Posts
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.
Tuesday, April 20, 2010
Friday, April 16, 2010
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.
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.
Thursday, April 15, 2010
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.
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.
Friday, April 09, 2010
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.
“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.
Thursday, April 08, 2010
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 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?
Tuesday, April 06, 2010
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.
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.
Thursday, March 11, 2010
Maybe Lunch wasn't such a good idea.
Ibis ise Lagos style ain’t working for me at the moment. I haven’t had a laptop in over a week and I’m starting to lose the will to live. I always thought the crazies in this mad house would get to me first but I actually think the boredom might beat them to it. At least when I had my laptop I could pretend to be busy on some important report, when all I was really doing was sending complaint letters to Pack'N’Shop for refusing to restock their nut department with Pistachios. I mean what kind establishment gets a girl hooked and then takes away her supply? Exactly! I plan to take this issue to the highest level.
Anyway I digress. The problem now is I can’t pretend to be busy anymore so my desk is now the resting point for every bored tushy in the office. Apart from Bad Weave chick who is avoiding me after my frosty reception to her “Hello” on Monday, everyone in the dept feels the need to come over and torment me with their pointless conversation. After my narrow escape from Boli Lover’s local advances yesterday I definitely was not in the mood for Ladies Man today.
Weeeeeeeeeeeeelllll, I wasn’t until I saw the look of utter longing on Bad Weave’s face as he headed in our direction. Hmm…Big arms abi? Well watch those big ol' arms catch your man cow.
“Hello” I said as he perched his rather pert bum cheeks on my desk. Never noticed the abs before and he smells kinda good too.
Ok Mena. Focus. We shall not be lusting after co-workers today. We’re just going to rub the cow’s nose in it for a bit and we shall return to ice princess mode ASAP. Comprende?
Ah brain. Why do you always have to be so serious? Loosen up. There’s a cute guy with a cute butt at our desk, which doesn’t happen every day (at least not in this hottie deprived office anyway). So let’s have some fun.
Mena you do realize he’s been talking for the past 5 minutes while you’ve been staring at his lunchbox?
He has? He really shouldn’t speak you know. He should just put on a pair of Speedo’s and dance for naughty Mena. Yeah bad boy! Dance for mama.
MENA!!!
Sorry. It’s been a while. It’s alright. I’m cool. Chastity belt is still on.
15 minutes of girly giggles and eyelash fluttering later, I’m on my way out to an early lunch with Ladies Man and last time I saw Bad Weave girl she was heading to the ladies. Probably to cry her eyes out. Hehehehehehehe.
You’re evil!
I know.
I’m back from operation “Make her pay” and I think in some twisted, karma biting me in the ass kinda way, I’ve just made myself pay. That was the longest 45 minutes of my life. Abi, is just me or are average/unattractive looking guys just a tad more interesting than the drop dead, take me now kinda guys? I only ask because in my experience hotties just never seem to make much of an effort on dates. It’s like they assume the fact that they turned up is enough. You can see the “You mean upon the free food you are eating and my dazzling good looks you still want me to be talking en? I can see you are very greedy and not the woman for me” thoughts going through their heads. Apparently decent conversation is an optional extra we have to pay for.
I once went on a date with a guy that was so loin burning hot (Yes I did. I promise I’m not making it up. I do occasionally date out of the ugly gene pool you know), it actually hurt to look at him. I could feel the “Who give monkey banana?” looks from the other women in the restaurant but what they all didn’t know was that I would have handed him over in a heartbeat cause Lord, I was bored. I wonder if this is why all my long term boyfriends have not been what you would call “Hotties”. I think interesting to look at would be the best way to describe them but you know what? I wouldn’t have it any other way. What they lacked in looks they certainly made up for in personality. I think most of them probably couldn’t believe my fine ass self was agreeing to go out with them to begin with, so I was their trophy girl until they realized I was just as crazy as all the ugly chicks (Sorry, I meant facially challenged)they were used to dating.
Anyway I digress again. Yuck! Is he winking at me from his desk? What the hell have I gotten myself into? Bad Weave is welcome to Ladies Man shallow but cute behind cause I sure as hell don’t want it. All through lunch he barely said a word that didn’t revolve around his hotness and how women just throw themselves at him. And when he wasn’t talking about himself, he just stared into my eyes and kept touching my hand every time he laughed at his own dry jokes. After a while I started to panic that maybe he was trying out some new hypnotic jazz on me. So I spent the rest of the afternoon making sure my purse and knickers were still intact. God forbid I should wake up the next day, robbed and violated by the office gigolo just because I wanted to get even. Who I go tell that kin story to? Anyway I made it back to the office safely but the purse and knicker inspection shall continue until I am safely behind the jazz free walls of my father’s compound.
Annoying Married Chick, Bunnylicious & Ijebu Chick, I beg take turns to check up on my whereabouts for the rest of the day. Should I not respond to your calls please tell Mama Mena to immediately activate the tracking device I know she has implanted somewhere under my skin (It’s the only explanation for how she always knows what I’m up to. It’s either that or she's chanelling some serious Harry Potter moves) and send MOPO's to rescue me. I expect to be found before Ladies Man ever discovers what bra size I wear or that I’m wearing the knickers that have “Monday” printed on them on a Thursday(Is it my fault the elastic on my Thursday knickers broke? And I so don’t want to hear anything about my fat ass or how days of the week knickers are meant for 5 year olds). I expect you all to forget the evil things I've done to you in the past and save my jazzed behind ok? Thanking you in advance.
Anyway I digress. The problem now is I can’t pretend to be busy anymore so my desk is now the resting point for every bored tushy in the office. Apart from Bad Weave chick who is avoiding me after my frosty reception to her “Hello” on Monday, everyone in the dept feels the need to come over and torment me with their pointless conversation. After my narrow escape from Boli Lover’s local advances yesterday I definitely was not in the mood for Ladies Man today.
Weeeeeeeeeeeeelllll, I wasn’t until I saw the look of utter longing on Bad Weave’s face as he headed in our direction. Hmm…Big arms abi? Well watch those big ol' arms catch your man cow.
“Hello” I said as he perched his rather pert bum cheeks on my desk. Never noticed the abs before and he smells kinda good too.
Ok Mena. Focus. We shall not be lusting after co-workers today. We’re just going to rub the cow’s nose in it for a bit and we shall return to ice princess mode ASAP. Comprende?
Ah brain. Why do you always have to be so serious? Loosen up. There’s a cute guy with a cute butt at our desk, which doesn’t happen every day (at least not in this hottie deprived office anyway). So let’s have some fun.
Mena you do realize he’s been talking for the past 5 minutes while you’ve been staring at his lunchbox?
He has? He really shouldn’t speak you know. He should just put on a pair of Speedo’s and dance for naughty Mena. Yeah bad boy! Dance for mama.
MENA!!!
Sorry. It’s been a while. It’s alright. I’m cool. Chastity belt is still on.
15 minutes of girly giggles and eyelash fluttering later, I’m on my way out to an early lunch with Ladies Man and last time I saw Bad Weave girl she was heading to the ladies. Probably to cry her eyes out. Hehehehehehehe.
You’re evil!
I know.
I’m back from operation “Make her pay” and I think in some twisted, karma biting me in the ass kinda way, I’ve just made myself pay. That was the longest 45 minutes of my life. Abi, is just me or are average/unattractive looking guys just a tad more interesting than the drop dead, take me now kinda guys? I only ask because in my experience hotties just never seem to make much of an effort on dates. It’s like they assume the fact that they turned up is enough. You can see the “You mean upon the free food you are eating and my dazzling good looks you still want me to be talking en? I can see you are very greedy and not the woman for me” thoughts going through their heads. Apparently decent conversation is an optional extra we have to pay for.
I once went on a date with a guy that was so loin burning hot (Yes I did. I promise I’m not making it up. I do occasionally date out of the ugly gene pool you know), it actually hurt to look at him. I could feel the “Who give monkey banana?” looks from the other women in the restaurant but what they all didn’t know was that I would have handed him over in a heartbeat cause Lord, I was bored. I wonder if this is why all my long term boyfriends have not been what you would call “Hotties”. I think interesting to look at would be the best way to describe them but you know what? I wouldn’t have it any other way. What they lacked in looks they certainly made up for in personality. I think most of them probably couldn’t believe my fine ass self was agreeing to go out with them to begin with, so I was their trophy girl until they realized I was just as crazy as all the ugly chicks (Sorry, I meant facially challenged)they were used to dating.
Anyway I digress again. Yuck! Is he winking at me from his desk? What the hell have I gotten myself into? Bad Weave is welcome to Ladies Man shallow but cute behind cause I sure as hell don’t want it. All through lunch he barely said a word that didn’t revolve around his hotness and how women just throw themselves at him. And when he wasn’t talking about himself, he just stared into my eyes and kept touching my hand every time he laughed at his own dry jokes. After a while I started to panic that maybe he was trying out some new hypnotic jazz on me. So I spent the rest of the afternoon making sure my purse and knickers were still intact. God forbid I should wake up the next day, robbed and violated by the office gigolo just because I wanted to get even. Who I go tell that kin story to? Anyway I made it back to the office safely but the purse and knicker inspection shall continue until I am safely behind the jazz free walls of my father’s compound.
