talesbytwilight

Routine Maintenance

2012-01-29T13:59:00.000-08:00

I just had an all consuming desire to come on here.

You know, like when you have a country house you have neglected for so long because you’ve been so busy in town?

Then you feel like if you don’t go to the country house to do some maintenance the house will collapse the very next minute?
Well, that’s how I felt. That if I didn’t stop by here soon, I’d come and my blog wouldn’t be here anymore.

Thank God it still is.

In Strict Confidence

2011-10-16T16:12:00.000-07:00

Sometimes its just so hard to explain certain situations to anyone.

Like when you have a married fellow camped out there on your front room sofa, asking you to take them back into your life. You. A single girl. Who didn't even realise that what you had with the man was more than an "innocent friendship"?
Do you then go to your mother and say, "mamma, I need a spot of advice about this here married man whom I almost kissed once upon a drunken time. Now its all over but he won't accept it"?
Or do you call your married girlfriend on the phone and laughingly inform her of the er... situation?

How about when you have a 30 something year old never-been-kissed virgin guy in your bed, begging to be "deflowered" by you (is that the word for men?) ? Guy has the "need" for a woman so bad. And he believes you should do the honors of introducing him to his first sexual experience. What do you do? Call your pa and ask how it happened to him the first time?did he have to beg for it or did he just take it?
Perhaps it would be wiser to call a more worldly wise girlfriend to help. She'd know what to do. Afterall, she goes through boyfriends like she does clothes. Surely she must have had a "virgin" at some point! But she'll ask how he got into your room and in such randy condition in the first place! Then you begin to look like a seducer of innocent men!

Really knotty situations. These ones.

Or if you are angry at a now married ex for calling you up at odd hours, wanting to cry on your tired shoulders, who do you go crying to?
Especially when the said ex insists that you are the oasis in the (now) desert of his life. And he insists that talking to you gives his life meaning.
One can only roll ones eyes and consult the history books to remember why this guy was ex-ed. It helps the situation none when it is found that this ex once told you that he had to go into hospital because of the troubles you were giving him. That he lived with a constant headache from dealing with you, and his friends all believed he was losing weight rapidly.

Now tell me, to whom do you express the irritation and anger that's sure to follow this revelation?
Perhaps you could call his wife. Confide in her and give her a few tips on how to keep a husband tied securely to her apron strings so that he doesn't go crying to his "troublesome" ex?
Or do you call up your old mutual friends and say, "hey, guess what? just got off the phone with so and so. He was whining like a spineless idiot and wanted to know if we could start something again! Oh yes, he's still married. With two kids!"
*sigh*

At such times it may be wiser to turn to your blog(s). And confide in it. Or them.

Dead End

2011-07-29T10:59:00.000-07:00

For some reason, I feel like my life is on hold.

Several times, I have "put my hand to the plough" to get it back on course, but I find that I cannot.
It feels like I am waiting for something. But I have no idea what it is. Things that used to be sufficient now feel inadequate. People that appeared great now seem ordinary.

I cannot even write. Is this what they call writer’s block? I open a page, I type a few words. But they sound hollow. Empty, devoid of life.

I thought it was boredom. That’s what I called it. I don’t know if it is still boredom. Or something else.

A rare brand of boredom

2011-05-08T09:23:00.000-07:00

What name do you give to this boredom that plagues my life at the moment? What description do we give it?

It creeps in slowly, gradually, uninvited, and unnoticed. It picks a seat in my front yard, and seats itself down. Then it waits, for the last peal of laughter to die off on my lips, waits for the last guest to leave my room, and for me to put down the last book.
Then it turns to me, and smiles at me.

I smile back, thinking it is one of the guests. The nice familiar ones who drop by to say hello from time to time. Only this time, I notice a big bag in the corner, just behind this guest. This is a brand of boredom that has come to stay.

I go about my day to day activities, keeping only half an eye on it, hoping by some miracle, the boredom will leave. But alas! The more I try, the longer it stays.
I wake up in the morning, and I feel it in the shadows of my room. Sitting on its half unpacked bag, and staring at me. Those annoying gaps between its teeth, mocking me as if representing gaps in my life where some interesting activities have been evacuated.

When I take my bath, it smiles. As I dress up for work, the smile grows, by the time I get to my cubicle in the office; boredom is beside me, holding my hand, and laughing softly. It stays that way throughout the day, its mocking laughter ringing in my ears.

The more routine the activity, the louder and harder the laughter...

Rest in Peace

2011-03-02T09:55:00.000-08:00

Once we were friends. Lovers, even.
Then you went to another place, and started a new life
You met another and became someone else. Now you tell me that you love me, even while promising another
You say one thing, and you mean another.
You say one thing, and you act another
I hear things from you, that I know are not true.
You have become another. Whom I do not know.
An unpleasant change.

For this reason, it is best that you die.

To my mind, you will exist no more, except as a memory.
In the privacy of my room, I will weep for sorrow at the loss of a dear friend
I will wear black, for seven days
I will pray to the Lord on your behalf. That he forgive you, and comfort me, the one you left behind.
Because, to my mind, you are dead. And gone forever.

I will preserve the good memories I have of you. But I will not form new ones.
I will hardly speak of you, for the pain. But when I do, it will only be the good things. For one must not speak bad about the dead.
I will pack your things away. Remove things that remind me of you.

For you are dead, and gone, to my mind.

Out of the blues...

2011-01-06T03:31:00.000-08:00

Because it’s the start of another year, one is somehow expected to be happy, or, if one happens to be unhappy, one should pretend that that state of mind is not existent at the present time.

But who will be deceived? Apart from the general public of course, one will ultimately be deceiving oneself!

In any case, it makes absolutely no sense to give way to any contrary emotions at any time. Beginning of the year or not. And if one feels tired of all the normal things around, one can only pray, and hope for a change. The only difficulty is that, the change may be a while in coming, if one keeps doing the same old things that one always did, and one expects different results. But what can one do differently? One must think. And if need be, one must scheme. Yes, scheme!

Euphoria

2010-10-05T07:22:00.000-07:00

I’m euphoric.

