Down the lane..

*sigh*

Watching the young girls contort themelves into every shape imaginable under the sun, I could not help the sigh that escaped from my lips!

*free education alert* - sigh = hmmmmmmm; hiss = mtchewwwww!

And no, my sigh was not borne of any jealous or envious desire to contort my bulk so willfully. My sigh bothered on amazement and a little bit of disgust thrown in for good measure. The girls all fell within the age bracket of 5 -10 (who else has noticed that from 10, our smallies have started forming "bigz gials" for us and find the art of dancing in parties extremely childish)? The girls were also dancing to some sort of music, the likes of which I am highly reluctant to class under rock, pop, funk, r&b, minor erotica or highlife.

For want of a better moniker, I will call the music "rofuarrrohipop"!

The jerky movements were reminiscent of someone going into an epileptic fit. Now they would crouch down and at the command of the unseen wailer, *sigh*, they would jump up and reach their hands "up to the skayi, to the skayi". Sincerely, I promise you, that was the only phrase in that song that made meaning to me. The rest either sounded like some form of gibberish, or else there was some sort of falsehood stated on my birth certificate as my tired old ears felt like they belonged in another century long past and were unwilling participants in this audio visual time travel my eyes had chosen to embark on.

Now the dancers lean forward and stick out their underdeveloped bakkasis and begin to wind them furiously. Now they combine some weird looking arm, hand, shoulders and leg movement, I fear for the mental health of their knee and ankle joints. *double sigh*. Since one of these eager contortionists is my very own small madam, I resolve to look on the bright side since she is getting some sort of exercise out of this after all and the benefits to me would be a temporary reduction in her current rapacious, voracious appetite, an early bedtime after a warm bath and an assurance that she would sleep as soundly as you may wish.

Still, I could not help taking a brief trip down memory lane and reliving those days when music was music and you were made a star, not by noting how many eardrums were pierced by the cacophony of decibel defying sounds you could produce from your drum set, or how many nude or near nude ladies could be found contorting in your music videos;  not by how close your music videos could flirt with porn without actually being labeled as such; or how high any of the male lead vocals could jump and scream while ensuring they were as fully clothed as eskimos in the deepest reaches of Alaska, while fondling and admiring suspicious looking girls looking like they wandered into the wrong set on their way to shoot a hollywood beach scene.

Those were the days when we had an 80 leaves notebook reserved for penning down the lyrics of our most cherished songs which we eventually learnt by heart and entertained our selves with singing them when the fancy caught us.

Ah, I remember with nostalgic feelings, Phil Collins, Lionel Richie, Michael Bolton, Boys to Men, Onyeka Onwenu, Christie Essien, Felix Lebarty (The lover boy), Mandy Brown, Abami Eda himself, etc...

Of course, there were those who still hammered out gibberish in tune to music, but back then, they were the exception, rather than the rule.

Today, attempt to write out lyrics to songs by some of our homegrown artistes and half way through, you would begin to wonder at what point you missed the program!

Chances are, it would sound either like the lyrics to an adult multiple x rated hard core movie, or it would sound something like...

"Emerememe dancy alingo. E e yah"

"Something something something ua goody bag o"

"Poropotom kpom kpom, awusha awusha"

I recall a couple of years back at a friend's housewarming party, we had gotten into the thick of the party when suddenly, my daughter walked up to me and asked,

"Mummy, what is the meaning of poropotom, ashawo".

I blushed a deep aubergine, well red is unlikely as I am milk chocolate toned, and directed her to the house warmer since she owned the house, was playing the music and should therefore strategically  advantaged to explain better than I could, what those lyrics meant. I also resolved silently then, that however interesting or rave of the moment the music was, when in my company, my daughter would only listen to good wholesome gospel music, or only those secular music I would not be ashamed to explain the lyrics to. The worst for me are the songs crooned by my ethnic brazzer aka "flavour tonight!"

Unfortunately, by dint of association, some of the music and dance steps still filter past the sensors and get embedded in her impressionable young mind and she sees her mates digging it out on the dance floor, knows she can probably best them at it and jumps up to prove it. Poor old mummy, otherwise known as "Le Moi" on the other hand, cringes at the very suggestive natures of the dance steps and trying not to be a spoil sport, lets her dance it out and then holds the all Important pre sleep jaw jaw on the pros and cons, the whys and wheretofores of waist winding dances.

Seriously mothers, are the lyrics of the songs our children sing and dance along to something we would feel proud if they stepped out in a sitting room full of our peers and proceeded to recite? If you cringe at the thought of it, then they probably should not be listening to it.

The dances they watch on the tv and proceed to mimic at parties and events, are they dances we can proudly beat our chest and affirm to have not only been taught by us, but is indicative of how good our musical ears are and how nimble dancers can be traced back far way back in our lineage?

Would we feel exceedingly proud if our daughters dressed the way some of their idols dress in the music videos? Do we actually give thought to the fact that like the sponge, their brains are soaking up all that they see, the eye still being the gateway to the mind?

Have we considered the fact that these music videos objectify and sexify womanhood and reduced them to little more than quivering bottoms and jiggling waists? Do we really want our daughters to grow up believing that where dressing is concerned, the less you can find to put on, the more attractive you appear to the opposite sex who in the meantime, are permitted to cover every inch of their bodies, down to heavy socks and shoes, hoods and hats covering the heads, gloves on the hands, etc! Or would we feel accomplished when we raise sons who view women as sex objects to be pawed and mauled over and discarded as soon as a more daringly dressed one walks past our line of vision?

Little wonder at the rising rate of child rape and molestation by fellow children (in some instances, even siblings), and the lax attitude to morality that is evident whichever way we turn.

We have complained enough about how the present generation of teenagers and twenty somethings have gone to the dogs in thoughts, words and deeds and yet daily, we subconsciously train those that would take over from them in attaining deeper levels of moral decadence.

Let us resolve in this speed of light paced world we find ourselves in, to watch a little more closely, activities our children are engaged in. What do they listen to? What are they reading? What do they watch? Whom are they associating with? What family values do their associations have? If they are still at the age where as Africans you can step in and reshape, remould and restrict in order to redirect, have no shame or fears in doing that. If they have however grown past that age but are still within your sphere of influence, utilise it wisely - have a sit down discussion to reassess values and pray... a lot!

*dragging my weary bones off to bed*, *old fuddy duddy like me*

P.S: Just for fun, which song takes you the furthest down memory lane? Can you remember the lyrics to it? If yes, please share!
       Which present day song gets your goat the most? You may not want to mention the artist's name, but you can hum the most irritating, with a word or two thrown as a clue.

The gift that keeps on giving

It was obviously a "guy's" room. Clothes were scattered all over the floor and hung from every possible appendage in the room. The bed was unmade and from the looks of it, the last time it had ever heard the word make, was when the carpenter said to his apprentice, "Let us make a bed"!

The stench from the ensuite toilet was overwhelming and when I dared to open the door and peep inside, I could feel the jellof rice of two christmases ago begin to rush up into my throat. I stifled a grimace, slowly backed out of the room and stood outside to wait.

Since I had walked in barefoot, I felt it was prudent to wipe my feet before introducing them back into my slip ons. When I lifted said feet, the gunk that had accumulated under was enough to plaster a modest two bedroom bungalow in the heart of Abuja.

I shook my head sadly and sat on a seat in the parlor and proceeded to wait. Minutes later, the dashing young man stepped out of his room and he was every ladies' dream. Tall, dashing, debonair! Even chocolatey complexion, nice sputes, well polished shoes, perfectly scented. It didnt matter that the only car he could boast of was a trekedese benz, he was every woman's dreamboat. You would pick him over and over again if given the choice.

Well people, that was not a fable, but a real life incident.

It is a sorry fact that more often, we concentrate on "training" our daughters on how to wait hand and feet on the man and forget that, especially in these present days, a man also needs to be able to cater for himself and keep house and self clean without relying on a long string of ever present girl friends, each striving to prove to him that they were "properly trained", and therefore "good wife material",  to maintain some semblance of dignity.

In my dating days, the instant deal breaker was the condition of the guy's room/house. It was more important to me than materialistic achievements or physical appearances.

I can actually recall a friend whose 10 year old daughter would stand on a stool and get faithful instructions on how to cook soup and became such an expert at things of the house you sometimes could not tell when her mother had an input and when she did not. Her 12 year old son on the other hand, was permitted to lounge, play video games non stop, run lousy commentaries on Africa Magic movies, in fact, he was being properly groomed on being a future lout and bore.

It sounds a bit idealistic, but I suspect that most mothers-in-law would have less frequent friction with their daughters-in-law if they concentrated a bit on also giving their sons proper home training. The understanding that there is no house chore that is the biological prerogative of any sex. Come to think of it, when we refer back to our first model union of a man and wife in the bible - Adam and Eve- no where does it say that the woman had to practically work herself to death to keep the man happy while he lounges about doing nothing.

But again, this is not about how a marriage is run, but how an adult individual comports themselves.

Mothers, can your sons cook? Wash clothes without the aid of a washing machine? Sweep and mop the house? Keep their rooms tidy? Wash and keep their toilets clean? Sew on a loose button? Can they actually connect with their feminine sides without lapsing into sissies?

Give your future daughters in law the gift that keeps on giving, a properly brought up man with good "home training". Nothing stokes the fires of marital discord more than a woman who has to pick up clothes strewn all over the house by Oga who cannot understand the simple logic behind laundry baskets; waking up in the morning to discover that after a late night attack of the snackies, oga could neither clear up the table of crumbs (cockroach alert), nor wash up the mug or whatever else was involved in curing the snack attack! I had a friend whose pet peeve was that she had to flush the toilet after her husband had done a number two.

Such was the extent of his laziness!

It becomes even more imperative now that ladies not only work, but in most cases are the principal bread winners of the home. In order to prove they have not become "pompous" and "arrogant", they end up returning from work, to start facing the hassles of running the home. Get up an hour or two earlier so they can fit in some of what needs to be done before they leave the house. Oga on the other hand who holds down similar jobs, gets up 35 minutes before he has to leave the house. Poopoos, brushes his teeth, shaves and showers, dresses up and exits the house until when he has to return, eat, release an obligatory fart, and go straight to bed!

