-making thing.
Maybe, that should have warned me that i was probably building an apathy towards friendships and all that, because as i grew up i really didn't like boys. That was partly because i went to a girls school through out my secondary education. And also because it was frowned at if you had many male friends, as you were easily tagged "a loose girl". And for a teenage girl in secondary that was a huge insult. The fact that i didn't mature early also played a huge part. Guys only "toasted" the girls who were "grown". By that i mean, girls with developed boobies. As for me i was just poor ol' tiny winny black Keren. At age nine a couple of girls in school already had boyfriends and were overly pleased to show it off, while i was forming Tomboy and busy still playing "hide and seek" with match made boyfriends.
When i started "growing up", i would cover myself in Baggy trousers to hide a rather fine body that was forming. Unknowingly, i was passing off the wrong signals. Guys who liked me thought i would never like them back and so never bolstered enough courage to ask me out, even as i grew older.
It wasn't totally a bad situation though, because while other girls were more bothered about their appearances and such, i focused my entire energy into my books. That, did reap good fruits somewhere along the line. But as a hausa adage goes "ko wata gauta jah ne, sai dai bata sha rana ba", when it was time to blossom, the Rose (that is ME) really did bloom. An awareness of my feminity(which i never knew existed) continuosly bloomed like a big red rose flower.
Then i got all the attention i had missed out on + had a better standing, as all those years of burying myself in books and novels paid off. I wasn't only just a beauty, but one with even more brains.
Enjoy your day!
P.S
Please comment, share + Subscribe to my blog. Lets help build a strong online presence. ONE LUV.
Wednesday 5 September 2012
MY CUPID HELPERS
Disclaimer
Any resemblance of characters in my blog to real life, whether of persons, objects, or circumstances are purely coincidental. Also, try as much as you can not to use contents of this blog to judge my persona, well its not like i care anyway. For the sake of your psychological health, take everytthing on face value. This is because alot of crazy things may be spewed here that can turn even the most stoic into locos and may even depress some -__- . You should just enjoy the read and you could even pick up a few things that will help. *that being detrimental to you ofcourse*. The lot of sane things here will most likely to have been written by Jemimah. However, any inhibition you may have as regards the use of profanity in this blog is purely the fault of Nikky. She is my co-blogger and as others may well know "my alter-ego". Therefore any and all complaints should be forwarded to her desk. And to tell you the truth, she usually doesn't give a hoot. So you might like to do yourself a favour and ignore anything that may offend you.
My Cupid Helpers
Every single girl/lady from age 18 who has attained an A-level must have been put under a "when will you marry search light" every once in a while. Funny enough, it is rarely our own mothers who breathe down our necks with such inquisitions, but mostly distant aunts and cousins who have probably not known jack about your life since you were 5yrs old.
Gone were d 90's where a lady wasn't roped into marriage talks until she is approaching the big 3 "0". That was the era most of us saw our aunts and elder siblings grow up in, so had fashioned our lives to getting married at our late 20s. This proves constantly changing these days for many reasons.
One, our childhood friends are married, some just tied the knot and some have 2 kids before their 23rd birthday. Now our parents + parent figures feel they are duty bound to get their own kids wedded off.
Couple of days ago, my late father's sister whom i hadn't seen for over 17years came visiting. She had felt guilty about staying away from my siblings and i for so long. Not like i am one for a reunion or anything, but i felt since her visit was to born out of guilt, i thought i could atleast be friendly enough to her. After i had endured the whole semi-apologies/catching up, i needed to got away from all that, so i snuck off to my room, turned on my music loud and was bobbing my head to my favourite rock band.
Dear aunt felt she had gisted enough with my other siblings and so she knocked on my door. In retrospect now, i wish i had faked being asleep to avoid any conversation. Instead i let her come in with plans to quickly exchange light conversation and dismiss myself. Unfortunately for me, after what seemed like a sentence of honest conversation she went straight to the matter that really did bring her to my room.
She goes, "erm baby, so now you are through with university right?" i replied in the affirmative. And then she goes "Tor, saura aure ko?" (meaning - "all that is left is to get married right?") To that i gave a fake half laugh that many people attribute to me being uninterested in a discussion. Obviously she didnt get it, and she went on and on about the importance of getting married as soon as possible.... (as if she was one to talk to me about anything, she being absent through my formative life and beyond). Through all her talking though, i nodded, half-smiled and faked interest, until i couldn't fake it anymore. I had to lie that i had a headache and needed to get some sleep before she excused herself.
