Jun1110 Excuse Me
I cannot help but publish the link to Victor Ehikhamenor's piece on my blog. It is time people "call a spade a spade." Convincing oneself that poison is juice and drinking it does not prevent one from dying. "Waka Waka eh eh, Tsamina mina Zangalewa." May all the matches end in a draw. Yes,I said so.
Friday, June 11, 2010
Friday, June 4, 2010
THERE’S AN EMPTY SPACE HERE(Part Two)
At break time, I calmly remained in my seat as I contemplated running down to the mini kiosks to buy my favorite coconut candy and toast bread from the women positioned near the back gate or playing “Ten Ten”, a hand clapping and feet stamping game) with the girls at the playground. Finally, I opted for playground which was already teeming. Screams of delight and voices rang so loud that my brain found it difficult to locate any familiar faces.
“Ifeyinwa, Fify baby”, boomed a voice from across the field. My feet froze abruptly at the sound of my name. As I searched for who the voice belonged to, I saw Oluchi sprinting towards me, I squealed excitedly at the sight of my former classmate. She dragged me along towards the group of girls she had left behind to fetch me. At the moment Oluchi attempted to introduce me to the group, an ebony skinned girl with her hands folded across her chest, disengaged one of her hands and interrupted Oluchi. She stepped forward from the perfectly formed circle of girls and addressed Oluchi in such a way that I felt like I was the size of the ‘Tambolo’, a minuscule stinging ant my mother had repeatedly instructed me to be on the watch for. “What is this Oluchi? Remember that we are a clique and we comport ourselves, not running around the school like you are being chased by monkeys and laughing like you have been infected by a pack of hyenas on the loose.”
I was momentarily dazed and I grappled for an appropriate reply to cut this “Miss Perfect for I might be ruffled if you pass by me” to size, but taking a second look at the group surrounding me, I realized who they were. They were known as the “Flow” girls; the letters, F, L, and O coined from Fehintola, Lamide, and Olohi, the official founding members of the group which had been in existence since my third grade, while the letter W literally represented ‘Whomever’ was admitted into the group. Needless to say, the W person changed every school session as the Flow girls always sought after “efikos”, the brainy ones, to compensate for their apparent weakness.
“Tisk, tisk, tisk,” I remarked onomatopoeically. "Oluchi, how could you degrade yourself to collude with these users?” Taking some time to run them through with my black, long eyelashes, I continued. “These nincompoops who want to exploit your academic genius?” Those were huge words for a fifth grader’s vocabulary.
My siblings had always commended my command of the English Language and I decided to seize this opportunity to flaunt my talent and oppress my tormentors. Unintentionally, our high pitched voices complemented by swift neck twisting and finger snapping had attracted a sizeable group of people towards our direction.
“Oh Lord, I hate drama” I muttered under my breath. At the same moment, Fehintola the loud mouthed leader had issued commando instructions to Olohi to slap me. My brain told me to locate the nearest escape route, but I really wanted to fight back. Don’t get me wrong, I am not a weakling, however my family had instructed me sternly that on no uncertain terms should I be involved in a fight at school and I had no plans of ruining my impeccable record of excellent behavior in my fifth year, so I suppressed the urge to react. As Olohi, made her way towards me, I began to brace myself for the pain, when all of a sudden someone called out from the balcony overlooking the playground and diverted everyone’s attention.
“Ifeyinwa, Fify baby”, boomed a voice from across the field. My feet froze abruptly at the sound of my name. As I searched for who the voice belonged to, I saw Oluchi sprinting towards me, I squealed excitedly at the sight of my former classmate. She dragged me along towards the group of girls she had left behind to fetch me. At the moment Oluchi attempted to introduce me to the group, an ebony skinned girl with her hands folded across her chest, disengaged one of her hands and interrupted Oluchi. She stepped forward from the perfectly formed circle of girls and addressed Oluchi in such a way that I felt like I was the size of the ‘Tambolo’, a minuscule stinging ant my mother had repeatedly instructed me to be on the watch for. “What is this Oluchi? Remember that we are a clique and we comport ourselves, not running around the school like you are being chased by monkeys and laughing like you have been infected by a pack of hyenas on the loose.”