Right now, the smallest thing gives me pleasure. I don’t know why I’m so ecstatic. Of course, I realize it is the kind of happiness that could turn on itself at any moment and become suicidal sadness. But right now, I don’t even know what that S word means!

The mundane, regular act of launching Microsoft word on my computer to type this gives me immense pleasure, as if I just got an offer to resume a well paying, absolutely non stressful, ample-vacation-inclusive job.
Maybe something like that is coming my way. Who knows?

Even the buffoon who has been disturbing me with phone calls and text messages does not seem like such a loser at this moment.

Perhaps I have been secretly drugged. Fed a strong dose of Ecstasy in my tea. I do remember leaving the cup unattended for a brief moment this morning. If that is the case, the drug is working.

Does anyone know where I can get frequent supplies?

Without meaning to sound cliché...

2010-09-29T11:04:00.000-07:00

What happens to our dreams? Or, how do people lose sight of dreams?

I remember in the past few years, when all my weekends were occupied by lectures and classes and study sessions, I would often stop and promise myself that once the exams were over, I would take some time to develop myself and do things that I actually would enjoy doing. I dreamed of learning to swim, taking classes in fashion, learning to play a musical instrument, e.t.c.
I had the names and addresses of the institutes and people that I would take the lectures from, just as soon as the exams were done with.

Now, seven months after receiving the results of my final exams, I am still who I was while writing the exams. No knowledge of any instruments, no knowledge of a new language, perhaps a worse fashion sense, no published works (or unpublished for that matter), basically nothing new! If anything, I may even be worse off because I now spend time watching tv, getting fat, and doing irrelevant things for which I never had the time while I was studying for exams. Some days I feel like my brain is gradually slipping into a rut for lack of so much use!

Okay, back to my point. Wherever did all those fantastic dreams go?

Once, I was going through my mailbox and I came across this article that had been written by a friend a long time ago. He had promised us, his readers that we would read part two of the article “soon”. So I sent him an email: “did you ever write part two?” he replied, “No. I have too much to do. I haven’t accomplished any of the things I set out to accomplish”.
That’s when I started to think of my own dreams of long (seven months) ago, and I began to wonder, “what on earth happened to those dreams?”

If we all had a moment to reflect, I believe we would come up with several dreams and plans and aspirations that somehow got shelved along the line.
What causes dreams to be shelved? What happens to them when they are shelved? Do they grow old and die a sad death? Do they fly off into the wind and enter someone else’s mind to be brought to fruition? Or do they remain somewhere in our minds, waiting, hoping, and praying (can dreams pray?) that one day, their originator arises and decides to act on them?

I would gladly pick the option that they fly off into someone else’s mind somewhere to be brought to life. But as soon as I begin to dwell on the idea, I am reminded that not all dreams / plans are happy and beneficial.
For instance, I dream and plan so much on how to inflict pain on a certain person. To somehow cause him grievous bodily harm (I like that phrase “grievous bodily harm). Now that is one dream I haven acted upon (yet). Let us assume that his mother’s prayers are strong enough to prevent me from actually fulfilling that particular dream, and the theory of dreams flying away is true, then it means, inevitably, that someday somewhere, someone is bound to do him grievous bodily harm (there, that nice phrase again).
It then naturally means that a lot of bad, inexplicable things would be happening to people everyday, based on naughty, flyway dreams!.

Have I digressed from the very serious and philosophical topic I started out with? Pardon me. I’m not about to lose this dream so fast though, so back to dreams…

People lose dreams for various reasons: perhaps the dreams were not realistic in the first place (like Mr. Frog dreaming of singing soprano), or the dreamer lacked the will to see it through, or their wicked stepmother intervened and locked up the dream (conspiracy theory).

In any case, I believe where there is a will, there is a way, and if you can think it, then you can do it!

As long as you don't lose sight of it...

W I L D !

2010-08-02T03:40:00.000-07:00

My mind is wild.

Every time I try to think of something, I am interrupted by images.

Images of two bodies intertwined in a feverish embrace. Hands groping, mouths seeking, everywhere. Leaving no part of the body sacred. My body does not react to these erotic images. But my mind! It is alive with vivid images!
All by itself, it conjures the image of strong hands on supple breasts. Caressing, holding, as if weighing. Same strong hands moving, Slowly, carefully, lovingly, over the same pliant, well formed breasts. Pausing over each nipple to tease and to touch, till they are rigid and aching with desire.

My errant mind pictures well formed. Female lips on a flat abdomen, tracing an imaginary line down the middle, and further down, eliciting a gasp of pleasure from the owner.

I struggle to clear my mind of the gasps and moans of pleasure. Those sounds that testify to the pleasure that can only be created by two people who are genuinely making a selfless effort to please one another.

But my mind is adamant in its sinful course. The images flow, one after the explicit other: naked bodies, legs moving, intertwining, hips gyrating slowly, smoothly, in rhythm with the sensual songs played only in the minds of the participants.
Lips meeting, tongues tasting, seeking, probing, and tasting yet again.
My mind produces the images faster than my fingers can type.
I give up.

Rant Rant Rant! Vent Vent Vent!

2010-07-27T00:19:00.000-07:00

I insist that I don't want to be entangled with anyone who has ANY issues at all! Call it selfishness, but hey, that's what I DON’T want!

I have enough of my own issues to deal with. Apart from the normal moodiness and stuff that come with being a woman, that is. So why would I want to take on a 'friend' who has issues and hasn't learnt to deal with them?

Fine, so you have been through a lot. You come from a broken home with a lot of nastiness flying around. Okay. Sorry. Why am I supposed to be at the receiving end of all the nastiness you've soaked up over the years?

And what if you come from a poverty stricken family? Why should I be the one to suffer from your complexes and insecurities?

Everyone should learn to deal with their issues. Keep them away from public view. I don't want to suffer in your hands because your mother was a cruel sadist who inflicted grievous bodily pain on you at every opportunity. Neither do I want to be distrusted by you because you caught your first girlfriend on top of your best friend. I feel for you, but that's where it ends! Open your blind eyes and see that I am NOT her!!!
And if you cannot make that simple distinction, then, please leave me!!!

