Waist beads and ankle bracelets…

8

Remember that leaked video clip of Jay Z and Queen B in an elevator, and how Solange charged at him like a raging bull? I remember watching it and thinking, “Wow! What crass behaviour from a lady!” Then I rode off on my high horse…

Years later, only a few days ago, I found myself charging at a man and smashing a lamp against a wall. You think you know yourself till you’re stuck in an elevator. 

In my past relationships, whenever the guy cheated (and they all did), I would cry dramatically like they do in soap operas and ask, “How could you do this to me? To us?” then I would storm out of the house/room/hostel like a white girl, wind in my braids. And those were relationships that lasted months, even years.  This one was only a week old and I was already smashing lamps.

It was 5:00am in the morning when I picked up his phone. (Yes, I picked up his phone… let he who is without sin cast the first stone). His actions the previous night had been dodgy, and he seemed to only have cell reception in the toilet so the Crime and Investigation watcher in me had to know who he had been talking to and texting when he thought I was asleep.

Anyway, my heart was beating so hard. I was sure that I was mentally prepared for anything that would follow. At first, I couldn’t figure out the phone. It was a Blackberry and the stupid Siri wanna-be kept shouting,“Command not recognized. Please try again”.  It was so loud! 5:00am, the room was dark and quiet, except the drone of the air conditioner so it sounded like the Siri wanna-be was screaming.

I tried again… “Command not recognized. Please try again”.  

And again… “Command not recognized. Ngor give yourself sense and don’t try again”.  

But my mama didn’t raise no quitter. I eventually got into the phone so I made some popcorn, curled up on the couch and read through weeks’ worth of messages. What my eyes saw?! I started wishing my mama had raised a quitter and I had just left the phone well alone. As I continued to read, my rage was slowly building. I was like the Hulk in a slow transformation. When I’d had enough and felt like I was going to be sick, I woke him up. “WHO THE FUCK IS ROSIE AND WHY ARE YOU DREAMING ABOUT HER WAIST BEADS??!!”

Funny enough, out of all the messages, the one about the waist beads was the least scandalous message I read, but that was the one I picked as my opening line.

He got the phone away from me but of course it was too late. Brethren, I was like a mad woman, following him around the house cursing and screaming. All I wanted was for the neighbours to wake up and help me ask, “Who the fuck is Rosie with the waist beads?”

This went on for a while, I’m not sure how long. Eventually, I calmed down, but that was only because he threatened to throw me over the balcony if I didn’t stop screaming.

I went inside and started packing my bag, getting ready to leave. From the room, I could hear him on the phone in the living room. He was calling his friends. “Gai! Wetin I use my eye see this morning ehn?! My gai ehn… I weak.”

One friend stopped over on his way to work. They both stood outside, leaning over the balcony rails looking somber. I heard only bits and pieces of his narration after which the friend patted his back and encouraged him to stay strong, before leaving for work. Then he called more people…“My gai… if you know wetin I take my eyes see this morning ehn?”

By then, the rage had cleared and I was spent. All I could think of was how weird it was that no one, not one single friend, had asked him, “But my gai, who be Rosie wey get waist beads?”

My friends, God bless them, would’ve asked me.

It was too late to travel back home so I went downstairs and sat with the security man for a long while. We talked about family, his job, his ambition to join the army, the weather… everything except why I woke the entire neighbourhood up. Occasionally, he would ask, “Aunty, are you ok?”

I told him I was fine. I was more embarrassed than angry at that point and I was trying to figure out my next steps. I was in a strange town where I knew exactly two people; this Rosie’s guy and a married girlfriend. The only other people I knew were Twitter/Facebook peeps.

Finally, he said, “Aunty, please let your mind come down. Whatever it is, please just forget it.” He gave a small speech about what a good, kind man his oga is, then he asked me not to leave ‘no matter what happun’. In my mind, I pictured him giving the same speech to several other girls before.