Similarly, my friend's mother recently bought her a gold earring set with hopes that she wears it at her introduction! Mind you she and her beau haven't even taken d "serious/exclusive relationship" step yet. With this push from her mom now she has to start mildly pushing boo towards that decision.
The other day, a married friend of mine gave a friend of hers my pin + number, openly trying to hook us up (by the way, did I mention she did so without my permission?) When I berrated her she dismissed it flippantly, In her words, "well its not like you are married nor have a serious boy friend, so just try dating him, you will like him". Last time I checked I never told her I needed help getting guys, nor did I insinuate that I wasn't seeing anyone. But to her, so far as I haven't told her "hey chic, dis is d guy I wanna marry" that means I'm very available.
Having always been one who keeps my personal life quiet, I would expect her to know that i never say a personal thing without being very sure first, and for that, to respect my privacy act. But I guess to some people hushing up means I'm desperate& probably too depressed to talk about it.
Not like the thoughts of our dear cupid helpers are necessarily wrong. But its just that sometimes they should let us do things at our own pace. And if you "must" interfere, please let it come in a form of prayer to God anytime you kneel to pray.
Buenos Dias!
Salut amigos
Any resemblance of characters in my blog to real life, whether of persons, objects, or circumstances are purely coincidental. Also, try as much as you can not to use contents of this blog to judge my persona, well its not like i care anyway. For the sake of your psychological health, take everytthing on face value. This is because alot of crazy things may be spewed here that can turn even the most stoic into locos and may even depress some -__- . You should just enjoy the read and you could even pick up a few things that will help. *that being detrimental to you ofcourse*. The lot of sane things here will most likely to have been written by Jemimah. However, any inhibition you may have as regards the use of profanity in this blog is purely the fault of Nikky. She is my co-blogger and as others may well know "my alter-ego". Therefore any and all complaints should be forwarded to her desk. And to tell you the truth, she usually doesn't give a hoot. So you might like to do yourself a favour and ignore anything that may offend you.
My Cupid Helpers
Every single girl/lady from age 18 who has attained an A-level must have been put under a "when will you marry search light" every once in a while. Funny enough, it is rarely our own mothers who breathe down our necks with such inquisitions, but mostly distant aunts and cousins who have probably not known jack about your life since you were 5yrs old.
Gone were d 90's where a lady wasn't roped into marriage talks until she is approaching the big 3 "0". That was the era most of us saw our aunts and elder siblings grow up in, so had fashioned our lives to getting married at our late 20s. This proves constantly changing these days for many reasons.
One, our childhood friends are married, some just tied the knot and some have 2 kids before their 23rd birthday. Now our parents + parent figures feel they are duty bound to get their own kids wedded off.
Couple of days ago, my late father's sister whom i hadn't seen for over 17years came visiting. She had felt guilty about staying away from my siblings and i for so long. Not like i am one for a reunion or anything, but i felt since her visit was to born out of guilt, i thought i could atleast be friendly enough to her. After i had endured the whole semi-apologies/catching up, i needed to got away from all that, so i snuck off to my room, turned on my music loud and was bobbing my head to my favourite rock band.
Dear aunt felt she had gisted enough with my other siblings and so she knocked on my door. In retrospect now, i wish i had faked being asleep to avoid any conversation. Instead i let her come in with plans to quickly exchange light conversation and dismiss myself. Unfortunately for me, after what seemed like a sentence of honest conversation she went straight to the matter that really did bring her to my room.
She goes, "erm baby, so now you are through with university right?" i replied in the affirmative. And then she goes "Tor, saura aure ko?" (meaning - "all that is left is to get married right?") To that i gave a fake half laugh that many people attribute to me being uninterested in a discussion. Obviously she didnt get it, and she went on and on about the importance of getting married as soon as possible.... (as if she was one to talk to me about anything, she being absent through my formative life and beyond). Through all her talking though, i nodded, half-smiled and faked interest, until i couldn't fake it anymore. I had to lie that i had a headache and needed to get some sleep before she excused herself.
Similarly, my friend's mother recently bought her a gold earring set with hopes that she wears it at her introduction! Mind you she and her beau haven't even taken d "serious/exclusive relationship" step yet. With this push from her mom now she has to start mildly pushing boo towards that decision.
The other day, a married friend of mine gave a friend of hers my pin + number, openly trying to hook us up (by the way, did I mention she did so without my permission?) When I berrated her she dismissed it flippantly, In her words, "well its not like you are married nor have a serious boy friend, so just try dating him, you will like him". Last time I checked I never told her I needed help getting guys, nor did I insinuate that I wasn't seeing anyone. But to her, so far as I haven't told her "hey chic, dis is d guy I wanna marry" that means I'm very available.