If you are so old and you are still tied to your ma's apron strings, forget me!

If you are this successful in your career but are still so uncontrollably addicted to drugs and alcohol, then I don't need you.

I won't sit here and watch you strip me of my independence, my dignity, my pride.

I won't stay with you in the midst of your friends and be the butt of all their jokes, I will not!

I refuse to become your slave and sole bread winner! I refuse! How can I work so hard for my money only to hand it all over to you at the end of each month to give to your greedy family? How?

I'm fed up of men (or women) who have psychological or other problems.

Honestly. I am.

Father forgive me, for I have sinned...

2010-06-15T08:17:00.000-07:00

Father forgive me, for I have sinned…

I have lied, I have hated, and I have been greedy. But above all Father, I have committed fornication with one of your own…

I feel guilty, because for a long time, I had harbored sinful thoughts about Pastor Tom in my head. I found him a handsome man, and I thought it a pity that he had taken a vow of celibacy. Every time he stood on the pulpit to preach, I admired his height, his eyes, and the way his lips moved as he expounded the word of God. I imagined those holy lips on my body father, and many a time, I lost concentration during church service.
Father forgive me.

The day Pastor Tom came to my room in the boys’ quarters where I stay, I wasn’t expecting him. He said he had gone to counsel some of God’s sheep who were about to stray, and he remembered I lived in that area. So he decided to stop by. He had hoped to meet my roommate and I, to share the word of God with us.

Father, I offered Pastor Tom a seat on the bed, because the only chair we possessed was hidden under a pile of books and clothes. So was the greater part of the bed. As a result, I had to sit close to him on the bed. He asked me questions. I answered. He enquired about the state of my poor family, and my father’s health. I began to talk. He is a good pastor, father, so I unburdened myself to him. The sad talk made me cry, and the man of God offered his shoulder. He took me in his arms, and I forgot the cause f my sorrow. I wouldn’t let go. The pastor held my hand.

Father, forgive me, for I proceeded to caress his chest, his neck, and any other place my hands could safely touch. The man of God offered a little resistance. He must have sensed that I needed the comfort of his hands on my breasts. He did put them there, and I didn’t complain.
I pushed Pastor Tom down on the bed and kissed him. He kissed me back, to drive my sorrows further away. When I pulled his shirt from the waistband of his trousers, he was as surprised as I, because we both had no idea that he shirt had been unbuttoned.

Father, I do not wish to sin further by desecrating holy ears such as yours with the details of what I did to the holy man. But I am sure that when I kissed him there, down below, and took him in my mouth, he was shocked. I do not believe that he had ever felt such a sensation before.
I pleased the pastor as I was sure that no woman had ever done before, showed him almost all the tricks I had in my book.
When it was over, and the man of God awoke from the little slumber into which he had fallen, he looked sad, and he said to me, “I have sinned”.

Those words put the fear of God back into me, and I sought to confess at once. But first, I wished to confide in a friend of mine, whom I knew to be holy, and who keeps strictly to the commandments of God. So I went to her room in the evening, a few days later, to tell her of my unholy conduct. As I approached, I saw that the lights were dimmed. I decided to give her a surprise. I went to the window. I was going to shout “boo” and give her a fright. But father, she gave me a fright instead!

The sounds that emanated from the room were almost animalistic in their intensity, grunts, loud moans, a little scream here, heavy panting. Sounds that reminded me of my time with the man of God…

Wicked pervert that I am, I was riveted to the spot, drinking in the sounds, wishing I could get a glimpse of the man who engaged my holy friend in such terrible sin.

The sounds became louder and more intense as the occupants of the room climbed to the peaks of ecstasy. All of a sudden, they went quiet, panting softly, satisfied with their carnal pleasures.

And then, Father, I heard the familiar voice of a man say softly to my friend…“I have sinned”.

A long while ago

2010-03-31T23:22:00.000-07:00

Its been a while since I was in your warm embrace, and felt your passionate kisses.

Ah! A longtime since we walked hand in hand through the streets, not minding the neighborhood gossips, or the funny stares from passersby.

How long has it been since we stood together under the shower, the water cascading over our heads, you and me both, naked as the day we were born, smiling at each other , unable to keep our hands to ourselves?

How long ago was it, when we held hands and ran through the rain, getting thoroughly soaked, laughing like children?
Could I ever forget the frequent nights out, the long periods of sitting outside, gazing at the moon, and making up stories about it?

Oh! How I long for the long walks down unfamiliar paths; Getting lost, but feeling secure in the knowledge that we had each other.

It’s been a while. A very long while.

I do miss those days.

Your sweet voice on the phone in the middle of the afternoon, driving out all worries from my mind and placing an ecstatic smile on my face.

Your random kisses on different parts of my body at times I least expected them. The sensation of peace from your strong hands massaging my body!
Did I ever tell you I felt as good as a well fed, properly groomed horse thereafter?

Those were the days of happiness.

I do miss you.

Give my love to your wife.

I hope she makes you happy.

All in the space of five minutes…

2010-03-25T02:13:00.000-07:00

The inspiration to write this came from looking at a man. His too-large trousers, held up with a belt. It made me think… why doesn’t he ever wear the right size of trousers?

I hiss, and shift my angry gaze to another location. Only to be confronted with another ugly sight. Another man. He is not wearing over sized clothes, but he’s wearing a smirk. One that says” I know I got on your nerves yesterday. It was deliberate, and I’m still basking in the knowledge”.

The bastard. The stupid friggin’ bastard.
*insert as much vehemence as possible*

Work place professionalism or no, I promise to get back at you for keeping me back for a frivolous reason when I really wanted to get out. Just because you think you have the power to do so.

Now where was I? Oh no! Now this lady comes in looking too casual again. A short sleeved blouse over a characterless skirt, and extremely flat shoes. Why doesn’t she just wear bathroom slippers? Don’t people know the definition of formal business dress?!

And whose perfume is this that’s threatening to suffocate me?

Is this an office or a market place? Why is someone bumping into my chair so violently? How fat are you?!

It seems everyone is out for me at the same time. To get on my already frayed nerves, this early morning. Or am I just paranoid?

