Where my money?

Its pay day and I see no money in my account.

My computer has been logged onto the GT Bank website since I arrived at 7.00am this morning and I have been refreshing it on a regular 5 minute cycle. Still…nothing, nada, zilch. I have already called their IT helpdesk 12 times in the last hour to ensure that their website is not malfunctioning. Kenneth, their helpdesk support guy, has assured me that everything is working A OK. He probably thinks I’m calling this often because I’ve got a thing for him. He does sound very sexy over the phone but I have learnt the hard way not to judge a mans hotness level by his voice. Anyway, not even interested. Not on man catching duty right now. Today Mena is all about the Benjamin’s. Not to mention the fact that if he’s helpdesk support, he can’t be making the big bucks.

Gasp! Shock horror! Mena how can you be so materialistic?

Yawn, don’t you guys get tired of being shocked by me? I beg put a sock in it and let a girl hear word. Can't you people even pity someone? Look at how I’m having palpitations over the measly, “Can’t buy myself a Porsche Cayenne jeep” salary they are paying me. If I had a “Use money as wallpaper” boyfriend now don’t you think I would be a happier and nicer person? Hiss. Look don’t cross me today o.

Refresh…The balance of your account is N122.67kobo.

See me see trouble. I have serious gbese to pay my tailor for new baffs and these people are playing with me. Abi did I get the day wrong? Nah! Not possible my phone alarm always plays Johnny Kemps “Just got paid” on the 29th of every month. You know the one

Just got paid, Friday night (Money in my pocket)


Party huntin', place is right (Place is little right)


Booty shakin', all around (all the way you're lookin' 'round)


Pour one drink when I'm gettin' down

Ahhhh! I hear that song at 5.45am at the end of the month and I’m slightly more motivated to get my ass out of bed and give unto Caesar what belongs to Caesar.

Not sure we're familiar with that tune.

What do you mean you don’t know the song? Were you deaf in the 80’s? I beg commot for road let me talk to the hip people jo. Not know “Just got paid” ke? In fact, please log out of my blog immediately I don’t want people like you claiming you know me. Annoying Married Chick & Ijebu Chick, please feel free to log out with the saddo’s because I know the only songs you knew in the 80’s was Tosin Jegede’s “if I had the wings of a dove” & Yvonne Chaka Chaka’s “Umqombothi “.

Wait; wait before you go, you mean you really don’t remember the short man with his dreadlocks and the little side to side dance? Na wa! It’s good to have a TV o. Its ok, don’t bother scratching your head, just log out. No really, don’t try to pretend you know now, its too late, dey go. I say make you dey go and let me focus on finding my missing salary.

Refresh… My balance is still N122.67k.

To think I dragged my still diseased body into work yesterday and paraded myself up and down the payroll department corridor just to ensure that they didn’t forget to pay me like they did the first month I was here. Yes people. It is only at ibi ise Lagos style that you can forget to pay an employee. There I was, eagerly awaiting my salary only to get a very nasty shock when I got to the cash point. No money dey there. In fact even the ATM was pissed off at being made to process a transaction without sufficient funds and refused to give me back my card. Naturally, after being embarrassed at the bank, I was in a very sour mood when I got to the office. I stormed into the payroll department and demanded to know why I hadn’t been paid.

“Sisi sit down. Let’s discuss this calmly” said the Payroll Guy. Some snotty nosed corper.

“Please don’t call me Sisi.”

Isn’t there any employee code of conduct in this office? I’ve noticed that since I’ve arrived here nobody actually calls me by my name. I’ve been called Sisi, Ele, Orobo to bad, Aunty, Madam & my personal favorite, Omo Mummy! Anyway this was not the time to be calm. Zebra was having a sale the next day and this girl needed some retail therapy bad.

“You see Sisi, there was a slight mix up on my part and I forgot to add your name to the payroll list when you started.”

Fine! You’re crap at your job but I won’t hold that against you right now. Just give me some money before I use your unflattering khaki trousers to give you a wedgie.

“So what I am going to do is update our payroll records and pay the money with your salary next month.”

Back up. What the hell did he say? I was too busy humming ...

Hey, Mena, baby I got your money



Don't your worry, I said hey.


Baby I got your money

in my head and wasn't paying attention(Please tell me you know that's by Ol'Dirty Bastard? You know what? Just leave the vicinty of my blog). Did he say end of the month?


“I’m sorry, did you end of the month? Why can’t you pay cash into my account today?”

“There are still some procedures I need to go through for audit purposes and the Payroll Manager is on leave for 3 weeks so there is no one to authorize the payment. So I just can’t pay money into your account. It will take time.”

“It better take exactly 5 hours and 27 minutes because that’s how long you’ve got till the bank closes. I need my money today. Not tomorrow and definitely not next month. TODAY!!!”

“Sisi take it easy. Lagos big girl like you. I know it’s not this small salary that we are paying you that’s keeping you going. Omooooo Mummmmy! I’ve seen that PRADO they come and drop you in now. Just tell your parents to fund you until we get this little problem sorted out. By the way there is no need to tell everyone about this. You and I will sort this out together abi? I’m hoping to stay on here after my service and this could really hurt my chances.”

Hehehehehehehehehehehehehehehehehehehehehehehehehehehehehehehehehehehehehehehehehe.

Oh God! I can’t stop laughing. Payroll Guy initially joins in but soon realizes that this isn’t the laughter of a sane woman and stops to shift his chair closer to the door. This one does not know who he is messing with. You lot think my mother is crazy abi? You haven’t seen me when I’m suffering from shopping withdrawal.

“Look Payroll Guy. I will be leaving your office in approximately 5 minutes at which point you will either have spoken to someone who can authorize a money transfer to my bank or you will hand over a personal check for my entire salary because I am sure you did not forget to pay yourself today. If either of those 2 things don’t happen, I will leave this office and head straight to the MD’s office to inform him that I will not return until the 29th of next month because that is when YOU have decided to pay me. After that I would watch your back because until I get my money, your life is not safe.

“Ah! Ah! Sisi!”

“Yes, I talk am. You see that Prado you’ve been admiring from a distance? You are about to get up close and very personal with it. If I don’t get my money today, I suggest that from now on, every time you see one on the road, you had better start running because chances are it will be me following you so I can run your incompetent behind over. And because you are still calling me Sisi even after I asked you not too, I will make sure I reverse over you a couple of times to ensure that at least 80% of your bones and internal organs will no longer be identifiable to the Coroner. Now you have 3 minutes and 45 seconds to give me my money.”

“But Si… I thought you were a Christian? This is not how a Christian sister should behave o.”


“Please, please, it’s when you people do something wrong that you’ll start bringing God into it. Look all sins are forgivable, so if I kill you in a moment of madness and repent, I go still meet you for heaven. So please don’t let me ask again.”

He quickly picks up the phone, reports himself to the MD and goes to get authorization for my check.
Problem solved.

When I realized I hadn’t been paid this morning, I was planning on heading over to his office to wave the keys to the Prado at him and get me some money. But it turns out the whole office hasn’t been paid. Apparently it will be in there before the close of business today. All I can say it better be cause Mena has a serious craving for new shoes.

If this is real hair, I'm a Monkey's Aunty.

Hun! I don’t know why you people just like to try me in this Lagos. I have tried to carry myself in a calm, dignified and ladylike manner since I arrived but I can see my efforts are wasted on you lot. You all obviously prefer crazy ass Mena abi? That’s cool. Ko si problem ra ra. I’ll give you crazy. The first recipient of a Crazy Mena ass kicking will be my good for nothing hair stylist when I eventually find him.

Remember I told you Speedy Gonzales gave me the number of her weave stylist? Well, I’ve used him twice since then and to be honest the guy was good. Bloody expensive, but good. I stepped into the office after he’d finished with me and jaws dropped. I had random office crazies popping by my desk to ask me who hooked me up with such banging hair and I would just giggle coyly, revealing nothing. I beg, I like having hair. Even though Speedy Gonzales didn’t make me swear, God knows what “May all her body hair fall out" charm she’s put on me in my absence. Anyway, I was very pleased with him and decided to use him for a fringed bob to look extra fly for a friends wedding.