Annoying Married Chick, Bunnylicious & Ijebu Chick, I beg take turns to check up on my whereabouts for the rest of the day. Should I not respond to your calls please tell Mama Mena to immediately activate the tracking device I know she has implanted somewhere under my skin (It’s the only explanation for how she always knows what I’m up to. It’s either that or she's chanelling some serious Harry Potter moves) and send MOPO's to rescue me. I expect to be found before Ladies Man ever discovers what bra size I wear or that I’m wearing the knickers that have “Monday” printed on them on a Thursday(Is it my fault the elastic on my Thursday knickers broke? And I so don’t want to hear anything about my fat ass or how days of the week knickers are meant for 5 year olds). I expect you all to forget the evil things I've done to you in the past and save my jazzed behind ok? Thanking you in advance.
Wednesday, March 10, 2010
E go better
Come closer. No closer, I want to tell you something I’ve never told you guys before.
What is it Mena? Do tell. Are you are really a man or something because that might explain the constant need to shave your legs and all that pent up rage and aggression you’ve got going on?
I can see you are not ready to hear better thing. Do I look like a man to you? If you like answer in the affirmative and you’ll find out how I release all the apparent rage and aggression I have going on. Anyway, better people, as I was saying. I’m going to tell you something I’ve never told you guys before. OK. Here goes…I was once engaged.
You ke? Engaged? Who craze enough to ask you to marry them?
I’ll let that slide because I’m channeling my inner peace fairy today. Yep! I once the made the mistake of saying “Yes” to an Argos bought cubic zirconium ring when I was about 20.
Na lie! You mean with all your posing you didn’t internally combust the minute the inferior gold plated ring touched your finger?
Joker! Look I was young, foolish and obviously had no idea what true style was or I would never have said “Yes” to anything less than a tear drop shaped yellow diamond on a platinum band encrusted with pale pink diamonds (Se you so called friends of mine are listening in case my future boo should ever want to know what kind of engagement ring I want). But like I said I was “Crazy in love” and at that age nothing matters but hug, kisses and romance. So what if he rode a bicycle? Okkkk… it wasn’t a bike but some beat up old VW but considering the number of times we had to push the darn thing it might as well have been a bike.
Anyway I didn’t care that he had no money and all that I ever got for my birthday was the toy that came with my birthday happy meal. Someday soon he would be a somebody and would lavish me with love and affection for standing by him through the garium days. Na so life be? Nope! The idiot bought a Peugeot, knocked up some girl and moved to Thames Valley. Like I said, I had taste issues when I was younger.
Eya! Pele Mena.
Pele for yourselves. I personally count it as one of my lucky escapes. I could be married to a cheating, baby daddy, Peugeot driving prat by now with nothing to show for it but a faded cubic zirconium ring. This is why as I’ve grown a bit older, a bit wiser and dated a few more losers, I have reached the decision that never again will Mena involve herself in “E go better “love.
What the hell is that?
“E go better” love for me is anything that involves me having to make do with anything less than I can do for myself. In other words, if I’m flying first class now (I beg chill before you all start shouting. It’s just an example. I know you all know I never pass business class) then I’m not going to start flying economy because I’m dating you. If I’m drinking champagne now then I ain’t having Lambrusco with my dinner because I’m dating you. If I plan to spend my holidays in the South of France now, then please don’t buy tickets to the airport nearest to your village and tell me you’re taking me to the country for Christmas. I’m too old to be managing myself because of somebody else’s issues. So please sir, if it never better for you yet then don’t ask for my number. I can’t afford to be dating no hopers that can’t keep up with moi.
That sounds a tad materialistic.
Uuuuhhh. Don’t we know big words? I beg ITK, just shut it. This has nothing to do with being materialistic and everything to do with being real. You see, I know that if I never get married (God forbid! God forbid! God forbid! I rebuke it! I rebuke it! I rebuke it! See the rubbish you people are making me say? I go marry o.), I would still be able look after myself and have fun. So I’m not looking for a man to save me from financial ruin but to enhance what I’ve already got. Look I’m not some conniving, gold digging shrew. I plan to bring my own assets to the table so all I’m saying is that he better be bringing something too, preferably equal or above what’s already there.
Hey! I’m the girl who went into cardiac arrest over a £4 can of tuna so surely you can see I have my spending limits, so I’m not looking for “Here’s a picture of my 3rd home in the Maldives” kinda money (Father Lord, as your ever grateful daughter I would not say no sha if you choose to bless me with a 3rd home in the Maldives. Amen). But the days of dating losers who sleep in their car (Yep! I went there but it’s a long story), who always forget their credit cards on dates (went there too) or who borrow money and never pay it back (I know! I must have had a sign on my head saying losers queue here when I was younger) are over. I’ve paid my dues to the members of the “E go better” society and it’s time to move on to another club.
Na wa for you!
Say what you will but this isn’t Hollywood and love doesn’t conquer no light, no food, no clothes, and no school fees for the kids. I’d be back at my parent before you could even say “Bride price” if that’s what the guy had to offer because believe me, love would soon turn to resentment, to hate and eventually to “Sign here Mrs.….. and your divorce will be final.”
But don’t get it twisted now. I’m not talking about being in a relationship and God forbid something goes wrong and we have to suffer a bit. I’m a firm believer in for better or worse once we’re MARRIED or in a serious, COMMITTED RELATIONSHIP e.g ENGAGED(Please note the capital letters so no so called boyfriends should start complaining when I dump there sad selves). But God forbid I notice, whilst you’re still chatting me up, that your so called savings account is a sock under a Dunlop mattress in your one room or that you’re always flashing me to call you back. If I don’t break up with your sorry ass right there and then, then I deserve all I’ve got coming.
So ladies, please respect yourselves and don't go into what you can't handle. If you know the glue on your lace front wig can't handle the wind speeds on an okada then don't date a guy who picks you up on one for your dates. Fine, he might be hot and worth the 40 days fasting you are gonna have to put yourself through for all the impure thoughts you're having but can you really live with bad hair? And fella's, sorry if the truth hurts but you’ve got to know that if you can’t keep a girl in the Jimmy Choo’s she’s accustomed to then you probably won’t be keeping her for long…period.
So dear Boli Lover, who instigated this rant by inviting me to grab something to eat at Mr.Biggs sometime, please just pretend I don't exist and keep on loving the boli because my own don already better.
What is it Mena? Do tell. Are you are really a man or something because that might explain the constant need to shave your legs and all that pent up rage and aggression you’ve got going on?
I can see you are not ready to hear better thing. Do I look like a man to you? If you like answer in the affirmative and you’ll find out how I release all the apparent rage and aggression I have going on. Anyway, better people, as I was saying. I’m going to tell you something I’ve never told you guys before. OK. Here goes…I was once engaged.
You ke? Engaged? Who craze enough to ask you to marry them?
I’ll let that slide because I’m channeling my inner peace fairy today. Yep! I once the made the mistake of saying “Yes” to an Argos bought cubic zirconium ring when I was about 20.
Na lie! You mean with all your posing you didn’t internally combust the minute the inferior gold plated ring touched your finger?
Joker! Look I was young, foolish and obviously had no idea what true style was or I would never have said “Yes” to anything less than a tear drop shaped yellow diamond on a platinum band encrusted with pale pink diamonds (Se you so called friends of mine are listening in case my future boo should ever want to know what kind of engagement ring I want). But like I said I was “Crazy in love” and at that age nothing matters but hug, kisses and romance. So what if he rode a bicycle? Okkkk… it wasn’t a bike but some beat up old VW but considering the number of times we had to push the darn thing it might as well have been a bike.
Anyway I didn’t care that he had no money and all that I ever got for my birthday was the toy that came with my birthday happy meal. Someday soon he would be a somebody and would lavish me with love and affection for standing by him through the garium days. Na so life be? Nope! The idiot bought a Peugeot, knocked up some girl and moved to Thames Valley. Like I said, I had taste issues when I was younger.
Eya! Pele Mena.
Pele for yourselves. I personally count it as one of my lucky escapes. I could be married to a cheating, baby daddy, Peugeot driving prat by now with nothing to show for it but a faded cubic zirconium ring. This is why as I’ve grown a bit older, a bit wiser and dated a few more losers, I have reached the decision that never again will Mena involve herself in “E go better “love.
What the hell is that?
“E go better” love for me is anything that involves me having to make do with anything less than I can do for myself. In other words, if I’m flying first class now (I beg chill before you all start shouting. It’s just an example. I know you all know I never pass business class) then I’m not going to start flying economy because I’m dating you. If I’m drinking champagne now then I ain’t having Lambrusco with my dinner because I’m dating you. If I plan to spend my holidays in the South of France now, then please don’t buy tickets to the airport nearest to your village and tell me you’re taking me to the country for Christmas. I’m too old to be managing myself because of somebody else’s issues. So please sir, if it never better for you yet then don’t ask for my number. I can’t afford to be dating no hopers that can’t keep up with moi.
That sounds a tad materialistic.
Uuuuhhh. Don’t we know big words? I beg ITK, just shut it. This has nothing to do with being materialistic and everything to do with being real. You see, I know that if I never get married (God forbid! God forbid! God forbid! I rebuke it! I rebuke it! I rebuke it! See the rubbish you people are making me say? I go marry o.), I would still be able look after myself and have fun. So I’m not looking for a man to save me from financial ruin but to enhance what I’ve already got. Look I’m not some conniving, gold digging shrew. I plan to bring my own assets to the table so all I’m saying is that he better be bringing something too, preferably equal or above what’s already there.
Hey! I’m the girl who went into cardiac arrest over a £4 can of tuna so surely you can see I have my spending limits, so I’m not looking for “Here’s a picture of my 3rd home in the Maldives” kinda money (Father Lord, as your ever grateful daughter I would not say no sha if you choose to bless me with a 3rd home in the Maldives. Amen). But the days of dating losers who sleep in their car (Yep! I went there but it’s a long story), who always forget their credit cards on dates (went there too) or who borrow money and never pay it back (I know! I must have had a sign on my head saying losers queue here when I was younger) are over. I’ve paid my dues to the members of the “E go better” society and it’s time to move on to another club.