So, I am writing them out of my system. After this, I will shut them out and interact with my computer (and the people in it) instead.

Thank God for Technology, The Internet, and Blogville.

For My Mother

2010-03-14T08:49:00.000-07:00

I’m glad I still have you around

In spite of all the trials and pains.

God be with you.

This is NOT a POST !

2010-02-12T03:21:00.000-08:00

Yes.
You got that right. This is an official announcement to any who comes across this blog, that what you are about to read is NOT a post!!! Call it a rant; call it a tirade, an outburst even, anything but a post!
I’d hate for it to be on the records that I, “SHE”, of talesbytheriversideblogspot, did a post on such a frivolous topic as valentine.

I swear, if I hear that word one more time, I’ll do seventeen somersaults! Yes, I mean it! If one more person talks to me about it, or I hear one more advert connected to it, I will scream!

Haba! I wake up in the morning to find messages on my phone from MTN, that I should download one song or other because this is the season of love.

All the way to work, the adverts I hear are all related to it one way or the other:
Get valentine dental care! Recharge your phone this valentine! Go shopping this valentine season! bla! bla! bla!
I was half expecting the banks to start opening valentine accounts as well!

What?! Do we absolutely have to tie everything to everything else?

Then I am at work, my mailbox is full of messages. Buy something for someone. In the name of valentine. Think on this; reflect on that, because it is valentine. Junk emails, all of them, now have valentine undertones: "who's your val?", "single girls' guide to surviving valentine"... I even got one that is supposedly a letter from St Valentine himself!

And then I come under attack personally, for the simple reason that I am wearing a red shirt!!! Everyone comes along with their silly, oily smiles and ask me if I am in the spirit of valentine already. It takes all of my will power not to tell them what I really want them to do to themselves, so I flash an equally oily, shallow, lip deep smile in return, just to set them promptly on their way.

I don’t care what valentine is all about. I don’t believe in it, and I do not intend to start doing so. I’m not even going to bother myself with a research on the significance or benefits and what-have-you of the season. I’m just fed up of the whole thing!

Say what you will, but that is my stand! Ok?

Now, will everyone just get on with their lives and stop bothering me with valentine?

Thank you!!!

True Love. At last...

2010-02-03T21:30:00.000-08:00

Dear Moira,

How are you, and your family? You must forgive me for replying your email so late, but when I explain all that has happened I’m sure you will understand.

You see, in the three months since you left to join your husband in India, I have been through a lot. But in the end, I am happy to inform you that I too, have found true love.

You will remember that while you were here, I had a boyfriend, a young man whom I thought I could get married to and spend the rest of my life with. However, when I took him home to my parents, my mum helped me to see that what I felt for him was not love at all. It came as something of a surprise to me, because I had hitherto thought that I was in love with him. But she helped me to see that it was only infatuation.

Her reasons were that, firstly, the young man in question does not appear ready for marriage. You will recall that he was still serving as a youth corper by the time I met him? My mother explained to me that if by now he is still serving the nation, when will he look for a job and get one good enough to keep both of us?

Secondly, his parents still reside in a rural area. Can you believe that Moira? And I thought I was in love with him! They live in a village where there is no electricity, no pipe borne water, no library (you know how much I love to read, what would I do when we visit?), no good roads, and no internet! Add to that, the fact that he is first of five children. The others are at various stages of their education and sometimes, all the money he earns goes into their upkeep.
Tell me, how could I be in love with someone like that?

Even though he is ambitious; at least he engages himself in several business ventures, and already, he had received a few job offers from reputable companies, but all that does not translate into a good life!

My mother also pointed out that the young man is not even good looking! While he is not an ugly brute as such, I’m sure even you will agree with me that he is not the finest man you ever laid eyes upon. He is not tall, and he has no distinctive features. Nothing to set him apart in a crowd!

By the time my mother had explained all these things to me carefully, and their implications for my life if I chose to marry him, I realized that what I felt for him was not love at all.
So I broke up with him, and told him I didn’t love him anymore.

Within a few weeks, my mother introduced me to the son of one of her friends.
Oh Moira, you should see this guy! Very tall, and handsome! Need I tell you that I fell in love with him at once?

He carries himself like a prince, and what is more, the size of his various bank accounts would make any Arab prince jealous. His parents, like mine, live in the high brow area of a very modern estate in Lagos.
Even though when we talk, he doesn’t seem to understand my point of view most times; my mother has said it is part of getting to know each other.

At other times, he neglects to call me for the whole day, and doesn’t bother to apologize. When I point this out to him, he replies in a manner that is almost rude but I think it’s just his nature, and I will get used to it. After all, he was well brought up by my mother’s friend, was he not?

I have also seen him stare and wink at other girls even in my presence, but that’s because we only just met, and he is not used to my presence yet. Besides, the onus is on me to make myself so desirable to him that he will not be able to look at other women, even if I am not around. You do agree with me, don’t you?

So far, in the three months since we met, he has not given me a single gift. Unlike my ex boyfriend, who would give me gifts all the time even though he could scarcely afford them. I love him all the same, for it means my fiancé is not a careless spender.

We are getting married in two months, and I hope you will be able to travel to Nigeria for the wedding.
You are happy for me, are you not?

I do believe that I have found true love at last!

That little part of my brain...

2010-01-12T05:59:00.000-08:00

You exist in my head. In a little part of my brain, in a corner of my thoughts, my mind.

That part is dark, it is sad and it is tumultuous. That little part is never at peace. It is restless.
When I need you, I reach in to the little part to find you, and I become visibly distressed.
You represent all that could have been, but will never be.

I know I put you in there my self, locked away in bits and pieces of memory, formed and hidden over time. Some pleasant, others not. I intended for the space to be a pleasant one, my personal Shangri-la, where I could retreat and call up a smile. But somehow, it has evolved into a chaotic, disorderly place containing the saddest memories and most unpleasant experiences. Even the pleasant memories have since taken on an unpleasant hue.

I have come to accept it as such a place as it is. An unhappy place, to be visited often, for it is my own creation, and I must live with it.