I was momentarily dazed and I grappled for an appropriate reply to cut this “Miss Perfect for I might be ruffled if you pass by me” to size, but taking a second look at the group surrounding me, I realized who they were. They were known as the “Flow” girls; the letters, F, L, and O coined from Fehintola, Lamide, and Olohi, the official founding members of the group which had been in existence since my third grade, while the letter W literally represented ‘Whomever’ was admitted into the group. Needless to say, the W person changed every school session as the Flow girls always sought after “efikos”, the brainy ones, to compensate for their apparent weakness.
“Tisk, tisk, tisk,” I remarked onomatopoeically. "Oluchi, how could you degrade yourself to collude with these users?” Taking some time to run them through with my black, long eyelashes, I continued. “These nincompoops who want to exploit your academic genius?” Those were huge words for a fifth grader’s vocabulary.
My siblings had always commended my command of the English Language and I decided to seize this opportunity to flaunt my talent and oppress my tormentors. Unintentionally, our high pitched voices complemented by swift neck twisting and finger snapping had attracted a sizeable group of people towards our direction.
“Oh Lord, I hate drama” I muttered under my breath. At the same moment, Fehintola the loud mouthed leader had issued commando instructions to Olohi to slap me. My brain told me to locate the nearest escape route, but I really wanted to fight back. Don’t get me wrong, I am not a weakling, however my family had instructed me sternly that on no uncertain terms should I be involved in a fight at school and I had no plans of ruining my impeccable record of excellent behavior in my fifth year, so I suppressed the urge to react. As Olohi, made her way towards me, I began to brace myself for the pain, when all of a sudden someone called out from the balcony overlooking the playground and diverted everyone’s attention.
Monday, May 31, 2010
TOILET BUSINESS
It is very difficult to come across a female who publicly declares her intentions to visit the bathroom/toilet/latrine/lavatory/restroom to execute either number one or two. I am not implying mounting a loudspeaker, but the mere thought of others (especially males) finding out that one is in the bathroom ( are people who visit the bathroom abnormal? Trivia question). For this reason, it is not uncommon to hear a female turn on the shower to distract the attention of those within hearing distance from her toilet business. On the contrary many males proudly boast about their toilet exploits even when apprehended about how foul smelling their number two was, the response given often is: “That is evidence of good living.” I know this is a very private business and uncomfortable topic, but please we need to release majority of the female population from the shackles of toilet usage (This is not a behavior exclusive to females, for some males have demonstrated such traits, however it is more common in females).
During my stay in a boarding home for a number of years, I was introduced to several euphemisms coined for business #2, such as “blasting” and “blocking”. For we females these terms where used only in the inner female caucus, despite the fact that the males expressively threw these terms wherever and whenever. It was at this point that it really hit me hard that majority of females refuse to acknowledge that they do business #2, regardless of the option of the above sugar coated alternates. Now, do not bother about preaching the sermon of how it is unladylike to make your intentions clearly known. In fact, 2 Face Idibia’s words in his song, ‘Nfana Ibanga’ ring clear in my head, “I noe go come dey form like say I no dey shayt.”
This is not an attempt to be downright nasty, but an appeal to the female population to accept that it is natural for all animals/mammals/humans to excrete waste products from their body systems. Honestly, things are becoming very critical, I have witnessed a situation where a lady was having a conversation with someone and then suddenly requested to be excused without giving any reason. Of course, whomever she was talking to thought she was trying to make an escape, so the person detained her and my poor lady was in dire straits. Oh yes, I have been a victim of such “ladylike politeness” in former times, but I have come to realize that there is nothing wrong in requesting to be excused to go use the restroom.
On a lighter note, it will help to think about the embarrassing moments you may have encountered while in the bathroom. I will take the first turn. Recently, I hurriedly made my way to use one of the restrooms in school and as soon as I got done with my business, I washed my hands and stretched them out to get a paper towel from one of those hand motion sensor devices. (You know, those things can be very annoying). As I turned to leave, the entire box came crashing down to the floor and it sounded like I had just blown up the entire bathroom. Calmly, I tried to collect my thoughts in this rather unfortunate moment while attempting to reset this exasperating device back, but all to no avail. Finally, I decided to set it on the sink and take the walk of shame out of the restroom, bearing in mind that the next person using the facility after me will wonder what had happened. Feel free to share one of your embarrassing toilet business experiences (definitely, you have had several) whether you are male or female.
