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Monthly Archives: August 2011

ungrateful child


Yesterday, after spending the whole day lounging, with Bruno Mars ‘lazy song’ playing in my head, i started to whine to a friend about how boredom had messed up my ability to write. He told me to chill, relax Ąπϑ write when i get inspired to. It wasn’t as if i didn’t know what to do, i guess i had become some what cocky. At that moment, i heard my uncle’s voice Ąπϑ my reaction was mumc must be close by. The thought of mumc seeing me in my lazy state (which included not bathing all day) brought the right amount of fear any sane child would have if you lived in my house. The thought also reminded me of evening service which was for 6.30 pm. The time was 6.21 pm. Not good. mumc would bring down the hammer if she finds me not prepared. So i locked the door, ran into the bathroom had a quick one, Got dressed Ąπϑ ran off to church. They say a guilty man runneth when no man chaseth. The guilty one was me ‘cos mumc was not with my uncle. She had gone visiting. Smh.

Anyway, i was glad i went to church ‘cos that was were my inspiration to write this began. Well it was partial inspiration. For some days now, i have been thinking about my childhood Ąπϑ how God protected us during a fire outbreak, and saw us through armed robbery attacks at the two houses we used to live in. i wanted to write about these incidents earlier not mainly as a thanksgiving to God, but mostly because i had been racking my head for things to share. Selfish of me i know. i realised that the more i put pen to paper, the more empty i felt. It was like drawing water from a dry desert well. So i gave in to my friend’s advise.

After service, i got information that one of our youth pastors had lost his dad. Also, a church member’s house had been razed down by fire. Now i don’t know what was going through the minds of the others there, but mine was filled with shame Ąπϑ remorse. Here i was thinking of things to write, Ąπϑ being very myopic of the very testimonies some people wish they had right now.

I was so overwhelmed that as i took the prayers at our family altar, i was led to forget all the usual prayer points Ąπϑ the spirit took over. Words can’t describe how much i was in awe of God’s faithfulness over my life. It was like watching a movie of my life, me acting as the spoilt brat who keeps asking, taking Ąπϑ never appreciating. Who Sometimes throw tantrums over things she didn’t receive. While God remained the loving, faithful Ąπϑ caring father.

At the age of five, the doctors diagnosed me of asthma. My mum could not believe it. She had taken me to the hospital on the presumption that i had severe cough. She was not aware that asthma ran in my paternal side. Ąπϑ so my romance with the hospital began. Looking back at all those years of been bed ridden, trying to find a comfortable position to sleep (either by kneeling down or sitting) ‘cos i couldn’t breathe, graduating from the use of ventoline tablets to ventoline inhaler ‘cos tablets were no longer potent to relax my tense bronchial muscles, Ąπϑ always putting my mum in constant fear, i genuinely felt the urge to give him all the glory. So many times i do things that could trigger an attack like drinking cold water, soaking garri, sleeping in an air-conditioned room with the fan on, bathing with cold water, eating fried food, inhaling dust Ąπϑ smoke… The list goes on. But God in his infinite mercies has kept me alive.

i remember walking home while in secondary school, taking all the short cuts, God protected me from kidnapping. My WAEC result came out instead of being grateful each time i remember the grades i get angry that i didn’t get more As forgetting the fact that i didn’t get any D, P or F. I had gotten so full of my ability.

When i remember the course i studied at the university Ąπϑ the CGPA i finished with, i regret ever accepting the course saying to myself ‘i would have done better with another course’. i forget that some young people are wishing to be a graduate like myself even if it means they would finish with a pass. Ungrateful me got into the higher institution immediately after secondary school Ąπϑ finished at the right time.

I look at my service year sometimes Ąπϑ i complain about the state i was posted to, my place of primary assignment, the boredom Ąπϑ stress i went through. i ignore the fact that God protected me each day i boarded a bus, climbed ‘okada’ Ąπϑ entered ‘cabu cabu’. i was not part of the statistics of corpers killed during the voters’ registration Ąπϑ voting period.

Most of my time now instead of channelling it into helping mumc’s business boom, i complain i do not have a 9/5 job. Forgetting some people don’t have a means of lively hood.