Perhaps, someday, by some unexpected, unforeseen miracle, the little part will become organized, so that I can smile when I reach in there, but for now, the chaos and emotional torment is all I’ve got.

You exist in a place within my mind.

It is an unpleasant place…

LE COQ JARDIN

2009-12-17T01:15:00.000-08:00

Le Coq Jardin

Whatever that means. What’s in a title? A post by any other name would still read the same.

Atchooo!! Atchoooo ! !

Sorry, so much dust around here. That’s what happens when you live in an isolated neighborhood, and you go out of circulation.

Atchoooo!!!!

*sniff sniff*

So much cleaning to be done, so many social calls to make. God only knows what’s been going on around here while I have been away.
I know some neighbors have been knocking incessantly at my door. That’s why the grass on the path hasn’t quite grown… but, everywhere else is so dusty!

I must visit that wise woman who has three kids. See how the kids are doing, and what problems she’s solving for the masses at present.

*sniff*

Someone called Tintin has left a note here. She is apparently anxious to meet me. Sounds like a nice neighbor too. I hope she cooks.

I mustn’t forget to check on that pregnant woman. O’dee. Perhaps she’s had the baby while I’ve been away. Oh my! Everyone would have gone to visit! And she’ll assume I’m a bad neighbor. Then that ibo princess. She was planning a trip to Nigeria. I need to go and see if she’s back already. Maybe she brought back some yams.

Ah! My plants have accumulated dust. Atchoo!!

What can a person do? I wonder what they’re all up to. The freaky young man who likes to collect gadgets and disturb the neighborhood with loud music… Perhaps he has bought a computer that can cook for him and wash toilet now.

Or that fierce cat woman. The one with the swagger. I’ll just peep in on her. And the lady doctor. One has to be nice to such people. You never know when you’ll need them.

I must remember to check the fluffy lady too. See what her little boy is up to. Perhaps he would have started whistling at ladies. I’m sure his aunty Afro would like that. If she knows. Heard some unconfirmed rumors that she has decided to isolate herself. Maybe she’s afraid of swine flu, or some gigantic phallus has lodged itself right outside her door, so that she can’t step out.

So much to do around here first though. Atchooo!

My cats! Where are my cats??!!
I know. The “dada” woman must have taken them in as strays. But, didn’t she say she was going off to Alaska or some such place?

*Sniff. Sniff Sniff*

So much work to do, I’d better set about it at once….

Angela's Revenge...

2009-08-20T05:17:00.000-07:00

Please see Bumight’s post for the background to this…

I closed my eyes and reclined further on the chair. The lights were out, and once again, I was back in the house with Tunde. I was no longer the timid dowdy young woman he had forcefully had sex with. I was a worldly wise young woman who had been crossed, a lioness whose cub had been killed by a lesser creature. I was angry.

I had just come out of the bathroom, and found him sleeping soundly on the coach. In that moment I was seized by a murderous rage, such as I’d never known before.
I couldn’t bear to see him sleeping there so soundly, after he’d just taken my most prized possession away from me so unceremoniously. The bastard didn’t even have the decency to lie to me that he loved me, or something. He was sleeping! And snoring lightly…

I turned on my heel and went straight into the kitchen. The first thing I saw was a fork; a strong, three-pronged kitchen fork. The kind that is used in turning plantain while frying. I seized it and went back to the sitting room.

He was still sleeping. Without his pants.

For a brief moment, I felt a different kind of hurt: that a man had sex with me and he was so soundly asleep a few minutes after. Had he found me so uninteresting? A quickly as it had come, the thought was replaced by a greater anger.

I raised the fork in my right hand and put my left on his testicles. They felt soft. He stirred gently in his wicked sleep.
Biting my lower lip, I brought down the fork on the taut part created by my left hand pulling his balls. Hard! The three prongs penetrated, and he screamed!!! He woke up in shock. I drew out my right hand with the fork and bits of flesh clinging to it. He opened his mouth to let out another scream. With perfect timing I plunged the fork into his mouth.

He didn’t see it coming, and by the time he closed his mouth the fork was already in it. With part of his balls on it, and a lot of blood. He choked, sputtered, and I’m sure, wished he could faint.
But no, his eyes turned to me in horror and he opened his mouth to say something. But he could not. The pain I saw on his face gave me joy. Such joy as I have never ever known before……

The blessings of a woman...

2009-07-20T08:49:00.000-07:00

Wave after wave, the pain washes over me, from the pit of my lower abdomen, down to the top of my thighs, the whole length of them, my knees, calves, slowly over my ankles, and to my toes, making them curl up of their own volition, eliciting a small cry from me. Then slowly, it makes its way back up, gradually, retracing its now weak, but still painful path over my body, back to the pit whence it emanated, to gather more strength and move upwards.
This time to, my belly, my ribs. I feel it going over my diaphragm, my already aching breasts, and up to my jaw, making me clench my teeth again and again.
Then it recedes, gradually, and I feel sweet relief.

I know this pain. I am familiar with it.

The voices of my mother and grandmother echo in my ears “you are a woman; you should be able to endure. You are built to endure…”
Endure it I will, I have no choice but.
The pain gathers strength again, in that deep part of my lower abdomen, and I swear softly at a spot on the ceiling.

I am aware of every movement inside me that causes the pain. In my lower abdomen, some organs, nay, one vital organ is expanding and contracting in annoyance, letting out its contents. Annoyance, because that organ had gone to great lengths to prepare for the coming of a guest. It had produced lots of scarlet colored velvet linings for its own interior, it had provided nutrients, and notified the other parts of the likely arrival of a visitor. But no inhabitant was provided for that guestroom.
And now, the organ is angrily discarding its elaborate preparations, causing me pain in the process.
The angry, invisible hand in there clutches at another part of the wall, holds tight and PUUULLSS…
Aaargh! I cannot hold back the cry this time.