Having always been one who keeps my personal life quiet, I would expect her to know that i never say a personal thing without being very sure first, and for that, to respect my privacy act. But I guess to some people hushing up means I'm desperate& probably too depressed to talk about it.
Not like the thoughts of our dear cupid helpers are necessarily wrong. But its just that sometimes they should let us do things at our own pace. And if you "must" interfere, please let it come in a form of prayer to God anytime you kneel to pray.
Buenos Dias!
Salut amigos
Jemimah Nikky Jatau: THOSE EVER PRESENT HOUSEGUESTS
Jemimah Nikky Jatau: THOSE EVER PRESENT HOUSEGUESTS: Disclaimer Consistently having to write a disclaimer is beginning to become mundane, redundant and increasingly boring. However, for the s...
THOSE EVER PRESENT HOUSEGUESTS
Disclaimer
Consistently having to write a disclaimer is beginning to become mundane, redundant and increasingly boring. However, for the sake of my rather empty bank account i am forced to do so, in any event that a disgruntled person may decide to "try to" sue -___-. So here we go....
Certain people close to me may be quoted in this blog (with their permission ofcourse), in such cases they will be duly attributed. In any case where there be any resemblance of characters in my blog to real life, whether of persons, objects, or circumstances besides the ones i attribute to are purely coincidental. You should try not to be too critical to matters of this blog post. Just enjoy the read and you could even pick up a few things that will help. *i cant assure you though that none will be detrimental to you ofcourse*. The lot of sane things here will most likely to have been written by Jemimah. However, any inhibition you may have as regards the use of profanity in this blog is purely the fault of Nikky. She is my co-blogger and as others may well know "my alter-ego". Therefore any and all complaints should be forwarded to her desk. And to tell you the truth, she usually doesn't give a hoot. So you might like to do yourself a favour and ignore anything that may offend you.
THOSE EVER PRESENT HOUSEGUESTS
Growing up in a large family had its upside and alotta downsides trust me. The upside was swell as there were always elder siblings, cousins, aunts and uncles to help take care of me. Do my laundry, take me to school, cook my meals and so on. The downsides were never noticed until many years later.
Having spent most of my years away in boarding school from JSS1 to University, i had never been home for more than 2 months at a time. Upon graduation from Uni was when i began to get antsy by the amount of people living in my house. Though many had gone to get married and start their families, many more had come to live with us to replace them.
It makes the house seem like a constant market place. A beehive of activity and constant frustration. Where you keep an item is never where you will return to find it. And as common with all big households no one will ever admit to moving it away to another location. So it seems like besides the gazillion house members their also seemingly exists some ghosts who move around undoing everything that everyone does.
Growing up in such a house teaches one to be accomodating and open to provide room and board to anyone who is in need. This though a good lesson could be uncomfortable as everyone in the house is free to invite a friend who is in town and needs a place to crash for a couple of days (and as normal with africans, that translates to weeks un-end)
Now that puts the entire family (i actually mean ME) in a fix. Though i am a people person, i really do greatly crave my own space. i am one of those weirdos who on days i am home, could stay inside my room through out the day without stepping out. I enjoy my company so much i donot like being forced to share my little space with anyone.
But then the family must have guests, and when they do come they are to share my room with me and that just gnaws at me. I have had my own fair share of annoying guests and a couple of fun ones. Ranging from the ones who "jarumpa" (that is toss and turn and flay their arms and legs uncontrollably) to those who help out greatly in house chores.
It is usually the "jarumpa" filled ones that pose the highest threat to my sanity. They give me such a heavy thrashing at night that i wake up with body pain and i am forced to catch up on the lost sleep at work. Now that is very unhealthy.
During my formative years i really wanted to have a large family for myself. Actually, anyone who is close to me know that i would want to have 6 children. But now, my orientation really has changed. For the sake of any kid of mine who will have my attitude, i pray to God for just two, as this will provide everyone with enough personal space. When there is so much money, i could adopt other kids each with his/her own quarters so they dont bump into each with every turn they make.
Now that all is said and i am done purging my heart out, i am going back to work before my boss notices that i am using office time and resources to update my blog. And on the matter of my boss, i should blog our interesting office relationship soon.
Adious Amigos
Consistently having to write a disclaimer is beginning to become mundane, redundant and increasingly boring. However, for the sake of my rather empty bank account i am forced to do so, in any event that a disgruntled person may decide to "try to" sue -___-. So here we go....