FACE LIFT? FACE LIFT, NOT?
It is a regular school day. I wake up fifteen minutes before my first class with the usual complex of what clothes and shoes I should wear. Aware of the time constraint I have, I take a quick shower and put together similar hues from my wardrobe. As I glance at my reflection in the mirror, I am confronted with a question I battle with daily; should I wear makeup today? Or let my ‘natural beauty’ shine through?
Sometimes, I find these questions ridiculous; however, many of my age mates have their minds made up without much thought, when it comes to the question of wearing makeup. Before I make this imperative decision, I reflect on my schedule for the day (the pains females go through). Am I going to do a lot of walking? What is the weather outside like? No one appreciates looking like a steaming kettle. Do I have a class presentation today? Am I going somewhere special after classes? And if I do wear makeup, should I keep my make up simple, ‘natural’, or smashing. That is the crux of the makeup problem. These three looks have what is hot and what is not about them. If you are still confused, three scenarios with these different looks will be painted together with their repercussions.
The simple look comprises applying my mineral power foundation, minimal strokes of my no. 2 eye pencil, and my magical pink, translucent lip gloss. That simple look takes approximately 10 minutes and I race into my morning class, breathless, right before the instructor walks in.
All females will agree that the ‘natural look’ takes as much time as the smashing look. For the ‘natural’ look I strive for the ‘I always look like this’ appeal. Firstly, I ensure that my application of foundation and brown powder blend perfectly with my complexion, while a concealer and primer may be considered. I carefully examine each eyebrow to ensure that there are no stray hairs, and if there are, the tweezers are prompt to act. Total concentration is channeled as I carve my desired arch with my eyebrow pencil. Two coats of lip-gloss are perfect for luscious lips in my case, as I blend a chocolate lip-gloss with a tan lipstick, while not forgetting my lip balm foundation. Did I mention that the ‘natural’ look needs daylight in order to be achieved perfectly? It never hurts to pull up my blinds for the daylight to stream in.
Regardless of the fact that I am late for my first class, I cannot afford to taint my natural look, so I walk cautiously on air into class, ten minutes late, but guess what? I heard a couple of people mention that I look effortlessly pretty.
The smashing look is elicited if I wake up with the urge to be a head turner. I follow the same routine as my simple look with a few additions such as applying a bronze shade of eye shadow to my eye lids, a darker shade to my eye crease, and a little shimmer to glimmer. How could I forget my mascara, my lash blast mascara, to give more volume and length to my stunted eyelashes? A swift application of my lipstick before applying my lip-gloss follows, which I apply, after lining my lips.
As I strut into class ten minutes late, I catch the unmistakable smiles plastered on my classmates’ faces, while I boldly strut into class ten minutes with all the audacity I can muster, blended with a “Mr. Lecturer please understand the plight of females” look.
Nonetheless, as a college student with a huge time debt on my hands, these scenarios hardly come to fruition and I often opt for going to class without wearing makeup. My early arrival enables me to set out my class materials for the day and eagerly anticipate the day’s lecture. As the lecture progresses, I cannot help, but chuckle to myself while I appreciate the time, energy, and effort made by some of my female classmates, who make late entrances into class with the simple, ‘natural’, or smashing makeup looks.
Sometimes, I find these questions ridiculous; however, many of my age mates have their minds made up without much thought, when it comes to the question of wearing makeup. Before I make this imperative decision, I reflect on my schedule for the day (the pains females go through). Am I going to do a lot of walking? What is the weather outside like? No one appreciates looking like a steaming kettle. Do I have a class presentation today? Am I going somewhere special after classes? And if I do wear makeup, should I keep my make up simple, ‘natural’, or smashing. That is the crux of the makeup problem. These three looks have what is hot and what is not about them. If you are still confused, three scenarios with these different looks will be painted together with their repercussions.
The simple look comprises applying my mineral power foundation, minimal strokes of my no. 2 eye pencil, and my magical pink, translucent lip gloss. That simple look takes approximately 10 minutes and I race into my morning class, breathless, right before the instructor walks in.