So he came over to my crib and after 2 hours of sitting still till my bum was numb, he was finally done. I was excited and skipped to the nearest mirror. I actually skipped past the mirror because I thought the initial reflection I saw was somebody else. Maybe one of my bad taste cousins who had managed to sneak unto the premises without my mother knowing (Believe me, even with the Razzo detector 2000, also known as Bingo the dog, that my mother has installed, those sneaky relatives still manage to find their way in here). So I backed up slowly and reexamined the Dora the Explorer looking person in front of me(Please refer to picture below).



Okkkaaaayyy. Why are my ears sticking out from beneath the weave? I look like Spock on Star Treks sister. Not only is the bob shape all wrong and too short, whats going on with this hair? I paid for human hair but I would like to meet the human the hair that is presently on my head came from. Its so shiny! I might actually be banned from going out in public, in case the rays from the sun bounce off my hair and blind innocent motorist causing a multiple car pile up. This is so not happening.

"Stylist!"

"Yes ma"

"What the hell is this on my head?"

"You no like am ma?"

"Am I skipping round the room spraying you with money? En answer now."

"No ma."

"Then I obviously don’t like it. I showed you a picture of what I wanted so what's this? And what kind of cheap synthetic hair is this on my head?"

"Na the style ma. I get am. Maybe na your head too big so e no show its true beauty."

"Ye!My own head? Too big? Na you spend 7 hours in labour trying to push the head out or whats your business what size my head is? Just say you don’t know what you are doing."

"E fine madam. By the time you wake tomorrow morning all the hair go don relax and it will look fine."

"En hen. So by tomorrow morning it will look fine abi? You can guarantee that?"

"Yes ma. I swear by tomorrow u no go even believe na the same hair."

"No problem. I trust you. So you know what will happen? Tomorrow morning after I see that the hair is looking good, feel free to come and collect your money."

Joker! if he thinks I’m paying even one Kobo for this hair, he is greatly mistaken. I’ve only just noticed that every time my blackberry goes anywhere near my face, strands of hair pop up, obviously being attracted by the static, magnetic pull or whatever. Human hair my fine black a..

"Ah! Madam that one no go possible. I have to collect my money tonight o."

"Then you better take this thing out and do it properly or else no money is leaving with you tonight."

"I no fit do anything again o. I get other customers to see today. Na dey style you give me I don do for you. Next time you too dey look yourself well, well before you dey pick style."

"Me?! I should look myself well ,well?"

"Yes O! Abi you no see the person who do dey style? You resemble am? Na twins you be? Then how you go expect make both of you to look the same? Monkey and Chimpanzee no be the same o. I beg give me my money before I craze for you here."

Monkey? Chimpanzee? He used these words in a sentence relating to Mena? Lord have mercy. Insult upon bad hair injury. Is it me this man is miscojiving for? As my driver Tony likes to say during his numerous encounters with LASMA? That I, Mena, should check herself before picking a hairstyle. Can he not see my delicate Asian like features? I am waiting for them to invent the hairstyle that dares not suit me. Na me and him today.

"You want your money abi?"

"Yes o. E ma je kin ba yin fa rough. Make you give me my money now, now or else you go become lepa by the time I finish with you."

Emi? This means war.

"You want your money abi? Wait I am coming."

You see I am really a very calm and caring person by nature and find it very difficult to give people the ass kicking they usually deserve. So I tend to get others to step in and do what needs to be done.

"Mummy do you like my hair?"

"E gba me! Mena what is this on your head? Is it a wig? Please tell me it's a wig and this thing is not permanently attached to your head in anyway"

"You don’t like it Mummy?"

"Who did this to you? Please tell me. Who? Did you fight with them at the salon before they started your hair? I’ve warned you never to fight with anyone that is responsible for making you look fine."

"I didn’t go to the salon. The guy is downstairs. I just came up to get money to pay him. Mummy he said if I didnt pay him he would beat me till I was lepa"

Cue fake sobbing.

"Pay who? You mean the enemy of progress who did this to you is still here? Under my own roof? Wait let me put on my slippers. Go and call Inspector Lamidi and the other MOPO’s for me on the intercom. Tell them to come and to release Bingo from his cage."

"Yes Mummy."

"All the enemies that say my daughters own no go better will feel my power today."

"Amen"

"All those your cousins that will be doing Patewo hairstyle on their wedding day will not succeed."

"Amen"

"I know it is them that are sending these people to you and today I will show them that you do not put your hand in the mouth of a rabid dog. By the time I beat kin la pata into their Onidiri of destruction's body, they will know that my God is greater than their babalawo. Mena open that cupboard, take out my holy water and sprinkle some on my Broom of Righteousness for me."

Go Mummy! Its your birthday! We gonna kick asses like its your birthday…

Once the Broom of Righteousness, which my mother claims has been blessed by the Vatican and Bishop Desmond Tutu, comes out, you know your evil ass is grass.My mothers always uses it to sweep the guest room when her arch nemesis, Aunty Rafiatu, my dad's first cousin, comes to stay. I don't usually believe in all Mum's mumbo jumbo but even I can testify that Aunty always loses her voice and gets a runny tummy the moment she steps into the house. Ensuring my mother of a peaceful visit. The extra addition of holy water is a nice touch.I love my mama. Where else would I find a mama that would race downstairs in her bubu and flip flops, armed with a "Back to sender" broom, a vicious guard dog and a deployment of MOPO's to defend my honour?

Unfortunately our beat down was cut short, as the stylist must have heard Bingo’s hungry barking(My mother only feeds him corn beef every other day to ensure he’s always ready to massacre uninvited guests) or spotted the trigger happy MOPO’s because he’d gotten a pretty good head start and was already trying to scale the back wall by the time Mum and I got downstairs.Lucky bastard. Bingo still managed to get himself some trouser leg though, so it wasn't a total bust. Oh well! You win some, you lose some. I wonder who the hell is going to do my hair now?

Just gimme the darn drugs!

Yesterday, I ended up calling my sis, Annoying Married Chick in the hope that she would leave work and come to my rescue.

“Hey Sis! I need you to come over and take me to the doctors.

“Why? What’s wrong with you?”

“I don’t know. I have some kind of fever.”

“You mean you aren’t going to work?”

“Er hello…I just said I had a fever.”

“Yeah, but you can still talk and you can obviously see well enough dial numbers on the phone. I suggest you take some Alagbon and head to work.”

“I’m too ill to go to work. I’m literally burning up.”

“I’m only telling you to go in for your own good. Nigerian employers are not like UK ones. You had better be on a drip with a note from your doctor saying you have a 10% chance of making it through the night before you call your HR department to say you’re not coming in. You’re better off going in and passing out in the middle of the office, so they can send you home.”

“Not gonna happen. Are you going to take me to the doctors or not?”

“Not.”

Click.

Did that Malu just hang up on me? I don’t know why I thought she would be helpful in the first place.

I eventually had to convince my mother that dosing me with drugs without getting me checked out first was tantamount to murder and a family meeting will be held as soon as they discovered she had a hand in my death. I think the thought of having the great unwashed from the village in her pristine living room was more disturbing to her than the fact that I was about to croak. So she relented and bundled me into the car in my pyjamas with her debit card. Relieved Tony from his shoe stretching duties and sent us off to the hospital. It wasn’t till we were half way there that I realized that I wasn’t wearing a bra (Before you judge me, who the hell sleeps in a bra?). Ok, do I go home and get a bra but risk being waylaid by mother who, having calculated how much this is going to cost her, is now having second thoughts or do I cross my hands over my bad boys and hope no one notices? I chose option B. I was in too much pain to really care if I took someone’s eye out with a boob while being treated.

At last, the nice, clean clinic where they are just waiting to dish out excellent medical attention to my poor, sick, self.

Whoops! What the hell? I just almost fell over a guy writhing in the doorway in agony.

"Oh God! Sir are you ok?"