Certain people close to me may be quoted in this blog (with their permission ofcourse), in such cases they will be duly attributed. In any case where there be any resemblance of characters in my blog to real life, whether of persons, objects, or circumstances besides the ones i attribute to are purely coincidental. You should try not to be too critical to matters of this blog post. Just enjoy the read and you could even pick up a few things that will help. *i cant assure you though that none will be detrimental to you ofcourse*. The lot of sane things here will most likely to have been written by Jemimah. However, any inhibition you may have as regards the use of profanity in this blog is purely the fault of Nikky. She is my co-blogger and as others may well know "my alter-ego". Therefore any and all complaints should be forwarded to her desk. And to tell you the truth, she usually doesn't give a hoot. So you might like to do yourself a favour and ignore anything that may offend you.
THOSE EVER PRESENT HOUSEGUESTS
Growing up in a large family had its upside and alotta downsides trust me. The upside was swell as there were always elder siblings, cousins, aunts and uncles to help take care of me. Do my laundry, take me to school, cook my meals and so on. The downsides were never noticed until many years later.
Having spent most of my years away in boarding school from JSS1 to University, i had never been home for more than 2 months at a time. Upon graduation from Uni was when i began to get antsy by the amount of people living in my house. Though many had gone to get married and start their families, many more had come to live with us to replace them.
It makes the house seem like a constant market place. A beehive of activity and constant frustration. Where you keep an item is never where you will return to find it. And as common with all big households no one will ever admit to moving it away to another location. So it seems like besides the gazillion house members their also seemingly exists some ghosts who move around undoing everything that everyone does.
Growing up in such a house teaches one to be accomodating and open to provide room and board to anyone who is in need. This though a good lesson could be uncomfortable as everyone in the house is free to invite a friend who is in town and needs a place to crash for a couple of days (and as normal with africans, that translates to weeks un-end)
Now that puts the entire family (i actually mean ME) in a fix. Though i am a people person, i really do greatly crave my own space. i am one of those weirdos who on days i am home, could stay inside my room through out the day without stepping out. I enjoy my company so much i donot like being forced to share my little space with anyone.
But then the family must have guests, and when they do come they are to share my room with me and that just gnaws at me. I have had my own fair share of annoying guests and a couple of fun ones. Ranging from the ones who "jarumpa" (that is toss and turn and flay their arms and legs uncontrollably) to those who help out greatly in house chores.
It is usually the "jarumpa" filled ones that pose the highest threat to my sanity. They give me such a heavy thrashing at night that i wake up with body pain and i am forced to catch up on the lost sleep at work. Now that is very unhealthy.
During my formative years i really wanted to have a large family for myself. Actually, anyone who is close to me know that i would want to have 6 children. But now, my orientation really has changed. For the sake of any kid of mine who will have my attitude, i pray to God for just two, as this will provide everyone with enough personal space. When there is so much money, i could adopt other kids each with his/her own quarters so they dont bump into each with every turn they make.
Now that all is said and i am done purging my heart out, i am going back to work before my boss notices that i am using office time and resources to update my blog. And on the matter of my boss, i should blog our interesting office relationship soon.
Adious Amigos
Tuesday 4 September 2012
8 GIRLS IN THE HANDS OF 8 DEVILISH MEN
Disclaimer
This post is designed to share a link to a rather interesting story from another blog post. Therefore, any resemblance of characters in my blog to real life, whether of persons, objects, or circumstances are purely coincidental. Also, try as much as you can not to use contents of this blog to judge my persona, well its not like i care anyway. The lot of sane things here will most likely to have been written by Jemimah. However, any inhibition you may have as regards the use of profanity in this blog is purely the fault of Nikky. She is my co-blogger and as others may well know "my alter-ego". Therefore any and all complaints should be forwarded to her desk. And to tell you the truth, she usually doesn't give a hoot. So you might like to do yourself a favour and ignore anything that may offend you.
You all should take out time to read it and share with others also. Life is too precious for us to be careless with it. Thank you
http://t.co/cF7vccY7
This post is designed to share a link to a rather interesting story from another blog post. Therefore, any resemblance of characters in my blog to real life, whether of persons, objects, or circumstances are purely coincidental. Also, try as much as you can not to use contents of this blog to judge my persona, well its not like i care anyway. The lot of sane things here will most likely to have been written by Jemimah. However, any inhibition you may have as regards the use of profanity in this blog is purely the fault of Nikky. She is my co-blogger and as others may well know "my alter-ego". Therefore any and all complaints should be forwarded to her desk. And to tell you the truth, she usually doesn't give a hoot. So you might like to do yourself a favour and ignore anything that may offend you.