Really ladies, let us do us all and the future world a favor and train our sons in the basics of being a human being first. Let them spend time with their fathers to imbibe some of the qualities required of a man, then gently return them to your faithful instruction of how to be in touch with their feminine sides and how to be an independent adult!

Some of our ten year old girls today can actually survive a one month live alone experience than some thirty year old men!

The craziest part? Mainly in Nigeria!

I remember a trip to London in 2006, staying at my aunty's house in London and watching her then nine year old son let himself out of the house on his way to school. His mum was not yet back from work and would just come in to bathe and head out to her second job, his dad held down a regular 9-5 and would leave the house around 8am while his twin sisters would also leave earlier for their schools. He would let himself back in around 3:30 and proceed to warm up his lunch. Eat, and face his chores for the day. By the time some of his family members started returning around 5pm, he was already settling in to his homework and you would never have guessed there was no adult providing support during the hours he was home alone.

I have always maintained that the average 10 year old raised in the western world, had a significantly higher level of maturity than their Nigerian counterpart, almost double! Of course, that has its good and bad sides too!

So mothers, do us all a favor and start early and make it all inclusive. Let the boys stand by you while you teach the girl how to cook and clean and tidy up the house.  If you have just boys or a boy, do not wait until you have a girl to commence your instructions, let them all learn!

The happiest beneficiary from the early start would be not just the boy who finds it easier to keep himself organised in the blink of an eye, but your future daughter in law who would have received a pleasant gift that keeps on giving!

Stop, Rewind...

No, it is not her fault!

Yes, perhaps she should have been able to say "No", but sincerely, honestly, you cannot lay the blame on her doorstep a hundred percent.

There are always two WILLING parties to every transaction and last I checked, in this part of the world, HE must have initiated the contract. He pursued her the way he pursued you, maybe even harder as he needed to convince her that it was indeed a valid transaction to undertake.

He bought her things, whispered sweet nothings when her guard was down, pretended to love, care and understand with her. He broke down her defenses: slowly but surely and maybe perhaps, before she could gather her wits about her, she had invested emotions in him and the rest, was a done deal!

He told her you were a drudge, had refused him intimate relations for the past two or three years, was a sloppy dresser, could not take care of the house and kids, you were planning to divorce him, etc, etc. Oh, how he filled her head with all sorts of stories and made false promises, all the while keeping his eye on a goal. Perhaps when they both ventured into the affair, having invested so much time and effort and emotions, they began to find themselves wallowing deeper into the cesspool of torrid passion they had created.

Her only crime was stupidity and the lack of a solid moral backbone. Blame her of those two sins and I will support you a hundred percent. (maybe a hundred and ninety percent more like).

Maybe, having discovered the illicit affair, rather than take the steps of a wise woman in order to reclaim back your husband, you brought crazy out of the box! You hounded him like a ghost (not even a friendly one at that, like a malicious and malevolent ghost). You had a sharp eye out for his phone and once he forgot it on the dressing table, you would lock the room door shut behind him, escape into the toilet with the phone, begin to scroll through the contents, find the evidence you needed (you Sherlock Holmes, you), and proceeded to confront him with the evidence soon as he stepped back into the room.

You berated and insulted. You fought and threatened. You breathed fire and brimstone and there was no dragon on the face of the earth, living dead or in the Harry Potterverse that could compare to you in your element. You made the house uncomfortable and uninhabitable because he had the temerity to look elsewhere and unwittingly, you helped to achieve that which you feared the most... you showed her up as an oasis in the desert that was you.

Perhaps you even broke the laws of decency and crossed the line of civil behavior, establishing yourself firmly as a criminal in the eyes of yours and his family, the law, neighbors  passers by, heck the world at large. Yes, you... you know what you did! You organised a gaggle of fickle minded floozies like you and went on a rampaging spree. You molested, assaulted, beat and stripped naked someone with whom you had no physical, spiritual or emotional contract. Someone who owed you nothing and you therefore had no business being around in the first place. You beat up the other woman!

Shame on you! Once again, you have held an umbrella over the competition's head while you stand out in the rain and get drenched.

Emotions and support begin to shift from you and skew fairly enough in the other woman's direction. Truth be told, even his friends who had your back (probably kept blaming their friend while the whole saga was playing out for breaking the eleventh commandment, were probably reminding him daily that you do not invest emotion and attention on the other woman to the detriment of the one you entered a contract with), will slowly begin to sympathize with her and maybe, begin to understand when over chilled drinks, the Oga is replete with complaints on how he got himself shackled to the world's worst woman!

Everyone begins to compare the "crazy" at home, to the "angel" who would make a better wife if Oga had just waited a few more years.

But we all know you are not crazy right? Just extremely ill-informed with a posse of malicious friends, some of whom would never employ the tactics they have encouraged you to unleash in their own homes. They will hold their homes together at all costs and even when they catch their husband on top of another woman, would actually stand by and provide manual air conditioning, all in a bid to ensure they keep their home together. Some of your friends are envious of you... they wish they had what you had. Some of them, having employed the same tactics and found themselves husbandless, are keen to initiate the next empty headed woman who thinks physical arsenal can be brought to bear on emotional conflicts into their fold.

Believe it when you are told that not every one that seems sympathetic to your course has your best interests at heart.

So, he was the one you entered into a contract with.

He was the one that promised to love, respect and honour.

He was the one that swore till death do you both part.

He was the one that affirmed in sickness and in health, through good times and bad.

He was the one that made you believe in the project that was you both.

He is the one you have an issue with, never the other woman! Your job description as a wife does not include making it easier for the woman of the streets to steal your man!

I know we all wish and pray we marry a man that never strays. Sadly, even the best of men have their weak moments!

But... a strong and confident woman, has her man! Ahh, she knows what to do. She knows when to bring crazy and when to let issues just slide.

She is prayerful, resourceful and confident in herself and her God! No diabolic or underground behavior around her. She knows how to hold and keep her man without resorting to manipulative behavior or visiting babalawos. Even when the man's eyes strays, his body never follows through because he respects the deep bond with the mature and intelligent woman he has at home.

So, recheck that bond. Reassess your relationship and ask yourself what you want out of it. Restrict some of your craziness as no man wants to be around a Bipolic Paranoid Schizophreniac. Have a firm faith and trust in God. Ensure your home is built around love, mutual respect, faith in God. Then sit back, relax and watch your relationship.

As for the other woman in every relationship out there. I fooled you huh? You think I have your back right? Well two words for you....

DIE

SLOWLY

Three more words...

ROT IN HELL

Stay away from married men you slime! Karma is a bitch and will get back to you sooner or later, and the best part, when you least expect!

Enjoy your week beautiful people.

Chivalry! Did it really, truly die?

To all men out there, potential toasters of all the potential toastees (willing and unwilling) that inhabit the earth, this red alert is posted on your behalf.

Chivalry is not dead - not yet.

Last I checked, it was still alive and there are still a few gentlemen out there struggling to prove to the world that there is indeed some reason why the word "gentle" appears before the word man/men. Else, we would also have Agberomen, Yawamen, Nyamanyamamen, etc!

> Please, do not attempt to jump the queue in front of a lady in a supermarket because you are carrying "only three loaves of bread". That is downright, no-good, toutish behaviour. Even if you are holding only one can of beer, the rules of civilised behavior demand that you queue up like everyone else and wait your turn to be served. Now, need to rush somewhere and feel you could perhaps benefit from being served before the lady in front of you wheeling a trolley full of supermarket goodies (necessary and unnecessary -  c'mon ladies, we know ourselves na)? Here's my suggestion, and how I think a "Gentleman" would tackle it:

Strike up a conversation with her. Make light humorous talk and gently chip in how her trolley is so loaded, etc. Don't toast her, no snide comments. While she is still in a giggly mood from your smashing wit (you better go to wit classes and learn how to make an acquaintance laugh without injecting sexual overtures), point out how you have just this one miserable can of beer and are doomed to wait for her to pass all her purchases. A "Lady" will immediately offer you the checkout first.

That, people, is how it works. Don't think toasting her will work, it won't. Don't think getting a supermarket staff to help you jump the queue will work, it won't. Don't think talking about how women are spendaholics and shopaholics will give you faster access to the till. Truth be told, if there are two of those ladies and they think the way I do, they would take it in turns to stand guard, while the other continues to pile on items in the shopping trolley, just to get your goat and believe me, you don't want your goat gotten by two of the "weaker vessels"!

>A lady compliments you on your speech, outfit, car, mobile phone, etc - No, she does not like you and is not lusting after you. She is just a properly trained gurl who appreciates what she sees in you and might somehow, want to learn how she can obtain same for her guy, husband, brother, father, casual friend, etc. The list, you bigoted, swollen headed, egotist, is endless! For all my male friends who come to me blabbing about how a lady in the supermarket creamed her pants at the sight of them and fell in lust at first sight, I always hand out a crashing reality check and point this out.

Don't go turning on the charm offensive because a lady has just complimented something on or about you. Believe me, even if chivalry is dying, decency still holds strong among a million and one women out there. Please, gather up your swollen head, return it back to normal size, graciously accept the compliment as an acknowledgement of your good taste and not an tempt to "pick you up" *barf*, and return the compliment in kind. Oh and in returning the compliment, you are not at liberty to compliment any part of her anatomy that protrudes beyond the centre line. Keep it simple guys and take your eyes and minds out of the gutter.

>You make a girl's acquaintance and somehow, exchange contacts. (This is my personal pet peeve as I have often wondered so many times if there is something else behind "Start up consultancy" than what I think it is). Next thing you know, the man calls up the lady and starts professing unending and undying "love", a "love" that has only one destination and which will definitely fizzle out soon as that goal is met.

Please guys, a lot of ladies really do love to make acquaintances and new friends and keep the lines as free and as untangled as they can be. I hand you my card and tell you I am a Start Up Consultant and next thing I get are phone calls professing undying love to someone you met at a DSTV/NEPA queue, supermarket, etc! Really, perhaps there are other forms of consultancy in Abuja I am yet to discover, but what I do is offer advice to start ups on how to run a small business effectively and provide hands on support for the first three months, including recruitment, training and supervision of ALL staff with follow up services for the next three months.