“Good morning madam. Please ignore him. He's debit card has been rejected and he's just heading to the ATM. How can we help you?” says the over pimped up nurse at reception.

Not casting any aspersions on her medical capabilities but I don’t want to be treated by someone who looks like they just rolled out of a Pimps and Hookers party. It's amazing there’s any make up left in the whole of West Africa with the amount she had on but my life is in her hands so I will say nothing and pray that I get out of here alive.

"But Nurse, are you sure he should be going anywhere? He can't even walk. Can't you treat him before he dies or something?"

"Madam please don't worry yourself. Its just appendicitis. His abdomen isn't that distended yet so he has plenty of time to get to the ATM and back before it explodes. You hear that Mr.Kolajaiye? Take your time o but make sure u crawl there on your back if you can't stand up. So you don't puncture it on the gravel outside.We will be here waiting for you. So how can I help you ma?"

Ok Mena. We're not going to freak out. Your head is about to explode so we don't have time to find another clinic.

“I need to see the doctor please.”

“That will be N13,000 to see the doctor”

13 wetin? Do these people know its not pay day yet? Oh yeah, forgot. This one’s on mum. Might just get me a nose job whilst I’m here.

“Ok. That’s fine.”

“Will you be requiring a consultation?”

“Er…Obviously. I thought that’s what the N13,000 was for?”

“No that’s just to see the doctor.”

“I don’t get it. So I am paying N13,000 just to see the doctor. He won’t examine me, he’ll just see me?

“Yes “she says looking at me like I’m the one talking crazy not her.

“Why? Where exactly is the logic in me paying N13,000 for him to stare at me? Does he have x-ray vision or something? Hang on a sec. Is this some pimped up Marabout of international fame’s office?” I ask, looking around for gourds and peacock feathers.

“Look madam I don’t know what you are talking about. All I am saying is the appointment to see the doctor is N13, 000 and to examine you is an extra N15, 000.”

“OK! In order not to lose my sanity lets just agree that you require me to pay N28, 000 in total to be examined and treated by the doctor?”

“No, if you need him to actually treat you after the consultation, then that will be an additional N15,000 plus whatever the cost of your medication comes to.”

“I give up. Just swipe the blinking debit card and give me some drugs.”

20 minutes later I’m sitting in front of a bespectacled midget whose office smells like crayfish. I have nothing against little people but is this clinic being run by the circus? There’s crazy Tallulah, the clown, downstairs ripping people off and now Tiny Tim here (who seems a tad too interested in my unfettered assets) is attempting to cop a feel under the pretext of examining me.

“Madam please take off your top and bra, I want to take your temperature.”

“Why do you need me to take off my clothes to take my temperature? My mouths up here.”

“Madam, I find it more effective to place the thermometer under the breast to take a temperature reading.”

And I find it more effective to pat down guys in the trouser region on a first date to save all parties concerned unnecessary anguish in the future. Do I actually get to do this? No! because it’s apparently not politically correct or sane.

“I’m sorry, being the hypochondriac that I am, I have been examined by some of the best doctors in the world and I have NEVER, EVER had my temperature taken in that fashion.”

“I believe I am the one with the medical degree madam, so please take off your top and lie down.”

Now he wants me lie down as well? Why don’t I just dim the lights and play some Marvin Gaye on my Blackberry. Pervo.

“So hang on a second, what do you do if it’s a mans temperature you are taking? Seeing as they obviously don’t have breasts?”

This question seems to have him stumped.

“You know what, while you’re thinking of a suitable answer to my question, please take my temperature the normal way and give me some friggin drugs. Please.”

Prat. After stealing N43k off me you want a get freebie grope as well abi? E no go happen.

40 minutes later I was off home in a drug induced daze. I can’t remember anything after that but I woke up in my own bed and I feel almost like myself. Maybe I might even go to work today. Yeah right! Gee, I crack myself up sometimes.

One wedding and a maybe funeral.

“Why aren’t you dressed for work?”

“I’m not well Mummy. I feel awful. You need to take me to the hospital. I think I might be dying.”

“Afi dying. If you were dying you wouldn’t be able to knock on my door to disturb me at 7am in the morning. We would just have found your unconscious body when the cleaner went into the room to change your sheets later. What exactly is wrong with you?”

“My head hurts, I ache all over and I have a fever. It’s a very high fever because I'm hallucinating. I’ve been seeing things like Tony walking back and forth in the garden with a pair of my YSL shoes on.”

“That’s not a vision stupid girl. I wanted to borrow your shoes for a wedding today and they were too small. So he’s stretching them out for me. In fact go back to your room and shout out the window for him to come upstairs so I can try them on now.”

My YSL shoes? Stretched out? My $300 shoes? I must be delirious. This isn’t real. It’s all a fever induced dream. When I wake up my shoes will be safely in their velvet dust bag waiting for me.

“Mummmmmmmy! Please take me to the doctor. I am really ill.”

“Hissss…Afi doctor. You think money grows on trees? Is it common malaria that you want me to waste thousands of naira on taking you to a doctor? Go back and lie down in your room I’ll be there in a minute with some Robb, hot pap and medicine. I still haven't seen the illness that Robb and a hot bowl of pap cannot cure.”

I crawl back to my room, as it’s too dangerous to walk. Everything is spinning round and I think I’m going to hurl. No way in hell this is malaria. I have something rare and exotic that’s killing off my protective cells as we speak. Maybe I should inform the Ministry of Health that there might be a new super bug in town. I might be famous after all. I wonder if you get royalties if they name a virus after you. Menalaria or Menantosis? Woe is me. My head hurts too much to even fantasize about my impending fame and fortune. What have I done to deserve this(actually nobody answer that)? Maybe I’m being punished by the office crazies for being such a bitch. This might be a juju induced fever(I really need to stop watching Movie Magic).Oh gosh, I knew I should have been a better person. It’s probably that girl from Admin getting married or Miss Grabby from HR.

There’s been a whole load of hoo ha in the office about the Admin girl getting married. I’m not bitter or anything but who the hell friggin cares? Its not like weddings are a rare occurrence in this office. Every waking hour there’s an e-mail announcing someone’s wedding , engagement etc. Like I said, I don’t mix with the crazies so tend not to involve myself in their tedious plans to charter buses to unknown places, in horrible aso ebi for a 3 hour service and a plate of bad food. So when little Miss Grabby from HR came round yesterday with her begging bowl in hand, I was not a happy camper. She’s always sending annoying, chirpy e-mails asking for money for one event or the other. It’s gotten so bad I don’t even open her e-mails anymore. I just delete them all and blame it on our persistent server problems. Look you can all roll your eyes at me all you want but I so don’t do office weddings.

“Hi! Did you get my e-mail about the wedding?”

Yeah, I got it cow and I deleted it like I do all the other money grabbing e-mails you send me. A normal person would have got the hint by now.

“Really? You sent an e-mail? I didn’t get it. The server must be acting up as usual.”

“Hmmm…That’s odd. How come you’re the only one who never gets my e-mails?”

You calling me a liar girl???Don’t make get out of this chair and beat you with my laptop. Oh wait...I am lying.

“Might need IT to check your system.”

“Yeah, I really should get them to do that. That way I won’t keep missing out on all the fun stuff you guys get up too.”

Yeah right. Just go away woman. My facial muscles are starting to hurt from all this fake smiling.

“Anyway, I just wanted to remind you that the wedding is this weekend and I haven’t received a contribution for the gift and you haven’t bought aso ebi yet.”

Gift? Aso ebi? Is she friggin insane? I didn’t even buy my own brother a gift when he got married(Peanut Butter Boy, you know this is strictly for blogging purposes abi? Walia talia I sent you a present by Royal Mail but you know what your countries postal system is like. There’s probably a very happy postal worker rolling around in your Ralph Lauren Egyptian cotton sheets as we speak). As for aso ebi… She can’t possibly expect me to part with money for that Joseph and his Technicolor dream coat Ankara she’s been hawking around the office? I would rather roll up my 3000 naira, set it on fire and smoke it like a joint than waste money on that nightmare of a fabric. Is it by force? Or why do people think its ok to force other people to wear nasty ass fabric just because they are getting married? I ain’t buying nothing but how do I put it to little Miss Grabby delicately?