Na wa for you!
Say what you will but this isn’t Hollywood and love doesn’t conquer no light, no food, no clothes, and no school fees for the kids. I’d be back at my parent before you could even say “Bride price” if that’s what the guy had to offer because believe me, love would soon turn to resentment, to hate and eventually to “Sign here Mrs.….. and your divorce will be final.”
But don’t get it twisted now. I’m not talking about being in a relationship and God forbid something goes wrong and we have to suffer a bit. I’m a firm believer in for better or worse once we’re MARRIED or in a serious, COMMITTED RELATIONSHIP e.g ENGAGED(Please note the capital letters so no so called boyfriends should start complaining when I dump there sad selves). But God forbid I notice, whilst you’re still chatting me up, that your so called savings account is a sock under a Dunlop mattress in your one room or that you’re always flashing me to call you back. If I don’t break up with your sorry ass right there and then, then I deserve all I’ve got coming.
So ladies, please respect yourselves and don't go into what you can't handle. If you know the glue on your lace front wig can't handle the wind speeds on an okada then don't date a guy who picks you up on one for your dates. Fine, he might be hot and worth the 40 days fasting you are gonna have to put yourself through for all the impure thoughts you're having but can you really live with bad hair? And fella's, sorry if the truth hurts but you’ve got to know that if you can’t keep a girl in the Jimmy Choo’s she’s accustomed to then you probably won’t be keeping her for long…period.
So dear Boli Lover, who instigated this rant by inviting me to grab something to eat at Mr.Biggs sometime, please just pretend I don't exist and keep on loving the boli because my own don already better.
Hey sister! Listen up
For all of you that assumed I was in jail because I haven’t blogged in a while, shame on you. How dare you even consider the possibility that an evil genius like myself could ever be apprehended by the forensic capabilities of the NPF (No offence to our fine, upstanding officers … but come on?!!). Nope, I’m still as free as a bird because this is what happened…
I was about to stab Bad Weave girl to death with a Sweet Sensation toothpick, when I was rudely interrupted by Mum’s driver who had picked me up from work.
“Small madam you don finish?”
“Tony wetin? You no see say I dey busy?” I replied as I tried to pull one the infernal toothpicks from their unattractive fish shaped holders.
That one was still sitting there with her Diana Ross on crack weave, looking like butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth. She should wait, I’m coming. Maybe when I’ve given her a couple of modern day tribal marks she won’t have so much to smirk about.
“I beg small madam no vex but we have to do fast fast. Your Mama just call to say make I bring the groundnut she send me in the next 5 minutes or else na groundnut she go use pay my salary.”
“Tony please. I’m doing something and anyway you know mummy. She’s just talking. I’ll be done in a minute.”
Yep it shouldn’t take me more than a minute or so to carve out some really ethnic looking ila's on her over powdered face.
“Ah! I beg small madam. Your mama no dey use that kin thing joke o. She don pay me in plantain chips before when I go buy am and I late come. Na your papa help me beg am o otherwise Tony Jnr for don dey grow plantain for head.”
God the woman is a physco. I really didn’t stand a hope in hell of being normal when I was born. Anyway must she torment me even when she is not physically present? Her mates are sending out for Chinese, she’s chasing the poor driver around for groundnut. All I want to do is kill the lying cow (doesn’t suit me indeed. Like that’s even possible) across from me, in as painful a way as possible, without being interrupted. Really is that too much to ask for crying out loud?
Mena why don’t you just go home before Tony has to think of new and interesting ways to live on groundnuts? I hope you kuku know they don’t have stylish uniforms in Kirikiri? Anyway, more important than any style crisis you might suffer behind bars, I personally refuse to end up as someone called Iya Alakara’s bitch. You have been warned.
Hmmmm…You might have a point there brain. After the man drought I’ve been through, I wouldn’t want to start my new lampashing cycle batting for the other side. Fine I will go home, watch some CSI and figure out some ingenious way to dispose of bad weave's body once I’m through tattooing “I shall not disrespect the Mena” all over her with a blunt sewing needle.
“Fine Tony. Let’s go. Well, have a good weekend and I’ll see you on Monday.”
“You too. I’m glad we ran into each other like this.”
Whatever annoying bovine. God save you that I can’t afford to pay Tony’s salary or else.
But honestly ladies…wetin dey? What is the problem with us? Why must we always find a way to rain on another sister’s parade? Please lets all make a vow that from now on we will not compliment people on their handbags and then spend 3 hours on the phone telling anyone who will listen that it’s probably fake. We won’t congratulate anyone on a promotion and then spread the rumour that they slept their way to the top. We won’t tell anyone their boyfriend is hot and then spend all our time wondering what jazz she used on him because he’s obviously too good for her and should be with us. Like my mama always says “if you can’t say anything nice then don’t say anything all (Shame she doesn’t practice what she preaches).” So if you don’t like the way a sister is rocking it fashion or character wise, keep it to yourself and if by some miracle you do, then you definitely shouldn’t have a complex about paying a fellow female a compliment.
For anyone thinking “Pot calling the kettle black”. You need to back up and reevaluate Mena. I might diss a sister in my head for crimes against fashion or improper use of eye shadow but I certainly don’t get in her face and give her a complex about it. Nope. I reserve my verbal dissing for immediate family and close friends. I have no problem telling my sister, Annoying Married Chick (Formerly known as Hurry up and Propose Chick) that neon Lycra hot pants are not the way forward and she should please not spoil the family name by attempting to leave the house in them. Nice? No. Necessary? Very! I diss the one’s I love for their own good and more importantly so any potential hubbies will not think my family have a weird liking for hooker wear. Please don’t feel sorry for her because she and all those in my inner sanctum definitely give as good as they get, which is exactly how it should be. So random strangers, you don’t have to like me or the way I do things but I didn’t ask for your opinion in the first place, so let me and every other woman who’s doing her own thing be.
I was about to stab Bad Weave girl to death with a Sweet Sensation toothpick, when I was rudely interrupted by Mum’s driver who had picked me up from work.
“Small madam you don finish?”
“Tony wetin? You no see say I dey busy?” I replied as I tried to pull one the infernal toothpicks from their unattractive fish shaped holders.
That one was still sitting there with her Diana Ross on crack weave, looking like butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth. She should wait, I’m coming. Maybe when I’ve given her a couple of modern day tribal marks she won’t have so much to smirk about.
“I beg small madam no vex but we have to do fast fast. Your Mama just call to say make I bring the groundnut she send me in the next 5 minutes or else na groundnut she go use pay my salary.”
“Tony please. I’m doing something and anyway you know mummy. She’s just talking. I’ll be done in a minute.”
Yep it shouldn’t take me more than a minute or so to carve out some really ethnic looking ila's on her over powdered face.
“Ah! I beg small madam. Your mama no dey use that kin thing joke o. She don pay me in plantain chips before when I go buy am and I late come. Na your papa help me beg am o otherwise Tony Jnr for don dey grow plantain for head.”
God the woman is a physco. I really didn’t stand a hope in hell of being normal when I was born. Anyway must she torment me even when she is not physically present? Her mates are sending out for Chinese, she’s chasing the poor driver around for groundnut. All I want to do is kill the lying cow (doesn’t suit me indeed. Like that’s even possible) across from me, in as painful a way as possible, without being interrupted. Really is that too much to ask for crying out loud?
Mena why don’t you just go home before Tony has to think of new and interesting ways to live on groundnuts? I hope you kuku know they don’t have stylish uniforms in Kirikiri? Anyway, more important than any style crisis you might suffer behind bars, I personally refuse to end up as someone called Iya Alakara’s bitch. You have been warned.
Hmmmm…You might have a point there brain. After the man drought I’ve been through, I wouldn’t want to start my new lampashing cycle batting for the other side. Fine I will go home, watch some CSI and figure out some ingenious way to dispose of bad weave's body once I’m through tattooing “I shall not disrespect the Mena” all over her with a blunt sewing needle.
“Fine Tony. Let’s go. Well, have a good weekend and I’ll see you on Monday.”
“You too. I’m glad we ran into each other like this.”
Whatever annoying bovine. God save you that I can’t afford to pay Tony’s salary or else.
But honestly ladies…wetin dey? What is the problem with us? Why must we always find a way to rain on another sister’s parade? Please lets all make a vow that from now on we will not compliment people on their handbags and then spend 3 hours on the phone telling anyone who will listen that it’s probably fake. We won’t congratulate anyone on a promotion and then spread the rumour that they slept their way to the top. We won’t tell anyone their boyfriend is hot and then spend all our time wondering what jazz she used on him because he’s obviously too good for her and should be with us. Like my mama always says “if you can’t say anything nice then don’t say anything all (Shame she doesn’t practice what she preaches).” So if you don’t like the way a sister is rocking it fashion or character wise, keep it to yourself and if by some miracle you do, then you definitely shouldn’t have a complex about paying a fellow female a compliment.
For anyone thinking “Pot calling the kettle black”. You need to back up and reevaluate Mena. I might diss a sister in my head for crimes against fashion or improper use of eye shadow but I certainly don’t get in her face and give her a complex about it. Nope. I reserve my verbal dissing for immediate family and close friends. I have no problem telling my sister, Annoying Married Chick (Formerly known as Hurry up and Propose Chick) that neon Lycra hot pants are not the way forward and she should please not spoil the family name by attempting to leave the house in them. Nice? No. Necessary? Very! I diss the one’s I love for their own good and more importantly so any potential hubbies will not think my family have a weird liking for hooker wear. Please don’t feel sorry for her because she and all those in my inner sanctum definitely give as good as they get, which is exactly how it should be. So random strangers, you don’t have to like me or the way I do things but I didn’t ask for your opinion in the first place, so let me and every other woman who’s doing her own thing be.
