My body is at work but mind is...

Miles away on a beach on the Virgin Islands with Tyrese rubbing suntan lotion on places where the sun don’t shine. I’m exhausted and still a tad ill, so really shouldn’t be here. But it’s either work or stay at home and let my mother wreak her usual havoc in my life. The woman doesn’t understand “No! I’m not interested and I’d rather die than do that”. Her response to the latter being

“At least if you die, I can have a big party and wear the lace you have denied me during your lifetime”.

That’s my mum! Always making you feel warm and fuzzy inside. So after the 2nd consecutive day of trying to get me to do lunch or dinner with my equally uninterested make believe cousin, I dragged my diseased body out of bed and scurried to work. I figured a day in the company of Bad Weave and the other office losers had got be better than having someone put make up on you whilst you’re asleep and invite random men over for a sneak preview of what they might be getting if they cough up enough in the bride price department (Haven’t caught her doing it but I do know I didn’t go to sleep looking like the next poster girl for MAC cosmetics).

I sit at my desk and I can’t even be bothered to pretend I’m working. My browser is opened to Bella Niaja and I’m popping antibiotics like candy, whilst wondering why all the girls look like clones of each other. Can someone please make it illegal for more than 5 women with Brazilian hair to be in the same place at the same time? Every event is like a Stepford wife convention for crying out loud.

People with shuku and patewo hairstyles are starting to look exotic and exciting to me. I shall write to our dear governor, Fashola, and ask him to make it law that every woman has to have her natural hair on display for at least 6 months of the year. Even me I don tire! Upon all my “I want to be a bigz girl” wahala, the constant hair flicking is starting to give me neck strain. And I swear I heard chirping noises coming from my last Amy Winehouse inspired bouffant weave.

Yes siree! I have hooked myself up with some afro kinky twists. My mother says I look like crazed Rastafarian midget and has offered to pay for me to get my hair redone, but I ain't budging. No long flowing locks for a while. I am embracing my afrocentric side and if you all talk too much I shall adopt the bubu and thong sandals as my key articles of clothing for the rest of the year. It is time to respect the cultures of my motherland and shun the artificial glamour of designer brands and sewn in hair…I am African! Africans Awoo!

Joker! I don’t know who you are trying to deceive. Are you trying to tell me that this sudden interest in your motherland has nothing to do with that “Africa! My Africa” bobo whose trousers you’re trying to get into?

Well I never!!!! I don’t know what you’re talking about. A woman shows some interest in her culture and gets accused of all sorts. I don’t know why I bother.

You better not bother because I ain’t letting you marry any vegetarian, Jesus sandal wearing hippy you met handing out “Nubian sisters be free” leaflets at the Palms. We eat suya and wear a fashionable mix of LDA & Topshop ok? And I ain’t letting any man get in the way of that. So if you want to embrace a life of Kente cloth danshiki’s and beans, please have a lobotomy and leave me in peace.

But he’s deep Brain. He stands for something. Don’t you want to stand for something too?

Wearing a suit made entirely out of Ankara and Bata inspired sandals, doesn’t make you deep. It simply means you are a style challenged freak. You’re only interested because he’s hot and he called you “His beautiful Nubian princess”

Hehehe… “His beautiful Nubian princess”

Get a hold of yourself woman. He said that to every girl that walked past. You have to stop falling for everything in trousers that looks like Kojak.

I do not! I haven’t fallen for him. I am simply helping him spread the gospel of natural beauty and utilizing our God given resources. So please leave me alone and stop trying to pour sand in my garri. Now can we please think about something else because today is a man free day. Don’t have the energy for opposite sex thoughts.

Where is everybody today anyway? Bad Weave is apparently on leave. Boli Lover is in Ghana, Rat Boy is off to see a client with 6 Pack Guy and damn! Ladies Man is making his way over to my desk. I immediately start coughing really loudly in the hope that the fear of catching my germs will guide his steps away from me  but the man obviously has no fear of anything viral because he keeps coming.

Polyester makes contact with fake mahogany as he plants his “No longer attractive to me” behind on my desk.


“Hello! How are you feeling?”


How do you think genius? I look like death warmed over. Even the generous helping of beauty flash balm I applied doesn’t seem to be helping me much today. I decide not to answer him. Instead I perform a nice coughing medley and hope he will take this as a hint to bugger off from my personal space. Damn! Still not budging. I guess I’m gonna have to talk to him.


“Much better thanks.”



“That’s good. You look better.”


Liar, Liar, pants on fire.


“Look I was wondering what you were doing on Saturday?”


Hmm…How are my plans any concern of yours you local Casanova? I beg not in the mood for rejecting lame chat up lines today. Everybody should just respect themselves.

Noticing that I’m taking my time to respond. Ladies Man hurriedly carries on.


“There is a concert at my church on Saturday and I thought you might like to come.”


Yeah right! And the 2011 elections will be fair and produce a non-corrupt individual to rule our great country.


Not bloody likely!


Why is this boy always trying me? He thinks he’s smart trying to wangle a date with me using church. I beg don’t try and play a player. I caught at least two of my boyfriends with that line. Invite them to church to display my “Praying Wife” qualities. Then nip to the loo at some point during the service, to slip some unscrupulous congregation member 50 bucks to corner him and have a revelation that I am his future wife and that he must treat me like a queen or the wrath of the Lord will be upon him. Cruel, I know but a girls got to do whatever it takes. The poor sucker ends up dating me for months. Too scared to break up with me and too scared to marry me because he’s thinking “Lord this isn’t what I asked for in a wife now”.

Menaaa!!! He’s just being friendly. Nothing wrong with inviting you to a church social now is there? You might actually enjoy yourself and who knows…Ladies Man might actually not be so bad.

Brain! Are you alright? Wash your grey cells out with soap for thinking such yucky thoughts. Not so bad indeed! I am highly disappointed in you. Do you not watch TV? If I am stupid enough to follow this boy to his so called “Church Social” I know I will wake up the next day in some smelly face me, I face you bachelor pad with no clothes on, after being doused in love potion masquerading as holy water

Come on! Say yes. I'm bored and your life has truly sucked lately. Go on I dare you!

U dey dare me?

Hmm...Mena never backs down from a dare.

I give  Ladies Man my biggest smile and say   "So what time are you picking me up?"

Ahhhhhhhhh!!!! I was only joking o!