All females will agree that the ‘natural look’ takes as much time as the smashing look. For the ‘natural’ look I strive for the ‘I always look like this’ appeal. Firstly, I ensure that my application of foundation and brown powder blend perfectly with my complexion, while a concealer and primer may be considered. I carefully examine each eyebrow to ensure that there are no stray hairs, and if there are, the tweezers are prompt to act. Total concentration is channeled as I carve my desired arch with my eyebrow pencil. Two coats of lip-gloss are perfect for luscious lips in my case, as I blend a chocolate lip-gloss with a tan lipstick, while not forgetting my lip balm foundation. Did I mention that the ‘natural’ look needs daylight in order to be achieved perfectly? It never hurts to pull up my blinds for the daylight to stream in.
Regardless of the fact that I am late for my first class, I cannot afford to taint my natural look, so I walk cautiously on air into class, ten minutes late, but guess what? I heard a couple of people mention that I look effortlessly pretty.
The smashing look is elicited if I wake up with the urge to be a head turner. I follow the same routine as my simple look with a few additions such as applying a bronze shade of eye shadow to my eye lids, a darker shade to my eye crease, and a little shimmer to glimmer. How could I forget my mascara, my lash blast mascara, to give more volume and length to my stunted eyelashes? A swift application of my lipstick before applying my lip-gloss follows, which I apply, after lining my lips.
As I strut into class ten minutes late, I catch the unmistakable smiles plastered on my classmates’ faces, while I boldly strut into class ten minutes with all the audacity I can muster, blended with a “Mr. Lecturer please understand the plight of females” look.
Nonetheless, as a college student with a huge time debt on my hands, these scenarios hardly come to fruition and I often opt for going to class without wearing makeup. My early arrival enables me to set out my class materials for the day and eagerly anticipate the day’s lecture. As the lecture progresses, I cannot help, but chuckle to myself while I appreciate the time, energy, and effort made by some of my female classmates, who make late entrances into class with the simple, ‘natural’, or smashing makeup looks.
Sunday, May 30, 2010
YOU ARE HOT AND YOU'RE COLD AKA THE BATTLE OF THE SUN AND THE SNOW
As an international student from a country with a warm tropical climate, I had only seen snow on television and in pictures. Therefore, I was very eager to experience my first snowy day in the United States. On December 4, 2009, our favorite weather forecasters announced that Berea, Kentucky was going to get about 4 inches of snow in the evening. I didn’t understand how deep it was going to be, I was simply glad it was going to snow. The morning turned into afternoon and evening finally came, yet no snow. I was very disappointed, but I was soon going to learn that this was a Kentucky custom (The official state with bipolar weather disorder in the United States).
The next morning, I was brushing in the bathroom when one of my floor mates walked in. I heard her call out to me from one of the stalls. I promptly headed in her direction as she pointed to the window and voila, it had snowed. In one word, it was breathtaking. As I stared out marveled I heard her say, “This is merely a dusting. Where I’m from in Massachusetts, it could have been a couple of feet”. Excited, I hurriedly put on my clothes and my boots that I had reserved for this special moment then I raced towards the elevator to get a feel of the snow. As I stepped off the steps and onto the snow covered pavement, it felt so good. After I had taken a couple of steps, I realized that my feet felt cold and wet. “No way, I had worn my wool socks with this boots to keep my feet warm”. When I asked one of my friends what could possibly have gone wrong, she brought it to my attention that I was wearing a pair of suede boots, so much for my feet staying warm and cozy.
As winter progressed and as more inches of snow settled on quiet Berea, my joy turned into dismay as I bundled up with as many coats as possible to keep the fiercest wind chills away. Not forgetting my head warmers, thick socks, boots, scarves, and gloves (even in buildings and so much for those who poked fun at me), which tend to wear me down and contribute further to my sadness. Often, snowy days arouse the nostalgia of my warm, sunny climate back home. In order not drown in my misery; I have decided to view each snowy day as another day for me to appreciate God’s wondrous works. Perhaps, one of these snowy days I will go sledding and appreciate more the beauty of snow.
As humans we find it hard to be content with our present circumstances for we desire to live a life of comfort, free of hitches. Now that the snowy months are dead and gone, it is so blazing hot at frying temperature and it is difficult to believe that it is hotter than this in Lagos. Hard is it may be to admit, I know I am officially a whiner (along with millions of people) when it comes to acknowledging that the weather is just right. Therefore, my plan for this summer is to soak up all the sunlight and heat I can in my memory, safely tucked away for my recalling pleasure during the snowy months.