God restored my mum when she was sick. God kept us from being killed in a fire outbreak dat killed our next door neighbour. The fire didn’t even affect us. It got to the kitchen window of our flat Ąπϑ stopped. We didn’t lose so much as a pin. Yet i complain sometimes about sharing a room with my cousins not appreciating God for the house he eventually blessed us with.

Twice we have been robbed. First time i was in Jss3. It was early in the morning Ąπϑ our neighbour led them to our flat. She said she wanted to get the key to the bore hole Ąπϑ somehow the thieves got in. God being the faithful God, protected me from rape ‘cos i was on towel, He didn’t allow my mumc’s room door to give in to their kicks. They went away with few changes from my cousin Ąπϑ aunty after God sent confusion into their midst.

The second robbery was in another flat. This time mumc wasn’t home Ąπϑ they followed my uncle in. I had opened mumc’s room earlier Ąπϑ forgot to lock it so they got in, took all her jewellery Ąπϑ locked us in her toilet. The fact that no one was shot is enough to be thankful for.

i can go on Ąπϑ on writing about God’s faithfulness, kindness, mercies over me Ąπϑ my family, but this page will never contain it.

In my bid to share stories about my life, i forgot the Life-giver, my Source. i cannot fully explain the atmosphere during prayers but one thing i know for certain is that we were all grateful. Most especially me the Ungrateful child.

Ice princess


The room is dark, the blinds are drawn, bulb switched off, no light is needed. This is the perfect atmosphere. Gloom. It matches the state of my heart. Fan set to the highest, air conditioner to the lowest, perfect temperature. Cold. The state of my heart. I lay on the bare floor, naked, eyes staring into nothingness. This is what i want to do, need to do. Bare my soul naked.
But i am all alone. i have always been alone. Fate had made it so.
I tried, oh! How i tried. Tried to get rid of the forlorn feeling, it just wouldn’t leave. It stuck to me like a next skin, weighing down my soul.

But no one knew. It was all hidden behind my face. My pretty face. The face not even venus could rival. So i’ve been told. More like a curse than a blessing. People would say a beauty like me could never lack. *chuckles* how ignorant they all are! Maybe if i was a little scared, it would reflect the scare in my heart. maybe if I was a little overweight, it would reflect the burden in my soul. Then someone would have paid attention.

Daddy was absent, mummy innocent. She has her share of burden, no need to add to her worries. She has her own share of heart break no need to crush it under my weight. Mummy looks at me, and does not notice the pain. It is best that way.
As i lay still on the floor, images of the past fill my mind, as if someone had placed them on a slide show. Slowly i drift, into a silent reverie…

I could see myself again sitting in my old chair at the back of the class. I was in primary one again. Shaking vividly, what just happened, i couldn’t understand. The man in the stall. What did he do to me? Why do i feel dirty? I want my mummy now, need my daddy more. The day which had started like a train on a track suddenly wore on like a snail on a track. My mind couldn’t get rid of the images. could still feel the hard long rod between his thighs in my left hand. Finally, school ended. i ran quickly to the gate, eager to get home. Afternoon shower had never felt so appealing. What is happening? Mummy is late. Where could she be? The school is empty. I am left alone with the security. He wants to lock up. Kind old man. Decides to take me home. Thank God i knew my home address. i’m so sad! Mummy had forgotten me! Or had she? Maybe mummy knew, about the man in the stall.

The old man got me home. But something is wrong. Why are the furnitures outside? Why are there people moving stuffs into a large bus? Mummy comes out, carrying a box with my clothes Ąπϑ toys. her eyes are swollen. She’d been crying. She looked up and saw me standing. Dropped the box with its content to hold me in her arms. Her embrace said it all. Something bad has happened. she knelt down in front of me and said “angel, you and i will be going on a very long journey but daddy won’t be coming”. I thought, no not now, i needed daddy! i ran into the house to find daddy seated on the floor. His eyes were set, like a man on a mission. Our eyes met and he motioned for me to come closer. “my angel, i love you but mummy and i have to be apart”.