You all should take out time to read it and share with others also. Life is too precious for us to be careless with it. Thank you
http://t.co/cF7vccY7
Friday 24 August 2012
THE DREAM OF A NIGERIAN YOUTH, OR IS IT "UNDREAM"?
Disclaimer
Certain people close to me may be quoted in this blog, in such cases they will be duly attributed. In any case where there be any resemblance of characters in my blog to real life, whether of persons, objects, or circumstances besides the ones who i attribute to are purely coincidental. You should try not to be too critical to matters of this blog post. Just enjoy the read and you could even pick up a few things that will help. *i cant assure you though that none will be detrimental to you ofcourse*. The lot of sane things here will most likely to have been written by Jemimah. However, any inhibition you may have as regards the use of profanity in this blog is purely the fault of Nikky. She is my co-blogger and as others may well know "my alter-ego". Therefore any and all complaints should be forwarded to her desk. And to tell you the truth, she usually doesn't give a hoot. So you might like to do yourself a favour and ignore anything that may offend you.
THE DREAM OF A NIGERIAN YOUTH, OR IS IT "UNDREAM"?
The issue behind my write up is something i have been mulling over in my mind for a while now, but just finally felt brave enough to pen it down. This was brought about by a chat i had last night with a good friend of mine who now lives in America. Our discussion though brief was one of the most insightful exchange i had had with him in a while. He may probably have just brushed it off, but it kept me awake all night thinking about the dream of Nigerian Youths, so much that i woke up with a light headache.
My friend whose name is Bravy read a link i posted on one of the social networks and sent me a message congratulating me for my insight. Now, that got me very surprised, because since i knew him he never struck me as someone to go through the internet to read such insightful materials. Not because he isnt a smart kid, infact far from it! He is an intelligent chap though playful. We had wrecked quite a few havocs back in the day as kids.
One thing he said that got me thinking was that, had he been in Nigeria when i posted that link he really doubts he would have ever read it. Because his laptop battery may have been dead as there was rarely ever any electricity to get it charged. Also, internet access could have been scrambled or limited and so wouldn't be able to access the net. These among many others are factual scenenarios that abound in our lovely yet far behind country. Others include, the lackadaisical attitude that many youths in Nigeria have about reading. It is general knowledge that reading may not be very interesting to many people, however, to be informed and enlightened you really do have to read. Learn other people's experience and apply them.
This got me thinking about many intelligent, sharp and smart Nigerian youths that i know. Young people with so much potential and great insight as regards happenings around the world and within Nigeria.But they would rather smoke weed than push hard into developing themselves. Their claim is always that the country is messed up and doesnt care for its youths and wouldnt provide jobs for them. Thers is only so much the governement can do. What with the constant corruption we hear about and the ever increasing large population. But we the youths lack drive. Both those from very priviledged backgrounds and those from less priviledged ones are caught in this trap. Some use drugs as some form of respite. Respite it really does provide, but it is certainly short lived. Next they become renegades and slow brained, then all efforts put into acquiring education becomes a waste.
There are so many untapped industries in this country, if only we the young ones will open our eyes to find them and tap them! You have to look out for yourself and develop yourself so you could stand out among many and get the opportunity to be somebody early in life.
Not long ago the Federal Government ran a scheme that provided funds for new and budding entrepreneurs. Many people knew of it but didnt apply. Thank God those who did got wonderful grants. The persistent pessimists well what can i say? i do hope we all the light soon and take charge of our destinies.
There is an old time saying by the whites that if you want to hide something from a black man, put it in a book. We thought that was derogatory, but it hasn't totally changed decades later .
if writing for me means atleast one person will read it and apply it, then that piece of information i am passing isn't at all a waste.
Have a good day er'one.
Certain people close to me may be quoted in this blog, in such cases they will be duly attributed. In any case where there be any resemblance of characters in my blog to real life, whether of persons, objects, or circumstances besides the ones who i attribute to are purely coincidental. You should try not to be too critical to matters of this blog post. Just enjoy the read and you could even pick up a few things that will help. *i cant assure you though that none will be detrimental to you ofcourse*. The lot of sane things here will most likely to have been written by Jemimah. However, any inhibition you may have as regards the use of profanity in this blog is purely the fault of Nikky. She is my co-blogger and as others may well know "my alter-ego". Therefore any and all complaints should be forwarded to her desk. And to tell you the truth, she usually doesn't give a hoot. So you might like to do yourself a favour and ignore anything that may offend you.
THE DREAM OF A NIGERIAN YOUTH, OR IS IT "UNDREAM"?