This article is my cooling therapy to get over the unbearable heat (aargh)
The next morning, I was brushing in the bathroom when one of my floor mates walked in. I heard her call out to me from one of the stalls. I promptly headed in her direction as she pointed to the window and voila, it had snowed. In one word, it was breathtaking. As I stared out marveled I heard her say, “This is merely a dusting. Where I’m from in Massachusetts, it could have been a couple of feet”. Excited, I hurriedly put on my clothes and my boots that I had reserved for this special moment then I raced towards the elevator to get a feel of the snow. As I stepped off the steps and onto the snow covered pavement, it felt so good. After I had taken a couple of steps, I realized that my feet felt cold and wet. “No way, I had worn my wool socks with this boots to keep my feet warm”. When I asked one of my friends what could possibly have gone wrong, she brought it to my attention that I was wearing a pair of suede boots, so much for my feet staying warm and cozy.
As winter progressed and as more inches of snow settled on quiet Berea, my joy turned into dismay as I bundled up with as many coats as possible to keep the fiercest wind chills away. Not forgetting my head warmers, thick socks, boots, scarves, and gloves (even in buildings and so much for those who poked fun at me), which tend to wear me down and contribute further to my sadness. Often, snowy days arouse the nostalgia of my warm, sunny climate back home. In order not drown in my misery; I have decided to view each snowy day as another day for me to appreciate God’s wondrous works. Perhaps, one of these snowy days I will go sledding and appreciate more the beauty of snow.
As humans we find it hard to be content with our present circumstances for we desire to live a life of comfort, free of hitches. Now that the snowy months are dead and gone, it is so blazing hot at frying temperature and it is difficult to believe that it is hotter than this in Lagos. Hard is it may be to admit, I know I am officially a whiner (along with millions of people) when it comes to acknowledging that the weather is just right. Therefore, my plan for this summer is to soak up all the sunlight and heat I can in my memory, safely tucked away for my recalling pleasure during the snowy months.
This article is my cooling therapy to get over the unbearable heat (aargh)
Saturday, May 29, 2010
DRIFTING AWAY
“The dichotomy and misogyny prevalent in our society today are endemic and corrosive issues that we need to be consciously aware of and work hard to eradicate, despite the fact that these issues are being ignored in our patriarchal society…”, says my feminist philosophy instructor as she reads from the textbook. I cannot take the flamboyant grammar and inconsequential discussions anymore, so I do one of my favorite things; I tune out. I tune out and I start drawing up my TTD (Things to Do) schedule for the rest of the week (Fun stuff).
Anyway, I tune in for a second and hear another tirade about Mary Daly, so I tune out again. This time, I decide to reconstruct and put finishing touches to a poem I had begun composing about a particular neighboring area, which takes approximately 45 minutes to get to from the city I currently reside in.
A great majority of the people that live in this particular area do not have a lot in terms of wealth, but they do have something in abundance; trees. Therefore, I decided to write something about the beloved Jackson County trees, which I encounter very often. Enjoy!
Don’t maltreat me because I am tiny
Water me because of my potential.
Nurture me, although I might become clingy,
Remember I can produce sustenance for all.
If you choose not to cater to me,
I will choose to sprout and tower high
With my roots implanted
And my branches reaching the sky.
I refuse to yield to selfish longings
Making space for my brothers, sisters, and cousins.
Always willing to divide my share of sunlight and soil,
For they too need to stretch out and grow.
Anyway, I tune in for a second and hear another tirade about Mary Daly, so I tune out again. This time, I decide to reconstruct and put finishing touches to a poem I had begun composing about a particular neighboring area, which takes approximately 45 minutes to get to from the city I currently reside in.
A great majority of the people that live in this particular area do not have a lot in terms of wealth, but they do have something in abundance; trees. Therefore, I decided to write something about the beloved Jackson County trees, which I encounter very often. Enjoy!
Don’t maltreat me because I am tiny
Water me because of my potential.
Nurture me, although I might become clingy,
Remember I can produce sustenance for all.
If you choose not to cater to me,
I will choose to sprout and tower high
With my roots implanted
And my branches reaching the sky.
I refuse to yield to selfish longings
Making space for my brothers, sisters, and cousins.
