Mena no go baje

Damn it!

I'm trying to see how long I can go without having an impure thought and so far I’ve only lasted 12 seconds. What’s wrong with me? Why can’t I be pure and wholesome? I’m never going to marry my pastor at this rate. The “How to holify yourself for marriage” manual clearly states “A pastors wife needs to be able to maintain at least 120 mins of uninterrupted pure thought a day”.

 I’ve been practicing for 3 days and I’m averaging an additional 4 seconds per day before something p’s me off or I get my recurring man in a thong fantasy(I don’t even like thongs and yet I can’t stop thinking about them now). At this rate I won’t achieve pastor wife status for another 4 years or so.

 Noooooooooooooooooooooooo!!!  Boo Hoo

I could be dead from non-nuptials syndrome by then.

Maybe I’m thinking about it too much and I need to focus on other things. That’s it… I’m going to relax and do things to make my life better. Be more pro-active in creating a nicer environment for myself so I’m not constantly plagued by evil thoughts; and I know just where to start.

Brain take a memo.

Dear Uncle Fash,

You might think me calling you Uncle Fash is a bit forward seeing as we’ve never met but I waited 2 hours under the blistering sun to vote for you. Even the toning cream I’ve been using hasn’t restored my skin to its former glory after that experience   so I think I have earned the right to call you Uncle Fash.

Uncle Fash … What’s up with this bridge on Ozumba now? I used to enjoy cackling to myself as I zoomed past my colleagues attempting to make their way unto the Falomo Bridge…Oh happy days (You might think that’s mean Uncle Fash but truly they are not very nice people and deserve to be laughed at).  But I can’t laugh anymore Uncle Fash...No I cannot.  My laughter has shriveled up inside me because I now need every ounce of energy I can summon to maneuver my manual car home through the traffic on Adeyemo Alakija/Akin Adesola. The other day my usual 5 minute journey took me an hour and 20 minutes. Why now Uncle Fash?

I'm a fine girl with an ample frame but lovely sinewy limbs. My limbs are no longer sinewy Uncle Fash. My legs have now started to develop thick muscles fondly known as yams and I have acquired a nervous tic on the right side of my body from struggling with Danfo drivers trying to cut into my lane. Did I mention I was single Uncle Fash? Young, fine and single but now all people will see are the tuber sized muscles bulging out of my skinny jeans as I nervously tic away.

Not only am I being disfigured by your new bridge, I am also missing out on potential dating action. All attempts to get eligible young men to pick me up from home for our dates are now met with phrases like “Ah! Babe…that your street go hard on a Friday night o. You no fit hop okada and I go jam you at the venue?”  Now I don’t want you thinking I hang out with non-queens English speaking suitors. The date in question was a Harvard law graduate who was reduced to local vernacular at the thought of being stuck in bumper to bumper traffic for hours just take me out on a date; where he would be required to drop money for at least one bottle of pink champagne. You too pity him now.

As a regular tax payer and ardent supporter of your fine self I don’t think its too much to ask for you to buy a few more bags of cement and just kuku ma curve the bridge all the way down to Ikoyi. They are rich in ikoyi and can afford automatic cars or at least drivers to develop the yams on their behalf.  Some people might say I’m being selfish and that traffic is a necessary evil that affects us all. Don't mind them Uncle Fash. Those people are not God fearing. My God fearing brothers and sister would not want me to suffer like this. They would want me to able to wear short skirts in the summer and not have children chasing me down the road calling me "Aunty Warapa" because of my tic.

I know you are a good man who will not allow his governmental decisions to be dictated by heathens.  So come tomorrow morning I expect to see a bridge closed sign and nubile young men mixing concrete for my ingenious bridge extension idea. No fall my hand o.  Don’t worry me and my other single, manual car driving friends will support you come election time.  Not to mention the special invite to my wedding once the yams go down and I catch a man. 

Uncle Fash Fash!!!!! Eko no go baje.

Your ever loyal constituent

Mena

PS: Do you have any vacancies in that your office? 

Revelations in love

I'm in church.

Normally this really shouldn’t be too much of a surprise but it’s a Wednesday evening and we all know my commitment to my Christian life get the occasional “K” leg. But drastic times call for drastic measures. The re-emergence of Hmm Dude and other dodgy male acquaintances in my life leads me to believe I require spiritual intervention.

Anyway, seems I’m not the only one requiring intervention as church is pretty crowded. Naturally, old habits die hard and I can’t help but cast my “Single, fine boy” radar round the room.

ALERT! TARGET ACQUIRED!

I can spot a lonesome cutie towards the front of the hall. I adjust what my mama gave me and head towards the empty seat next to him.  Suddenly my sessy spider senses start tingling and from the corner of my eye I spot another desperate single lady heading towards him on the opposite aisle. She catches my eye and we both give each other the once over.

We Man Eaters…We know ourselves.

She’s slimmer than me, very few might say prettier and those might even be real LV alligator platforms she’s wearing but I’ve got something she hasn’t… flat shoes.

Take that sister!  I think as I start to power walk towards the prize.