Thursday, March 04, 2010
There I was minding my business when....
I was in Sweet Sensation the other day…
Ah ah! Ma so si ita! Hot chick like you shouldn’t be announcing the fact that she’s hanging out at Sweet Sensation. You should be dropping names like Amber Creek, Marco Polo and other “Good to be seen” places. I beg, respect yourself o.
Hiss…if you like detach yourself from my skull and go and find another body to inhabit. Anyway as I was saying; I was in SWEET SENSATION the other day as I had a sudden craving for all things local (I beg. Woman cannot live by Tuna salad alone). I was standing by the counter trying to decide between steamed bean pudding and spicy mixed spinach when…
What the hell???!!!! You don enter local joint finish you are now trying to blow fone? I beg say what you mean my friend; Moin moin and Efo riro.
Can you see I’m ignoring you brain? Anyway where was I? Yeah! I was trying to decide what to eat when someone tapped my Reiss clad shoulders and said “Hi”.
Great! I think turning around to see who could possibly know me in a place like this. Lo and behold it’s one of the Fiendish Five from my ibi ise. I should have known better than to pick a branch close to my office because standing in front of me with a poodle perm trying to pass as an afro, was Bad Weave Chick. I momentarily thought about pretending to be my own twin sister in order to avoid conversation but she might not buy that seeing as I’m still in my work clothes from earlier on. Fine! I might as well get the pleasantries over with.
You see? You see yourself now? When I am trying to tell you something, it’s always “Shut up brain. Don’t make me hurt you brain”. It’s even good. Maybe by the time your entire being is engulfed in flames caused by the static all that her fake synthetic hair is generating, you would have learnt your lesson.
“Hello” I said with all the enthusiasm I could muster. “What are you doing here”?
“I could ask you the same question. I never thought I would bump into you here”.
“Really? Why would you be surprised to see me here?”
“Well you’re just always so snobbish. You never come out with the rest of the team and to be honest you just always act like you’re too good for places like this.”
Hey! Hey! Back up static sister. Wetin you just call me again? Me? Snobbish? See this girl o? God save her that I want to enjoy my public holiday or I would have thrashed her right in front of the meat pie display counter at Sweet Sensation and risked jail. Abi is it by force to socialise? My philosophy not to hang with people that consider going to owambe parties a hobby remains intact and shall not be altered just because I happen to share office space with them. Nope I will not be spending my “Me” time in a local holding cell so I shall be calm.
Really you think I’m snobby? I’m sorry if I seem stand offish but you have to appreciate the fact that I’m new and it’s going to take me a little while to get used to you guys".
Yeah right! It will be a cold day in hell when I make the effort to get used to fake leather accessories. What the hell is that you’re carrying anyway? Oh my God! Does your bag emblem say “Coc Canel”?
"Well if you say so. I guess we’ll just have to be patient with you. Anyway I’m glad we ran into each other because there’ s something I need to talk to you about and it’s probably better we do it out of the office."
What now? I hope she’s not planning to discuss her yucky crush on the office Romeo with me because thinking I might somehow be interested in his satin shirt wearing self (I know! Where does he think he is? Fantasy Island?), might just be one insult too far today. Sod “Me” time. I’ll whoop her a.. and do the time with joy.
"Sounds intriguing".
"Well the thing is I was told to tell you by someone in the office that your sleeveless dresses are not really appropriate for the workplace".
Na lie! Please brain replay wetin she just talk.
Apparently your Betty Jackson capsule work wardrobe, consisting of this season's to die for dresses is not suitable for your current work environment. Now excuse me whilst a retreat into a coma like state so I cannot be blamed for whatever you are about to do next.
“I beg your pardon but where does it say in the company handbook that sleeveless outfits aren’t allowed and anyway, if HR had a problem, surely they would have informed me formally.”
I like you jare. Violence is not the answer. Instead use your superior sentence construction to tell her what for.
“Oh! Well it’s not so much that they aren’t allowed…Look let me just be honest with you and I don’t want you to take this the wrong way but since we’re kinda close being in the same department and all, I was told to tell you that your arms are too big for sleeveless dresses and they don’t really suit you”.
Mena! Mena! Please answer me. You’ve got that scary Freddy Kruger look in your eyes again. Mena please forgive her for she knows not what she says. She’s young and stupid. Can’t you see the real culprits didn’t come themselves, they sent Dumbo here with the message instead. Please Mena let her live. Let her live. Mennnnnnnnnnnnnnaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!!!!!!!!!!!!!Noooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo!!!!!!
Ah ah! Ma so si ita! Hot chick like you shouldn’t be announcing the fact that she’s hanging out at Sweet Sensation. You should be dropping names like Amber Creek, Marco Polo and other “Good to be seen” places. I beg, respect yourself o.
Hiss…if you like detach yourself from my skull and go and find another body to inhabit. Anyway as I was saying; I was in SWEET SENSATION the other day as I had a sudden craving for all things local (I beg. Woman cannot live by Tuna salad alone). I was standing by the counter trying to decide between steamed bean pudding and spicy mixed spinach when…
What the hell???!!!! You don enter local joint finish you are now trying to blow fone? I beg say what you mean my friend; Moin moin and Efo riro.
Can you see I’m ignoring you brain? Anyway where was I? Yeah! I was trying to decide what to eat when someone tapped my Reiss clad shoulders and said “Hi”.
Great! I think turning around to see who could possibly know me in a place like this. Lo and behold it’s one of the Fiendish Five from my ibi ise. I should have known better than to pick a branch close to my office because standing in front of me with a poodle perm trying to pass as an afro, was Bad Weave Chick. I momentarily thought about pretending to be my own twin sister in order to avoid conversation but she might not buy that seeing as I’m still in my work clothes from earlier on. Fine! I might as well get the pleasantries over with.
You see? You see yourself now? When I am trying to tell you something, it’s always “Shut up brain. Don’t make me hurt you brain”. It’s even good. Maybe by the time your entire being is engulfed in flames caused by the static all that her fake synthetic hair is generating, you would have learnt your lesson.
“Hello” I said with all the enthusiasm I could muster. “What are you doing here”?
“I could ask you the same question. I never thought I would bump into you here”.
“Really? Why would you be surprised to see me here?”
“Well you’re just always so snobbish. You never come out with the rest of the team and to be honest you just always act like you’re too good for places like this.”
Hey! Hey! Back up static sister. Wetin you just call me again? Me? Snobbish? See this girl o? God save her that I want to enjoy my public holiday or I would have thrashed her right in front of the meat pie display counter at Sweet Sensation and risked jail. Abi is it by force to socialise? My philosophy not to hang with people that consider going to owambe parties a hobby remains intact and shall not be altered just because I happen to share office space with them. Nope I will not be spending my “Me” time in a local holding cell so I shall be calm.
Really you think I’m snobby? I’m sorry if I seem stand offish but you have to appreciate the fact that I’m new and it’s going to take me a little while to get used to you guys".
Yeah right! It will be a cold day in hell when I make the effort to get used to fake leather accessories. What the hell is that you’re carrying anyway? Oh my God! Does your bag emblem say “Coc Canel”?
"Well if you say so. I guess we’ll just have to be patient with you. Anyway I’m glad we ran into each other because there’ s something I need to talk to you about and it’s probably better we do it out of the office."
What now? I hope she’s not planning to discuss her yucky crush on the office Romeo with me because thinking I might somehow be interested in his satin shirt wearing self (I know! Where does he think he is? Fantasy Island?), might just be one insult too far today. Sod “Me” time. I’ll whoop her a.. and do the time with joy.
"Sounds intriguing".
"Well the thing is I was told to tell you by someone in the office that your sleeveless dresses are not really appropriate for the workplace".
Na lie! Please brain replay wetin she just talk.
Apparently your Betty Jackson capsule work wardrobe, consisting of this season's to die for dresses is not suitable for your current work environment. Now excuse me whilst a retreat into a coma like state so I cannot be blamed for whatever you are about to do next.
“I beg your pardon but where does it say in the company handbook that sleeveless outfits aren’t allowed and anyway, if HR had a problem, surely they would have informed me formally.”
I like you jare. Violence is not the answer. Instead use your superior sentence construction to tell her what for.
“Oh! Well it’s not so much that they aren’t allowed…Look let me just be honest with you and I don’t want you to take this the wrong way but since we’re kinda close being in the same department and all, I was told to tell you that your arms are too big for sleeveless dresses and they don’t really suit you”.
Mena! Mena! Please answer me. You’ve got that scary Freddy Kruger look in your eyes again. Mena please forgive her for she knows not what she says. She’s young and stupid. Can’t you see the real culprits didn’t come themselves, they sent Dumbo here with the message instead. Please Mena let her live. Let her live. Mennnnnnnnnnnnnnaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!!!!!!!!!!!!!Noooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo!!!!!!
Thursday, February 25, 2010
Please pull the trigger
I’m hungry and sleepy and it’s only 8.49am. Who the hell invented work anyway?
Someone who obliviously had no friends or money and needed a medium to meet new people and get paid for it.