This cannot be happening! It was all my fault, they had found out about the man in the stall. Why don’t they punish me instead? i was the naughty one! Mummy warned me never to talk to strangers! i disobeyed! Mummy came in at that point, took my hand and we left.
That was the last i saw of him…

I’m seated at a table for six. Its prom night. My friend and i had bought couples ticket. No we are not gay, just two lonely girls pretending that it is best we enjoy the night as singles without bothering about manners because of a date. Deep down inside i was hurt. No one had asked me to be their prom date. Save one. No girl would go with him why would i? i wanted to have fun not bore myself stiff. No I’m not that desperate, to subject myself to a night of torture would be unforgivable. But what about now? Isn’t what i was avoiding coming to pass? My so-called girlfriend had abandoned me for another table. i sat there alone, sipping orange juice with a plastic smile. i try to concentrate on the awards. No need to be hopeful, i will never make the nomination list for any category talk less of winning an award. We know how it is done. The plastic girls always win. The ones who always giggle the loudest, wear the latest fashion and date the so-called popular guys. That was not me. i do not have a ‘best friend’. close acquaintances yes, but not close enough to be best friends. i was never the ‘hey girl’ or the type to sit on a guys lap during break or after school.

I had a best friend once in junior school but when we became seniors, she became plastic. i was hurt but could never show it. Decided to be a loner. Who better to be ones best friend than yourself. You can’t fight with yourself, won’t argue, best of all won’t abandon yourself. Who was i fooling?, i was desperate for companionship. But pride took control. i would rather suffer in silence than show my weakness. i would rather be seen as the ice princess than a needy one.

Had a puppy love as a junior. He liked me, i liked him but we always clashed. i didn’t want our ‘relationship’ to be known. There were rules to the game. No kissing, no touching, no smooshing. That was how i wanted it to be. i desired companionship, i desired a friend. i desired a male figure in my life. i didn’t care if he was only a junior like myself. We wrote each other letters, mostly in codes. You never can tell who would intercept the letter. He was always surrounded by girls, i heard talks that he was dating them. That was to much for my fragile heart. The letters were not enough to solve the problem.

The greatest issue between us was our believe. He sees me as a fanatic. Well i stand by what i believe. i wouldn’t say my faith didn’t play a role in our separation. What was a girl my age to do. Every sunday, the impression i got from sunday school was having a boyfriend was a sin at that age. i felt guilty. We had a huge fight and we went our separate ways.

That didn’t prevent my heart for falling again. This time i fell hard. He was a church member. i guess i felt it was safer. Didn’t we believe in the same thing? Surely he would be better. He was way older. Surely he would be wiser. He was out of secondary school. Surely he would be mature. i gave him the rules too. No kissing, no touching, no smooshing. i added a new one. No sex. At least with all these rules i shouldn’t get into trouble. i won’t sin against God. He agreed.

We started dating. He was sweet. Always calling. A day didn’t go by without a text. He visited me at home. Sometimes came to school after closing to walk me home. Listened to my foolish chatter, listened to my dreams and ambitions. This was what i wanted. A male in my life that wasn’t demanding. Who was giving. i was sprung, love stoned. Cupid got it right this time.

Then he gained admission. That was the beginning of the descent. It was valentine’s day. A day to show love. My first real valentine with a guy. knew i would get something. What i didn’t know was that i would be required to give back. *chuckle*, naïve girl. He came over to my house with a cake, rose and a bottle of wine. i blushed besides my dark skin. i asked him to come in, no one was home. We sat in the living room and talked about me, about him, about us.

Suddenly he came closer and kissed me. i was surprised. My rule! He just broke my rule! A voice within mocked me “what were you expecting, he gave you gifts and you got him nothing, at least pay him with a kiss”. So i allowed it. It took too long, i didn’t enjoy the exchange of saliva. In my mind i thought there is nothing to it. i don’t feel anything. More like i felt disgusted. i didn’t like it. What do people say about their first kiss?. The plastics said their first kiss was heaven, they heard angels singing in their head. This was hell, instead of angels i heard demons mock me. i broke away from his embrace. He became angry. This was the first time i’ll see him angry. Obviously he wanted more than just the kiss. Thankfully at that moment my grandma came home. He took his leave. Things changed between us.

