10

I Know I Bashed Your Car, But Have You Eaten?

The question has logical origins, I suppose. We Nigerians have always had near-maniacal levels of hospitality etched in our culture. I mean, you have a guest coming from far away, guest gets to the house by say, 2am. The first thing you ask is, “Have you eaten?” then proceed to offer him a wide array of “light” food to “manage” with. Like pounded yam and afang soup, correct jollof with heavily peppered snail, or the complete package; fried rice, chicken and salad.
You know, stuff one can “manage” by 2am, for quick digestion.
At some point, the hospitality got a bit weird though. Now it’s used in all kinds of ways :s
You get a call, goes something like this;
“Hello? How you dey? Enh? You had an accident?!! You’ve been in the hospital since yesterday? Oh my God. But have you eaten?”
Because food cures everything. Jilted at the altar by your lover of seven years? Tragic story, but have you eaten? Make sure you eat, you’ll feel better. Should we get you pap and akara?
And of course, you know I have to go there, this random post wouldn’t be complete if I didn’t… Nigerian men cannot apologise. Even when they’re obviously wrong, and have had an argument with you spanning three days. When it becomes glaringly clear that he was at fault the whole time, your average Nigerian man will clear his throat, pause awkwardly for a few seconds, then grudgingly ask, “Enh, have you eaten?”
Ladies, sorry to break it to you, but that was your apology. Yeah. Right there. Just take it, and keep praying for patience, not strength. Because if you had strength, you’d have strangled the guy by now.
Same thing with Nigerian parents. You know how you watch Hollywood flicks and you have touching scenes where the parents admit their fault and say sorry to their kids?
Pah!
It is easier for our friend the camel to pass through the eye of a needle, brethren. You can have a quarrel of epic proportions with your parents. Such a huge fight that you are not on speaking terms with them for weeks, and even your siblings pick sides and only talk to you when Mom and Dad aren’t home. Only for your mom to walk into your room one fine afternoon, pretend to read the blurb of the novel on your table, do the awkward cough, then ask “Have you eaten? There is rice in the kitchen.”
This means that all is well again, and she and her spouse have seen fit to leave your name in the will after all. That thing she said is actually equivalent to the turn up arranged for the prodigal son in ancient times.
And of course, the most annoying one. When a guy is struggling to claw his way out of the friend zone, this is all he will ask you. Breakfast time, lunchtime, dinnertime.
Have you eaten?
Have you eaten?
HAVE YOU EATEN??!!
Until a girl gets irritated and insults the guy and he’s all, “But I was only trying to be caring…”
*EYE ROLL*
I liked when it was used to shut down voltrons arguing passionately about something that didn’t concern them in the least on Twitter. After their endless numbered tweets, one calm soul would retweet with, “Yes, but have you eaten?” Meaning; please go quietly away and do things of direct benefit to your existence.
Of course, the “Have you eaten?” question is closely followed by “When will you marry?”
But that’s a post for another day.
In the meantime, it’s already afternoon, and

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Yours,
@MsMeddle

1

Ex

I decided to clean out an old box of my stuff, you know, burn what I don’t need and look for somewhere better to store the other things.
I found a little plastic bag of photographs, and promptly dropped my good intentions. I spent almost an hour sitting right in the middle of the rubble, giggling at how skinny I was in the photos, and remembering what led up to each of them. Then I saw some pictures of you.
Back when we were dating.
I think I froze for a short while, because… I don’t know, I just froze. And then I began to remember everything. Continue reading

14

Seven Things They Didn’t Tell You About Love

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Premise: you’ll float through life humming your “relationship song” which is mushy and sweet and describes your love perfectly.
Reality: You’ll walk around singing Stereoman’s Sample Ekwe under your breath, because that’s what the guy you love loves.
Sample Ekwe.

Seriously.
(Meanwhile, he was the original Iyanya, lookit some of those moves.)