My, my, brain. You’re on point today. First intelligent thing you’ve thought of in a while. Sure beats the "Lets move back home and live happily ever after" idea…Twit. Look at me! Young, beautiful and stuck in a windowless office. I think I’m getting scurvy from the lack of vitamin D. Anyway thank God tomorrow is apparently a public holiday.
Why?
Who knows? Maybe they managed to find that guy called Yaradua they’ve been looking for.
You mean the president?
Oh is that who he is?
Erm... yeah! And I’m the twit?
Hey! Don’t judge me. I’ve been here God knows how long and I've never seen him. I thought that guy Lucky Charms (Isn’t that a breakfast cereal?) or whatever was running the place. I thought Yaradua was some kinda comic character that you got a prize for finding? You know, like those “Where’s Wally” books? You don’t know? Though, expand your literature base mate. There’s more to life than Ikebe Super.
Anyway who cares why there’s a holiday. All I know is come 5.45 tomorrow morning I’ll still be snoring(It’s unfortunate but even beauties like myself have flaws) away instead of dragging my behind to the bathroom, praying for clean water to come out of the tap. Not to mention the fact that I won’t have to socialise with the frightening five at my ibi ise.
I’ve tried people. Really I have. But I swear, if I have to listen to Happy Chappy sing “Bumper to bumper” one more time… Not to mention Boli lover who likes to sing “Orobo to Bad o”, every time I walk into a room. Is that supposed to flatter me in some way? I keep finding newspaper wrapped boli on my desk. Lord! I hope the man is not trying to woo me because that would be tragic. The thought of me and him together is just too frightening to contemplate. I know it’s been a while but hell I ain’t that desperate. Even my mother would ask God what she did wrong if I brought this one home. Then again, you never know with my mother so I better keep this under wraps. Lord what is he wearing today? Is that a Safari suit? I’m all for retro, but come on.
Yes I can’t wait. This weekend I plan to do some serious chilling. Switch off my phone, catch some zzzz’s, get my hair and nails done, maybe catch…
Ring
Lord it’s my mother. What now?
“Morning Mother”.
“Look, your dad and I are travelling today”.
“Really? That’s nice. Where are you off too?”
Thank you Lord. I will so not skimp on the offering this Sunday.
“We’re going to Ilorin for the long weekend. We are taking all the staff with us.”
Hang on a second here. Who’s supposed to cater to my every whim?
“But Mummy how will I manage? What if the light go out? How will I use the generator?”
“Use whose generator? God forbid. You better get down to NEPA and sleep with whoever handles light on the Island because you are not touching my gen.”
“Mother please! Was that necessary?”
“Look you are burning my credit. We are travelling and there will be no one around. Do with yourself what you will but just make sure nothing happens to my house before Monday. Don’t bother calling either myself or your father over the weekend as we will both be very busy if you know what I mean” she says giggling like a teenager.
“Ewwww!!! Mother pleeeeeaase.”
"Ori re ko pe. Who are you eeewwwwwing? You think it’s only you young people that know how to have fun?”
“Mother, I would rather not discuss your extra-curricular activities with you”
Especially since it’s been so long since I had any. Can’t believe my mother is getting more action than I am.
What are you saying Mena? But you tell everyone that you are pure and untouched by man?
Shut it brain!! Don’t make me hurt you. Considering how long it’s been that statement is technically not a lie. Oh gee,is this woman is still yammering on?
“I’ll have you know that at my age I am still as supple as any 18 year old. I am waiting for the small girl that thinks she can take my husband away from me."
Steady on kinky grandma. Lets not get our knickers in a twist here. Last I looked the only competition you had for my father's affections was the DSTV box.
"Which one she won do? Na Tantric? I know am. Na Karma Sutra? I don finish the book. You all think you are adventurous because you’re spanking each other. That one na adventure? I beg talk better thing.”
Somebody shoot me now…please.
“You wait till the night before your wedding, and then I will teach you things that have been passed down from generation to generation to all the women in my family. Wo, your husband will not be able to speak for 10 days afterwards. In fact some people still believe I jazzed your father because he was struck dumb for the 1st month of our marriage. Ah! Let me even tell you what my sister, Aunty Jo, told me she used on your uncle Femi the other day.”
“Ok mother I love you but I’m hanging up now”.
Click.
I know that was rude and she’ll make me pay for it later but I had to find a way to keep my sanity. What child wants to know her parents are still getting up to funny business? Ewwwww…Now I can’t get the thought out of my head. I’ll never be able to lampash again. There goes my chilled relaxed weekend. No food, no transport and images of wrinklies doing the nasty to torment me through the NEPAless nights.
That woman should be ashamed of herself. As for my father…well you guys are all like rabbits aren't you? You could be 90, blind, with a heart condition so severe that you’re the poster boy for Bypass operation monthly, but you would still find a way to get your groove on. I advocate a cut off age for all this fooling around business. After 60, we should all be happy with a cup of cocoa and a cuddle before bed time. I ain’t trying to move my arthritic joints around to please any man. Neither will I be traumatising my children with strange squeaking noises coming from my bedroom.
Story, story Mena. Are you trying to say you will send your husband off into the arms of another woman once you hit sixty?
Nope! Who said anything about another woman? I might just drug him and have him neutered whilst his asleep. Simple. He won’t know what’s hit him and I’ll be able to have a good nights sleep without someone trying to wrestle me into unnatural positions on a daily basis. Look it’s not just me that thinks this way you know? I’ve spoken to many married women my age and they all feel the same. They aren’t all ripping off their bra's and covering themselves in melted chocolate every time they hear there husbands car in the driveway(not saying I won't do it but everyday ain't Christmas buddy).
I have a 28 year old friend who sends her husband a text at 3pm everyday to say “What’s it going to be? A home cooked meal or 30 minutes of fooling around"? She's been married for 2 years and she still doesn't know where the kitchen is in her house. Let’s just say her local takeaway has been able to open 3 more branches on her man’s contributions alone. Let’s face it; we all know which one you guys would rather have. So can you imagine 30 years plus of non stop action? Come on give me break. You wan kill me? Me too I be somebody’s pikin.
Erm Mena! You might not want to be saying stuff like that whilst you’re still looking for a man. Maybe wait till you've got him down the aisle before you bring up your 30 year expiry date
Ooopps! My bad. Good thinking brain. Although next time you might want to do your thing before I put my foot in it not after...Twit. You guys all know I was kidding right? I really wouldn’t have my future hubby neutered in his sleep. Hey! Where are you guys all going? Come back. It was just a joke. I beg you; please don’t leave me with Boli Lover.
Someone who obliviously had no friends or money and needed a medium to meet new people and get paid for it.
My, my, brain. You’re on point today. First intelligent thing you’ve thought of in a while. Sure beats the "Lets move back home and live happily ever after" idea…Twit. Look at me! Young, beautiful and stuck in a windowless office. I think I’m getting scurvy from the lack of vitamin D. Anyway thank God tomorrow is apparently a public holiday.
Why?
Who knows? Maybe they managed to find that guy called Yaradua they’ve been looking for.
You mean the president?
Oh is that who he is?
Erm... yeah! And I’m the twit?
Hey! Don’t judge me. I’ve been here God knows how long and I've never seen him. I thought that guy Lucky Charms (Isn’t that a breakfast cereal?) or whatever was running the place. I thought Yaradua was some kinda comic character that you got a prize for finding? You know, like those “Where’s Wally” books? You don’t know? Though, expand your literature base mate. There’s more to life than Ikebe Super.
Anyway who cares why there’s a holiday. All I know is come 5.45 tomorrow morning I’ll still be snoring(It’s unfortunate but even beauties like myself have flaws) away instead of dragging my behind to the bathroom, praying for clean water to come out of the tap. Not to mention the fact that I won’t have to socialise with the frightening five at my ibi ise.
I’ve tried people. Really I have. But I swear, if I have to listen to Happy Chappy sing “Bumper to bumper” one more time… Not to mention Boli lover who likes to sing “Orobo to Bad o”, every time I walk into a room. Is that supposed to flatter me in some way? I keep finding newspaper wrapped boli on my desk. Lord! I hope the man is not trying to woo me because that would be tragic. The thought of me and him together is just too frightening to contemplate. I know it’s been a while but hell I ain’t that desperate. Even my mother would ask God what she did wrong if I brought this one home. Then again, you never know with my mother so I better keep this under wraps. Lord what is he wearing today? Is that a Safari suit? I’m all for retro, but come on.
Yes I can’t wait. This weekend I plan to do some serious chilling. Switch off my phone, catch some zzzz’s, get my hair and nails done, maybe catch…
Ring
Lord it’s my mother. What now?
“Morning Mother”.
“Look, your dad and I are travelling today”.
“Really? That’s nice. Where are you off too?”
Thank you Lord. I will so not skimp on the offering this Sunday.
“We’re going to Ilorin for the long weekend. We are taking all the staff with us.”
Hang on a second here. Who’s supposed to cater to my every whim?
“But Mummy how will I manage? What if the light go out? How will I use the generator?”
“Use whose generator? God forbid. You better get down to NEPA and sleep with whoever handles light on the Island because you are not touching my gen.”
“Mother please! Was that necessary?”
“Look you are burning my credit. We are travelling and there will be no one around. Do with yourself what you will but just make sure nothing happens to my house before Monday. Don’t bother calling either myself or your father over the weekend as we will both be very busy if you know what I mean” she says giggling like a teenager.
“Ewwww!!! Mother pleeeeeaase.”
"Ori re ko pe. Who are you eeewwwwwing? You think it’s only you young people that know how to have fun?”
“Mother, I would rather not discuss your extra-curricular activities with you”
Especially since it’s been so long since I had any. Can’t believe my mother is getting more action than I am.