Please out of the entire explanation I have given above, which of them sounds like: likes to frolic with strange looking men I just met and had exchanged contacts with in the hopes of getting business referrals? Good thing there is a business line which is switched off once it is past 5pm.

GENTLEmen...we are kept waiting for services and strike up a conversation in order to pass the time. We exchange contacts and there were no sexual innuendoes throughout the entire length of the conversation, then sorry to disappoint you but no, I am not a high class and therefore extremely discreet call girl. I am what I told you I am! Call only if you need my professional expertise to meet some business needs (believe me, I have gotten good business that way), you can call to express your appreciation of the frank, informed and intellectually stimulating discussion we had, but please keep it business. Especially when you have a wedding ring on and the rows of diamonds on MY own wedding ring almost blinded you throughout the length of the discussion. Sheesh!

> Finally (for now), you are single, she is single. You meet, somehow, anyhow, a connection is struck up between the two both of you and you decide to plunge into a relationship. Only initiate sex moves without having wooed the lady properly, if you truly have a death wish. Sincerely men, it is time to get your acts together.

Woo the ladies, wine them, dine them and keep sex in any form whatsoever (yes, when you try to snatch a quick hug, we know where you think it is going to end and no, you are not going to get some!), out of your conversation.

I listened to one silly rant of a video blogger where she says girls should stop asking men for things and have some pride, bla, bla, bla. My dislike of the vlog was made even stronger by the fact that said tart was taking a dump at the time of the rant. My brain could therefore not connect her rant with the obviously silly message she wanted to pass across but each time she vented, could imagine it as a disguise for the cannon ball number two she was about to drop in the loo. (No, ladies don't do video blogs while in the toilet)!

Well, while I also do not subscribe to the girl asking guys for things, I think that the onus is on the guy to prove his worth to a girl he is in a relationship with. Stop putting up all those silly facebook updates about how a girl who does not make demands on you is housewife material! Trash! We know where you are headed with that and we are not deceived. Wine us, Dine us, Woo us, Spoil us silly with gifts (within your means o) while you are toasting us! Ladies, it is your right to be pampered silly by the guy who claims to love you. Accept nothing else and hold out on the little sump'n, sump'n until he has put a ring on it (your finger that is).

Why? Cos soon as you are all theirs, soon as you have become the madam of the home, only the very very few really chivalrous ones continue to pamper, to appreciate, to shower you with gifts and love. To the rest, mission accomplished and they move on to wooing the madam of the streets!

There is a reason after all why hos are considered smart. Unlike the good girls, they don't give it out for free and then proceed to lament after the guy don chop clean mouth, waka on to the next victim, about how they were used. No! You date a ho', everybody plays everybody in that relationship and when the man eventually decides to go, he leaves the worse off because he has invested time, money and perhaps some emotions trying to break through her icy heart and elicit some feelings in return.

Not endorsing "ho"ship ladies, just saying: Learn from them! Never, ever, ever give it out to a guy who is yet to do as Beyonce instructed, out of pity *barf*, or love *double barf*, or emotions *groannnnn*, especially if you intend to give it out for free!

*Do not trail a woman's car in order to express undying love and continue a conversation she earnestly belived had ended!
*Do not continue to toast a woman who sports and brandishes a wedding ring.
*Do not toast a woman and point out any part of her anatomy as the main attraction (how would you feel if I said "Oh, the bulge in your trousers attracted me to you"?
* Do not walk through a door just opened by a woman like the untrained oaf you are and leave her to struggle with it.
*Do not strike up a conversation with a woman struggling with packages and a restive child or two, especially if you have not offered to help carry those packages or something.
*Do not push aside a woman on a queue, especially if you are fighting for bread in Next or Shoprite (really some guys need koboko)

The list goes on and on and I daresay, feminism and the move for gender equality did not advocate for chivalry and all sorts of acceptable civil and gentlemanly behavior to be thrown to the winds. No it did not. it simply moved to advocate for more empowerment, recognition and appreciation of the untapped potentials left lying fallow in our womenfolk because of bigoted male superiority complex issues (or something like that ;-), me ah no know o!)

Having said that, a very big hola to all the chivalrous men who still exist in the world: My Oga At The Top heads the list of course *wink, wink*, my brothers, my bros-in-law has probably perfected the art and a few other gentlemen I know, some of them married to my friends, some of them still single, who give life and attitude to the word CHIVALRY

Wanted... A tethering post. For?... Ahem

Truly, I do not want to say what (or who) the Tethering post is for, maybe if I am properly petted, I will eventually speak.

Here we are in a gathering, different people from different countries, wonderful personalities, all trying to make conversation, get to know each other, make new friends. Suddenly, off to the right, a cacophony of vernacular from a few who are delighted to be different from the pack and cannot wait to show it. Every other person gazes around them in bewilderment, stares pointedly at the source of the noise, yet there is no deterring them. No bad belle person will drop enough hints to make them desist from "brothering" and "sistering" in a congregation where English is meant to be a unifying language.

Buffet time, while everyone is milling around making polite conversation, waiting for the servers to make ready, all the while inching closer to the food. Suddenly, from the rear of the line: "You guys should move now, do you want the food to get cold"? "Please you can move that conversation to one side if you are not hungry and let those of us that are hungry eat now, haba"! While still trying to digest what could be the major source of irritation, the body behind the voice proceeds to jump the queue in the most blatant and rude manner ever witnessed and now at the head of the queue, manifests one of two extremes: suddenly pretends to be on a diet and proceeds to diss every food on the table for being "fattening" or "cholesterol laden" yet is not stopped from packing a heaping plate; or just goes straight ahead to pack a heaping plate, putting together all sorts of odd combinations, maybe even managing to get two heaping platefuls of all sorts (meat overflowing), before stalking off to their seats.

Seated, glances furtively around, whips out a "polythene leather" (Sincerely, I can't stop wondering why those bags are called "leather bags". Do Nigerians actually know what leather is?), stuffs most of the meat and as much of the rice and salad as can get into the cellophane bag, ties the bag closed, reinforces with another bag and stuffs the whole lot into the over sized handbag (Okay guys, now you know why ladies convert travelling bags to handbags when going to parties and occasions , then the most baffling part of the entire operation, proceeds to daintily pick at the remnants on the plate like there is a bad smell hovering over everything while still furtively glancing at the buffet table to see whether any more meat can be scavenged therefrom.

Drinks are served, while everyone else proceeds to take one glass which they try to maneuver and manipulate to last the night, these blessed people proceed to down drink after drink, mixing all sorts, if it is available, even if they have never tasted it before, they will down it and add to the bubbling lava of various cocktails and spirits already squirming in the deepest caverns of their belly.

True Story - Coming back from Summer vacation 2011, we boarded BA to Abuja and after dinner, proceeded to bed down for the night. Lights off, the cabin was quiet when suddenly from the last but one row, someone started shrieking, "I am dying o, I am dying. Stop this flight. Call a doctor. I am dying. Jeeeeeeezus! Pilot, please somebody help me, I can't breathe". Naturally, there was pandemonium all around as we tried to find out what the problem was. A cabin attendant rushed down to the seat where a lady was visibly agitated, her baby dumped carelessly on the seat beside her, while she proceeded to "die"!

Well, soon as the poor cabin attendant got close enough to put her head down and inquire what was causing the "death", the jackass threw up all over the poor lady, all the junk she had been eating while awaiting the call of her flight, her dinner in flight and about 12 bottles of aircraft wine! Seriously! Turns out madam is a teetotaler, but had been informed that the cost of the wine was already inbuilt into the price of her ticket and decided to show the world that she was smarter than Willie Walsh! She had wanted to drink the cost of her flight before reaching Abuja. Suffice it to say, after that regurgitation  she spent the rest of the flight in a drunken quasi coma, her snores prevented anyone else from sleeping, her baby had thankfully bedded down for the night, else... SMH!

I felt so embarrassed for the shameless woman whom upon struggling out of her coma on arrival in Abuja, grabbed her baby and proceeded, in true Nigerian fashion, to fight her way out of the aircraft as if the plane would take anybody who did not disembark at record speed straight back to Heathrow, and into the waiting arms of the law! I walked up to the flight attendant who had spent the rest of the flight in a baggy, blue, dungareeish, formless gown and apologised on behalf of the lady. While making small talk, the attendant mentioned that they get used to situations like this on their return haul to Nigeria.

While I cringed inwards at her comment, I truly could not grudge her that sentiment as I have had my fair share of bewilderment on why we are so blessed, every time I travel outwards and then return inwards with Nigerians. You get the feeling travelling from Nigeria to London that everybody is afraid that Queen Elizabeth could just materialise beside them and chain them to a bus stop for daring to sneeze, everybody acts so civilised you are indeed proud to be a Nigerian. Return haul however, na we get the land and the aircraft, so na wetin we like we go dey do!

Now, a school in Abuja, pretty elitist, tired of calling Nigerian parents to order decide, "to heck with it, you can act uncouth all you want outside the school premises", and shifts their car park about a 200m walk away from the school gates. This was after multiple incidents of parents jumping the drop off queue, forcing their way through the gates with cars not bearing the school stickers, insulting and threatening to beat up the security men at the slightest provocation, shouting on teachers (please don't ask me the guilty party, shame dey catch me abeg),etc. Well, in the new car park, like sheep that need to be carefully herded, there is an entrance that is wide enough to just about admit one car, and an exit with similar specifications. Guess which category of parents would notice a queue at the entrance, force their way through the exit and proceed to create a scene by asking others to back up for them to maneuver.  I begin to get the vibes that but for the fact that this school is on Nigerian soil, they would have long closed shop to Nigerian parents.

