Seun checked the wall clock for the umpteenth time.
This was really disturbing. She picked up her phone and dialled his number.
She was pacing around the living room now, walking off her worry. He was supposed to have come home by 7:30, 8pm at the very latest. And he usually called or sent a message on bbm just before leaving the office. Why would today be any different?
She realized she was dialling his number yet again, and was a bit freaked out to see that she’d tried calling him 17 times. No answer again. She typed him a hasty text message; NOT FUNNY, CALL ME! and decided to distract herself for about 30 more minutes, else she’d go insane with fear and worry. Abi was kidnapping now a thing in this same Abuja???! Continue reading
First of all, hi guys! You must know that I love you even though I have a rather ridiculous way of showing it. Second of all, thank you to the few people who take this blog seriously and wander over here every once in a while to look at the pretty animals or even to cuss me out for being so stingy with posts. Mwah!
Towards the end of June this year, being of troubled mind and weary body, I decided to take a trip home to draw strength from the soil in which my umbilical cord is buried, so to speak. And so I set off home. For those who don’t know, “home” for me is Jos; since it is the city of my birth and the bulk of my life adventures. The journey was a long and bumpy road trip filled with self-doubt, a stressed bladder and drowsiness. Eventually I was welcomed into the bosom of my family with no mishaps. The process of drawing strength consisted, for the most part, of me moping around my sister’s house, eating, watching TV and coercing her children into playing with me every now and again. Continue reading
Photo credit: ihdwallfree.com
The border is the thin space
Between twin beds
The visas are willing bodies
In the oven of desire
The passports are
Lusty looks exhanged
Rolled over and inspected
Pictorial representation of underwire
Let’s cut to the chase.
Bras are a huge deal for women, especially women who are a little chesty and can’t afford to go commando for fear of the ensuing awkward wobbling. Also, if you are the least bit sporty or lead an active lifestyle, those babies need to be caged, to stop them accidentally falling into someone’s soup or getting caught under your elbow when you lean over a desk…
We all know how it goes, average day at the office, droning through the chores of the day with an eye on the clock hanging on the far wall. Life is made up of similar days of drudgery and boredom from which you try to squeeze fun and laughter. You are engaged in a serious activity, explaining real grownup forms to a colleague, when you raise your arm and faaaaaacckkkk.
Your underwire has worked its way out its protective enclosure, and jabbed you right in the sensitive flesh of your underboob.
I’m the last of six children and we all lived together with our mom. I grew up accustomed to feeling the presence of others; always knowing that “someone is around”. When I hit puberty, I was grateful that my family, though religious, was still liberal enough to let me stay home from church once in a while, whenever I said I didn’t want to go. I craved that solitude back then; the knowledge that nobody else was around. The thrill of strange noises caused by unknown and possibly macabre agents.
I never lived outside of home during my school years, the main reason being that our house at the time was actually a trekkable distance from my campus. It was therefore impractical of me to schlep all the way to the hostels, which were even farther away than the school. Also, staying on campus would incur expenses that would be both cringeworthy and painfully unecessary for my mother. I knew all this, so I never pushed. Continue reading
It was years ago when I realized I probably wouldn’t do very well in the “landing men who take me seriously” department. The year was maybe 2006, I was still mop-skinny; thin body, big head. To make things worse I actually had on this weave at that time which had been put together by a hairdresser who maybe was a carpenter in her previous life… Anyway, the weave made my head look much bigger, is the point I’m trying to make. Continue reading