“Not interested.”

Couldn't really be bothered to sugar coat my sentiments today. Figured I’d just give it to her straight.

“Sorry?”

Gee, am I speaking Swahili here?

“I said no thanks. Not interested in buying aso and not a big fan of wedding gifts either. Actually it’s good that we’re having this conversation now because when I’m getting married please don’t bother getting me a gift and in return, I won’t bother tormenting the entire office with fabric they aren’t interested in and can’t really afford to buy or sew. It’s really not necessary(Especially since I won’t be inviting your crazy asses anywhere near my nuptials in the first place). “

“I don’t understand. You mean you don’t want to contribute towards a gift or buy their aso?”

That’s a good girl. You do have some brain cells after all.

“Why not? Have they offended you?”

“Of course not(They might have offended the gods of good taste and style with their fabric choices but I am merely indifferent). It’s just against my principles to buy gifts for people I don’t know. I just feel I need to have a personal relationship with someone before I attend their wedding, let alone get them a gift(Yes, I’m just a cheapskate. I admit it). So sorry I won’t be attending the wedding or contributing towards anything. I expect you all to treat me the same way when I get married.”

She stares at me like I have two heads and one of them just asked her to give us a lap dance. She mumbles something incoherent and storms away from my desk. Sure she’s off to spread the news that Mena is a bitch but do I look bothered? She’s doing me a favor. The more people that keep away from me the better my working day will be.

That was yesterday and now this. They’ve probably made a voodoo doll of me at the office and are taking turns to stick me with pins and pop me into the microwave on the highest setting. Where is that woman with a doctor? Ah ha! At last. Here she is.

“Oya take this” says mum pouring a handful of tablets in my palm.

“What’s all this mum? I need a doctor.”

“I said you don’t need a doctor. Just take this, eat some pap and sleep. You’ll be better soon.”

“Why are there so many tablets?’

“Seeing as we are not a 100% sure that it’s Malaria, the white tablets are panadol. The stripy capsules are for malaria. The blue one is for Typhoid, the red ones are just antibiotics, the yellow one is for your stomach and I’m not sure what the other blue one is. The label wasn’t clear but it can’t be bad because the packet is almost empty. Just take everything and the right tablet will deal with whatever you have.”

That’s just great Dr. Doolittle and what will the rest of the random medication floating round my body do to me? I could wake up later with a penis and chest hair and then what? Let’s see you marry me off then. I look at the little blue pill she was referring to and notice a symbol on it. On closer inspection the symbol turns out to be a V. Why does that ring a bell? A little blue pill with a V on it. Hmmm…definitely heard that somewhere befor…Oh my God it’s Viagra. This crazy woman is trying to treat me with a sex aid. God help me. It’s not the illness or the office crazies that are going to kill me. It will be my mother with her trial and error prescriptions. If there was ever a reason not to self medicate this would be it.

Forget this, I ain’t taking nothing. I’ll get someone else to take me to the doctors and after that I’ll be needing a hypnotist to erase the memory of the moment I found out my parents are fighting against mother natures better judgement to shag like rabbits.

Will Mena live to find true love? Will she make it to the doctors and vanquish the evil strain of Menalaria attemping to take over her hot body? Will Admin girl and Little Miss Grabby get what's coming to them? Find out all this and a whole lot more on the next exciting episode of Mena(I'm obviously very sick).

Tell me she didn't just go there?

My HR Manager just sent me this:

You know you need to shake off some weight. All you need is Splina and Shake off.

I have them for sale.

BENEFITS:
>> Lose excess pounds fast
>> Plumps up the skin and lips.
>> Reduces depth of fine lines and wrinkles
>> Smoothens "crow's feet" lines and reduces furrows.
>> Reduces dark circles around eyes.
>> Promotes skin elasticity.
>> Firms and tightens sagging skin.
>> Reduces visibility of stretch marks.
>> Revitalizes appearance.
>> Helps achieve a glowing radiant complexion.
>> Rejuvenates mature skin.
>> Tones and moisturizes the skin.


The products work. No chemical at all, it is a good and fast way to heal and stay healthy. My mother in-law was cured of Diabetes after I gave her a bottle of Splina to use.

I can send you a registration form. Do you have a spouse? because they too can buy at a reduced rate.

What do you think?


Please tell me I can sue for emotional distress and harassment.

I mean the woman has barely said more than 10 words to me since I started and all of sudden she's sending me slimming ads?

What is with this place? Can't a fat girl just be left alone? And is she implying I'm somehow lacking in all the attributes listed under benefits?

I'm going to the bathroom to take deep, calming breaths because Lord knows if I trash the HR Manager, I definitely will need a new job.

Security! Someone's knicked my knickers.

Yawn!! Gee it’s a good thing I’m hot because I’ve definitely been missing out on my beauty sleep. I’m absolutely exhausted and it’s all thanks to mum.

What did she do now?

Thank you my people. I would like to think that as a grown ass woman I am entitled to a little privacy abi? So imagine my surprise on getting home the other day to find my mother in my bedroom going through my underwear drawer.

“Mother what are you doing?

“What is this?” she asks holding up a pair of my comfy grandma knickers.

“Mother do you mind.” I say, grabbing my knickers and stuffing them into my handbag

“How did you get in here? I locked the door when I left this morning.”

“Hiss…Is it not my house? I can open any door I want, anytime I want. Your father too is still deceiving himself that I don’t enter his study. He thinks I don’t know he hides palm wine and playboy magazines in there. At his age, he’s still looking at naked small girls. Did he ask me to sit naked on top of a motorcycle and I said no? Instead he’ll be wasting money on all that rubbish. When you ask him for Dubai money now, he’ll be giving someone long story about being retired and the economic climate. Hiss…Anyway, why are all your pants so unattractive. Don’t you like lace or silk? Abi, you get share for cotton and polyester factory? Even your Aunty Philo, who is SU, still wears better underwear than this. I pity you. Anyway I know what to do now.”

She shoves me out of the way and walks out in a huff. Like, she’s the one that should be upset. I’m the one that’s been violated damn it! I should be upset.

En you too, look at it from your poor mother’s point of view now. You are like 40 years old, unmarried and living in her house with drawer full of bad underwear. You can’t blame the poor woman for being upset. She wants grandchildren.

Waka! Na you be like 40 years old. I’ll have you know I’m in my 30’s, look like I’m in my 20’s and have the energy of a teenager. So back up loser. And stop using the grandkids issue as an excuse. She already has grandkids and they’re all petrified of her. Normal grandma’s buy their grandkids toys and tell them fairy tales. My mother brings out the pestle and mortar and makes them pound yam for fun, while she reads Revelations from the Bible out loud to them. My nephew’s only 4 but he has arms like wrestler and thinks every car backfiring is the beginning of rapture (He makes some bad ass pounded yam sha). Nope, not letting any of my kids near her.

Well, excuse us for speaking.

Whatever! It’s been a long day and I’m still recovering from the Hottie incident. I need a nap.

So there I was napping away when flashing lights and a constant pain in my ribs wakes me up. So I open my eyes to find my mother poking my tummy with a ruler and a strange man with a camera looming over me

"Good you are awake. I didn’t want wake you but seeing as you are awake…Do you know your tummy is …meters wide (Like I’m going to tell you guys what the measurements are)?"

What the …

“YOU WOKE ME UP!! How can stand there poking me with a ruler and then tell me you didn’t want to wake me? Mother what do you want? Who’s this man?”

“So are you going to start doing sit ups or should we see if your Dad has any money hidden in between his playboy’s so we can send you to India for liposuction?”

Why does she just ignore whatever I say to her and carry on with her own conversation?

“What are you doing Mummy? Hey! Will stop taking pictures of me before I do things to your camera that your warranty won’t cover”

“So tell me what is it exactly that you are looking for in a man?”

I’m so not having this conversation with her.