Small wonder that Nigerians get attacked when they find themselves on foreign soil. They take all that loudness, rudeness and in your face attitude to climates where people are used to more civilized behavior and then turn around and claim: "South Africans are jealous of us"!, "Ghanaians are jealous of us"! "Jamaicans don't like us in London"!. "American police is always on our case"! Seems like everybody is jealous of the Nigerian who is so myopic, he doesn't even notice that what repels others are their obnoxious, loud and rude behavior

I am always amazed at the huge sums of money Nigerian scammers manage to fleece off the western world. In most circumstances, those they fleece look ordinary  there is nothing ostentatious about them, no show offiness. Simple clothes, even simpler homes, decent looking. Yet when you hear about the hundreds and thousands they have "donated" to yahoo yahoo boys, you quiver.

Our people on the other hand, accumulate maybe a hundred dollars from flipping burgers and you want to wear the blindingest bling, hang with the ghettoest of babes, drive in cars you cannot afford to maintain and basically keep flinging and forcing yourself down people's throats. Small wonder the instant dislike when you bring out a Nigerian passport abroad.

Really Nigerians, I am proud to be a Nigerian, maybe even prouder than most, but I think we need to tone it down sometimes. Imbibe the basics of social living and etiquette and you will find you will begin to be liked by people you mingle with.

Those who act quiet and within the rules of acceptable social behaviour are not just "doing sme sme". They are trying to prove to the outside world that we are indeed civilised. They are trying their darndest best to convince the world not to tar all Nigerians with the same brush because of a few uncouth ones.

Really, I dare ask: hands up anybody that has not experienced a situation where they cringed inwardly and seriously wished that:

1.The floor could open up and swallow them
2: They were not Nigerians at that instant

Really, hands up, I would love to hear about it.

Just going off to get me a really sturdy tethering post and rope and tether all rambunctious, spendiferous fellow paddymen to it. Una too dey fall hand jare!

To Have and To Hold...

Okay, here I am, wondering aloud how all of a sudden, most of the blogs are peppered with advice on how to "hold your man", "keep your man happy", "keep your man from straying", etc...

The advice are so varied and sometimes self contradicting, your head spins trying to keep it all in proper perspective. It was purely coincidental that while I was roiling inside, I happened to stumble on a write up by an excellent writer that suggests women may as well buy themselves engagement rings and get it over with since by the (in my candid opinion, Nigerian) world's perspective... the ring maketh the woman (or maybe not).

Someone else, knowing my constant irritation with "How to attract your man" articles, suggests to me, "why don't you do a similar article for women?". Like, really? I am not going there o, abeg! Reason? I consider all those articles manipulative. Written by some sexist, masochistic, chauvinist somewhere with the sole aim of constantly manipulating women to get his own way. And you do know what they say about manipulation don't you? Oh, you don't? Well, for free: Manipulation is witchcraft!

Here's what I think:

Every relationship, especially when it crosses through to marriage, needs an equal dose of effort from both partners to keep the wheels well oiled and rolling.

It sounds a bit bigotist to expect one person to do all the running around, the primping and the pruning while the other stalks the manor like the Almighty Cockerel. Demanding meals on time, sex on demand, respect on rote, clothes washed without a peep, house tidy, children clean, books well kept, accounts balanced and the inevitable help meet duties (in Nigerian parlance, this means to return home with your salary and hand it over to Oga to be administered as he pleases). Yes, in spite of all the above, the wife/woman still has to work and most times, does not even have the luxury of spending any salaries earned.

I have seen men who bathe their kids while madam is in the kitchen, read stories to keep the kids entertained, sweep the house and wash clothes, take their turns in cooking for the women while they get a chance to put their feet up, shoo the women out the door to go have a night out with the girls while they try to run the home front... And no, there was no JAZZ involved... And yes, in Naija!

It is born of an innate desire to please. When I look at couples that are so relaxed in and of themselves, that are constantly happy, cheerful, have their moments but soon get over them and continue to ride the rollicking waves of relationships, I see people who have understood the (as far as I am concerned), first and basic principle of relationship: mutual respect and understanding.

It does not take much to understand that everyone has made a sacrifice to be with the other in a relationship or marriage. We have all left our familiar zones in order to be with someone that we somehow feel, will make us feel better in the long run. Someone we believe will give us ultimate and maximum satisfaction and with whom we can fulfill and achieve our dreams. Why then, should one of the two slave to make the other more comfortable and to compound their misery, read manipulative articles on "how to keep him happy"?

Fellas, L-O-V-E, Love! That should be the first and only reason for entering into a relationship. Not because she has a big behind, or is yellow skinned. Not because he works in an "oryel compani" or drives the latest cars. Tall, dark and handsome has nothing to do with relationships. Work with the first rule in mind. Can I tolerate this person? Do I really see myself being in close quarters with this individual and not going gaga? Can I overlook a multitude of what the world will see as flaws and still see stars when I look in his/her eyes? Really, it is a no-brainer, when you love someone, you want only the best for that person. No going around on hands and knees, scrubbing the ground you walk on. No worshiping your very presence or luxuriating in the lack of it because you have made yourself the king of the ring!

Go ahead, think of things that will make your partner happy and do it, just for the heck of it. Not because of what you expect to receive back in return.

What do you think would make whatever burden they are faced with lighter to bear? Go ahead and lighten that load. Doesn't matter if your friends walk in on you pounding yam or sweeping the house for your wife/babe! When it comes to relationship issues, wise family and friends know not to go there with "stewpeed" opinions and unsolicited advice.

How do you want your home to be? A safe haven? A comfort zone? Or a military training ground - a barracks? The power to achieve whichever atmosphere is conducive, lies in both hands.

The dog says - "If you fall for me and I fall for you... then it is play"

Last Words: Ladies, please grow a spine or a pair of balls, whichever you feel you are most desperately in need of. If you have to read so many dubious articles and play mind games to keep a man, then you are so obviously in the wrong relationship. He needs to want to be with you voluntarily and happily, else all you have succeeded in doing, is holding yourself captive to an inmate in a prison cell you both call "home".

If it is too much trouble to hold on to, open your hands and let it go - If it is yours, it will come back and if it doesn't come back, heck your hands are free for whatever that is worth!

One For The Road..... concludes

As Vivi struggled to place her bags on the heavy duty trolley, she inwardly cursed the shopaholic streak she had definitely inherited from her mother. She always tried to travel light but those intentions soon went the way of others before them as soon as she sighted a good bargain.

On the upside, she had an eye for good finds, for one of a kind buys and not only did she always turn out smashingly attired, because of her good business sense, she managed to make a pretty penny selling off some of those items to her friends and colleagues back home.

That did not negate the fact that she was going to have a struggle to get the luggage within the approved two pieces of 23kg each. Well, she had a huge handbag that could hide a small child and her hand luggage, don't go there! She would sort this out.


As she struggled with the trolley, she spoke to herself.

"You see yourself! Money no dey ever tay for ua hand anytime wey you come this shopping. Thank God sef say you kwik come yhairport. Before all those nyama nyama omo naija dem go come now begin to dey fight for scale to weigh their load, you go don arrange uaself finish".

Bags weighed, she had two bags at 23kg each, One hand luggage bursting at the seams, her handbag (also bursting at the seams and spilling its contents all over the stainless steel table provided in the weighing room), and various other items that would make up at least a standard 20kg bag scattered all over the room.

One advantage of always arriving Terminal 5 at least 6 hours before her flight, she could organise the madhouse called her luggage, before the hordes of Nigerians, trailing enough luggage to drown the titanic four times over, arrived.

She looked at the excess forlonly, well, the best bet was to buy a box at the airport, make up another 23kg sized box and either plead with a Nigerian carrying a little less load to assist with it or else pay the excess luggage charges. From her experience with Nigerians and airport assistance, she could only but thank God she had not yet checked in online.

Putting everything back into the boxes and onto the trolleys, she set off in search of a box and returned to the weighing room. Still empty, except for a dude in the corner, she began to rearrange her entire luggage.

Na wa o! Only me get four boxes fa! At least, my hand bag don reduce well well, make pessin no go peme insaid yhaircraft say him dey carry load.

But sebi na the money wey I for take buy duty free and jellof small for  inside yeroplane na hin I wan touch insaid take pay dis excess luggage.

No yawa sha, at least, if I reash Abuja, I go sell some of the items, recover ma money well, well. Maybe even sef, I go fit come back again in a mont or two taim, for take restock. Pessin go even fit take this one just start up small business wan taim. Nothing spoil sha. I know say Baba God main still dey my said.

The laughter that exploded from behind her jerked her back to the present and with a start, she realised she had been indulging in her gutter speak out loud, forgetting she had company.

"Good to see my Angel has clay feet after all. We really must stop meeting under awkward circumstances"

"Can we start all over again? Hi, I am Jake and you are..."

Polished accent back in place, poise restored, she stretched out her hand and took the outstretched hand..

"Xaviera"

As she took in his appearance: Tall, broad shouldered, light skinned although obviously of African ancestry, a single diamond earring glittering in one ear, a tattoo she could just make out as "April", snaking out from his tee shirt neckline, a faint yet heady masculine perfume she could not quite place a finger on, full recognition dawned on her..

"It was you in the coffee shop.. and Liverpool street.."

She felt a little twinge of shame at her last behavior, but the business side of her brain started whirring immediately as she looked past him and noticed one solitary, downright expensive but grossly under-packed bag.

Kerching

She immediately went on the charm offensive and turned on her killer one thousand watt smile.

To her chagrin, Jake burst out in loud and raucous laughter and when he recovered, wiping his eyes, said:

"No worry ehn, you be my kain babe! I know wetin you wan ask me and nothing spoil. Ah go carry youa box for you but when the pepper rest, you must to gee me my own share o! As eye wey see"

"No yawa bros. Me ah no know say you too be naija o"

"For life! Even though I was born and brought up in America, served in the US Marines, a veteran of four wars, yet I love my African roots, my Nigerian heritage and since I left the Army, i shuttle between Nigeria and the US, trying to make a mark in Nigeria"

"Interesting. But your bota pijin sha still dey raw o, you never cook am well well yet, but still, I am impressed"

"The honor and pleasure of your acquaintance is all mine, Angel", he winked at her as he proceeded to wheel the luggage to the check in booths.