When he was done, I went up, got my bag and left. I ended up in a nice, cosy hotel just a few streets away.

The next day, I went to see my married friend in her office and I told her my side of the story. She said guys never ask who Rosie is. It’s all part of the guy code. She took me to a joint not far from her office where I ate four wraps of Amala ati gbogbo e. By the time I was done eating, I had forgotten all about Pamela with the toe ring… or was it Letisha with the ankle bracelet?

I joke. I cried like a baby all the way home. A friend of mine says that it’s a good thing because it means my heart is still working. I guess that’s one way to look at it…

Thank you Yemisi! And thanks to Gift and her boyfriend for the free ride… you guys rock!

Happy New Year…

12

A few nights ago, I spilled a huge mug of piping hot tea on my bed…

My phone got the most of the tea and hasn’t been able to come on since then. I shake it and I can still hear tea swishing around inside. Everyone asks, “Did you put it in rice?” and I act like I never even considered it. First of all, I don’t have rice (because diet). Secondly, the body of the phone is so sticky from all the sugar that was inside the tea. Putting it in rice would’ve just resulted in sweet raw rice and a still-bad phone. It would make more sense to use the phone to soak garri.

After the spill, I removed my duvet and my sheets, and hung my jotter to dry. I had to sleep curled up at one end of my mattress, above the brown stain that looked like the map of a continent.

The next morning, I put my sim in an ancient 10-year old Nokia phone and now I rely on my spidey senses to identify familiar numbers and recognize people’s voices.

Anyway, Happy New Year guys!!! So far, my year has been good-ish. It hasn’t gone according to plan but I’m hopeful.

The best news so far is, I’ve moved to a new place! It’s smaller than my old place, but I love it. It’s more affordable, quieter, and it’s a more sensible environment.

My old place used to leave me feeling so angry with God. I used to have a 25 year old Interior designer neighbour who lived in a 2.5M-per-year flat and drove a white Range. Meanwhile, in my two years there, I never once saw her hold a fancy lamp or a flower vase.

One day, she gave me a pep talk about how to be a self starter. She said, “Ngor leave this church tin… Stop sitting around, feeling sorry for yourself. Heaven helps those who help themselves.” She ended the talk by asking me to draw up a business plan so that she could review it and see if we could go into a partnership.

Because I’m a mumu who always considers the “What if’s”, I really drew up a business plan. She must’ve used it as wallpaper in a client’s house because we never spoke of it again.

My new landlady is the coolest landlady on earth. I hardly ever see her though. On Wednesday, after church, she sent her house help to give me a huge wrap of Amala and a big bowl of meat with tiny soup. I went over to the house to thank her and she admitted that she worries about me sometimes. She thinks I’m abnormally quiet.

She was surprised when I moved in less than two hours after I met her and we concluded our agreement. “Ahn ahn! What’s the hurry?” “Don’t you want to paint first?” “Won’t you do some work in the room first?”

I assured her it was fine. By 10am that morning, I showed up in a truck with all my stuff. I cleaned the room while my AC guy installed my AC. I got her cable guy’s number and he wired my cable. I plugged in my fridge and my electric kettle (for tea that me and my phone would later drink) and I settled in. I’m taking my time to do everything else. For now, this is home.

Also, this year, I’ve been actively working on worrying less… or not worrying at all. I worry about all sorts, from big things to small things. I worry so much that I worry about what my worrying will do to my health. And for someone who is a tongue-firing, bible believing Christian sister, it doesn’t say much about my faith in God does it?

Anyway, in a bid to help my worrying, I’m trying out meditation. I’ve done some reading on it and tried to practice a few times with mixed results. The first time, I over-relaxed and I fell asleep while trying to focus on my breathing. The other two times, didn’t do much. I’ll keep practicing though. Maybe next time you hear from me, I’ll be on some Dr Strange shi’… writing blog posts while levitating inna de ear.

That’s ‘in the air’ for all you non-Jamaican readers.