The issue behind my write up is something i have been mulling over in my mind for a while now, but just finally felt brave enough to pen it down. This was brought about by a chat i had last night with a good friend of mine who now lives in America. Our discussion though brief was one of the most insightful exchange i had had with him in a while. He may probably have just brushed it off, but it kept me awake all night thinking about the dream of Nigerian Youths, so much that i woke up with a light headache.
My friend whose name is Bravy read a link i posted on one of the social networks and sent me a message congratulating me for my insight. Now, that got me very surprised, because since i knew him he never struck me as someone to go through the internet to read such insightful materials. Not because he isnt a smart kid, infact far from it! He is an intelligent chap though playful. We had wrecked quite a few havocs back in the day as kids.
One thing he said that got me thinking was that, had he been in Nigeria when i posted that link he really doubts he would have ever read it. Because his laptop battery may have been dead as there was rarely ever any electricity to get it charged. Also, internet access could have been scrambled or limited and so wouldn't be able to access the net. These among many others are factual scenenarios that abound in our lovely yet far behind country. Others include, the lackadaisical attitude that many youths in Nigeria have about reading. It is general knowledge that reading may not be very interesting to many people, however, to be informed and enlightened you really do have to read. Learn other people's experience and apply them.
This got me thinking about many intelligent, sharp and smart Nigerian youths that i know. Young people with so much potential and great insight as regards happenings around the world and within Nigeria.But they would rather smoke weed than push hard into developing themselves. Their claim is always that the country is messed up and doesnt care for its youths and wouldnt provide jobs for them. Thers is only so much the governement can do. What with the constant corruption we hear about and the ever increasing large population. But we the youths lack drive. Both those from very priviledged backgrounds and those from less priviledged ones are caught in this trap. Some use drugs as some form of respite. Respite it really does provide, but it is certainly short lived. Next they become renegades and slow brained, then all efforts put into acquiring education becomes a waste.
There are so many untapped industries in this country, if only we the young ones will open our eyes to find them and tap them! You have to look out for yourself and develop yourself so you could stand out among many and get the opportunity to be somebody early in life.
Not long ago the Federal Government ran a scheme that provided funds for new and budding entrepreneurs. Many people knew of it but didnt apply. Thank God those who did got wonderful grants. The persistent pessimists well what can i say? i do hope we all the light soon and take charge of our destinies.
There is an old time saying by the whites that if you want to hide something from a black man, put it in a book. We thought that was derogatory, but it hasn't totally changed decades later .
if writing for me means atleast one person will read it and apply it, then that piece of information i am passing isn't at all a waste.
Have a good day er'one.
Thursday 23 August 2012
THE IRONY OF ATTAINING A MASTERS DEGREE
Surfing the internet for the past one month trying to decide what university is affordable yet offers qualitative education for my average economic cadre has left me more disillusioned day by day. Being one of those people who believe a UK and/or USA education is much more qualitative than other countries cum that of Nigeria, i very easily began checking those spheres. After checking the rates for over 10 schools, i realized if i approached my mother with such a cost i may give her a heart attack. So i began looking for scholarship offerings that may reduce the cost of tuition for me. There, i "jam rock" as they would say in pigin english.
Now at my wits end and realizing i may not be able to afford Masters in jand right now, i went back to browsing and making inquiries for admission in a Nigerian University. I was specifically looking for one close to my city so schooling wouldn't put a strain on my work and my resources. Asking around i got a couple of schools that could work. That was supposed to have given me some respite, however, it further left me more frustrated.
First, i had to consider the erratic situation of Nigerian colleges, strikes, lecturer issues, sorting and all related shenanigans to education in Nigeria. Then i got an Eastern university which had a study centre in my town and i was elated. This means i could continue working and still school with little or no hitches at all. Just when i was about to get a form, the FG decided to set up a committee that will probe Nigerian universities. Among their portfolio was to re-call centres of universities that are not in the same town with the parent university. There, i struck rock deep down in the well. That meant no headway yet.
Then i got information about a university not so far offering a course close to what i wanted to read. I decided to give it a trial since one masters degree is better no masters degree at all. I got their form, filled it and submitted. Before admissions were slated to be out i took the liberty of asking the course coordinator how much the fees may come to. To my utter surprise, i learnt that to run the course i am applying for, it will cost me about half a million naira!!!! Now that was absurd! wouldn't i rather save and go abroad? where i know sessions end on as at when due and school life may not be as difficult as it is in Nigeria?