Unexpectedly, she felt a thrill course through her and immediately, commenced reprimanding herself sotto voce,

"You don start again ba? I no even know wetin dey worry you sef weda na youa head wey no correct abi na youa eye wey too dey see road. You suppose know say all dese American bad boys just dey like orobo and na only heart break go follow you waka comot from dis one. Abeg, thank youa stars say hin wan helep you carry youa load reach Abuja fee oh cee. Any other thing, nor put mind there"!

=======================================================================

Her flight was relaxing and refreshing, made even more so by her new found friend who not only charmed the pants off the hostesses, ensured she had no lack of anything she so much as cast an eye on. At a point, she had to studiously train herself not to look too longingly at any item in the in-flight magazine. When she eventually dozed off, Jake leaned over to drape the blanket over her.

This one is a looker. No rings on her fingers, hope to God she is not in a serious relationship. I would like to keep her all to myself. She has a sharp and quick wit, keen sense of humor and a ready smile. I want her. I want her for keeps.

He had felt her slowly start to relax and the tension she had etched all over her face both encounters in London seemed to slowly ease off the longer they jisted. They had exchanged banters so easily, anyone watching them would have been instantly forgiven for assuming they were long time lovers yet, he could almost touch the reserve on her part.

Standing with her back to the perfume counter at the duty free desk had been a thrilling experience.

He had enjoyed watching her twitch every time the sales executives sampled a perfume around her but yet, she refused to turn round and indulge. He had stood watching her twitch and jump. He could tell she loved perfumes, but she wasn't going to turn around for all the tea in China.

After a few minutes, he had howled with laughter and teased her:

"Yeye"
"Dey worry you"
"Turn na"
"Say I dey fine who na?"
"Turn make you look na, looking is free"
"Ohoh, shebi you know dat one? Abeg o, I dey fear you. I no wan look anything again for this yhairport"

And with that, she held up and shook in his face, the mock croc bag from the Prada stand, the MP3 player from the Sony stand and the truck load of duty free chocolates. All bought by him and handed over to her casually, simply because she had lingered for too long or gazed a tad longingly at the items.

"Ibo woman, you no wan chop youa money! Aka araldite"
"Akwa Ibom man, like governor, like indigene"

They both fell against each other in hysterics and walked towards their boarding gate.

By the time they settled into their seats in the aircraft, they had become fast old timey friends!

As he watched her sleep, his eyes clouded over briefly as he recalled the disappointments he had had in the past.

Two failed marriages, no kids yet. What his friends referred to as "Russian Marriages". Rush in and rush out! Each time, he had been fascinated by the physical. A body shape he liked, a fast talking motor mouth, and only after he had rushed himself through a short courtship and even shorter civil marriage had he begun to feel the first twinges of regret. Each marriage had lasted less than 6 months, now he was too scared to try and so, he had lived the fast life. At some point, the names, faces, shapes, ages, colours had begun to blur and mix. He could no longer tell them apart however had he tried. The ghetto girls and the class girls all began to mix up somewhere around the middle and to be on the safe side, each succeeding girl had been labelled "Babe"!

Easy to remember, no embarrassing mix-ups and most important of all, since there was no emotional attachment, extremely easy to end when his itch had been thoroughly satisfied.

Until that day at the Hammersmith train station. One look at the pretty, comfortably attired yet with a glossy finish around her, young lady sitting crying into her coffee and he knew that this could be it. Somehow, he just knew!

Since then, fate had kept bumping them into each other as if it had a serious point to make and seeing her at the airport again tonight, he knew he had to grab this opportunity fast.

"I want this"

========================================================================

As he rocked her gently in the limo, he smiled slowly. he was taking her back to London, back to the tea shop of their first encounter. He wanted to relieve the moment when he first saw her, wanted to turn that first memory of her sitting and crying into her coffee into a happy one.

In their two year's of courtship, she had firmly insisted she wanted no part in pre marital sex and he had agreed firmly with her.

It was beginning to get jaded anyway - meet girl, have sex with girl, regret girl, dump girl, enjoy euphoria of being a free spirit for a while, meet another girl... the vicious circle kept closing in, the noose kept tightening. He could do with the relief of just being with a pretty lady and getting to know her without sex marching in and sullying the works, Yes Siree!

He had also stayed totally celibate for the length of their courtship!

Xaviera was a handful. He had nicknamed her Zaza because of her full lifestyle, her quick wit, exuberant spirit, comfortable yet glossy fashion sense and her striking intelligence! Every time she opened her mouth, he fell in love anew. She had that rare ability, in a woman, to be forthright without appearing brash and could speak comfortably on any subject under the sun. He could see them, well into their nineties, tottering along beside each other, poking fun at each other and yet still enjoying the bejeezes out of every second they had together.

He could recall their first date together.

After chasing her around Abuja during his spare time and she studiously finding excuses to delay the meeting for the first three months, she had finally consented to a date and he had driven down to the address she provided him with to pick her up.

As she stepped out the door, she took his breath away one more time. He however could not help noticing that something was different about her. While she was still as stunning as ever and looked breathtaking in a dress and heels, she seemed totally ill at ease and the reason became clear when she took her fifth step towards him and took a tumble.

He picked her up and led her to the car, buckled her in and they went off to the Chinese restaurant. As usual, once she got over the initial awkwardness and hurt pride of the undignified fall, being with her was a riot. She was a "laugh a minute" kind of girl and he loved that.

Midway through their meal and getting to know each other, he reached out a hand and covered hers with it

"I want to tell you about a girl I met and fell in love with instantly", he said looking deep into her eyes, "I met her in a coffee shop in London, sobbing and slobbering into her coffee"

As he dodged her slap, he leaned in and continued, "And one thing that endeared me to her each time I met her was her simplicity and comfort in her own skin. There were no gimmicks to her, no secrets hidden between layers of war paint, she was a fresh faced, open beauty and I loved the fact that her style could be described in one word - comfort. Believe me Angel, in this day and age where everything a woman has on her is fake and contrived, a woman comfortable in her own skin is a breath of fresh air to any right thinking man. It is like finding gold on the streets!"

As she looked down, he tipped her chin up with his index finger and planted a kiss on the side of her lips.

"I couldn't resist that Angel, but I think I want you for keeps. Is that possible?"

As she remained silent, he went down on his knees before her, you could almost hear a pin drop in the restaurant as the other diners, realizing what was about to happen slowly dropped their cutlery and began to take in the view.

As he began to build to his climax, to his greatest surprise - and collective disappointment of the eager audience to the unfolding drama- Vivi stood up and looked down at him with scorn on her face:

"You no well o, na wetin dey worry you sef? You just think perhaps I was hanging around just waiting for you to drop out of heaven and propose to me right? See Mr. Jake, you better get your acts together and think straight! You don't know me, aside from the few hours we spent at the airport and you think that is enough grounds for a marriage? You need your head examined"

He watched, mouth open, as she hissed, gave him the much dreaded "eye washing" he had encountered once before in London, flung her napkin on the table, turned her back on him and began to flounce to the door.

Ten steps in and splat, she was flat on her face once again. Darned heels!

Suppressing laughter, he rushed to her, lifted her up and went down on his knees once again. This time however, he carefully eased her feet out of the stilletoes she was wearing, slipped off his comfortable loafers off his feet and onto hers, slung her heels by the strap over his shoulder and offering her the crook off his arm, marched her out the restaurant and into his car.

Somehow, the tripping incident had managed to ease the tension between them. She had recovered her sense of humor and had insisted everyone keep whatever footwear was in their possession at the moment and so, he became the proud owner of a size 39 pair of stilletoes he was sure would only fit around his little finger and slowly, they had commenced the interesting exercise of getting to know each other.

Each had told their own story of past experiences, no holds barred and even though there were no names mentioned, each could feel the other's hurt and both had jointly resolved to see this one through to the end. They were so comfortable with each other, it seemed like they had known each other forever.

And now, here they were, Man and Wife, about to embark on their first trip around the world together. Though she did not know it yet, first stop was London, where he wanted to "meet" his wife for the first time in every sense of the word since that was where the union started. Next stop, the world!

========================================================================

Arrived airport
Boarded the KLM flight to France
France to London next morning
Fall exhausted into the hotel bed and slept the whole day through

Holding her hungrily in his arms, they spent the night talking, re affirming their love and commitment to each other, kissing, exploring, he was glad he waited for this one. Somehow, this seemed so much more sacred and he was convinced that indeed, he had finally met his soul mate.

They got up the next morning and prepared to face the day. As they stepped out and turned towards the train station, he fell a step behind her and watched her move.

My wife! Nwan mii!

He stepped forward, took her hand in his and pulled her closer to him, they moved as one as they walked on.

Arriving Hammersmith, he ushered her into the same coffee shop as when they first met, sat her at the same table and ordered her coffee. Sitting across from her, he commanded:

"Drink up Mrs Udoh, I want to assure myself my wife knows how to down a cup of coffee without making a spectacle of herself. Want to be sure that was not just a coy ploy to attract hunks and that you can be trusted to be out on your own".

He ducked to avoid a playful swat from her and stood up to go and order a more macho drink for himself, She swiveled around in her chair and watched as he walked up to a man by the counter and they playfully began to banter with each other.

They hugged like long lost friends and there was multiple backslapping. She smiled and looked away and so, missed the moment when he pointed towards her and both men began walking back to her.

Her mind went back to the first day they had met and inadvertently, she thought of Chuks. She shook him off with a shrug. Since she had barred his calls after the London debacle, there had not been a single peep out of him. He knew visiting her house would seriously endanger his life and so, had not made an attempt. Sometimes, her mind had drifted back to him and each time she did, she had shrugged him off as bad news, and consigned him to the trashcan of wasted endeavours. Hopefully, their paths would never cross again as long as they lived!

She felt his hand on her shoulder and she turned back and gasped in shock....

...the coffee she was holding fell out of her hands and split unnoticed all over the floor as she gazed from one man to the other..

"Zaza, meet my brother from another mother, Chuks, he lives somewhere in this jungle called Hammersmith with his lovely wife Chelsea and three kids. Matter of fact, the day I met you, I was just coming from his house and he was unavoidably absent, out on an errand or something"

"Chuks, my Angel Zaza, pity you could not attend our wedding in Naija...."