He stopped calling, stopped texting, stopped visiting. i did the chasing he did the running. i needed his companionship, he needed my body. we were not ready to compromise. So we went our separate ways.

I vowed never to love again. love is for the weak, desperate and feeble spine. Its an old wives tale told for entertainment. Look how my parents turned. I will never let a man crush me. i will never let anyone close enough to crush me. I will strike be for they bite. What is companionship? A state of dependency for the stupid. Who needs anyone. i am all i need.

And so i became a walking cold room. Using my head and blocking my heart. i became the cold hearted Ice princess.

wharra dream


So today, i finally became a graduate member of the Nigerian Institute of Management *slots in recorded applause* thank you! thank you!. The enemies tried to deter me, i crossed the blistering deserts, swam the seven seas, climbed the highest mountains and i conquered it all!

Uh ok that’s not how it happened. i wrote my exams last year december as a corper and results came out this year april i think? i can’t remember. Induction was scheduled for the next month of results release so we were required to register online after paying 10 000 naira. Most people are of the opinion that NIM-NYSC is a scam introduced by the organisation to make money off unassuming corpers. I am of the opinion that it is better than doing nothing through out the service year whether it is a rip-off or not. (Well i wasn’t your typical regular class goer, we sha read hand outs Ąπϑ passed).

Lazy as i was at that time (i haff to gain all the weight i lost during the service year nah), i delayed registration until the date closed. So i had to wait for the next induction ceremony after blowing grammar on phone with a rude receptionist at the NIM office (the tin pain me, i’ll be inducted with my junior otondos *smh). Thank God for a fellow lazy corper, who informed me of today’s induction registration or i would have missed it too.

Today started well. Kudos to NIM for putting African time into consideration. On the website, the program was to start by 9 am only to see 10 am on the program. Very smart move. But wasn’t fair on people like me who do not walk with african time. We just like to be fashionably late, like 10 mins after scheduled time (that’s to seminars like this. i arrive on time for serious meetings where money is involved 😀 )
Don’t wanna bore my blog with the details of the dragged on ceremony ‘cos i nodded few times myself.

Finally got home, ate the half done jollof rice they gave us (na wetin our 10K bring come) Ąπϑ sleep came calling. i don’t know if it was my disappointment with the food, or my creative imagination, i had a weird dream. In the dream, i saw rolls of long work tables . On each were gigantic food ingredients the size of the bean stalk in the kids book ‘jack Ąπϑ the bean stalk’. No there were no giants chasing me and definitely no gold coins, hen that lays golden eggs or golden singing harp.

Each table was dedicated to the chopping of a particular vegetable or food stuff. The whole scene was like watching ‘Top chef’ on MNET with me and my family salivating in the audience. soup boiled in cauldrons, pastries, all the kind of ‘mede mede’ you see on food network but can never eat. i was about stirring a delicacy when i received back hand slap from behind. Mumc said, ‘let the master chef do it’. i tell you i felt that slap for real. The next thing i know i was dreaming of BMW jeep Ąπϑ ‘ijapa’.

A phone call brought me back to reality. i thought that was weird. The dream that is.

Oops!


Woke up this morning and a question i usually get from new acquaintances; mostly male jumped into my mind. “What is your most embarrassing moment?”. i am still trying to figure if this sharing of images that should be buried in the sand and locked up in a chest then thrown into the Pacific (God helps the pirate that sees that chest thinking its a treasure) helps in the bonding process. Usually at that point when i’m asked, i go “emm, Uhh…” *crickets* my memory hits skip. But this morning my memory decided to remind me of two vivid moments in my short adult life *sigh* i guess it has a mind of its own, my memory that is. choosing the time to torture my delicate mind.

As fate would have it, these two blush moments are of the same genre (yeah genre I’m allowed to borrow the word to fit my bill nah, right?). The ASS-OOPS! Genre.