Continue reading

2

Aisle-land Blues

It was two weeks before her wedding and she was depressed as hell.
It was so hard putting up a smile, so hard concentrating on the last minute arrangements, so hard keeping it together.
It had all started the day she went to pick up her gown. They’d had to make some minor adjustments and fix a tear in the veil, so she went back to the shop to check if it was perfect and take it home with her.
She got into the changing room, put it on and stepped out, feeling every inch a bride to be. Staring at her reflection, she knew she’d made the right choice because the dress looked like it had been made for her, and crowning it all was the cathedral-style veil. Her smile cracked a little, and it was all she could do to keep the tears in until she was back in the changing room, safely hidden from the concerned shop girl’s eyes. It was difficult to cry quietly with a broken heart, but she had no choice because these tears couldn’t wait .
She cried, that kind of release where you’re conscious of nothing else, save how to get the writhing ball of hurt out your body, through your eyes.
She cried till her eyes were swollen shut.
She cried till her chest  ached.
She cried till she was wheezing like one in the throes of an asthma attack.
She cried till she couldn’t breathe and the panic pushed all the blood to her head till it roared in her ears.
She realized that she was on the floor some minutes later, and hoped to God that she hadn’t torn the veil again. She carefully stepped out of the dress and hung the veil over the door. She felt miserable.
She had everything. Her friends and family were super psyched that her big day was coming up, and the excitement in her mom’s house was palpable. The man she was going to promise forever to? Honestly, she could never have imagined a better man on this earth. She loved him so much that when he proposed, her girlfriends had to beg her to cancel the thanksgiving mass she had planned. He was everything. The kind of man she knew would help her be the best person she could possibly become. The kind of man who loved and accepted her as she was. The connection between them was such that he seemed to know when she wanted space and when she needed his arms around her. He was a flawed mortal in all the perfect ways.
And she didn’t want to tell him what was eating at her inside, for fear she’d see that look of hurt helplessness in his eyes. Because there was nothing he could do to change things. Because this time, he couldn’t give her what she craved.
She wanted her dad to walk her down the aisle.
She wanted him to walk in on her getting her makeup done the morning of her wedding, and hear what affectionate, teasing thing he’d say to express how beautiful she looked.
She wanted to look up at him through her veil, and see the love and pride and poorly concealed tears glazing in his eyes as he handed her over to the love of her life.
She wanted him to assure her, as she tried to control the tears, “You’ll always be my little girl.”
She wanted to dance with him.
But she couldn’t.
And she’d never hear him say all those things.
Because he was dead. And nothing could bring him back.
Ever.

P.S.
This year, we “celebrate” twenty years of life without the head of our family. You can read more here.

P.P.S.
May his soul continue to rest in peace.
May God continue to keep my family united in love, and may His favour help us hold on to laughter, even in the face of tears.
Amen.

5

Life, Camera, Toast!