His voice petered out as he realised his lovely wife had tears coursing down her face...

THE END!

Entrepreneurship 101: Give...your time!

A lot of people have jumped on the entrepreneurship bandwagon without pausing to consider the first and probably the most important Key Success Factor for entrepreneurship, YOU!

You need to be available, you need to be willing to give of your time, you need to be there. Lots of people think they can combine a well paying, high (or maybe low) profile job with the task of organising, managing and assuming the risk of a business or enterprise, which at the end of the day is what entrepreneurship is all about.

I say, if you have a vision and decide to convert that vision into reality, quitteth thou thy day job and focuseth thou on entrepreneuring.

Since it is your vision, the chances that another individual, especially a paid employee, will key into and run with that vision the way you would if you were personally involved are very, very low!

Real life Scenario: Two hairdressing salons.

The first, in the heart of town, about thirty minutes drive from my house, the business owner is almost always on ground. Soon as we walk in the door, we are given highly comfortable seats and asked to make our choice of tea, coffee, juice or just plain water. Your children, if any, are quickly provided with juice, toys, cartoons and the ever friendly, charming staff commence to fawn all over you and your child(ren).

The shop owner comes out immediately with a smile on her face and proceeds to interact with you, your child(ren), friends, etc. She does all her best to ensure you are comfortable and has so imbued it in her staff that the few times you arrive while she is not there, you can almost swear any of her girls have her blood running in their veins as they would give you the same matchless attitude.

Price List?

Pedicure - 4,500
Washing and Setting - 1,500
Blow drying - 1,000
Twisting - 6,000
Kids plaiting - 2,500

etc

Hm, Salon 2, my daughter and nanny can stroll down there to get their hair done and be in the salon in under 6 minutes flat. However, every time my daughter goes there, she comes back with a headache and swollen eyeballs from having had her hair pulled and tugged and pushed, all in the name of getting her to "park well". The salon owner is never on ground, you only find two completely disillusioned girls with little or no customers, just lounging around idly and transferring their bad attitude and aggression onto hapless customers.

I walked in yesterday to pick up my daughter and nanny who had gone to make their hair since I was terribly occupied and first thing I noticed, my daughter's eyes were swollen from crying. Second thing, as I write, nobody bothered to even say Good Afternoon to me. Matter of fact, from the look on their faces, you could see my daughter (and I), had come in to disrupt their day long sleeping spree!

Price list?

Washing and setting - 300
Twisting - 1,500
Kids plaiting - 500
Pedicure - 1,200

As we walked away from the salon yesterday, I vowed they were seeing the last of myself and/or my daughter and silently resolved to save myself the heartache of being treated like a nuisance to someone who needs my patronage and go instead to the place where I am treated like a king. As if she read my thoughts, small madam piped up: "Mummy, please can we stop coming to this salon and go to the other one? They do not know how to treat people here".

In spite of their dirt cheap services, it was indeed small wonder they were always customerless with the owner of the Salon a silent, sleeping and invisible partner to the entire transaction.

Working in the bank, I remember a lot of colleagues who had started businesses on the side closing them down after a few months as the businesses "were not doing well" due to lack of supervision. When the cat is away, the mouse play and none plays as hard as mice whose cat is a distracted sole proprietor.

Funds account for themselves, develop legs and walk away from the MD's books.

Staff come to work if and when they please (in these days of mobile telephones, I can be on my bed and lie to you that I am in America and you will never tell the difference).

Customers are treated like a bother, like nuisances that come to disrupt the lounging of the staff, since those staff perforce, do not see the larger picture for what it is.

Etcheteram, etcheteram and so forth....

Seriously, if you want to convert your vision to reality, throw the most important ingredient into the mix, yourself! Do not waste your time and resources enriching other people by setting up businesses for them or granting unadvised and unknown loans to your own detriment - well, what else will you call an employee chopping oga's money if not unadvised and unknown loans.

Make sure you are available. You are the Oga at the top and you do not want any other ogas at the bottom who neither understand your vision nor are willing to do the grunt work ruin that vision for you or make you believe that perhaps you did not catch the vision correctly.

Simply put, what is not monitored does not get done.

Maybe some other day, we will talk about attitude, staffing, customer satisfaction, but if you really are sure you want to pursue your dreams - ermahgerd, repetition alert - then free yourself up to live that dream!


... So, yes, ahem... darsall!

Sheeple...

My personal motto this week:

Fifie: Curing the world's kookie loonies, one individual at a time.

Background: As I approached the Bank ATM at Omega Centre in Abuja, two things bothered me heavily. One was the very long and disorganized queue that snaked onto the road and the second was the scorching sun, threatening to fry anyone who stood outside the little canopy provided.

Since I was with my daughter, I was desperate to ensure the transaction was concluded as quickly as possible. Tried another bank ATM, it was down and so, had to return to the first one with the long queue. 

"Please who is the last person on this queue", I asked? And there was complete and total silence. You could hear crickets chirp. When the silence was almost becoming unbearable (at this point, others were coming behind me and we needed to ensure some form of orderly line up), a young man turned to another and piped up. "But you are the last now, you are following me".

To my greatest surprise, the man started protesting, "I am not the last, I shall never be the last in anything I do, I am not following anybody, I am the head and not the tail, bla, bla, bla!"

I was slowly getting to simmer and I explained to him quietly that I did not care whatever jargon he had been fed from where he was coming from, this was about a queue. If he was the last person on the queue, this would enable us be orderly and know what to anticipate. And he kept spewing so I decided, some issues are better left for practical classes. No be everybody dey understand theory, but show them practical and it sticks.

So, I quietly positioned my big body and waited for my chance. Soon as the last but one finished, I maneuvered my way into the young man's before and proceeded to carry out my transaction. Trust Nigerians, those who knew the order in which they came after me (I had already stopped and ensured those behind me knew their places), were already jostling for their positions. Then the young man proceeded to complain, "I came before him", "I came before her".

People asked him, "But when Madam asked you now, you said you were not the last and you were not following anybody". Aspersions began to be cast on his sanity, his seriousness, the possibilities of his having criminalistic tendencies, I ignored all and just continued with my transactions. 

I said to myself, he WILL use the word last before he gets any transaction done on that ATM today.

Really, I understand about prophetic declarations, speaking to your situations, etc, but like I told the man while I was trying to find my place on the queue, everybody in Nigeria has an issue or the other they are contending with. Don't bring those issues into the public square and start attempting to make a mountain out of a mole hill.

We are people, not sheeple!

Discern. Apply a discerning mind to whatever you are taught and only apply as neccessary.

Well, I had my own declaration for him, seriously pitied the predicament he faced of having to fight his way through the ATM before the hordes of interested participants in the drama, and so did not deliver the parting shot:

Mathew 19:30 - But many who are first will be the last and the last first.

P.S: Blog under construction. Don't want to interfere too much with Solozo's exceedingly good work. Also want to be able to separate my short stories, from random musings, from my weight loss journey and my foodie page. That way, I hope it makes it easier for anyone browsing through the blog to find that which interests them the most.

Celebrating you....

"It is not the critic who counts; not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles, or where the doer of deeds could have done them better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood; who strives valiantly; who errs, who comes short again and again, because there is no effort without error and shortcoming; but who does actually strive to do the deeds; who knows great enthusiasms, the great devotions; who spends himself in a worthy cause; who at the best knows in the end the triumph of high achievement, and who at the worst, if he fails, at least fails while daring greatly, so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who neither know victory nor defeat.".. Theodore Roosevelt, 1910.

A statement buried in a speech made so long ago, but so relevant to our times!

I find in thinking of this speech, that I think of all the strong women of our time who may not have been particularly perfect, but who find themselves in the battlefield of life, daily covered in the dust and grime of striving to hold on to a career and "compete with the men" and in the face of all odds, they come out standing and they come out tall. They might not have been perfect, come to think of it, not all of the women mentioned in the Bible were perfect, but they all had a cause and they stuck to it. They struggled valiantly for the future and in that struggle, did not relent if the results were less than expected, but rather continued to invest their efforts in striving to make the world a better place, one person at a time!

I celebrate you all!

I think of our mothers, investing their time, their efforts, sweating pellets of blood to shape and mold us into a better version of themselves. None wishing that we should be like them, but that we should better their achievements a million fold, cheering us to greater heights and achievements. I recall the fasting embarked upon by my mother to see us emerge better and different, the prayers when we stumble and the hands extended to lift us up even though we fall! The words that wipe away the hurt, the shame, the blow to our egos at having taken a tumble and egging us on to look beyond the present circumstances into their constant assurance of a brighter future. The tears invested can never be repaid, the love expended can never be quantified. We were their goals, their expectations, their greatest achievements and no stone was left unturned in pursuing the realization of those dreams

A mother's labor - evergreen, ever forgiving, ever faithful and never fading.

I celebrate my mum!!

I cast my mind upon our sisters: a strong hold in times of trouble, watching our backs, willing to drop it all in an instant and fight for us. Always ready and forthcoming with words of advice, encouragement and sharing experiences. Sisters that we find, not just from our mother's womb, but in every aspect of life. Sisters in the workplace, sisters in the gym, sisters in the marketplace, sisters just around your neighborhood. Ever ready to rush to your aid, never judgmental but always providing a listening ear, a shoulder to cry on and a napkin to wipe the tears when you are done!

I celebrate my sister, sister-in-laws and those sisters, though not related by blood of marriage, but who have indeed proved themselves worthy to be called sisters!

Aunties add variety to life. Casting my mind back on my life's journey, I remember aunties who provided comfort when I could not run to my mum. Aunties who made life a bit more fun, who were ready with the cuddles, they would withhold from spanking where mothers would tan your hide, yet aunties would not hesitate to gently chide. They provided comfort when mothers were not readily available and confirmed why I needed a mother's instruction and guidance to survive.

Oh how numerous those aunties were! Some I have lost touch with, some I still see regularly, I find some rare gems daily - search deep within you and you will realise that your life story can never be completely told without mentioning an aunt or two.

I celebrate my aunties - you all are the bomb!