What are you saying Mena? But you tell everyone that you are pure and untouched by man?
Shut it brain!! Don’t make me hurt you. Considering how long it’s been that statement is technically not a lie. Oh gee,is this woman is still yammering on?
“I’ll have you know that at my age I am still as supple as any 18 year old. I am waiting for the small girl that thinks she can take my husband away from me."
Steady on kinky grandma. Lets not get our knickers in a twist here. Last I looked the only competition you had for my father's affections was the DSTV box.
"Which one she won do? Na Tantric? I know am. Na Karma Sutra? I don finish the book. You all think you are adventurous because you’re spanking each other. That one na adventure? I beg talk better thing.”
Somebody shoot me now…please.
“You wait till the night before your wedding, and then I will teach you things that have been passed down from generation to generation to all the women in my family. Wo, your husband will not be able to speak for 10 days afterwards. In fact some people still believe I jazzed your father because he was struck dumb for the 1st month of our marriage. Ah! Let me even tell you what my sister, Aunty Jo, told me she used on your uncle Femi the other day.”
“Ok mother I love you but I’m hanging up now”.
Click.
I know that was rude and she’ll make me pay for it later but I had to find a way to keep my sanity. What child wants to know her parents are still getting up to funny business? Ewwwww…Now I can’t get the thought out of my head. I’ll never be able to lampash again. There goes my chilled relaxed weekend. No food, no transport and images of wrinklies doing the nasty to torment me through the NEPAless nights.
That woman should be ashamed of herself. As for my father…well you guys are all like rabbits aren't you? You could be 90, blind, with a heart condition so severe that you’re the poster boy for Bypass operation monthly, but you would still find a way to get your groove on. I advocate a cut off age for all this fooling around business. After 60, we should all be happy with a cup of cocoa and a cuddle before bed time. I ain’t trying to move my arthritic joints around to please any man. Neither will I be traumatising my children with strange squeaking noises coming from my bedroom.
Story, story Mena. Are you trying to say you will send your husband off into the arms of another woman once you hit sixty?
Nope! Who said anything about another woman? I might just drug him and have him neutered whilst his asleep. Simple. He won’t know what’s hit him and I’ll be able to have a good nights sleep without someone trying to wrestle me into unnatural positions on a daily basis. Look it’s not just me that thinks this way you know? I’ve spoken to many married women my age and they all feel the same. They aren’t all ripping off their bra's and covering themselves in melted chocolate every time they hear there husbands car in the driveway(not saying I won't do it but everyday ain't Christmas buddy).
I have a 28 year old friend who sends her husband a text at 3pm everyday to say “What’s it going to be? A home cooked meal or 30 minutes of fooling around"? She's been married for 2 years and she still doesn't know where the kitchen is in her house. Let’s just say her local takeaway has been able to open 3 more branches on her man’s contributions alone. Let’s face it; we all know which one you guys would rather have. So can you imagine 30 years plus of non stop action? Come on give me break. You wan kill me? Me too I be somebody’s pikin.
Erm Mena! You might not want to be saying stuff like that whilst you’re still looking for a man. Maybe wait till you've got him down the aisle before you bring up your 30 year expiry date
Ooopps! My bad. Good thinking brain. Although next time you might want to do your thing before I put my foot in it not after...Twit. You guys all know I was kidding right? I really wouldn’t have my future hubby neutered in his sleep. Hey! Where are you guys all going? Come back. It was just a joke. I beg you; please don’t leave me with Boli Lover.
Monday, February 22, 2010
Mena goes to work
My first day at work.
I’m nervous. Am I overdressed? Under dressed? Will the people there be normal or will I have to break out evil ass Mena by lunch time? Nah! I’m sure everyone will be cool. This is my chance to be the new and improved me. Friendly, efficient, go getter with killer taste. Speaking of which, maybe 5 inch tasselled sandals are not appropriate for work.
Quick shoe change and I run down the stairs before my mum can stick her head out of her room to examine my outfit. She’s already given me a lecture about how I must make sure my desk is strategically positioned next to the MD’s office so all his rich, attractive clients can see me. I chose not to say anything during her “How to nab a man in the work place” lecture. I just smiled and nodded at the appropriate places whilst trying to watch “CSI Miami” over her shoulder. She made some obscure comment about seeing me off to work the next day, so I made a mental note to wake up mega early and avoid the trauma.
Yep! I made it downstairs and no sound of her moving around. Cool the drivers waiting already. I open up the front door, jump in and shout “Drive! Drive! For the love of God drive”.
I need to get out of here before she wakes up and ruins my day.
“Why are you shouting like a lunatic” says an all too familiar voice from the back seat.
My heart sinks. Damn these tinted car windows! How the hell did she get down here without me hearing her? Did she sleep in the friggin car?
“Good morning Mother”
“Isn’t that what you should have said before you started shouting at the poor driver like you pay his salary? Where are you running too? Or is it me you’re running from?”
“No. I just didn’t see you there. Sorry”
“How will you see when you’ve buttoned up your jacket all the way up to your nose? Are you cold? Or are you channelling Maria from Sound of Music?”
“No mother it’s a Victorian inspired jacket with a high collar. It’s supposed to be buttoned up all the way”.
“Really? Sorry Queen Victoria’s daughter. I can see you did not listen to anything I was saying yesterday. So are the men supposed to use x-ray vision to see what God has given you or have you just decided to remain celibate en? ”
“Mother please. It’s my first day at work and I want to look professional. So can we just go instead of arguing about silly things? I don’t want to be late. Tony please let’s start going”
“Tony!"
“Yes Ma”
“What are you doing?"
“I’m driving ma” says Tony in a perplexed tone. He glances at me with a look that says "These rich people have come again with their funny funny questions. Abi I no be driver? So wetin I go do with moto apart from drive am?"
“You’re driving?”
“Yes Ma”
“Did I tell you to drive?”
“No ma but small madam say…”
“Na small madam dey pay your salary?"
“No ma but…”
“Will you come on stop this car before I send you back to your village”.
“Yes Ma. Sorry ma” says Tony throwing me evils as the car comes to a grinding halt.
“You, get out of my car”.
For a moment it doesn’t click who she is talking too. Tony and I look at each other and it’s not until she smacks me upside the head that we both realise she meant me.
“Mum! What did you do that for? Ok! I’m sorry if I was rude but please can we just go? You’re going to make me late for work”.
“I said get out of my car. You are obviously enjoying my leather seats and AC too much. Maybe after you have waited half an hour in the sun for a taxi you will feel the need to unbutton your Christopher Columbus jacket. Oya! Masa masa….out”.
My first thought was “Forget this”. I’m not unbuttoning anything. I’ll bloomin well walk to work if I have too. I don’t need her.
Mena you want to walk where? In your brand new Fendi double platform Mary Jane’s? Not to mention what the heat will do to your newly coiffed bob. You better show the woman some boob and get back in the car.
“Fine mother. You win. I’m an ungrateful child who is ruining your life by not running around naked in order to entice men into our family. Look I’m unbuttoning the jacket. Are you happy now? Can I get back in the car and go to work or would you like to get me fired on my first day so I can become totally dependant on you and daddy”?
"Take off 2 more buttons and then you can get in the car."
Honour thy father & mother. Honour thy father & mother. Honour thy father & mother. Honour thy father & mother. Honour thy father & mother. Honour thy father & mother. Honour thy father & mother.
“Ok Tony, now you can go.”
Finally at work now and I’m slowly starting to realise that all may not be well(Today is so not my day). Instead of the glass fronted architectural beauty the brochure that came with my contract promised, I am standing in front of a dilapidated building with more holes in the driveway than a golf course (Ye! My shoes don finish. How the hell am I going to navigate this assault course?). Forget the pot holes for a minute…What is that smell? Oh! That would be the overflowing drains to my right or no, wait; it just might be the land fill to my left. Lord are you punishing me? Having to live with that unstable woman called my mother is punishment enough; please don’t let this be my office. Ok, I’m going to be calm. I will not immediately storm in there and demand compensation for the emotional torture caused by misrepresentation of their building. Maybe it’s better inside. Maybe I will still have floor to ceiling windows with a stunning view of the river.
Wrong again Missy. Turns out I will be sharing an office space with 5 other people. This was not in my contract. I am in a corner with no phone or computer and someone has carved “Boli is A OK” on my desk. I have no floor to ceiling to windows. In fact I have no windows at all. But I do have a perfect view of the desk across from mine which I suspect is now occupied by the boli loving culprit as he is chomping away on one whilst grinning insanely at me.
I am given a pen, a pad, some loo roll and a stern warning never to request for stationery unless my life depends on it. I am also told to guard my loo roll like Fort Knox as I will only get 1 a month. On asking why they just didn’t put loo rolls in the ladies like normal people. The Stalin of Stationery Ville bursts into uncontrollable laughter and walks away without even answering the question. Hmmm…I wonder? Could they somehow have got wind of my stationery pilfering back at my old ibi ise? Nah! I’m sure there’s another reason for it.
I sit down and try to make myself comfy at my new desk. Before I can even arrange my pad and pen in a straight line, Boli Lover has perched himself at the edge of my desk and is still grinning insanely. The guys starting to freak me out.
“So who do we have here? What’s your name sweetheart?” he says rubbing his greasy boli hands on his already scary looking trousers. Great! Just my luck to be stuck with someone who is obviously allergic to basic hygiene.
I give him the once over…it’s highly unlikely this guy has a higher position than me. The unmatching jacket and pants don’t say Snr. management but then again you never know so I’ll put bitchy ass Mena back in her cage until I know better.