After all these, i am more beat down that i ever was. Now thinking, how important is having a secong degree infact? My boss just completed his MSc after over 20 years of finishing his first degree. And he built a successful business using only his first degree. I guess i am just going to blurt all this masters matter from my mind focus my energy into something else that will develop me and wouldn't depress me.
Peace out!
Now at my wits end and realizing i may not be able to afford Masters in jand right now, i went back to browsing and making inquiries for admission in a Nigerian University. I was specifically looking for one close to my city so schooling wouldn't put a strain on my work and my resources. Asking around i got a couple of schools that could work. That was supposed to have given me some respite, however, it further left me more frustrated.
First, i had to consider the erratic situation of Nigerian colleges, strikes, lecturer issues, sorting and all related shenanigans to education in Nigeria. Then i got an Eastern university which had a study centre in my town and i was elated. This means i could continue working and still school with little or no hitches at all. Just when i was about to get a form, the FG decided to set up a committee that will probe Nigerian universities. Among their portfolio was to re-call centres of universities that are not in the same town with the parent university. There, i struck rock deep down in the well. That meant no headway yet.
Then i got information about a university not so far offering a course close to what i wanted to read. I decided to give it a trial since one masters degree is better no masters degree at all. I got their form, filled it and submitted. Before admissions were slated to be out i took the liberty of asking the course coordinator how much the fees may come to. To my utter surprise, i learnt that to run the course i am applying for, it will cost me about half a million naira!!!! Now that was absurd! wouldn't i rather save and go abroad? where i know sessions end on as at when due and school life may not be as difficult as it is in Nigeria?
After all these, i am more beat down that i ever was. Now thinking, how important is having a secong degree infact? My boss just completed his MSc after over 20 years of finishing his first degree. And he built a successful business using only his first degree. I guess i am just going to blurt all this masters matter from my mind focus my energy into something else that will develop me and wouldn't depress me.
Peace out!
Tuesday 7 August 2012
PARTYING WITH KIDS
Disclaimer
Any resemblance of characters in my blog to real life, whether of persons, objects, or circumstances are purely coincidental. Also, try as much as you can not to use contents of this blog to judge my persona, well its not like i care anyway. For the sake of your psychological health, take everytthing on face value. This is because alot of crazy things may be spewed here that can turn even the most stoic into locos and may even depress some -__- . You should just enjoy the read and you could even pick up a few things that will help. *that being detrimental to you ofcourse*. The lot of sane things here will most likely to have been written by Jemimah. However, any inhibition you may have as regards the use of profanity in this blog is purely the fault of Nikky. She is my co-blogger and as others may well know "my alter-ego". Therefore any and all complaints should be forwarded to her desk. And to tell you the truth, she usually doesn't give a hoot. So you might like to do yourself a favour and ignore anything that may offend you.
PARTYING WITH KIDS
Some may already have ran ahead of themselves and imagined that this is an awful topic for a blog. Well you are not far from the truth, but *tatafo* who send you work? me wey write am no know which topic i prefer?
Reason i chose this to write this is as obvious as the fact that the time is 3.30pm on a slow tuesday afternoon and there's nothing to do at work. Recapping over the events of the last weekend i find myself drawn to the rather bizzare event i and my close buddies went for on friday. Invited by some acquaintances who are believed to be the creme de la creme of town to a pool party thrown by them. I was so excited and so snagged a couple of invites for myself and my friends. So my bestie who stays outta town was coming to visit me and i wanted to show her a good time and thought the pool party was a good idea to kick start the bloody fun weekend. As I had feigned a head ache and so took the day off work, i had plenty time on my hand to try on all my bikinis to see which one would fit more. As i hadn't been to the pool in a while, i had added some weight in some pleasant places, i so needed a pair that will flatter me + make me look gorgeous. So i decided on what i thought was the perfect fit. I texted my friends so much to remind them about the pool affair that they began to get pissed. I fidgeted till twas pool time. My friend, the dude (who i must confess, i kind of had the hots for) was picking we the ladies up. I couldnt wait to show up my improved bikini bod hoping he'll be impressed. and then we jorneyed 30minutes to the "undisclosed location" of the party. Upon reaching the pool, good music was playing and i began to bop my head and get jiggy, while i led the pack in. Just then, i stopped right in my tracks making the entire crew to bump into me. I almost ran out in total shame. Scattered around the pool were teenage kids, many of whom were my juniors in secondary school who i uesd to send to fetch me bathing water + wash my clothes *asper typical 9ja federal govt. school* While i tried to make us turn back and leave, my host unfortunately spotted me and shouted my name. Now everyone's eyes were on us and i felt like the floor should open up and cover me. We were dragged to a place to sit, drinks and small chop *which oyinbo call finger foods* were served and i tried constantly to avoid the gazes of those little kids. The boys ogled and the girls gave us a murderous look like ''old women, wont you go home and allow us to rock?" while they unabashedly sent "my man" the Come-hither-look. As a sabi boy, he basked in their attention, much to my disdain! Like dude these are kids in their late teens and you are like in your late 20s! Well, after we downed our refreshment *asper food cannot waste* we surreptuosly sneaked away from the party. From then i burnt my bridges about attenting all those overly hyped social affairs again!