“Mum, what’s going on here? Again, who is the man with the camera?”

“I’m just asking because I now see where we are going wrong with this whole husband issue.”

Gee! I can’t wait to hear this life changing revelation.

“I have allowed you too much freedom on this matter. I thought I was being modern by allowing you to choose your own husband but I can see now that you are not to be trusted with such a huge task. So I have taken it upon myself to speak to a marriage broker. She has requested your vital statistics and a picture. So sit still and let Gideon take your picture.”

“A marriage what?”

“A marriage broker. She will look around for any single men from good families, show them your picture and if they are interested she will bring you their details. Maybe you should put on some make up.”

Oh God she’s signed me up to a local dating agency.

“Mother! Please leave my room and take Mario Testino’s African brother with you. I am not joining any marriage agency to be paraded around Lagos like cattle(For Gods sake, I do have rep to protect).The sooner you accept the fact that I will meet someone in Gods time and not yours, the better.”

She stares at me, all quiet for a second and then says...

"Why are you like this? Has someone cursed me because I don’t understand why you are always rejecting my attempts to help you? Is it a sin to want to see your daughter happy? Gideon e don do. Let’s go. One day you will have a daughter too and I pray that she won’t give you all the heartache you’re giving me."

Oh gee! Has she gone all misty eyed?

My mother walks out of the room, followed by Gideon who turns around to take another quick snap before he leaves. I throw a book at him but my hearts not really in it, so I only manage to hit him in the head, when what I was really aiming for was his camera. Hmm… could I really have upset my mum? She did look weepy. Maybe I am too hard on her. She just wants me to be happy and it’s not like I don’t want to meet someone too. Fine! I’ll go look for her and make sure she’s not about to top herself due to my lack of man catching skills. But no matter how upset she is, I ain't going to any local Cilla Black to find a husband…Period.

That was a couple of days ago and mother and I have come to an understanding. She has promised not to nag me about men and I've promised to be more proactive and wear nicer underwear. Speaking of underwear, I can't find the knickers I shoved into my handbag the other day. I definately didnt take them out of my bag because I've only just remembered they were in there. But they just seem to have vanished into thin a.. oh my God! I told Ladies Man he could take some gum out of my handbag the other day. That pervo has stolen my knickers.I thought he seemed a bit smug with himself lately. He's probably charging all the guys in the office a 1000 Naira a pop to see my knickers and they're not even sexy ones. That would probably explain the sudden heavy foot traffic around my desk.They are all coming by to see the lady with the humongous ass. I need a new job. I so can't be around these people any longer. Someone please employ me and take me away from this perverted mad house.

Just the way I like em'

I’m in my own little world in the corner of the office. I mind my own business and only leave my desk to visit the ladies or go home. Yep! Don’t see any reason to swan around the office attracting new crazies into my life. The 5 psycho’s, also known as team members are enough for me. Ibi ise is for making money not friends. So the bottom line is I really don’t know the rest of the staff that well. So imagine my surprise the other day when a serious hottie in an Ozwald Boateng looking suit walked by my desk on his way to God knows where. I was literally sitting there with my mouth open until Boli Lover asked if I was having a stroke because I was drooling.

Who the hell was that vision of manliness in the bad ass suit? I’ve got to meet to him.

“Who’s that?” I asked Boli Lover.

“Who?”

“The guy that just walked past.”

“Oh you mean … (Let just call him Hottie)?”

“Oh. Does he work here?” I asked rather dreamily.

“Yes he works in the Finance department” says Boli Lover as he starts slamming files around his desk.

He must have noticed my lustful looks and he’s not happy. So I pull myself together and pretend to do some work even though I’m just killing time till dream Hottie walks past again. Hmm… so he works in Finance does he? He must be loaded too. Hot & loaded; Lord God just let him have a personality and I promise to invite my village relatives to the wedding.

Ah! Here he comes. My man.

Quick of spritz of Black Orchid by Tom Ford.

Some gum.

Readjust my boobies under the desk and its chest out, tummy in and butt out. I’m good to go.


“Hello” I said stepping out from behind my desk and blocking his path.

“I’m Mena. I just started a little while ago.”

“Good Morning” he says with a puzzled look on his face.

Maybe I’m coming on too strong. Maybe the whole boob in the face thing is a bit too much for 9am in the morning. Ease back Mena. Relax. Just reel him in gently. A little bit of boob at a time.

“So how are you today?”

“I’m fine” he says looking more uncomfortable by the minute.

He’s eyes are darting around like some trapped animal. Maybe he’s the strong silent type and doesn’t do talking? Or Oh my God! Do I smell or something? Ok I better end this train wreck quickly and go do a BO check.

“Alright then just wanted to say hello.”

He mumbles a quick bye and practically legs it out of my department.

I leg it to the bathroom and I can see Boli Lover trying his best not to laugh as I go. Imbecile!!! Like it’s my fault I don’t fancy his banana eating behind.

Safely enclosed in the ladies, I do a quick sniff check. Armpits, need a shave (Look until someone signs a contract that requires me to show my armpits on a regular basis I ain't shaving nothing), but they smell Mitchum fresh. Breath… minty clean. I’m even wearing a clean bra. So what was the problem? The guys obviously gay (anyone who doesn’t want me must be) or married. Forget him jare.


A couple of days later I’m off to see a client. My drivers off sick and Ladies Man, rather eagerly offers to take me. The thought of having to spend hours in the car with him is making my tummy turn but luckily Hottie happens to walk past and surprisingly Boli Lover insists I ask him to take me. Naturally I jump at the chance.

“Are you going out?”

“Yes”

“Anywhere near Ikeja?”

“Yes”

“Any chance of a lift?”

“Ok.”

A man of few words. That’s cool with me. Got enough words for the both of us sweetie.

With butterflies in my tummy, I skip out of the office and off to the car with my beloved.

As I try to open the front door, I realise its locked.

He points to the back seat and I shake my head indicating I want to sit in front.

He keeps pointing to the back seat. Geez maybe I do stink. He doesn’t want to sit anywhere near me. Well tough! Even smelly people need love too. He ain’t getting away that easy. I open the back door, reach over and pop the lock to the front door and settle in next to my reluctant boo.

We set off and after 10 minutes of uncomfortable silence he says

“Aunty where you dey go for Ikeja”

Ok... Back up. We’ll deal with the broken English in a second but did he just call me Aunty? I immediately examine myself in the side mirror. No wrinkles or grey hair anywhere. Still the cute, baby faced angel that left home this morning. Hmmm, maybe its some kind of kinky name calling thing he’s got going on. I can work with kinky.

"I’m going to Allen Avenue."

"That’s alright Aunty. You wan make I wait for you?"

"Please stop calling me Aunty."

"Ah! I no fit o. HR don say pe all the drivers have to call women oga’s Aunty”

“What do you mean drivers? Don’t you work in the finance department?”

Even as I’m asking the question I already know the answer and my tummy drops into my pants.

“En na finance department I dey drive for but I dey happy that I drive you today sha. You dey very nice. All the other aunties for office no dey greet person but you dey different. In fact that day wey you get up come talk to me. I say to myself, chia, this aunty finnnneee o and she niiiiiiiiiiiceeee so te. Infact, even the way you come sit for front with me; My heart just the joli. I hear say you just come from overseas? Wetin u bring come for us Aunty?”

Oh now he wants to talk? Evil deceiver of women. Maybe if he’d made an effort to open his mouth a couple of days ago I wouldn’t be sitting here feeling like dummy of the year. Prancing around looking good in a well cut suit. Since when are drivers good looking with a highly developed sense of style? Huh? Can someone please tell me? I’m used to the pot bellied, tribal marked Baba’s that make you feel guilty for being young and daring to even ask them to take you anywhere.

To think I was planning on slipping him my number not to mention all the x-rated fantasies I’d been having about the car breaking down in the middle of nowhere and having to cuddle very close to keep each other warm overnight (Yeah I know I’m in the middle of Lagos in broad daylight and not the Amazon jungle. That’s why it’s called a fantasy). Oh my gosh! Boli Lover knew all along and said nothing. Probably relishing the thought of me finding out and watching my dreams come to nothing. Evil Bastard. It's on now. Forget the truce. Boli Lover is about to get what’s coming to him.