Friends, a word so casually flung about, but which needs to be properly applied as misapplication more often than not, leads you into a pack of wolves in sheep's clothing! Ah friends! They understand, they relate, they fight, they make up! They stand by you, they fight with you, they break laws with you but still call you to order when you attempt to overstep bounds! They feel your pain and they fight for what they believe you are worth.

For those friends who have stood the test of time, I can't celebrate you, cos we are in this together! I deeply appreciate you!

The International Women's Day - Appreciate and celebrate all the women who make your world go round!

Incu what?

Is this a very Nigerian thing or does it truly exist in the real sense of it?

A young man, straight from school into the work force, gets a very good job with a reputable oil firm/bank/NGO/school, heck anything, just a good job. Is doing really well for himself and others, has a good relationship with his girlfriend whom he eventually marries. Two years down the line, he begins to experience challenges, maybe life challenges  maybe work related, loses his job and goes through the usual adjustment processes. The wife runs from pillar to post seeking spiritual (and sometimes physical) solution to the man's envisaged problems. Goes to a church where she is informed the husband has a "spirit wife" that is offended with the marriage and hell bent on dealing with him for marrying her.

A young lady, slowly approaching her late forties, holds down a good job, lives real well, contributes to her church, community and society, can afford to take trips abroad for holiday and leisure. No marital prospects on the horizon, maybe having been battered emotionally and psychologically, has also taken the decision to stay away from relationships and live her life the way she wants to live it. If marriage comes, fine and if it doesn't come okay! Her concerned mother, runs helter skelter, seeking a "solution" to her daughter's marital "problems". In seeking that solution, she chances upon a prophet or MOG who calmly informs her that her daughter is married in the marine world "Spirit husband". And his presence in her life will not permit any other man to step in.

A couple, married for over 10 years, both hold down good jobs (or maybe they don't, that is entirely besides the point here), good members of their society, churches and community. Openly loving and generous couple, besotted with each other and outpouring towards society at large. Their challenge - no children yet. They have tried every position known to man, even taken advice from dubious sources, all in a bid to try to have just one child. They have resorted to dry charges (no food, no water fasting for short bursts of three days at a stretch), all to no avail. Eventually, during a church crusade, they are informed that either (or both) of them have spouses in the spirit world (and perhaps children), and need deliverance from these ties in order to progress.

A married man has a near escape from a fatal road accident - Either his wife or him have a spirit spouse who is after their lives

A young and upwardly mobile lady loses all her earthly positions and titles, perhaps after just getting married - There is a spirit husband who is angry with her for getting married

A couple have one child who is hell bent on sending his parents to an early grave - The spirit children are annoyed that in spite of their best efforts at keeping the couple apart, they still got together and had children.

The instances are endless and could go on and on and on..

Worried, especially as I recently had the dubious honor of mediating in a case where the wife was told her husband's "spirit wife" was to blame for all the incidents he had recently passed through, to the extent that the "spirit spouse" was now attacking the innocent woman, trying to ensure she made little or no progress in life for as long as she remained married to her husband, I decided to carry out a bit of sleuthing. (My thoughts and opinions on this particular case comes at the end).

From my searches, this "Spirit Spouse" phenomenon seems to be a largely West African thing, with one or two particular churches latching on to it and declaring every issue a spirit spouse thing. Other upcoming pastors and prophets, seeing how it has worked out well for their forbears, proceed to proliferate and spread the gospel according to spirit husbands and wives. Spirit spouses were birthed in ancient Latin mythology and have slowly spread their tentacles to other parts of the world, but in no other space have they received widespread acceptance than in West Africa, especially our very own Naija.

Someone comes to a Pastor for prayers and deliverance. You are hard pressed to admit that you cannot decipher the root cause of this problem and rather than advice the young couple to continue to wait on God's time, you proceed to dash one or the other of them a "Spirit Spouse". Easy short cut to the resolution of the spiritual problem.

What happened to waiting on God and God's time? I took my time to go through the bible and no where was "Spirit Husband" or "Spirit Wife" mentioned in connection to any of the misfortunes that fell upon the great men in the bible. I believe that as Christians, whether practicing or professing, our standard should be the bible.

Job - Big man, houses, lands, cars, goods on the high seas, children wif swagga, it was reported he lost them all in one day! So, I am convinced, if Job's wife - that restless woman- had gone to a Nigerian prophet, she would have been asked to bring her husband down for deliverance from Spirit Spouse. Job on the other hand, knew that he was being tried and tempted, after all the bible does admonish us to count it all joy when we are faced with diverse temptations as it is the trial of our faith that worketh patience (James 1:3). He waited on God and for God's time and his end was more glorious than the beginning. 

Would that a lot of these pastors, when they see desperate young men seeking an instant solution to life's problems would just advice them to wait on God. Wait! How come we no longer want to wait, both physically and spiritually? We want everything to come to us and at our own times, why? Who even deceives people into believing that life is a smooth journey - I can assure you that even the Dangotes and Otedolas of the world have some pressing or burning issue that can be wished away on a "Spirit spouse".

Abraham and Sarah, they waited to have Isaac. They waited beyond what any human being living or dead would consider realistic. They waited until their due time for visitation and then, they were blessed with the child as promised of God and indeed Abraham became the father of all nations as promised. Nowhere did the bible mention deliverance from a spirit husband or wife before the child came.

Mary Magdalene - no spirit husband

Peter (of "I go a fishing" fame, sword carrying disciple, "I no know this Jesus o") - no spirit wife

Samson - No spirit wife (even though he landed the prize with Delilah - go figure)

Ruth - No Spirit husband

Jonah - No Spirit wife

Joseph - No spirit wife

Racheal - No spirit husband

And on, and on, and on. In fact in the entire bible, there was no spirit spouse mentioned as the root cause of anybody's life challenges. Point of fact, there were demons, confirmed! And they were speedily dispatched. But no where was someone advised to go for deliverance from spirit husband. When I took this up with a prophet and asked him to show me proof in the bible that spirit spouses are the root cause of  problems encountered by individuals, he took me to Mathew 13:25 - But while men slept, his enemies came and sowed wheat among the tares and went away.

Please, can someone with a better understanding explain to me how this relates to Spirit Spouse? He said to me that this was a parable only for the "discerning", and I took him through the bible where every parable was properly explained and in fact in most instances, linked directly to the situation they referred to! Well, I had my own bible reference for the Pastor - 2 Peter 2: 1-3.

Overall, I really think we need to learn to be discerning. People encounter life situations and when you go through a "wilderness experience", learn to wait. Wait and listen to the still small voice. Stop running from pillar to post. Wait for God and He will speak to every situation in your life and at THE APPOINTED TIME, things will work right and your lines will begin to fall into pleasant places.

Now, back to the issue of the young man with "the spirit wife". His flesh wife (abi wetin you go call this one again), was visibly agitated. She wanted no part of this spirit wife especially since she was told that the next target could be her life! She in fact, needed to quickly disassociate herself with the man as she had also started experiencing "difficulties in her business". I had a good laugh on her account, free of charge and told her one thing.

It was obvious to me that there was never any love involved in the marriage, especially on her part, in the first instance. She had just been stringing this man along and was there for the ride. Now when things were no longer as rosy as they used to be, she was conveniently taking the easy way out - blame it on the spirit spouse and bail for your life. I advised her and I strongly believe in this advise, to stand by her man! What he needs during this period of challenge in his life is someone who would empathise, comfort, understand and support. Of course her business will experience difficulties because where before, it was just used to support Madam's fashion leanings and cravings, now it was supporting the entire household (school fees, feeding, house rent, etc).

Like I told her, she could make good use of this opportunity to flee to greener pastures, no guarantee that those pastures would remain evergreen and guess what would happen when her new love begins to experience a set back, *no brainer alert*, well, she would be accused of having a spirit husband since every man she latches herself onto experiences setbacks. How then would she feel?

On the other hand, if the man finds a woman that supports him during the difficulties, stands by him and together nurtures him back to growth, the rat that abandoned the sinking ship would definitely surface sometime in the future and start attempting to claim her place back as the "First and rightful wife".

Please Nigerians, be wise and grow a brain!

One For The Road...

"Do you, Xaviera, take this man, Jacob, to be your lawful wedded husband, to love, honor and cherish him through sickness and in health, through times of happiness and travail, until death do you part? 

"I do"

Vivi's mind drifted off and the rest of the ceremony passed as in a haze. Suddenly, the words she had been waiting all her life for...

"You may now kiss the bride"

As Jake released her waist where he had placed his hand proprietorially, in defiance of anyone's opinions from the very first moment she walked down the aisle to him; as he slowly lifted the veil he had insisted she wear in spite of all her protests; she began a long slow exhale.

She continued exhaling as he lowered his head to hers, she knew he was an extremely passionate man and even though her mind was doing cartwheels, her body remained frozen as she waited, anticipating. Just before his lips made contact, she deeply inhaled and was immediately lost in the passion of the moment.

He ignored the fact that they were in church, in the presence of the priest and tons of friends and well wishers who had gathered to witness this joyous day as he proceeded to titillate her senses with promises of what was to come.

The catcalls and wolf whistles, the riotous applause, people climbing on the pews to get a better look, flashes as everyone suddenly turned paparazzi to capture this one moment of unbridled passion, this open display of love and devotion, all passed unnoticed as firmly but gently, Jake ensured he thoroughly kissed his bride.

As he finally let her go, he clutched her to his chest for one moment, more to shield her as she had streams of tears running down her face and ruining the expertly applied make up, then handing her over to the maid of honor, he turned to the loudest section of the audience where his friends were making their presence felt and noticed and slowly, took a bow. The church erupted and it took the officiating minister over 10 minutes to restore order.

Seizing the moment, Vivi, whose heart kept hammering as though it sought escape from her body had, with the help of her maid of honor, expertly touched up her make up and  managed to maintain and regain some of her trademark composed facade. The joy coursing through her body, radiated on her face and gave her an almost other worldly look.