Once upon a very weird Christmas time, an uncle of mine came over, and took me and a couple of my siblings to the zoo. It was a cheesy stab at “family fun”, but it exposed me to…well, the zoo.
So after then, I would go to the zoo from time to time, stare at the animals, give them names in my head and imagine them doing rather Dr. Seuss-like things.
It was a great idea (on paper), because I got to be on my own, cultivate some kind of a personal habit, and just be on my own and think.
It worked only once. Second time I went, I was accosted by this young chap. Senegalese, abi from Niger Republic, I can’t for the life of me remember. He stuck to me like a cow tick in a well fed dog’s fur, and wouldn’t let go.
How I was so beautiful, he was sure I could sing because I had such a lovely voice… Dude sang a couple bars of a song from an album he was allegedly working to drop real soon.
Sigh.
My girlfriend’s bf was competing in that Maltina Dance All show one year, and we all went to cheer the guy on. Seemed like a legit enough thing to do. During a break, I moved away from the “pack” to make a phone call, turned, and there he was. This wet-eyed Igbo boy, offering me a hanky because I was sweating from the heat and excitement inside the hall.
Toh, feeling a large drop of sweat on the cusp of splashing dramatically into my eye, I accepted the hanky and pushed aside thoughts of how weird it all was. And that was how I accepted a major stalker into my life.
There is nothing I didn’t do to shake off that guy, but even at that, it took a few months.
This one time, I was innocently walking from the house to the junction to get a keke. Suddenly I catch sight of a guy and girl standing outside a shop. The girl goes, “Ah, see this fine geh!” and in no time, the guy is coming up after me. Long story short (I never learn, I know this) I give him my number because it’s embarrassing; he has my bag and won’t let go, so passionate is his pleading.
That guy once gave me thirty – something missed calls and like four text messages ranging from “Why won’t you pick up, hope you’re ok” to “I’m very disappointed in you, why would you treat me like this, I’m never calling you again “.
Then he left some more missed calls.
What about when they fixed traffic lights at this roundabout in town here? There I was one bright Saturday morning, perched rather youthfully on a bike, heading to the tailor’s. Now, the light turned red so I was there o, only for me to hear, “Hello, baby, long time.” A slimy smile accompanied this fond greeting, after which the MAN in question proceeded to tell me how I was “his colour”. Mehn, I was Ray Charles to that guy and his teeth until that light changed and I moved on with normal life.
Right from secondary school, there was the (older) guy who’d show up in the mornings with cards and other related love-practices.
Same thing in Uni. The only time I was safe was when I hid in a particular corner of the library…
NYSC camp? Oh God. It was annoying, because I couldn’t be rude to the ones I didn’t like just so I could hang out with the interesting ones, like I would have wanted to :(
Only last weekend, I asked an electrician to come fix a faulty outlet in my house. Now, I hate having handymen around because, small talk. I will never get the hang of talking for the sake of it, and to strangers, no less. So I hid somewhere with a Charles Dickens and waited for the guy to finish, abegs. I should mention that right when he came in, I was holding a half – finished pure water sachet in my hand. I asked if I should get him some water and your man smoothly took the one in my hand, wordlessly putting the edge I’d been drinking from to his mouth, like a promise… the chills, guys. The chills!
Anyway, your guy finished and I paid him off only for him to ask, just before I closed the gate:
“So… you living in this area, ba?”
You working…where?”
I was all like, hell nah, nicca, and closed the gate behind him.
So far, I’m still waiting for the type I see in Nollywood; that will sweep into my life, wash away my financial and material sins, expose my skin to the best creams and polish me, generally. And all this without thinking to ask for any kind of gratification in return.
In the meantime, though, this one guy said he loves me and he buys me pens from time to time…
That counts, no? :(

Yours,
@MsMeddle

10

Forever

Suddenly, Rachel felt extremely shy… It’s not like they hadn’t done this before, but this time it would be different, she just knew it. This time, it’d be more intimate, more of a promise, more forever. So she let the hotel bath robe fall to the floor, then slowly raised her eyes to meet his. Her breath caught in her throat because he was strikingly handsome in this moment. His boyish face filled with a kind of intent expectancy. Plus, the eager I-will-chop-you-raw look in his eyes right now made him so darn hot!
He raised a hand and casually, confidently waved his fingers, beckoning her closer. She took a few unsteady steps and came to a halt right in front of him. Ross was already ready, in every sense of the word. He was naked and damp from his shower, his D at half mast, in honour of the bountiful goodness of the land awaiting his pillaging. He reached up and cupped her left breast, moulding it gently in his palm, his thumb and forefinger rubbing on her nipple like it was a magic lamp. Her lips parted in acknowledgement of his ace move, her right arm reaching out to tweak his right nipple, the sensitive one. He pulled her down and kissed her on the lips, a kiss that wrought out a ragged moan from him. A kiss that took her years back, to that first breathless kiss all those years ago. Yet here they were, still eager, still knowing how this would end yet nervous nonetheless.