After the INTENSE pain, come the waves. Then relief…

The hand clutches again. This time, I bite my lips. And close my eyes tight…

On and on and on, throughout the day…

Memories

2009-05-14T22:56:00.000-07:00

It was a happy twilight, and the two lovers basked in the glory of the now setting sun. They held hands as the strolled along the tree lined avenue and traded stories of their childhood. It was a time of happy laughter, of joy, and of pleasant feelings. Forgotten for the moment, were the school exams which had all students scampering to the library and various reading rooms at the break of dawn and staying there till late at night. Forgotten were the various family troubles and disturbances from both sides. These two were blissfully happy and it showed.

Every now and then, one would stop to emphasize a point, and the other would do the same. They held hands, and then they walked separately. He put his arm round her shoulder; she put hers round his waist. She skipped, he watched. She ran, and he was amused at such childlike antics. Promises were made, plans were formed, and dreams shared. They walked on and on, forming large circles, till they got to the lakeside. Now it was getting dark. She was afraid of the water. He playfully pushed her towards it. She cried out, frightened. Then he held her hands and pulled her close, her back to the water, facing him. He said something to her that made her smile, a beautiful innocent smile that spoke volumes. He smiled at her too, and they looked beautiful together. The perfect couple. Then they kissed. A long, slow kiss that started from the lips and ended deep down in the heart.

He took a step forward, moving her back, towards the water. She didn’t notice the move- Lost in the euphoria of the moment.

Then he took another step... and forcefully pushed her into the water…

He turned and went back the way they had come, arms swinging by his side. They would never meet again.
Not in this world….

Love of My Life

2009-04-21T22:46:00.000-07:00

My husband was not supposed to find out about my lover and I.
We had vowed to keep it from him, if only to protect him from the shame that we knew was sure to follow.

But I can say that he asked for it, and he just had it coming to him sooner than later. For God’s sake, why did he suddenly start acting like I was something he picked up from the gutter?
I am a woman, a beautiful woman, if the opinion of my family and friends is anything to go by. Fine, I may be fat, or overweight, but what does that matter? He saw me as fat before he proposed to me!
So why would he keep going on and on about my size everyday? He had even started eyeing slimmer girls outside. I could tell from the admiring stares he directed at them when we went out together.

*******************************************************

I first met my lover six months to our wedding. My husband had taken me home to be introduced to his family. There we all were in the family living room, eating and drinking and chatting. I felt myself being watched. My every move scrutinized. I felt uncomfortable, and I knew it wasn’t just the nervousness of meeting his family for the first time. Someone was watching me with more than a passing interest. Days later when we visited once again, I figured out who it was that’d made me so nervous. One of his siblings was openly staring at me, sizing me up with a smile that explained it all very clearly. I don’t know how it is that no one noticed. Perhaps they did but would not acknowledge it.

****************************************************************

We became lovers shortly after the wedding. Our honeymoon was over, but I still had a few days of my annual leave so I was home while he’d gone back to work. I did not feel uncomfortable padding around in an old t-shirt of his that barely covered my behind, since I was home with his sibling. His blood.
I came out of my room and bumped into someone. Someone who’d been waiting for me to do just that.

I gasped as soft, tender hands grabbed my butt cheeks and squeezed gently. I looked up into soft brown eyes filled with adoration, the kind I’d never seen before, even in my husband’s eyes. Something snapped inside me. All the pent up desire broke loose. Truth is we’d both been aware of each other since that first day my husband introduced me to his family.

Lips met in a fiery, passionate kiss that left our insides burning. Hands roved everywhere over breasts, stomach, face. Everywhere.
We devoured each other with the hunger of two starved people.
I touched and was touched. Gently, we sank to the rug and feverishly explored each other. Where hands had been, the lips followed and before long we were both gasping for breath. It was a wonderful union. Afterwards, we lay there, sated and very happy. We both felt fulfilled like never before…

*****************************************************************

And then my husband started to get nasty. He began to complain that I was too fat, and I just couldn’t get things right with him anymore. He was determined to make my life miserable by all means.
My lover, his sibling, remained by my side through all the pain, all the misery he put me through. I felt truly loved. For the first time in my life, here was someone who did not care what I looked like or what dress size I wore.
I was appreciated for who I truly was. I was at my best. Conversation flowed freely, because we had so much in common. And in the end, I couldn’t stand my lawfully wedded husband anymore.

I decided to leave my husband for his sister…

From one woman. To Another.

2009-03-26T02:19:00.001-07:00

Omolola,

Please hold on tight to your husband, that I do not take him away from you.
Not that I have much need for him though, except perhaps as a source of extra income.

I know you may not remember me, but we once met at an office party, where he brought you along and introduced you as his wife.
I must say that I was not impressed that day by the way you were dressed.
I do see potential in you, and I know that if you set your mind to it, you could be a stunner and actually dress to kill. But this message is not about you. It is about your oaf of a husband who keeps trying to paw me in the office and catch me in dark and lonely corners all day long. It’s a wonder he gets any work done, with all the attention he pays me!
Is it a sin to be an attractive unattached lady?

I might have returned his affections, but for the fact that he’s got terrible halitosis and a faulty dress sense. The scumbag laughs too loud and has no table manners.
Omolola, your husband is rude and uncivil. In fact, every time I see him, I understand better the lessons I was taught in primary school about the early men who lived in caves. He wears the most terrible, worst patterned of expensive ties! And his shirts! Please could you take a little time to tuck them in properly before he leaves home? While you’re at it, you might also want to get someone to clean his shoes, or buy him another pair…

You are a school teacher, but only at his insistence. You could be more, if you wanted. If only you would not bow to his every foolish whim. An intelligent woman such as you could easily rise to a top managerial position in a few years. That I know.

But like I said, this is not about you but the brainless prick to whom you are married.
Last week, I went into the coffee room and happened to be alone there. 2 seconds later the randy he-goat was behind me, trying to squeeze me from behind with those horrible, calloused hands of his!

I will not tire you with the details of his misdemeanors.
I just want to let you know that I have no use for him, but if he continues this way, I may change my mind, forget how disgusting he is and empty his pockets. Just for the fun of it.

The way he goes on, I suspect that he is not getting enough sex from you at home. If you do not mind, I could teach you a few tricks that’d keep him beside you all day long. As you might have guessed, I have not tried any of these on him, for I am not used to dating uncouth and unpolished reminders of the Stone Age.
A word is enough for the wise.