Happy New Year guys.

 

Orange flavoured vodka…

, 5

The last time I was this tipsy was at my sister’s wedding… about this same time last year.

I was the chief bridesmaid and I didn’t have a major function, but I had lots of small small functions like carrying the heavy tail of the wedding gown, and fanning my sister with one of those fancy folding fans. I remember dancing into the hall with the bridal party and later crying during the couple’s first dance. Other than that, I didn’t get to actually sit and participate in much else until the wedding reception was almost over.

As the reception came to an end, the live band packed up their equipment and the DJ set up his shit. The after-wedding-party started and all the old folks gradually left, everyone except my mother. She sat there and stuck out like a sore thumb in her huge gele. It was like she wanted to milk whatever motherhood was left before her daughter had to leave with her husband.

Initially, I was very uncomfortable because I had never partied with my mother in the same room. I had two options;

  1. Sit down beside my mother, sipping on orange juice and bopping my head to the music, while watching the other guests have fun.

OR

  1. Kick off my heels, get wasted and turn the fuck up at my only sister’s wedding!

So that’s exactly what I did. I got wasted and I turned up. I had a red cup and one of my in-law’s called Ayo made sure there was always Remy Martin in my cup. My poor mother saw a side of me she didn’t know existed. Later,  I heard she almost had a stroke when she watched me twerk to Rihanna’s ‘Work’.

Tonight, I went to see an old friend… someone I hadn’t seen in almost 10 years. He called me up sometime last week and we decided to meet up for drinks. Before I went to meet him, I sent his picture, full name, office address and phone numbers to a friend of mine in case I got missing or had my reproductive organs sold for money rituals.

You are probably wondering; if you were so scared, why did you go? Well, you can like to blame my church and it’s funny prayer points;

STRANGE MEN IN UNUSUAL PLACES WILL REMEMBER YOU FOR GOOD IN THE NAME OF JESUS!!!   

So every time your phone rings, it might be a strange person in an unusual place who has remembered you!

Also, blame friends who keep telling me that I never go anywhere. Anyway, I’m home now. I didn’t get a chance to twerk, but I had lots of fun. I decided to quickly write a tipsy post before going to bed. I need to get enough rest because I’m on duty in church tomorrow morning.

Let he who is without sin cast the first stone…

Taxify’s marriage certificate…

, 4

Early one morning, a long time ago in my former office, two senior female colleagues stood by the entrance of the main building. They were huddled together, and they spoke in hushed tones. I saw them but I thought nothing of it because experience had taught me that they could either be deciding the future of someone’s entire career, or they could be expressing grave concerns over what Antonio did to Miguel in last night’s Telemundo episode.

The MD arrived while they were still outside. He was such a hard ass. He didn’t like to see people breathe because breathing wasted time and time is money. Every time I remember this episode, I imagine that in his mind’s eye, he saw two wasted salaries just standing around, talking and breathing. He yelled roared at them, something about being productive with their time instead of gossiping.

When they told me about it, I wasn’t surprised because he was my MD too. He was known far and wide in the industry for his shouting. Still, being the stand-up gal that I am, I tried to mirror their outrage. They ranted and I listened, the whole time shaking my head… How dare he?

Then one of them said, “If it was another person, I would understand, but he was talking to someone’s wife!”

The other lady agreed, “Exactly! That’s what is paining me.”

___________________________________________________________

Yesterday, I had a terrible experience with a Taxify driver. I booked a trip for a sick friend from Lekki to Surulere. He took a roundabout journey in the guise of avoiding traffic and at some point even stopped to buy fuel during the trip. In the end, the trip totaled almost double the cash my friend had with her. She called me and I spoke with him, “Take what she has, and let her go to the hospital. I’ll transfer your balance.”

He refused. “She cannot go anywhere o, till I see alat.”

I transferred the money.