Remind me later to write on this ever increasing urge for girls/ladies to date + want to marry men way older than they are. talking 10 years and above age difference.And why the men seem to be flattered by that and even blatantly insinuate they can't marry a woman who is above 25years old. Saying things like *"she is no longer fresh", "her juices have been dried up", "what was she doing when her mates were married at 20" etc* Mind you, these guys aren't less than 30years! what irony!
Any resemblance of characters in my blog to real life, whether of persons, objects, or circumstances are purely coincidental. Also, try as much as you can not to use contents of this blog to judge my persona, well its not like i care anyway. For the sake of your psychological health, take everytthing on face value. This is because alot of crazy things may be spewed here that can turn even the most stoic into locos and may even depress some -__- . You should just enjoy the read and you could even pick up a few things that will help. *that being detrimental to you ofcourse*. The lot of sane things here will most likely to have been written by Jemimah. However, any inhibition you may have as regards the use of profanity in this blog is purely the fault of Nikky. She is my co-blogger and as others may well know "my alter-ego". Therefore any and all complaints should be forwarded to her desk. And to tell you the truth, she usually doesn't give a hoot. So you might like to do yourself a favour and ignore anything that may offend you.
PARTYING WITH KIDS
Some may already have ran ahead of themselves and imagined that this is an awful topic for a blog. Well you are not far from the truth, but *tatafo* who send you work? me wey write am no know which topic i prefer?
Reason i chose this to write this is as obvious as the fact that the time is 3.30pm on a slow tuesday afternoon and there's nothing to do at work. Recapping over the events of the last weekend i find myself drawn to the rather bizzare event i and my close buddies went for on friday. Invited by some acquaintances who are believed to be the creme de la creme of town to a pool party thrown by them. I was so excited and so snagged a couple of invites for myself and my friends. So my bestie who stays outta town was coming to visit me and i wanted to show her a good time and thought the pool party was a good idea to kick start the bloody fun weekend. As I had feigned a head ache and so took the day off work, i had plenty time on my hand to try on all my bikinis to see which one would fit more. As i hadn't been to the pool in a while, i had added some weight in some pleasant places, i so needed a pair that will flatter me + make me look gorgeous. So i decided on what i thought was the perfect fit. I texted my friends so much to remind them about the pool affair that they began to get pissed. I fidgeted till twas pool time. My friend, the dude (who i must confess, i kind of had the hots for) was picking we the ladies up. I couldnt wait to show up my improved bikini bod hoping he'll be impressed. and then we jorneyed 30minutes to the "undisclosed location" of the party. Upon reaching the pool, good music was playing and i began to bop my head and get jiggy, while i led the pack in. Just then, i stopped right in my tracks making the entire crew to bump into me. I almost ran out in total shame. Scattered around the pool were teenage kids, many of whom were my juniors in secondary school who i uesd to send to fetch me bathing water + wash my clothes *asper typical 9ja federal govt. school* While i tried to make us turn back and leave, my host unfortunately spotted me and shouted my name. Now everyone's eyes were on us and i felt like the floor should open up and cover me. We were dragged to a place to sit, drinks and small chop *which oyinbo call finger foods* were served and i tried constantly to avoid the gazes of those little kids. The boys ogled and the girls gave us a murderous look like ''old women, wont you go home and allow us to rock?" while they unabashedly sent "my man" the Come-hither-look. As a sabi boy, he basked in their attention, much to my disdain! Like dude these are kids in their late teens and you are like in your late 20s! Well, after we downed our refreshment *asper food cannot waste* we surreptuosly sneaked away from the party. From then i burnt my bridges about attenting all those overly hyped social affairs again!
Remind me later to write on this ever increasing urge for girls/ladies to date + want to marry men way older than they are. talking 10 years and above age difference.And why the men seem to be flattered by that and even blatantly insinuate they can't marry a woman who is above 25years old. Saying things like *"she is no longer fresh", "her juices have been dried up", "what was she doing when her mates were married at 20" etc* Mind you, these guys aren't less than 30years! what irony!
Monday 16 July 2012
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