You may call me for a friendly chat on 01-659365897

Love,

Jaqcueline.

PS: If I were you, I would not fight him over this message.

So Long My Vrtual Friend !

2009-03-11T04:38:00.000-07:00

Dedicated to Aloofar

It breaks my heart to see you leave and I can only hope that it is a bad dream, from which I will soon arouse.
I only just met you, I know, but in the few weeks since, you have touched a part of my heart reserved only for a few.

I do not profess love. For I have not known you long enough to develop such. Indeed, I cannot give a name to what I feel. But I feel it as strongly as I feel my own heart beating beneath my breast.
I cannot ask you not to leave. I cannot stop you from carrying out your wish. I understand that a time comes in everyone’s lives when they need a change. Even if I had the power, I still would not stop you, for I want you to be happy, and if this is the only way to achieve that happiness, so be it.
The pain I feel at your abrupt departure is for me to bear as a constant reminder of the futility of letting anyone into that special part of my heart. But I cannot help it. You did not ask to be let in. did you?

I will keep up a bright face, and like the song goes, do my crying in the rain….

So long Aloofar, It was nice knowing you.

The End of all matters

2009-02-19T11:04:00.000-08:00

Things have finally come to a head. We struggled to avert the disaster, you and I. But I guess we did not struggle hard enough, and we now find ourselves in this terrible position of great pain and agony to which we must not succumb.

What manner of fool am I?
To see a great big fire and be sensible enough to warn the whole world, yet plunge headlong into it myself?
A greater fool has not yet been conceived, I tell you.
It is over now, and it will remain so. Worse things have happened in the life of others, and they have taken it in their stride. So shall we.

In the manner of two sensible young people seeking a better, happier life, we shall move on, together in our pain, but separately in our individual lives and manners.
Tears are not allowed. Neither is any form of communication whatsoever permitted. Each of us must bear the pain alone and grow stronger from it.

There will be no tears from now, and any affection shall die unspoken. We shall go through life smiling, the cheerful, vivacious people we have always been, for we deride sympathy from outsiders and will have none of it. It is a sign of weakness.
We will avoid escapist tendencies, for they are also a flagrant display of human weakness, and we rather fancy ourselves a bit superhuman, do we not?

Murderous Intentions

2009-02-03T22:41:00.000-08:00

Dear John,

I will kill you.

I will not allow you to make a mockery of me before the whole world.
I do not know how I will achieve it, but it will be done. Perhaps I will poison you, so that there will be no bloody traces, or you will meet with a little motor accident. But that may involve others.
What if it is a domestic accident? I think that will be very nice and clean.

Then everyone will feel sorry for the poor girl whose fiancé broke his neck when he fell down the stairs.
They will not have to pity the poor lady whose fiancé left her three months pregnant and took off with another woman!

Once upon a time in my life, I was a virgin, pure, untouched, and innocent.
Until you came along to defile me, body and soul
I gave it all up for you.
My values, principles, high moral standards and strict religious upbringing.
All because I thought you loved me and would never leave me.
You came to me when I was innocent, and opened my naïve eyes to my own femininity. Through you I discovered myself, and I lived life to the full.

Until she came along. God only knows where the misshapen specimen of a woman sprang from. The wicked daughter of Eve. All I knew was that we weren’t so close anymore. Your mind wandered when you were with me, and you touched me less.
I knew something was wrong. You see, over the 16months we have been together, I have learned to connect with your soul. I feel it when you are happy or sad, I can sense your mood, no matter how far away you are from me. So that when you started seeing her, and your attention wandered, I could feel the chords stretching. Almost breaking.

It would have been easier to bear if you’d cheated with a woman of class, a paragon of beauty, someone of a higher social standing, so that I could at least justify your wicked actions. But no! you would go pick for yourself, an unfortunate animal with a wandering eye and crooked legs! That malformed apology of a woman!
Killing you will mean destroying a part of me. But the wound will heal, and life will go on. I will move on.

You do not know this, but you and me, we created a replacement for you, who now dwells inside of me. That replacement will grow. It will come into this world holy, and I will preserve its holiness. I will bring up your replacement with only the good memories of you that I will keep. And it will remain undefiled, as long as I have a say in its life. I will see to that.

As for you, till we meet again, perhaps in another life,

Adios!

Withdrawal Symptoms

2009-01-30T10:02:00.001-08:00

I’m suffering withdrawal symptoms.
Trying to break off a habit I’ve had for… how long now, 5, 6 years?
Not so long, but if it’s been there every waking moment of those years, then it can be hard to let go of.

So I return on Friday night, to a lonely apartment and immediately find myself craving. I try to shut out all thoughts, channel my energy else where, but no, my mind is stuck on the idea!
I reach for the phone…
I withdraw my hand like there’s a strong electric charge on the gadget. Then I look in the fridge. Some chocolates, butter, one or two other things. All the while trying to put my mind on things other than this feverish desire.
Then the symptoms hit.

All of a sudden I begin to feel happy. I want to open my mouth and sing for joy! I feel like I have just won a jackpot, and I’m smiling happily to my self. Deep down inside me though, I know that it won’t last. In the meantime, I pick up a book.

I manage to read a few pages before the happiness changes abruptly. The heroine in the book had just been reunited with her long lost parents, and as I read about the happy reunion, I feel a sadness so intense, that tears spring to my eyes unbidden.
I begin to weep uncontrollably. It is despair like I have never felt.
I feel tired, weak, and unable to continue. Invisible insects struggle for space under my skin.
The tiny part of my brain that has retained its thinking functions throughout this time then says to me, “all this in aid of what”? Just because you want to overcome an addiction! Is it worth it?
I agree with that tiny part and reach for the phone. The one who can put me out of this misery is only a phone call away. I will not be the first person to attempt to break off from a habit and fail.
Jus then, the phone rings. I regarded it with a malevolent look. Who could this be? Anyways, it has provided me with a window of escape. I grab my purse, and my keys, abandon the still ringing phone, and leave the house.