“Hi! I’m Mena”.
“Nice name. I’m… (We shall refer to him as Boli Lover).Welcome to our little family. Over here on your right is …"
Bad Weave Girl– The only other girl on the team. Her weave is the scariest thing I've ever seen. It’s like 4 different colours and lopsided, so it looks like it’s trying to escape from her head. What is it even made of? Is it hair or recycled tyre fibres? She’s done nothing but stare at my handbag since I walked in here. If she strained any harder to see the label her head might just snap off her damn neck. Hey sweetie don't bother it ain't from Balogun. I can already tell that we so ain't gonna get along.
Mioaw Mena! Aren't we in bitchy drive today? Now I think we all know a bad weave doesn't necessarily equate into a bad person. She could be lovely.
Shut up brain. I've told you not to interrupt with pointless observations when I'm busy hating on a fellow sister. Now who's next.
Ladies Man – Not bad looking and he knows it. Trying to give me sultry I’m not interested in you looks but I ain’t buying it(I've looked round the office. The talent in here is minimal. I'm like rain after the drought brother, so get over yourself and admit defeat. You want me). Neither is Bad Weave chick by the look of things. Her focus has shifted from my bag to his face and she ain’t happy. Seems we have a little case of unrequited love going on here.
Happy Chappy – He seems harmless enough. All grins like a little Chipmunk. Seems to have a thing for singing Fuji songs as he types which might become slightly annoying after a while but I think I might get on with him.
Finally there’s Grumpy – He’s actually runs this little kingdom called my dept. He nods a greeting, plunks a bunch of reading material on my desk and informs me that I need to go through them as we have a meeting in 2 hours. Gee, just chuck me into the thick of things why don’t you? I better get started.
"Hey!!!!! Where did my pen go"?
I look around and everyone is pretending to be busy and seemingly ignoring the fact that my pen, which was on my desk 2 seconds ago, has now vanished into thin air. No one else has been in the dept so it's obvious that one of my new colleagues is a tad light fingered. In a panic I check under my desk to make sure my bag's still there. Phew! That's a relief but looks like I'll be visiting Stationery Stalin sooner than expected. This is not good. With my loo roll safely in hand, my bag on my shoulder, I head towards the stationery cupboard with a prayer in my heart that I'll make it back alive.
Welcome to ibi ise Niaja style.
I’m nervous. Am I overdressed? Under dressed? Will the people there be normal or will I have to break out evil ass Mena by lunch time? Nah! I’m sure everyone will be cool. This is my chance to be the new and improved me. Friendly, efficient, go getter with killer taste. Speaking of which, maybe 5 inch tasselled sandals are not appropriate for work.
Quick shoe change and I run down the stairs before my mum can stick her head out of her room to examine my outfit. She’s already given me a lecture about how I must make sure my desk is strategically positioned next to the MD’s office so all his rich, attractive clients can see me. I chose not to say anything during her “How to nab a man in the work place” lecture. I just smiled and nodded at the appropriate places whilst trying to watch “CSI Miami” over her shoulder. She made some obscure comment about seeing me off to work the next day, so I made a mental note to wake up mega early and avoid the trauma.
Yep! I made it downstairs and no sound of her moving around. Cool the drivers waiting already. I open up the front door, jump in and shout “Drive! Drive! For the love of God drive”.
I need to get out of here before she wakes up and ruins my day.
“Why are you shouting like a lunatic” says an all too familiar voice from the back seat.
My heart sinks. Damn these tinted car windows! How the hell did she get down here without me hearing her? Did she sleep in the friggin car?
“Good morning Mother”
“Isn’t that what you should have said before you started shouting at the poor driver like you pay his salary? Where are you running too? Or is it me you’re running from?”
“No. I just didn’t see you there. Sorry”
“How will you see when you’ve buttoned up your jacket all the way up to your nose? Are you cold? Or are you channelling Maria from Sound of Music?”
“No mother it’s a Victorian inspired jacket with a high collar. It’s supposed to be buttoned up all the way”.
“Really? Sorry Queen Victoria’s daughter. I can see you did not listen to anything I was saying yesterday. So are the men supposed to use x-ray vision to see what God has given you or have you just decided to remain celibate en? ”
“Mother please. It’s my first day at work and I want to look professional. So can we just go instead of arguing about silly things? I don’t want to be late. Tony please let’s start going”
“Tony!"
“Yes Ma”
“What are you doing?"
“I’m driving ma” says Tony in a perplexed tone. He glances at me with a look that says "These rich people have come again with their funny funny questions. Abi I no be driver? So wetin I go do with moto apart from drive am?"
“You’re driving?”
“Yes Ma”
“Did I tell you to drive?”
“No ma but small madam say…”
“Na small madam dey pay your salary?"
“No ma but…”
“Will you come on stop this car before I send you back to your village”.
“Yes Ma. Sorry ma” says Tony throwing me evils as the car comes to a grinding halt.
“You, get out of my car”.
For a moment it doesn’t click who she is talking too. Tony and I look at each other and it’s not until she smacks me upside the head that we both realise she meant me.
“Mum! What did you do that for? Ok! I’m sorry if I was rude but please can we just go? You’re going to make me late for work”.
“I said get out of my car. You are obviously enjoying my leather seats and AC too much. Maybe after you have waited half an hour in the sun for a taxi you will feel the need to unbutton your Christopher Columbus jacket. Oya! Masa masa….out”.
My first thought was “Forget this”. I’m not unbuttoning anything. I’ll bloomin well walk to work if I have too. I don’t need her.
Mena you want to walk where? In your brand new Fendi double platform Mary Jane’s? Not to mention what the heat will do to your newly coiffed bob. You better show the woman some boob and get back in the car.
“Fine mother. You win. I’m an ungrateful child who is ruining your life by not running around naked in order to entice men into our family. Look I’m unbuttoning the jacket. Are you happy now? Can I get back in the car and go to work or would you like to get me fired on my first day so I can become totally dependant on you and daddy”?
"Take off 2 more buttons and then you can get in the car."
Honour thy father & mother. Honour thy father & mother. Honour thy father & mother. Honour thy father & mother. Honour thy father & mother. Honour thy father & mother. Honour thy father & mother.
“Ok Tony, now you can go.”
Finally at work now and I’m slowly starting to realise that all may not be well(Today is so not my day). Instead of the glass fronted architectural beauty the brochure that came with my contract promised, I am standing in front of a dilapidated building with more holes in the driveway than a golf course (Ye! My shoes don finish. How the hell am I going to navigate this assault course?). Forget the pot holes for a minute…What is that smell? Oh! That would be the overflowing drains to my right or no, wait; it just might be the land fill to my left. Lord are you punishing me? Having to live with that unstable woman called my mother is punishment enough; please don’t let this be my office. Ok, I’m going to be calm. I will not immediately storm in there and demand compensation for the emotional torture caused by misrepresentation of their building. Maybe it’s better inside. Maybe I will still have floor to ceiling windows with a stunning view of the river.
Wrong again Missy. Turns out I will be sharing an office space with 5 other people. This was not in my contract. I am in a corner with no phone or computer and someone has carved “Boli is A OK” on my desk. I have no floor to ceiling to windows. In fact I have no windows at all. But I do have a perfect view of the desk across from mine which I suspect is now occupied by the boli loving culprit as he is chomping away on one whilst grinning insanely at me.
I am given a pen, a pad, some loo roll and a stern warning never to request for stationery unless my life depends on it. I am also told to guard my loo roll like Fort Knox as I will only get 1 a month. On asking why they just didn’t put loo rolls in the ladies like normal people. The Stalin of Stationery Ville bursts into uncontrollable laughter and walks away without even answering the question. Hmmm…I wonder? Could they somehow have got wind of my stationery pilfering back at my old ibi ise? Nah! I’m sure there’s another reason for it.
I sit down and try to make myself comfy at my new desk. Before I can even arrange my pad and pen in a straight line, Boli Lover has perched himself at the edge of my desk and is still grinning insanely. The guys starting to freak me out.
“So who do we have here? What’s your name sweetheart?” he says rubbing his greasy boli hands on his already scary looking trousers. Great! Just my luck to be stuck with someone who is obviously allergic to basic hygiene.
I give him the once over…it’s highly unlikely this guy has a higher position than me. The unmatching jacket and pants don’t say Snr. management but then again you never know so I’ll put bitchy ass Mena back in her cage until I know better.
“Hi! I’m Mena”.
“Nice name. I’m… (We shall refer to him as Boli Lover).Welcome to our little family. Over here on your right is …"
Bad Weave Girl– The only other girl on the team. Her weave is the scariest thing I've ever seen. It’s like 4 different colours and lopsided, so it looks like it’s trying to escape from her head. What is it even made of? Is it hair or recycled tyre fibres? She’s done nothing but stare at my handbag since I walked in here. If she strained any harder to see the label her head might just snap off her damn neck. Hey sweetie don't bother it ain't from Balogun. I can already tell that we so ain't gonna get along.
Mioaw Mena! Aren't we in bitchy drive today? Now I think we all know a bad weave doesn't necessarily equate into a bad person. She could be lovely.
Shut up brain. I've told you not to interrupt with pointless observations when I'm busy hating on a fellow sister. Now who's next.
Ladies Man – Not bad looking and he knows it. Trying to give me sultry I’m not interested in you looks but I ain’t buying it(I've looked round the office. The talent in here is minimal. I'm like rain after the drought brother, so get over yourself and admit defeat. You want me). Neither is Bad Weave chick by the look of things. Her focus has shifted from my bag to his face and she ain’t happy. Seems we have a little case of unrequited love going on here.