Chia! This seat far o and Alligator Heels seems to be one of those annoying sisters who can run a marathon in heels. Damn my mother and her “No heels till you graduate rule”. I’m starting to lose my breath and beads of sweat are beginning to collect on my dainty nose. This is not good. Not the first impression I want to give the cutie but no time to stop and get a tissue out of my bag now; Alligator Heels is only 2 strides behind me. I know my mother and every self respecting lady would pass out in horror right now but I don’t care as I use my hands to wipe my sweaty face and rub them on the back of my dress.

Mennnnaaa!

Story. Na u go marry me?

Ah ha! Alligator girl just stumbled over a cable. Thank u Lord for signs and wonders. This bobo is mine.

Just as I come up to his row and make to sit down….the devil strikes

“Hello Madam can you sit on this row please?” says a stern looking usher blocking my path.

Damn it!

Ushers!!! Why are they always getting in my way?

I contemplate carrying out some evasive maneuvers and plunking myself down on my seat of choice. Its not like she can’t forcibly remove me from the seat or can she?

I give her the once over…She looks hard and I haven’t eaten today. So I decided not to try her and do the next best thing…Lie

“Sorry... That’s my brother. He’s holding the sit for me.” I say, giving her my best “God fearing sister” look

God forgive me. God forgive me. God forgive me. God forgive me. God forgive me.

Oh no! Alligator Heels has beaten me to it.

She gives me a smug look as she comes in under the usher radar on the opposite side; sidling past other people on the row to plunk herself next to him. The hussy has already even pretended to drop her bible and now she’s giggling as he hands it back to her.

The girl is not even smooth. That’s sooooo been done.

Bad bele!

Wo’eva

“Are you sure that’s your brother?” Asks the usher looking quizzically at me

Kilode?! Na you get monopoly on brothers or what?

“Seems to have let your seat go.  Boys will be boys huh?” she says laughing

Hissss….Komot for road my friend. Enemy of romantic progress.

I seat down on the row she indicted earlier and I’m already distressed as the guy seating next to me with the Kid and Play haircut circa 1980, feels the need to introduce himself. I immediately pretend to be deep in prayer to avoid further conversation.  To make matters worse; I’m going to be smack bang in the middle of the pastor’s line of sight. I hate being too close to the podium. I’m always scared pastors can read my thoughts and they can see the sin just radiating off my body. Now I’ll actually have to listen instead of fantasizing about what I would buy if God rewards me for paying my tithes by leaving money on the road for me to find.

The choir finally stops singing and I can hear the pastor saying “Hello” so I figure it’s safe to open my eyes. Highly unlikely the chap sitting next to me will engage in convo during the sermon. So I raise my head and look up into the most mesmerizing pair of eyes I’ve ever seen.

Haaaa!!! What have I been doing in church all these months? How come I never noticed how cute the pastor was? I really must stop sitting so far back.

He‘s preaching and staring straight at me like we’re the only 2 people in the room.

Errrr…I think you’ll find he’s staring into the camera right above your head and not you.

Shut it Brain.

Can’t you see?! This isn’t a coincidence. Everything that’s been happening has led us to this point in time when I would come face to face with my destiny.

OK you’re talking crazy now or should I say crazier than usual. Your blood sugar must be low…Eat some gum.

Sod the gum. I’m busy listening to the man who’s going make my mama’s dreams come true.

I can hardly contain my excitement. My sis Annoying Married Chick goes to the same church and she did say she would be here for evening service. I look around but I don’t see her, so I decide to send her a bb message.

MENA: Hey sis just had a revelation. I’ve been so blind. What I’ve been looking for has been right under my nose all this time. God was just waiting for me to make a stronger commitment to my spiritual side.

AMC: Stop bbing in church you sinner. What are you on about? What stronger commitment?

MENA: Coming to mid week service.

AMC: Hisss…You’ve come to one mid-week service. Big deal. Your mates are shaving their heads and sleeping in church.

MENA: Wo'eva.  God has revealed my man to me.

AMC: *Yawn* Who? The badly dressed man you and your over bleached sister in asewo behavior were running to go and sit next to? You think I didn’t see you? You’re just an embarrassment. Thank God I’ve changed my last name.

MENA: Pleeeeeeaassse *Eyes Rolling*. She can have him. The pastor is in a whole different league*Love Struck*

AMC: Sorry did you say the pastor? That’s your God sent man?

MENA: Yep *Big Smile*

AMC: *Surprise*

All of a sudden my bbing and the pastor’s sermon is cut short by the sound of hysterical laughter coming from the back of the church. I can see ushers rushing over but whoever it is can’t seem to stop laughing.  Next thing I know, I see my sister - Annoying Married Chick, practically being carried out of the church cause she’s laughing so hard she can hardly stand.

Philistine! Can you imagine being so frivolous in the house of God?  The girl obviously has brain touch. Thank God she does have a different last name. Not sure the church council would approve of such inappropriate family members when I'm presented as the soon to be Mrs.Pastor. 

What could have been so funny anyway?