As for you Hottie…its not your fault that I have decided to stick to my “E go better” rule of not dating hot guys that can’t afford to keep me in shoes. Oh well! Back to the drawing board. For goodness sake will he shut up? I preferred him when he was strong and silent.

One kobo, two kobo....

1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7,8,9,10,11,12,13,14.

Nah,that can’t be right. Let me check again just to be sure.

1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6…

I don’t believe it. Can it really be 14 whole days till payday? Two whole weeks without cash! What’s a girl to do??? I literally have a grand in my purse and that won’t even cover my Red cab home. Not to mention necessities like Genevieve, Phone credit for 2 phones, Lunch at Yellow Chili,Cocktails at Otto Lounge. How am I supposed to survive? The folks are away which means I can’t even sponge off them. Awwwwwwwwwwww!!! BoooHooo! Woe is me. I need to find cash and fast. Who can I get some money off?

Let me try my dearest Daddikins. He loves his little princess and won’t let her starve.

Riiinnng

“Hello”

“Hello Daddy”

“How are you my darling?”

“Not so good Daddy. I’m all out of cash and with you and mummy away I don’t know how I’m going manage.”

“Ah ah! Why didn’t you tell your mother before she came to join me? She would have given you money”

Yeah and Santa Claus might just become a Muslim and change his name to Alhaji Claus.

“Oh don’t worry Mummy, Dad. I don’t want to stress her. You know how sensitive she is”

Yeah, as sensitive as a bull on crack.

“Ok. Don’t worry my dear. I’ll send the driver to put some money in your account today.”

“Thank you Daddy. Love you.”

Click.

Phew disaster averted. Thank God I didn’t have to call my mother or any of my other insane siblings. I wonder where I should go spend my new found wealth?

Ping

Oh. It’s a text message from Mum. What does she want?


“My darling daughter thank you for the 100,000 naira….

What?!! Is she high on Shelltox again? I’ve told her time without number that she’s not supposed to spray it on herself when she goes out at night.


you told your father to give me. I ran into Tony on his way to the bank to pay it into your account. When he told me, I thought to myself;it is not possible that my own husband, who hasn’t agreed to pay for my Dubai trip, is giving you,who has refused to leave her fathers house, 100,000 naira. So thank you. May your children also collect money from your husband on your behalf (You won’t say Amen?).Off to Mama Kudi’s now to check out her new shipment of Swiss Lace. If I have change, I will buy some Davina Ankara.

Oh my God. I think I’m actually going to cry. No wait…too late. I can feel the big fat tears rolling down my cheeks already. 100,000 naira gone just like that. Why Lord? Why? Oh well Rat Boy just stepped away from his desk without locking his computer and there’s no one else here. Someone has to suffer with me. I think I’ll just close his word document without saving any of the changes he just spent the last hour working on. Done. Oh my gosh! I do feel better. Not a 100,000 naira better but better. I guess I will have to call the other Mena family crazies after all.

Let’s try Annoying Married Chick


“What do you want?”

She was obviously at the back of the queue when God was handing out phone manners.

“Hi Sis”

“What do you want?”

“Fine I won’t bother with the niceties then. I need to borrow some cash.”

“Why?”

“Cause I obviously don’t have any?”

Nope not there when the brains where being handed out either.

“Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why don’t you have any money?”

“Err, because I’ve spent what I have and now I don’t have any more. So can I please have some?”

“What did you spend it on?”

“I don’t know. Stuff.”

“What kind of stuff?”

“FOR CRYING OUT LOUD. JUST LEND ME SOME BLOODY MONEY!!!!!!”

“I don’t appreciate your tone. I suggest you think about your attitude and call me back when you are ready to apologise.”

Click.

Cow.Who needs her anyway? Her crazy has probably rubbed off on the money.

Hmmm…I’ll try my Brother in-law Market Boy. At least one of them has got be sane in that relationship.

“Hi”

“Hi Sis”

“Hey what’s with all the loud music? Where are you? What are you doing?”

“Oh I’m at the dance studio. I’m planning a special grease dance routine for our anniversary this year.”

Dance wetin???

“I’m going to do the “We go together” number. You know the one that goes…”


We go together like
rama lama lama
ke ding a de dinga a dong
remembered for ever like
shoo bop shoo wadda wadda yipitty boom de boom

Yeah boom de boom to you too mate. I take back what I said. Both parties in a relationship can be crazy.

“Anyway I need more people to really make the performance pop. So you interested in joining in sis?”

Alakoba! I never marry and you want me to be popping in some insane 1980’s dance number? Its unfortunate that we are related because I'm definately in a "Waka" mood at the moment.

“Er,no don’t want to steal any of the glory on your big night. You just keep practicing bro and I’m sure you’ll just blow her away on the night.”

Yeah you’ll blow her away all right. Right into the nearest psychiatric ward.

“I guess. Everybody just seems a bit reluctant to take part.”

Ya think? I’m ….years old. No way I’m prancing around in a poodle skirt and ankle socks for anyone (Well if the nurse’s uniform gets boring and my future boo insists on it, I might reconsider).

“Oh well. So did you want something Sis?”

“Naw! Just called to say hi”

“Ok then talk to you later. Oh by the way do you know where I can get a black Elvisy wig and some leather trousers.”

“Er…not off the top my head but I’ll definitely keep an eye out for one.”

“Thanks. Bye”

“Bye.”

Saddo. Not going to bother getting any money off him. He’s going to need all he’s got to pay for my sister’s therapy after she sees him prancing around in front of all her friends and family in tight leather trousers and a wig. If she had been nice about the money I might have warned her but right now not sure she deserves any sympathy.

Ok who can I try next? My brother Peanut Butter Boy I suppose.

Riiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiinnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnggggggggggggggggggg...

Hmmm, not picking up as usual.

Ping

Oh he’s sent me text

“I know why you are calling and mum says I am not to lend you any money no matter how much you beg. She says if I do she will come and spend a month with me and the Mrs. I love my life and I’m scared my wife will leave me if she stays here for a week let alone a month. Sorry Sis but my hands are tied. Try Annoying Married Chick. Maybe mum hasn't gotten to her yet.”

Cruella Deville wins again. She has once more reduced me to a quivering mass of helplessness. Fine, she might have won this battle but I’ll win the war. To all you so called fans out there. Your mission, should you choose to accept it, is to find me a m… You thought I was going to say man didn’t you. Yeah right! Like I would leave my entire romantic and lampashing future in your hands? I love myself a tad too much for that. Nope you all go find me some money making scheme and be quick about it.

I’m off to see if Red cab will accept a picture of me as part payment for my ride home.

This means war

It turns out Chipmunk isn’t so cute and cuddly after all. He’s more like a rabid gutter rat with extremely fat cheeks. Wondering what happened to sour the love? Well, there I was minding my business when Grumpy’s shadow casts a gloom over my desk.

“Can I have a word with you Miss Mena”?

Our Grumpy is very formal. Anyway,I follow him into his cardboard box size corner of the office, covered with pictures of Mrs. Grumpy (unsmiling, skinny, short woman. No wonder Grumpy is grumpy) and equally grumpy looking children, to find chipmunk waiting for us. I smile but he averts his gaze. He can’t possibly still be sulking about the meeting gag Boli Lover and I played on him? I’ll have to make amends with him later. What do Chipmunks like to eat?

“Miss Mena I have just spoken to Mr…… about his latest substandard report and he has informed me that on this occasion it was entirely due to your inaccurate research information. He has also suggested that maybe you are not entirely an asset to this department. What do you have to say in response to that?”

What the frig?

"Et tu, Chipmunk? Et tu?"

For all you non Latin speakers that translates to

"E wo, Chipmunk? E wo?"

Or

"Na you do me so, Chipmunk. Na you?"