Huh hun, ASS! *smh*. My first encounter with the defamation of my ‘chickness’ was during my first year in the university. It was a bright sunny friday. i decided to go to class in ‘trads’ trading it for my usual jeans and tops (note jeans and top is the way forward if you wanna survive in that jungle of a class each morning to get good seats. I’m almost tempted to describe our survival skills for upcoming freshers but i’ll just say make sure you have good sneakers). I didn’t feel like struggling, that morning. lucky for me, i have a cousin who always had empty seats at the front, she likes to think herself landlady, ℓ☺ℓ.

Dressing up took longer than usual, i had to wrestle with the skirt to get it over my bum. Did the material shrink since the last time i wore it? i refuse to think i had added a few pounds, i still look slim, my mirror never lie. To make the process easier, i decided to ditch wearing tights. Wrong idea.

Finally, i got to class. Strolled in like a peacock, with my nose in the air. i could feel the guys checking me out, damn, the ‘trad’ was working its magic, flaunting my figure eight. The shortage of breath was worth the attention. i should get prospects by the end of class. i was happy with myself. i sat close to my friends and cousin at the front of the class. Halfway through the lecture, i received a note from a guy sitting behind me. Wow!, so quick, I’m gonna enjoy today. i opened it and it read “you ass is hanging”. I’m like “what tha heck is he talking about?”. Then i was prompted to check the zipper of my skirt, it had given way! My ass WAS hanging!. You might say “she should have underpants on”. yea i did but they weren’t your regular ‘mum underpants’ if you catch my drift. I had switched to allow my ass fit into the skirt. i took a quick glance at the pips behind me, the roll was occupied by guys i went to secondary school with, amongst them was one that had even asked me out! 😦
Funny i can’t remember how i survived that day. But i sure know i didn’t get any prospects!

My second defamation of ‘chickness’ was during my service year. For those of you who have served or are currently serving, you will attest to the bagco super sack they call khaki. i wonder why they bother to ask us for our size when at the end of the day, we all end up with parachutes *smh*. So as it is the norm, i had my khaki amended at mami market for a whooping 900 naira after much pleading msheeew. If only my ‘London tailor was nearby, 100 naira would have done the trick. The lady did a good job slim fitting it. Too good a job. It fitted my frame like a second skin. At first i was happy but after washing it shrunk. i had become a teblic over night. And so i was doomed to wearing double ‘sokoto’ for the one year service.

On this glorious day of showing, i don’t know what possessed me, i decided to wear my khaki alone. Usually its either i wear my white t-shirt on jeans to the secretariat on reaching there i add my khaki pants on the jeans or i go wearing black jeans with my white t-shirt (this is allowed for corpers in FRSC community development group, Ota secretariat). i guess i wanted to feel like correct ‘otondo’ by dressing 4/6 (that is white t-shirt, khaki trouser, white socks and white tennis minus the cap and khaki jacket).

Anyway, on this blessed day, as i got down from the BRT i felt breeze seeping through my khaki from behind, but i didn’t give it so much as a second thought. As i climbed the ‘okada’ that would take me to the secretariat, the intensity of the breeze on my ass had increase, now i started to worry. When i got down, the khaki had loosed from my the waist to the mid section of my ass. This is not good. My white couldn’t even cover it. the disadvantage of buying police t-shirt. I then remembered i didn’t have my clearance letter from my employer so i had to take a bike to the office.

By the time i got back for my clearance the hole had widened so much i had to use my bag to cover it. i finished clearance Ąπϑ as bad luck would have it, my corper friend with whom i used to hitch a ride home wasn’t around. So i made the humbling journey with my tail feather out for all the corpers to see, got on a bike straight to the BRT terminal. Thank God a bus was waiting there, i practically jumped into the bus. Another bad idea, ‘cos the khaki burst open completely and yours truly was not wearing your usual ‘granny pants’ but the rather eyebrow raising one. i sat down close to entrance praying that today will be like those days when the bus would be scanty. Your guess is as good as mine. It was filled to the door.

As we got closer to oshodi, i was breaking into bouts of sweat. The thought of the whole bus seeing my black ass was terrifying. i begged the lady beside me for her scarf but it was too small. Like she would give a stranger her scarf. i measured the distance of the exit to my seat- 3 strides. As the bus slowed i didn’t wait for it to stop. i was the first one out the door, my bag second but it was useless anyway my ass was out for the world to see. Thank God i met a pashmina trader where i got down.