"Ladies and gentlemen, it is my privilege to introduce to you for the very first time, the newly joined: Mr and Mrs Udoh"

Since he had seen first hand how rambunctious this crowd could be, as he spoke the words, the officiating minister deftly stood aside and began walking backwards to his vestry as the congregation thronged the couple. There were hugs, kisses, tears, backslapping, catcalls... this crowd was happy to be alive and happy to be here and were determined to show it loud and clear.

========================================================================

Photographs - check
Wedding reception - check
Wedding dance - check
Cutting of the cake - check
Feeding each other - check
Presentation of gifts - check
Toasts and speeches - check
Tossing of the bouquet - check
Running off into the stretch limo - check

Aside from the unexpected well of emotions at the church service, Vivi had maintained her composure. There were no more tears and she had luxuriated and enjoyed every moment of her day. Jake had ensured she had a jolly good time. He was never too far from her and even when the surge of friends had somehow carried them apart almost to the different ends of the hall, she could always feel the warmth of his eyes on her. Whenever she made eye contact, he slowly winked. Whenever she was close enough, his hand was always on her waist or the small of her back. He was always leaning in for a kiss here, a peck there. Gawd he loved this lady, he had landed a jackpot all in one and he was determined to let the whole world know.

Once in the limo, she had quickly changed into her get away clothes and relaxed to await the surprise Jake had kept insinuating was in stock for her today.

Suddenly, he was on his knees in front of her, took both of her hands in his and looked into her eyes.

"My Love, My wife! Today, you have made me the happiest man in the entire universe. You are for me a dream come true, all my life I have prayed and hoped for a woman just like you. I still don't know what I have done to deserve you at the point of almost giving up, but I know that I am devoted to making everyday worth the while for as long as we both shall live. There will be good days and bad, there will be ups and downs, we may not always agree, but I promise, I will never let you go. You are my heartbeat and for as long as my heart beats, I promise to stay true to you!"

As the tears filled her eyes, he pulled himself into the seat beside her, clutched her close to him and rocked her gently back and forth.

As Vivi's mind traveled into the past, just two short years ago, she smiled at their first encounter and how she had almost let this one go...

========================================================================

As Vivi nursed a steaming cup of hot coffee at the Hammersmith Station, she was oblivious to the fact that tears were coursing down her face. In part due to the cold, in part due to the shock she had just experienced, she was entirely numb and unfeeling.

She had heard him calling her as she walked briskly down Iffley Road and had broken into a light jog. Rather than go through the Main Street, she had darted under the bridge to the King's mall and promptly gotten herself mixed up among the throng of shoppers flocking in and out of the malls, all the while, keeping a wary eye out for him.

She had traveled all the way from Nigeria to meet Chuks,well, maybe not just to meet him, but since she was around and had added on a few days from her vacation to her trainingschedule, she had decided to track him down. Somehow, in the past three months, he had grown more and more distant, ignoring her calls and messages, showing up once in a while with a mouth full of excuses and hell bent on getting one thing and one thing only. It had been frustrating and she had run a gamut of emotions but the worst part for her had been the mind games.

Whenever he remembered to call her or had taken one of her calls, he would pick offence at the slightest provocation, claim an overflow of emotions and drop the phone on her, pleading he needed time to sort his riotous emotions out. Her head would jump in and immediately begin to advise her on how to effectively be the bigger person and end the relationship, but her heart, o treacherous heart, would convince her to just hang in there and understand with "all he was going through".

He had suddenly shown up one day and announced that he needed to get back to London to "sort out a few things". As usual, he had finagled a fast fuck out of her on her living room rug (that was another thing that bothered her about their relationship, he could never be bothered to woo her properly or even lead her into the bedroom). It was always "wham-bam", he would help her up from the rug, plant a kiss on her forehead, zip up and would be gone like a flash in the dark until whenever he felt the urge for her again.

This time, he was even faster than usual and went mechanically about his business, not even bothering or noticing if she was ready, his mind obviously elsewhere. Done, he stood up, zipped up and focused on his Blackberry, responding furiously as the phone pinged away! After a few minutes, she had rolled over, stood up, adjusted her dress and moved into the adjoining bedroom where she sat with her head in her palms, wondering what had just happened.

She was jolted back to the present by his sudden appearance in the room. He dropped a kiss on her forehead, pulled her to her feet, hugged her tight and requested she opened the door to let him out. She had moved like a zombie and after he left, dropped back to the bed and lay cuddled up in the fetal position until she dropped into an uneasy sleep.

Well, here she was in London. He had been a bit more frequent with his calls since arriving London, but evaded any personal questions and got off the line as quickly as he possibly could. She was not one to leave any stone un turned and had come prepared to talk this relationship through and map out a way forward. What she was not prepared for was what she saw when she knocked on the door...

She had vaguely remembered him mention Number 75 Iffley Road while on a telephone conversation with a friend and had purposely not informed him she would be in London. Two days and she was done with the training. At six am on Friday morning, she steeled herself and set off for Hammersmith, an area she was slightly familiar with.

As she hit the knocker twice on the door, she heard the scurry of little feet and then a soft thump on the door at about shin height  How cute, she thought, he has a dog. As she knocked again, the door opened and she stared into the bluest pair of eyes she had ever come across in the universe.

"Sorry," the lady muttered breathlessly, "Adrian is always quick to get the door".

She looked down and noticed a dark skinned boy of about two with extremely curly hair, happily nattering away.

As she looked up at the white woman staring questioningly back at her, she saw a pair of slipper clad feet descending the staircase, bringing into view Chuks!

"Hey Chels, who is....." his voice spluttered into nothingness as he saw her.

She could see in the hallway, framed pictures of him and Chelsea, each alone, together, with three kids the eldest not more than six. Obviously, he was home.

Impulsively, she said the first thing that came into her mind, "Does Mr. Blenkinsop stay here?"

"Oh no Darling, you have a wrong address" replied Chelsea while Chuks stood with his mouth open.

"Oh, my bad. Sorry for the bother".

She pivoted on her heels and turned back up Iffley road and ten minutes later, heard him call out her name.

She ran.

As she recollected her thoughts, she saw a hand holding out an handkerchief to her:

"Go on Angel, a pretty lady like you should not be sitting alone crying, whatever the circumstances"

She looked into the eyes of the man standing in front of her. Tall, light skinned (but obviously African), a sole diamond glittered in his ear. As he came into focus and placed the handkerchief in her hand, she jerked back and split some of the coffee down her coat. She snatched the handkerchief and wiping herself down, turned for the door.

"Hey...!"

She ignored him and walked briskly down into the train station, ignoring the call from behind her. As she walked down the steps, her train pulled into the station and she walked through the nearest door and through several coaches before settling in one that was almost full to capacity. She needed the distraction of other commuters to drown out the privacy of her thoughts.

========================================================================

Sunday morning, she got up bright and early and began to plan her day.

Having collapsed into bed on Friday and remained there until today, she thought a little bit of retail therapy could serve to soothe her frazzled nerves and prepared herself for the trip to the Liverpool street market.

As usual, when she needed to clear her head, she thought in gutter pidgin.

"Today na to chop all the money wey dey my hand o. After that yeye skrobbo don chop everytin wey de my body finish. Useless obote gorilla  Chai, na wa for dis kain life o! How person wey get wife and many many pikin dem go dey lie put lef', rait and center. Im dey even ma wan mak I introduce am gee all my friends, my family, everybodi. If hin see me wit man, him go dey form annoyance. Ewu gambia"

She walked up to the mirror and looked at herself critically, pointing a finger at herself, she continued...

"Your mates na goat, you, you be ewu. Original ewu awusa, proper ewu gambia. So na so any man wey come near you, you go de gee am chop ba? See wetin u do urself? You even kukuma sef carry youa dead bodi come meet man all the way for ofesi, man wey no send you. You better learn youa lesson now, useless old woman"

Her thoughts swung back to Chuks and she began to curse him out roundly. She had a mouth like a drunken sailor, but only her closest friends knew about that side of her. To everyone else, she presented the highly polished public veneer, the cool lady exterior, the classy and high class genteel persona.

========================================================================

As she strolled down Petticoat Lane some hours later, her mind more settled now, she took in the sights and sounds of the market.

"One Pound, Two Pounds, Three Pounds look around"

"Anyone is a five pounds, anyone is a five pounds"

"Hot roasted chestnuts, peanuts, all nuts, you want nuts? "

The sing song call of the traders, the jostling of the patrons (she had her sling back bag close to her chest and underneath her sweater), the scrambles for bargains, the ever vigilant cops, the hordes and hordes of Nigerians dragging huge boxes behind them, she did not notice when she brushed against someone until the "brushee" reached out his arm and caught her lightly by the sleeve.

"Angel?"

She stared up into a pair of dreamy eyes. He was tall, light skinned (although he was obviously African) and a single diamond glittered in his ear. Broad chested, as her eyes skimmed quickly over his face and body, trying desperately to place him, she noticed the tail end of a tattoo on his neck, sneaking out from the end of his jacket. It looked like a tail, or a snake, or a letter. She sensed rather than smelt the perfume on him and though she could not readily place it, knew it must be expensive.

He spoke in a dreamy American accent, in a soft voice guaranteed to make a woman go weak in the knees...

"Fancy meeting you here Angel"

"Huh?"

"Yeah, of all the people I expected to bump into on Petticoat Lane, you were the least of them. Gosh, it is quite good seeing you again..."

She snatched her sleeve out of his grasp and proceeded to give him her classic pulverizing look. Quick as a flash, her face static, her eyeballs moved along the length of his body. Up, down, up, down, up, down in rapid succession! She followed it up with a long drawn out hiss

"Mtchewwwwwwwwwww"

As he felt the heat and resentment pouring out from her and the scorching eyes carving a path through his body as they seriously "eyed" him, he froze and the words died out on his lips. Hands still stretched out, he could not help but feel something rise in him as the vixen done with the eye washing, proceeded to hiss in unexpected Nigerian gutter style, turned and matched away. Her curvaceous but evenly distributed size 18, arresting his gaze until she disappeared around the corner.

"Damn!" He ran his hand over his head and down around his lips. Rubbing both hands together, he looked around, let out a soft whistle and said, almost to himself... "I want that!"



TO BE CONTINUED...... [maybe :-)]