Why the lying little weasel. I ought to stomp his lights out. To think I stayed late working on the info for HIS report and he dares to blame me for the fact that it’s crappy? Like I wrote the darn thing. Well, we’ll just see who makes it out of here alive rat.

10 minutes and 2 file binders of evidence later, Rat Boy formerly known as Chipmunk is busy getting the telling off of his life from Mr. Grumpy for daring to blame his tools for his inability to write a coherent report. I am excused and skip happily back to my desk. It ain’t over though. I’m gonna get him back. Not sure how and when, but I will.

Anyway after all that trauma I decided to go visit my friend Speedy Gonzales Chick (If you ever see her drive, you’ll realize the name is totally apt) after work for a good ol' moan about ibi ise.

So there we are, chilling in her bedroom and I ask her who does her hair because my girl is always on point. She kinda dithers a bit and then whips out her bible from under her pillow and says

“Swear on this bible that you won’t reveal what I’m about to tell you to anyone else and if you do this friendship is totally over”.

Oooooooooooooooooooooooookkkk lady. Your hair ain’t that fine. I ain’t swearing on any bible that I won’t reveal stuff. You all know once someone tells you to swear before they tell you something the gist is either going to be too hot to keep to yourself or so freaking weird you’re gonna have to at least tell the cops or a psychiatrist so you don’t top yourself. Anyway, either way you’re buggered. So I say thanks but no thanks.

“What’s with all the drama missy? All I wanted was a weave not the location of Osama Bin Laden’s underground bunker.”

“Fine, you don’t have to swear. I’ve known you forever so I’ll trust you. But pleaaaaaaaassse don’t give anyone my stylist's name or number because I can’t be rocking the same hairstyle as everyone else.”

Ok crazy lady. Just hand over the digits and let me get my behind out of here before you start hearing voices. For goodness sake its just hair.

What’s the deal ladies? Why are you all so secretive about your designer's or stylist’s? You girls guard everything like Russia & America during the cold war. But believe me; even their spies have nothing on the average Lagos girl guarding her styling secrets. Look your tailor needs to eat too and he can’t survive on the one measly dress you make every 6 months, so spread the love and give other people the chance to look cute too.

Gee! Everyone is doing my head in today. I need a cuddle(Back up no hopers. I'm still not that desperate yet). Lagos is too hard and snobby. And everybody always wants a piece of you. I miss my old crew...Sob. I don't feel like talking to you lot anymore (Well you aren't really the most exciting bunch of people out there are you?). I need time to feel sorry for myself. Maybe writing a 5 page action plan on how to make Rat Boy's life a living hell will make me feel better. Then maybe a stiff drink, bed and a blown up copy of Glo boys picture. Ah! Feel better already.

Meet me at the meeting so we can discuss the meeting we had to arrange this meeting...

Welcome to Lagos! The home of the never ending meeting that achieves nothing. It’s been 3 hours. Yeah, you heard me right. 3 hours in this cubicle called a conference room. I’m being assaulted by the overpowering fumes of Ladies man’s aftershave on one side and the smell of stale weave on the other. I’m choosing to breathe in the stale weave cause who knows what jazzomatic fragrance Ladies Man is wearing today. You can all laugh at my sudden deep rooted belief in jazz but as my mother says African Movie Magic Yoruba is not just a show…Its real life damn it! I refuse to wake up in any forest wearing an unflattering white wrapper with an earthenware pot on my head. No Siree! They next draped, white thing coming anywhere near this body better be a wedding dress or so help me God… Abi, with all the blinking chairs in here he just had to choose the one next to mine didn’t he? Hissss.

I’m particularly weary of him as he asked me for a loan yesterday. Naturally I said no as I need all my money to buy holy water to protect myself from jazz and deranged stalkers and anyway we all know money and work colleagues should never mix. He kinda looked me over and gave me a funny grin. I immediately ran home to pray because I’m sure he was sizing me up for ogun owo. Probably thinking the money gods would be pleased to have someone with my ample proportions as their latest sacrifice. I rebuke such. Maybe I should agree to use some of that “Back to sender” soap my local family members are always raving on about.

Yawn… Lord how much longer is Grumpy going to waffle on for? He’s now at the board drawing some charts to do with goodness knows what and doesn’t even seem to care that no ones listening. I’m not even sure he’s noticed that Chipmunk is either asleep or dead. Hmmm! Jokes apart the boy hasn’t moved in 45 minutes sha and his necks at a funny angle. I’m putting my money on dead. I write a note and pass it to Boli Lover (we have established a truce during these long hours of torture called our weekly review meetings). The note said “Bet you 200 Naira Chipmunk is dead”. He scribbles and sends it back. “Deal”. I sit back and start thinking what I can spend my 200 Naira on. I need credit or I can buy 1 stick of suya or maybe I’ll just go crazy and try out the refreshing taste of Fan ice yogurt. Whilst I’m busy day dreaming, Boli Lover gives Chipmunk a rather vicious jab with his pen(which looks suspiciously like mine) and he jumps up screaming “Ye kokoro!”. Darn there goes my fan ice dream. Would it have killed him to croak for my convenience? Not sure that sentence even makes sense but I’m too bored to care. Boli Lover, who can’t breathe from trying not to laugh, stretches out his hand for his money and I pay up. Through out this whole freak show, Grumpy hasn’t even turned around to see what’s going on.

What is it with you guys and meetings? You have a meeting for eveeeeeeeeeeeeerrrrrrryyyything. You have meetings to decide if you should have a meeting. Yesterday I was in a meeting to decide if we should have our morning coffee at 8am or 8.15am. Who gives a flying frig? I hadn’t even noticed the coffee came at a particular time let alone formed an opinion about weather it needs to come later or not. What difference does 15 minutes make? What they need to have is a meeting on the cockroaches that keep jumping out to surprise me every time I open a blooming cupboard around here. Now that's a meeting I'd be happy to spend 3 hours of my life in. They have no fear those darn things. I’m screaming and smacking the table with newspapers and they just kinda stroll along like “Don’t you rush me lady. I’ll scuttle into hiding when I’m good and ready”. Better still they can have a meeting about the lack of a decent place to eat around here. I’m surrounded by Buka's and Whore houses masquerading as respectable establishments.

I kid you not. The other night, having worked late I decide to pop into a restaurant near my office to pick up some take out. Maybe the red lights bulbs, smoky interior and fat ass women dressed in sequined hot pants should have told me something but all I was thinking was, sod the diet I’m eating anything I can get my hands on tonight. After squinting to read the menu, I order and sit down with a drink to wait for my take out. There I am minding my business when a guy walks up to me and says

“How much?”

I naturally assume he’s talking about my ice cold can of Coke. So I say

“I think it’s about 120 Naira”

Rather excited he grabs a chair and sits at my table. I am already irritated. How much does a can of coke usually cost or why does he need to sit down and discuss it.

Really?! 120 Naira. That one cheap o abi na per hour?

I’m confused. Do they sell coke by the hour? I decide to ignore him and go back to trying to figure out how these women managed to fit their humongous butt cheeks into such small pieces of fabric.

“So talk now. That 120, na per second, per minute or per hour? I no think say fine girl like you go fit cheap like that but I just say make I try my luck. But wait make I talk true. Na only 60 Naira I get for hand as you see me so. So I no go expect you to talk. You no even have to move sef. I go do all the work. You fit manage? . ”

60 Naira? What the he..?

Dim smoky interior…check
Half naked women…check
Pervy drunken men…check
Pervy drunken men offering me money for my God given assets...check

Oh Lord I’m in a den of iniquity, I’m being propositioned and for 60 naira at that. If I wasn’t so petrified I would kick him all over the damn place for even daring to think he could have a piece of Mena for less than a can of coke. Prat!I need to get my God fearing behind out of here before someone I know sees me.

“Ah ah baby! Where are you going now? Oya come now let’s just play a little before you go”.

God forbid! I would rather hack of my own leg with a rusty bottle cap than risk catching some unknown disease by being in the same room with this cheap ass perv. They can keep their take out.