In the evening, I came back from church full of the Holy Spirit, and saw a message from my friend telling me not to bother with a transfer because she had paid him. So I called the driver and asked him, “Chukwuemeka, why didn’t you call me to tell me about the double payment?” He muttered something about trying to reach me to get my account number so he could pay back.

At that point, I was still somehow filled with the Spirit. It was when he started to mansplain that something sparked inna me head and I completely lost it. I warned him about speaking to me like I was suffering from dementia.

He said, “Listen o… I am a family man o. I have a wife and –“

The Holy Spirit left and I told him, “Emeka, I don’t give a flying fuck how many families you have. You will speak to me respectfully.”

Then he hung up. I still haven’t gotten my money back, and the Holy Spirit hasn’t come back either.

____________________________________________________________

This morning, my former caretaker called. She wanted to gist me about her sister who was kidnapped yesterday. The poor girl was taken to a bank and made to withdraw money, then she was taken to some rural area outside Lagos and locked up in a tiny room. Luckily, she somehow managed to escape, even with her money.

We were talking about how good God is when she said, “Thank God they didn’t rape her o.”

I responded, “That would’ve just been the absolute worst! She’s really lucky.”

She said, “They almost did o, but thank God na… as per, she’s a married woman. How can they rape someone’s wife?”

Testimony Time. Blessing Time.

6

Last year, when I was literally drowning in debt, I told a few friends that I wanted to leave. I didn’t use the term “drowning”, but I explained that I could no longer afford to stay in my flat. I knew that even if I could hustle the rent for another year, I would be picking left-over pizza from Domino’s Pizza garbage for the rest of the year.

Looking back now, I realize that I wasn’t really serious about leaving. If not I wouldn’t have told the people I knew would convince me to stay.

“Opportunities are HERE in Lagos! Warri is dead!” 

“Your problem is that you don’t even go out and meet people… don’t you know that you can just meet someone who will like you and give you a big contract?”

That last one is from my friend who always knows someone who knows someone who attends a church where people testify about ridiculously miraculous events. And it’s always the same type of testimony… a guy whose only qualification is a NaijaBet paper slip, is walking along the road and he runs into his day care classmate who ends up giving him a job as MD of an oil company, with free housing and two official cars.

Even now that I’m typing it, I feel very silly. A whole year went by and yes, I met a number of people who liked me, but none who liked me enough to give me the kind of contract they testify about in those weird churches. The closest thing to happen to me was just a few weeks ago, on my friend’s birthday. I was walking to her house and a pickup truck in slow reverse hit me while I was trying to cross the road.

I was partly to blame cos I was so distracted. When the car hit me, I didn’t fall or anything. It just felt like a hard shove. The driver wasted no time apologizing and in the end, he dropped me off at my friend’s place.

In the car, he was wary. I think he would’ve preferred a more dramatic reaction, maybe some yelling and collar-grabbing. After a long silence, he said, “It’s like you’re the quiet type.”

I wanted to tell him that he and his pickup truck were the least of my problems.

Anyway, this year I didn’t tell anyone. I just packed up my shit and left. I thought of staying with a friend, but the last thing I want to do is inconvenience anyone. To be honest, I am only fun on paper. In real life, I am annoying as fuck to live with. I arrange my remote controls according to height, my hangers are colour coordinated and I have outside slippers and inside slippers. Last week, a friend wore my inside slippers outside. We’re still friends, of course, but I don’t know if we can ever get back to the way we were before the slippers incident.

I will live from a backpack under Eko bridge, surviving only on crackers and pure water, until I learn that Premium bouquet is only for the rich and expensive perfumes are not a substitute for a boyfriend. When I run out of crackers, I will eat my decoder and my inside slippers (because I’ll be wearing the outside ones… duh!) till I learn my lesson.

Usually, I see the humour in almost anything… but when I start to sense that I’m running out of jokes and can no longer smile through, I go into hiding. That’s what I’m doing now. So if you’re driving by and you see a girl with a back pack, an LG Tv, and an extra pair of slippers, yeah that’s me…