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Holding his gaze, she firmly pushed him back on the bed, then dropped to her knees between his legs. Her smile was one of wicked enjoyment when she saw the dewy drop of precum spilling out of him. Using only her eyes to touch him, she lowered her mouth fractionally until she swallowed him into her mouth. The groan he let out was tortured; pleasure, impatience, the need for more, and a desire to make this last. She wondered if it made her a sadist, the fact that she enjoyed toying with him this much. His next move was unexpected.
She had her eyes closed, and her tongue languidly stoking the length and width of him when he sat up, grabbed her by the waist, turned her around and lay back down. The implication was, while she continued molesting him orally, he could now do the same to her. It was an evil plan because now she couldn’t keep still and interrupted her ministrations frequently to scream out. She was almost sure she felt his lips against her lower lips, curling into a smile whenever she screamed.

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Rachel was soggy as a dish rag and quite frankly needed more, so she flipped around until she was straddling him and looking into his eyes. Those eyes that had done everything imaginable to her. Eyes that had stripped her naked, flashed with anger, crinkled with laughter, widened in appreciation, latched on in serious attention, rolled in exasperation and winked in a shared joke countless times. Those eyes closed momentarily now as she lowered her wetness around his thickness, sloooowly, until there was no more of him that wasn’t inside of her. He opened his eyes and chewed on his lower lip, his hands on her hips guiding her up and off, then pulling her sharply back onto him.
She rode him slowly, her body tilted back, eyes closed and hands cupping her breasts as she bounced up and down. He hugged her to himself, then rolled her over until he was on top and her legs were wrapped around his waist. He stroked her hair and caressed her face as he drove into her gently, whispering any and everything that came to mind. His heart rate quickened when her breathing became more and more ragged, then peaked in an uncultured shriek. Her body froze, eyes closed, mouth open, he felt the heat of the liquid coming out of her and he lost it then. He exchanged his gentle strokes for rough, hard, irregular ones, and soon he too had his eyes closed and animal growling mode on fleek.
He rolled onto his back to allow her rest on his chest, the light from the open bathroom glinting softly off their matching silver wedding rings.

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Yours,
@MsMeddle

2

How to be a Nigerian Christian

This is a crash course, so I’ll just run you through the salient points.
First of all, nothing bad is ever meant to happen to you. Anything bad that does happen is the work of your enemies, and everyone knows that enemies will die by fire.
Oh, I missed this one. Everyone has enemies whose only focus is to cause sickness, accidents and general bad luck.
Every single human being is a Joseph; every dream you have is symbolic of something and must be interpreted to reveal the goings on in the spiritual realm.
The only way to go to heaven is to attend as many church programs as possible, invite as many (Christian) guests as possible, and pray loudly in tongues real or imagined.
Actual evangelism to pagans and non-Christians is not as important.
Sometimes I wonder if God looks down and feels sad; when did His people get it so wrong?
You can’t enjoy watching horror movies; they are demonic and will initiate you into the occult without your knowledge.
Those who act horror movies become possessed afterwards, and need special prayers.
Every unmarried girl who “delays” before settling down has a slew of marine spirit husbands who are jealous of all the men who come close to her.
Every attractive woman is possessed by the spirit of seduction.
Every fucking thing is a spirit. Spirit of poverty (especially when you do nothing to earn a living), spirit of lust (it is unnatural to just feel horny; biology is not recognized), spirit of anger (even when you have been wronged, and anger is a natural human reaction), spirit of privacy (I’ve been told my not allowing people (men) visit/call me whenever they want is a spirit), etc.
Apparently, just living a quiet life of struggling daily to be a better person, not complaining about problems, gently going to church a few times a week, and being kind to everyone around you will NOT get you into the Nigerian heaven.
Go big, or go home.
Be ostentatious or your salvation will not come to you, and you will burn eternally in hell.
The Nigerian hell, which is just like our prisons; overcrowded, disorganized, mismanaged, and crawling with people doing time for crimes they did not commit.

@MsMeddle