I dash out and I’m immediately blinded by the natural light. As I’m standing there blinking, trying to regain my sight someone taps me on the shoulder.Thinking its Pervo guy, I swing my handbag (which weighs a ton), smack him in the face, kick him in what I hope are his crown jewels and make a run for it. It wasn’t till I got to the office the next day to find Boli Lover sitting on a cushion with his lips swollen to the size of sausages(like the guy doesn't have enough problems with the opposite sex without me disfiguring him too)that I realize I’ve assaulted an innocent man. Not to mention the fact that I've been seen coming out of a knocking shop by a work colleague. Great I’ll just sit here and wait for the termination letter from HR to arrive. Luckily he chose not say anything about the assault or the implications of my restaurant choice. So I have been forced to develop a friendship based on secrets. That's cool with me for now but should I ever choose to run for office, you do know Boli Lover will have to be exterminated?

I'm watching you...

Father Lord, its not fair o! After all my praying and fasting that I should be invisible to all no hopers, how are these people still finding me? Abi, what is wrong with you people? Can't you see a beautiful and stylish woman without finding cause to harass her? Must you all have a piece of the Mena? Really, I just can’t take it anymore. If I wasn't wanted by the British Aviation police for assaulting a cabin crew member over the minuscule portion the dared to serve me on the flight over here (Come on! She no look me before she bring the food? How is someone my size supposed to survive on prison rations for crying out loud?), I would so be winging my way back to the rainy shores of England. I haven't had a decent nights sleep in 2 weeks (that's my excuse for not blogging by the way) and my once dewy skin is now looking drained and ashy. My enemies who don't want me to marry and leave my insane mothers house, I know this your doing and all I will say is “Back to sender”. Even if it means taking 10 minute naps in the loo at work all day (which is what I suspect Boli Lover does or the man has a serious digestion problem), I will regain my youthful glow and once again be the babe that I am.

Anyway maybe I shouldn't be so hard on all of you, after all this new development is just proving what I've always said…I'm totally irresistible to the opposite sex. Yes, Mena has become a Lagos celebrity by acquiring her very own stalker

Na lie!

Excuse me! I lie about my weight, my age and how many cookies were really left in the box before I started eating. I do not lie about being stalked. It all started with a midnight text when I went to a family do outside Lagos. The darn beeping wakes me up and let me tell you after enduring a 3 hour service in Yoruba followed by a meet the members of the family we never invite over for Christmas dinner session (You know those people you are somehow related to but your mother beats the living daylights out of you if you ever let them touch you or eat any of the candy they bring over), The last thing I want to be is awake. I immediately curse Glo thinking its one of their infernal promotions. I am very grateful that they want me to win a Kia Rio but why can't they send people messages at a reasonable hour of the day instead of scaring the bejesus out of them at 3am? I shall be writing a very stern email to their Head of Business Development.

Don’t you mean Customer Services?

Don't tell me what I mean smarty pants. I happen to have seen the Head of Business Development in a piccie and I know he's a major hottie. Tall and lean, just the way I like em. Although the newspaper picture was a tad grainy, with the aid of my trusty magnifying glass, I was able to determine that he wasn’t wearing a ring (not a totally reliable way of telling if someone is really single around here but it will have to do). So unless the Head of Customer relations happens to be a major hottie as well, all my complaints will be directed to my Glo Boy. Naturally, the letter will be strictly business and nothing to do with me having his love child or anything like that. However if that's what it takes to improve Glo's customer satisfaction levels then I'm willing to take one for the team. You guys can thank me later.

Anyway before I get carried away let's get back to the issue at hand. The text obviously wasn't from Glo (Will still be sending a letter with a picture of me in my sexy wonder woman pyjamas sha. You know give him some eye candy to soften the blow of my harsh, critical words.)But some weirdo, whose name I obviously can't tell u lot just in case he reads my blog. So in order to protect my secret identity(hear that Smug Married chick & her hubby, Market Boy! SECRET identity...Alakoba’s. Until dey sack me finish and I have to move into your BQ, you guys won't be happy) let's just call him Wannabe because he fancies himself quiet a poet.

He begins his 3 text epistle by telling me that despite my height and my fatness(he’s exact words people. Ain't he a charmer?) He thinks I'm hot and has paid someone to get my number. Paid someone to get my number? What is the going rate for a girl's number these day? Is it a flat rate or does it fluctuate with the girl's level of hotness(Gee! Almost feel sorry for the poor guy. He must be broke because I'm bound to be top tier number material)? Anyway he then proceeds to tell me that even though I am from a higher social status, he’s willing to overlook that because love conquers all.

Hehehehehehehehehehehe…Oh Lord please make the pain stop! Someone help me off the floor. I think I might have damaged some internal organs from all the laughing. Brother pleeeeasseee. How dumb do you think I am? You're not looking for love. You're looking for an investment opportunity. Unfortunately Mena Investments is not looking for minority shareholders but major investors and your credentials just don't come up to par mate.

Anyway he sends me texts everyday. Initially Ignored them but since he's a broke ass brother he can only call or text after midnight(Thanks again Glo for creating another brilliant way to keep people up at all hours. What are you guys? The Army of the Living Dead or why can’t you lot do anything between the hours of 9-5pm). So I am constantly being woken up around 1am. I have sent him a polite text to let him know I am not interested but his literacy skills obviously don’t extend to reading either, as he's still at it. What annoys me the most is I have no idea who the prat is?

I initially suspected someone from my ibi ise but who? Ladies Man or Boli Lover? Possibly but they’ve both already made a move so they know I’m not interested. Chipmunk? Highly unlikely. Not sure he can tell the difference between men and women. We’re all just a blur too him. Could it be a member of staff at the house? The Washer man has been grinning at me quite a bit after I made the mistake of leaving rather racy pair lace knickers in the laundry hamper. Or could it be Tony, the driver after he glimpsed a bit too much leg as I was getting out of the car? Oh gee. I’m so confused. The list of men lusting after me is probably endless. Am I to spend all my time looking over my shoulder to make sure I’m not being followed? I need to get me some help. I want my mummy.

“Mum I need help. Some strange man has been calling and sending me texts at all hours and I’m starting to get worried”.

My mother lowers her newspaper and looks at me like I just told her that I was about to forsake the church and become a fetish priestess worshipping Hugh Hefner.

“I’m sorry. I fail to see your exact problem here. A MAN is calling and sending you text and you are worried? Abi you are gay ni? You better kuku kill me and your father and confess now” she says as she starts to roll her newspaper into a weapon of mass destruction.

I know its time to speak fast or risk losing my head in a smacking attack.

“Before you say anything mum, he can’t speak English properly and probably doesn’t have two 100 naira notes to rub together”.

“Oh ho! Afi bế. You should have said that before”

Phew! That was close. If there are 2 things my mother can’t stand it’s not having money and bad grammar. I honestly don’t know……

Thwack!

Owwwww!!

“Are you sure you like boys”?

Thwack!

“Confess now o”.

Thwack!

“I say confess”.

“Mum stop hitting me with the paper”.

“I said tell the truth. Do you like boys?”

“Stop being silly Mummy”.

Thwack! Thwack! Thwack!
Thwack! Thwack! Thwack!
Thwack! Thwack! Thwack!

Owwww! Yes! Yes! I like boys. Now please for the love of all things decent stop hitting me with the paper.


“So where did this illiterate get your number?” She says settling back into her seat like she hasn't just been whacking her 30 something year old daughter with the entertainment section of This day.

Men I'm going to need serious therapy if I stay here much longer.

“I don't know. He says he bought it.”

“Next time he calls, tell him you would like to meet him.”

“Mum are you trying to get me killed?”

“Just do as I say. I will have MOPO waiting for him when turns up. By the time they finish with him he will not know if he's male or female. Now stop disturbing me I’m busy.”

Hmm…Is violence really the answer to this little dilemma of mine? Yep! on this occasion I agree with my mum. Nothing like a good trashing to sort out an annoying love sick man. I think my nights of uninterrupted sleep are about to return. Wannabe you have been warned.