So lessons to be learnt;
1. If you are going to wear eye popping underpants, please have security either in the form of tights, shorts, or ‘shimi’
2. If you decide to put on something that is next to skin please, wear undies that cover your ass properly Ąπϑ won’t show traces on your outfit.
3. Please avoid outfits that you struggle into. The pleasure is only for a moment. The aftermath is a disaster.
4. We can’t always predict opps!, so ladies have a permanent pashmina in your bag.
5. Corpers make sure there is enough allowance for shrinkage when slim-fitting your khaki

I hope my ordeals have taught you something.

I am not my hair


When I’m out on the road i unconsciously take note of things, people, places occurrences and we know lagos is not lacking in these areas. Lasgidi no dey carry last for show.

Anyway so i was on a bike today on my way to… Y’all don’t need to know that 😀 and was enjoying the cool breeze on my face, most especially the way my Brazilian hair was flirting with the wind (ok i know what you are thinking, “you didn’t have to mention that”, well ‘its my hair’ and i can ‘feel’ with it even if it was my aunty who dashed me) i drifted off into a distant land, india to be precise. Starring in a blockbuster love movie. i was the beautiful damsel in distress riding on the back of her handsome prince in shiny leather jacket’s power bike (whoo! that was a mouth full). we were riding away into oblivion damning the rest of the world, like bonnie and clyde (without the bank robberies )

it was him and i against traffic *c.d starts to skip* – shoot we don hit traffic, msheeew.

All of a sudden, as if i had received Jessica Alba’s transplanted evil eyes from the movie ‘The eye’, i began to notice babes on the road, more than half of them had Brazilian hair on! Or is it malaysian hair or indian hair? :s i don’t know.

Then i remembered this picture that was popular not too long ago. A lot of my male friends and few girlfriends used it as their display picture

Huh hun, you’ve seen it too. So what does it matter if a babe should fix the hair and it did not improve her physical appearance? (Note i didn’t say ugly oo, God has created everyone fearfully and wonderfully). True beauty comes from within and not from the outside. It can not be worn or taken off. True beauty is inbuilt, innate, inborn. True beauty isn’t what our DNA is composed of, it is what our heart is made of.

i don’t wanna go preacher, and sometimes I’m guilty of this sin, but it pains me when I’m judged by the way i look. i don’t want to be judged by how pretty i am or how plain i appear. i don’t want to be judged by the labels on my back and feet. Or by the makeup on my face. i want to be appreciated for my inner beauty.

So what if i fix a brazilian, malaysian, indian, chinese hair and look hot but inside i’m as dumb as a box of rock, and my head is like a hot air balloon? My weave is a waste.

So what if the babe as hair like a peacock with all the colours of a rainbow? Or she has on dreads that makes her look like a moping stick? Her beauty is within and not without.

So the next time you see a babe with brazilian and well you think there is no improvement, do not hate, appreciate. No one wants to be judged by their hair.
Our beauty is from within and not without.in the words of india arie “i am not my hair”

The man in the stall


It was a bright sunny day. Nothing special. Nothing unusual. Nothing seemed awry. Everything was the same. The day came along with its routines. Mummy woke me, bathe me, prepared my back pack, and sent me off to school. There was no indication in the sun, no stiffness in the air, no goose pimples. Maybe a signal, sign, warning might have altered my mummy’s decision. But who could have predicted. Only one with clairvoyant ability could have.

Time wore on, like a train on a track, before i knew it, long break was here. As the sea of heads hurried towards the playground and kiosk, i made a quick beeline for the toilet. Nature was calling and i must not soil myself. Mummy would be very upset with me. In the toilet, a man stood silently in the corner. i took no note of him, maybe if i was a bit older i would have. All the stalls were empty. So i choose the middle one, my favourite. I had written the name of my crush on the wall and i love to stare at it while attending to business, dreaming of us running and playing together. “petite papa noël…” i practised the song while i emptied my bowels. i had been chosen to be part of a bunch who will sing in french at the upcoming prize giving day. i was anticipating an award too, so my need for practise.