I walk on like I have seven demons after me, till I get to the corner shop. What do I want here? I am confused. I school my features into a peaceful expression. “You are not allowed to show any distress”! I counsel my self sternly.
I slip between the rows of merchandise. Someone is following me. An admirer? Or a robber. No, not in here.
He comes closer. “Hi”! He says.
I flash him a blinding smile, and move off. I pick up something at random. Pringles. No problem. I move to the pharmacy. I ask for sleeping drugs. I am given. The admirer follows. Like sheep, to the slaughter house.

I flash him another blinding smile. He is encouraged, but puzzled.

I pay for my goods. I exit the store.
He calls out. I ignore him.
By now, I am thinking of him, and his kind. The fools. He wanted to make friends, did he? With me? Make friends. And then what? Where will it lead? What will come of it? Another addiction perhaps? No, not his type. I cannot even remember what he looks like.
I find myself at my door. Open. Enter.
Strip. In the shower.
Straight to the bed, with all the water. It is uncomfortable, but something to think about. I set out to give the admirer a background. He is a lawyer, a very poor one…

I fall asleep.

Childhood Atrocity

2009-01-22T02:10:00.000-08:00

I wish to confess my sins.

The atrocity(?) I committed all those years ago, which has now returned to haunt me.
What shall I do? To whom shall I confess? Shall I go to her parents? Or her husband - if she is now married? Does she remember those acts of long ago, which now keep me awake at nights?
What if she doesn’t forgive me? What if I scarred her for life?
Is this how criminals feel? No wonder they allow themselves to become hardened. How does one start the hardening process, I wonder? So that one does not have to go through all of this torture in the name of conscience?

It was in the evening of one clear day, at a study session I attended with my siblings. We knew everyone there, and it was a very small group anyway, so it was alright for me to sit anywhere I liked. So I chose to sit with Lolade.
I liked sitting with her, away from the others because then we could chat and talk and play without interruptions. In the past, we would sometimes pinch each other, or do something silly, just for the fun of it.
But that day was different. Somehow, we found ourselves on a different level of silliness that we had ignored before.

Now that I consider, I think I’m the one who should be traumatized, because she started it!
In fact, I do not think I will confess anymore, After all it was not my fault! She couldn’t possibly be scarred by such a tiny little act of silliness that she instigated in the first place!

Or is this the hardening process?

Lolade and I were sitting together in this big chair, a little away from the others. Two little girls, without a care in the world.
She nudged me with her elbow, I responded, poking her in the ribs by passing my right hand under my left armpit so that anyone watching would not see the move.
I guess that’s what gave her the idea. Next thing, I felt her palm, through her armpit too, but it wasn’t prodding. It was seeking, searching, and then it found what it sought. My tiny, budding left breast. Lolade squeezed.
I don’t know if I was shocked, but I doubt if I wasn’t. Anyways, it was an interesting game, so I responded in like manner. What I found was exciting.
Lolade is older than I am. So at that time hers were no longer budding breasts. There was quite a handful, and it was soft too. I couldn’t remove my hand from her chest for a long while. I guess she liked it too because she didn’t complain! So, we took it in turns to feel out each other. Squeezing, pressing, touching and just generally copping a feel.

Needless to say, all we learnt at that session was the smooth shape and amazing softness that characterize the newly sprouting breasts of a teenage girl.
At that time, I didn’t feel bad about it at all. Afterall, hadn’t we been told several times that it is the boys that are bad? Was it not the grown up men in the neighborhood and the boys at school who were not allowed to touch any part of your body lest you suddenly found yourself pregnant? No one ever admonishes their children to stay away from same sex expressions of affection, do they?
Now you see my point!
And now, more than ten years later, I’m sitting here wondering whether I somehow squeezed too hard and scarred her? Or did I set her on a path to lesbianism? I doubt it!
Somehow, reliving the experience has made me think. I have concluded that she couldn’t be traumatized. No, not when she started it and thereafter did not complain.
Or is this the hardening process??!!!!!

Of a certain Splendid Vacation

2009-01-13T22:36:00.000-08:00

For the past two and a half years, I do not remember any time taken off work that wasn’t for a “laudable” cause. Usually, if it’s not one exam, then it’s another exam or training. So much so that my life has been one long stretch of seriousness and concentration.

I have always dreamed of a vacation. Mid last year the dreams became intense, almost keeping me awake at nights. I tormented my self with vivid imaginations of time off from the hustle and bustle of my everyday life.
Therefore, it was only natural, that when I found out Christmas break was actually a break, I planned a holiday.

Oh joy of joys!

How do I describe this vacation?
It was a time of absolute freedom . Time away from day to day responsibilities; from the demands of family, friends and well wishers. From the demands of work, of normal life in rowdy Lagos. And I daresay, from the sensible part of my senses.

I left behind all of my worries and dedicated my life to enjoying my two weeks in the white man’s land. No long term plans were made, no tasking decisions taken. If the decision was more tasking than deciding what earrings to wear with what outfit, then it was left to others. After all, it was a holiday, wasn’t it?
Sight seeing; talking with friends; laughing over the silliest things and shopping was my job description.

I assure you, it was a splendid time! All thoughts of work were nicely packaged and left behind in Nigeria. Troublesome friends were shut out and new ones sought, albeit halfheartedly.
What can I tell you? These days, I can often be found smiling to myself at some private joke, making some of my colleagues wonder if I am still right in the head. When I notice such people watching me, my smile broadens, and I say to myself “ah! If only you knew what a pleasant break I had!”

I could go on and on. But I fear I may begin to bore people. So I will keep the rest of my experiences to myself and perhaps release them one after the other, as I deem fit. Fair enough?

The New Girl In Class

2008-12-11T05:12:00.000-08:00

I feel like the newest girl in class, no, in the school.
You step in through the school gates and wonder what everyone is about.
But not quite! You have been chatting with the neighbors, and they have always spoken about it. So it doesn’t feel so strange. Sometimes, you had played with their school books and other stationery. But all the same, the real thing feels different!
No matter, we shall cope. And beautifully too!

Once I saw a little bird

2008-10-17T04:28:00.000-07:00

Here we go round the mulberry bush!