Always willing to divide my share of sunlight and soil,
For they too need to stretch out and grow.
Friday, May 28, 2010
STORIES FROM MY VILLAGE
I am a native of the Eastern part of Nigeria and of the Igbo tribe. To be more particular, Abia State, which people claim is derived from a Biblical source, thus its motto is “God’s Own State.” Quite a number of people believe that the vast majority of Igbo girls are pretty, so they chuckle when they discover a pretty Eastern female, but my situation is different. Each time I mention my hometown and village, people familiar with that location exclaim and say if they attempt to marry me they will be killed, cooked, and eaten (literally), then they laugh it off and say they are joking (really?).
You see the name of my village is Abaye in Isialangwa North Local Government and I must say we are not known for the most palatable stories, but hey that is where I am from. I was not given any list of villages to pick from at conception or birth, so think twice before you stereotype my kinsmen and me as human eaters. In fact, I enjoy terrifying people with stories about my village and due to my plethora of village stories, one of my good friends in high school mentioned that I once told her I lived in the village for a long period of time. A conversation my razor-sharp memory cannot recollect occurring. Anyway, here is another one of my tales from the village. Enjoy!
The year was 1998 and my family and I travelled to my village in Eastern Nigeria for my great-grandmother’s funeral which coincided with the advent of home telephones in Nigerian cities. Mother had come along with a telephone for our grandparents and they were excited over having the latest thing in fashion. As expected, grandmother warned the young ones to keep away from the table where the telephone was placed like a monument. Although, she issued the command in Igbo which we did not understand, her exaggerated gestures and animated tone conveyed her message clearly, “under no circumstances should you touch the telephone”. On this fateful day, my brother, my immediate older sister and I were alone in the living room when the phone rang, at the instant that my brother picked up the phone, grandmother appeared in a flash with a five feet long stick. We all took to flight as she chased us in hot pursuit while I began to weep out of exhaustion and my innocence.
Fifty meters had gone by and grandmother was still on our heels, bearing in mind that she was seventy years of age, my brother decided to jump over a medium sized wall which I could not attempt to the same. To my utter dismay my grandmother jumped after him. Even though she did not catch up with him, she returned and gave my sister and me a thorough trashing. Everyone found it difficult to believe our story and I did not have the nerve to sit in the living room again for fear that the phone might ring. I was deeply touched by the extent to which my grandmother could go to preserve her precious possession and that phone still retains its position in my grandparents’ house, although it has ceased functioning and my grandmother is dead.
You see the name of my village is Abaye in Isialangwa North Local Government and I must say we are not known for the most palatable stories, but hey that is where I am from. I was not given any list of villages to pick from at conception or birth, so think twice before you stereotype my kinsmen and me as human eaters. In fact, I enjoy terrifying people with stories about my village and due to my plethora of village stories, one of my good friends in high school mentioned that I once told her I lived in the village for a long period of time. A conversation my razor-sharp memory cannot recollect occurring. Anyway, here is another one of my tales from the village. Enjoy!
The year was 1998 and my family and I travelled to my village in Eastern Nigeria for my great-grandmother’s funeral which coincided with the advent of home telephones in Nigerian cities. Mother had come along with a telephone for our grandparents and they were excited over having the latest thing in fashion. As expected, grandmother warned the young ones to keep away from the table where the telephone was placed like a monument. Although, she issued the command in Igbo which we did not understand, her exaggerated gestures and animated tone conveyed her message clearly, “under no circumstances should you touch the telephone”. On this fateful day, my brother, my immediate older sister and I were alone in the living room when the phone rang, at the instant that my brother picked up the phone, grandmother appeared in a flash with a five feet long stick. We all took to flight as she chased us in hot pursuit while I began to weep out of exhaustion and my innocence.
Fifty meters had gone by and grandmother was still on our heels, bearing in mind that she was seventy years of age, my brother decided to jump over a medium sized wall which I could not attempt to the same. To my utter dismay my grandmother jumped after him. Even though she did not catch up with him, she returned and gave my sister and me a thorough trashing. Everyone found it difficult to believe our story and I did not have the nerve to sit in the living room again for fear that the phone might ring. I was deeply touched by the extent to which my grandmother could go to preserve her precious possession and that phone still retains its position in my grandparents’ house, although it has ceased functioning and my grandmother is dead.
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