Finished my business, and unto the sink to wash my hands still singing.
“Hey little one can you come and help uncle?”. Startled, i had forgotten the man i saw earlier. This time, he called from a stall. If i was a bit older, alarms would have gone off. But then they didn’t. i opened the door and he pulled me in gently. He said “pretty gal come in, don’t be shy, uncle just needs a little loving. Don’t worry i won’t hurt you. Come sit on my laps and tell me your name”. Like a hypnotised blonde, i obeyed. Was it the way he called out to me with his sweet voice, or the way he looked like the sun or the fact that he was mysterious? i don’t know.

i was intrigued by the man in the toilet stall. He carried me gently on a lap and asked me questions. i answered automatically without taking note of what his hands were up to. i talked on and his replies were “wow”, “smart gal”, pretty gal” on and on the praises kept coming. “i heard you singing the other time, come on, sing to uncle”. So like a juke box i did. i was eager to impress this man i sang my best song ‘this little light of mine, i’m gonna let it shine..’

“Ah yes your light is definitely shining, sing my angel, sing for uncle”. Then he moved me closer to himself, and placed my left hand in-between his thighs, that was when i look down for the first time. He had his pants down and i felt something long and hard. Then he coaxed my to sing some more while i left my hand there.

Then i started to shake. Something is wrong here, what am i doing here, am so scared, i need to get to class. My discomfort begins to show, i tell him i needed to go, but didn’t wait for approval. The bells finally rang. Better late than never i suppose, but i wish they had rang sooner.

Thank God my right hand was quick to unlock the door. i ran out as fast as i could not bothering with personal hygiene. That could wait.

My body stumbled into class, teacher was already there. Everyone stared, but i didn’t care. I sat down quickly giving my sit partner a half-wit-ted smile. My body was in class but my mind had wandered away.

What started as an innocent journey to the loo, became a memory in my mind.

reversed puberty


“Arrrgggh, these pimples are beginning to get on my nerves”. Its been over two months now and they are showing no signs of leaving! What’s all these nah, all my bobos plus aspiring ones are running away. Imagine the other day i went to see my mentor at her office (that’s gist for another day) and as i was signing the visitors log book, a guy walked up to me and said “hi what lovely pimples you have”. Msheeeeeew, i was scoping the guy before but the tin fly sharp sharp. What insolence! You don’t say that to a chick!

But come these zits are beginning to give me cause for concern. As a teenager i never had to bother with acne, black spots you name it, had a smooth face. The envy of my cousins (sssh don’t tell them i said so). Didn’t break out so i thought i had conquered every teenagers nightmare. Can this be reversed puberty? i won’t be surprised my digestive and excretory system doesn’t function as other people’s. i visit the john like four to five times if i haven’t had anything to eat and less that amount after eating. No one has been able to explain why its so.

Anywayz back to the pimples issue. i decided to use facial scrub, facial cleanser, use goat milk body wash but they seem to be playing merry-go-round on my face, keep changing location until they decided to form a colony on each cheek.

Decided to look to my older cousin for beauty tips she has such smooth skin (so jealous *rolling my eyes*) and this is what i got; she has different mixtures. For fruit lovers this might be vexing
1. Banana, oat Ąπϑ honey
2. Apple, banana Ąπϑ honey
3. Egg, banana, oat Ąπϑ honey
4. Mix all the above ingredients. together.

After mixing, rub it on your face and maybe your whole body. Note this should be after bathing. Then you sit still for about forty-five minutes before rinsing. This should be done every morning. My cousin likes to kill two birds with a stone so she does her ‘major business’ and read her bible while sitting still.

I’m like wha da?, i don’t have time for all that, got better things to do like sleep, sleep and sleep. That’s also a therapy; beauty sleep.

To add insult to my already bleeding injury, mumc keeps telling me that at her age she has a youthful skin and fresh face unlike mine. She keeps pressurising me to try my cousin’s remedy. At this point i just might.
So please if you know of ways to end my mid life crisis issue, do share.