Happy Chappy – He seems harmless enough. All grins like a little Chipmunk. Seems to have a thing for singing Fuji songs as he types which might become slightly annoying after a while but I think I might get on with him.
Finally there’s Grumpy – He’s actually runs this little kingdom called my dept. He nods a greeting, plunks a bunch of reading material on my desk and informs me that I need to go through them as we have a meeting in 2 hours. Gee, just chuck me into the thick of things why don’t you? I better get started.
"Hey!!!!! Where did my pen go"?
I look around and everyone is pretending to be busy and seemingly ignoring the fact that my pen, which was on my desk 2 seconds ago, has now vanished into thin air. No one else has been in the dept so it's obvious that one of my new colleagues is a tad light fingered. In a panic I check under my desk to make sure my bag's still there. Phew! That's a relief but looks like I'll be visiting Stationery Stalin sooner than expected. This is not good. With my loo roll safely in hand, my bag on my shoulder, I head towards the stationery cupboard with a prayer in my heart that I'll make it back alive.
Welcome to ibi ise Niaja style.
Wednesday, February 17, 2010
Fella's put your left hand up.
Mena!!!!
For goodness sake that’s the 3rd time in the space of 30 minutes. Is this woman trying to kill me? She better not want me to bring her something which is currently only meters away from her again or else. Everyone should just leave me alone. Why can’t I be allowed to sit in my towel, under the AC, drinking water in peace? If I have anything to do with it, this is where I plan to sit for the rest of my life. Under the cool refreshing air. It’s too hot to be anywhere else. My once caramel complexion has been singed to a dark chocolate hue by the sun and I’ve had to hack off my imitation Aunty Funmi hair, Sister Kofo, just to stop my brain from frying in the heat. Nope I ain’t moving from here.
By the way, well done to all you evil people that have been coming to London to lie to all of us about the good life you were living over in Niaja. All of you should clap for yourselves. Ah ah! Come on. Clap louder now. Jokers! Parties and red carpet event galore abi? Change my hair and nails every week en? Snails the size of hamsters, bars, clubs, restaurants. Name it and I’ve got it right? What you all forgot to mention was one little thing called MONEY!!! Owo, Kudi, Cash, Wonga. Whatever you want to call it but I sure as hell don’t have any at the prices you people are charging. I paid 1000 Naira for a can of tuna the other day and only as I was about to open it did it occur to me that the price was the equivalent of £4. In all my years I have never seen a can of tuna that cost 4 quid let alone eaten one.
Ah ah! Mena. Soon to be Lagos big girl like you? What’s a 1000 Naira? Please stop embarrassing yourself.
I beg. I beg. Don’t even annoy me today o because I don’t know who told you that tuna is now the gauge by which Lagos big girls are measured? If I were casually hitting your head with my designer bag now you won’t even be able to get upset because you would realize that you were being assaulted by true taste and beauty. On the other hand, if I were to casually chuck a can of tuna at your head would you even wait to hear that it cost £4 before you committed GBH on my fine self? Yeah, just as I thought. So please everyone should stop telling me that I am not acting like a big girl because I refuse to pay your rip off prices for everyday essentials. Anyway this rant is for another day. I will deal with you all one by one, as soon as I learn how not to pass out in extreme weather conditions.
Mennnnnnnnnnnnnaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Oooooh! Is this woman really my mother? She’s done nothing but torment me since I arrived. It’s like being a teenager again...
"Mena why is your room a mess?"
"That top is not revealing enough."
"That skirt is too long (Nope it's not a typo. My mother is determined to get me married at all costs even if it means dressing me up as the whore of Babylon and putting me on a street corner with my bride price tattooed to my forehead)."
" You mean you're at home on Friday night when your mates are out meeting men?"
"No you can’t have the generator on because they are showing Law & Order. Do you think diesel is free or is your imaginary husband a diesel merchant?"
" No you can’t eat food bought on the street."
Now I can just about take most of her nagging but damn it! If a girl wants to buy gala, then a girl should be allowed to buy Gala (What the hell is Gala made of anyway? All answers on the back of a postcard please). I’ve been craving all my school day snacks…Gala, Fan ice, Chocó Milo (See all the brand placement I’m doing. You people won’t send me free stuff now or better still pay me an obscene amount of money to be the new face of your product? I can’t afford to buy cherry tomatoes to go with the £4 tuna either so any endorsement deal will do) but can my grown ass self have any? Of course not because when you’re in mother’s car you have to abide by mother’s rules. I need to get my self sorted and get out of here. This getting married thing ain’t looking so bad all of sudden. It’s either that or I’ll be forced to move into the BQ just to avoid her. It all went down the other day when I made the mistake of leaving the card of some no hoper that tried to chat me up where she could find it and I almost ended up out on the street.
“What’s this?”
"Just some useless guy’s card."
"En useless guy. Do you know who this is?"
"Nope and I don’t care. He wasn’t doing anything for me."
"Ye! My own don finish o. What kind of child do I have?"
"Mother please get off the floor."
"Ah Daddy Mena! Come see your child o. She’s turning down the Minister of petroleum’s son. Not Agriculture o. Petrrrrrooooooooooooooleum.”
"Mother please calm down. Stop rolling around like you're auditioning for a Nollywood movie. How was I supposed to know who he was? Anyway what does it matter whose son he is?"
"What does it matter? Who do want to marry? An Okada driver? Your Aunty Sade has been in Ovation 22 times. Yes I have counted. 22 times just because her daughter is married to the son of a common chairman at some Brewery. She’s always coming here in the Land rover they bought for her to pose for me. You! Who couldn’t even bring back common sausages for your mother because you said it would make your clothes smell, you now want to deny me my chance to beat her record by refusing the son of the man that makes this country run? You will not succeed in destroying my happiness. No! I say you will not succeed. Lord! I cast out the demons in this child. Yes! I cast them out. Let me go and get my bible and my holy water then we will see which one of us is in charge today. Before I come back you better bring out your phone and start dialing my future son-in-laws number.”
“Mother please. You're acting all crazy. The guy’s like 4ft 2 and smells like goat (really he did)”.
“I don't care if he doesn't bathe and needs a ladder to open his car door. I said bring your phone or you’re leaving this house tonight. A child that says her mother will not be able to display her Jason & Son lace in Ovation or ride hummer jeep will not sleep in this house tonight”.
Needless to say my father had to be called in to put a stop to the impromptu exorcism of my single girl demons and my eminent eviction. I thought everything was back to normal until I came home the other day to find that she had installed a find a husband count down chart in my room. She takes great joy in coming in to tick off the days with a permanent marker. I tried to rip it off the wall but turns out she’s had it permanently screwed up there. According to her calculations I have 8 weeks to go. I’m ignoring her. She’s not really going to kick me out for not bringing home a boyfriend in 8 weeks? Would she? What does she expect me to do? Drag random men off the street to please her? Anyway she better be careful what she wishes for because in the short time I’ve been here I’ve come to the realization that Lagos guys are dangerous.
What is with you guys over here? I thought London was bad but come on; Lagos guys scare the living daylights out of me. It’s like you’re all on constant heat. Is it the weather? Or are they putting something in the water? I can’t leave my house without some random no hoper making some pervy comment at me. Everywhere I go it’s like …
"Baby you’re buriful?"
"I’m what?"
"Buriful.I say you’re buriful. Very lofly."
Ok! Stop please. I don’t know what language you’re speaking or if you have a speech impediment but I’m assuming you’re trying to tell me I’m hot.
NEWS FLASH! I know I’m hot. That’s why I’ll be ceasing this conversation immediately because not only am I hot did you not notice the Gucci bag, the Pied de Terre shoes(Sale!!! Bargain!!!! but he doesn’t need to know that) and the bangin weave. You did? So what in the hell possessed you to even talk to me? Don’t even get me started on the geriatric’s who are old enough to be my dad trying to slip me their numbers. But the worst thing is the fact that the guys I might actually be interested in, who are my age, speak English, have a J.O.B. and can hold down a decent conversation for more than 5 minutes without passing out from mental exhaustion are the sneakiest of the bunch . They all seem to have developed a very bad habit of not wearing their wedding rings.
I’m sorry. Is that I’m too old to keep up with current trends (Yeah, like that’s ever gonna happen) or when did it become acceptable to get married and not wear a ring? Your wife is wearing one so what makes you so special? Ladies what are you thinking let him out of the house without some sign that he’s taken? For goodness sake he better be wearing a ring or at least a sign saying "I’m married but I am allergic to metal or after paying for my wife’s big ass diamond I can’t afford a ring for myself". I’m not saying wearing a ring prevents a guy from cheating or a total bitch from making a move on your man but at least it gives us girls who want to live right a chance.
On 2 separate occasions I’ve been chatted up by guys, who truth be told I thought were kinda cute. I was already picturing what our kids would look like, only to find out they were both married. Did I know? Nope. Would I have pushed out my 38GG assets (I know. God help me. I’m still saving up for boobie reduction surgery), fluttered my eyelashes and pretended to understand the current global fuel crisis if I had? Highly unlikely. I don’t waste my beauty flash balm enhanced looks on non potential hubbies. Fortunately for me I happened to find out before any dates were had and any germs exchanged, that they were taken. By the way, next time you dodgy guys are out on the pull you might want to put your phone on silent because believe me the "You don make me fall in love" ringtone is kind of a give away that there might be someone else in the picture. But can you imagine what could have happened if I hadn’t found out? I would probably be in hospital by now recovering from the trashing some displeased wife and her friends had given me after spotting me with her husband. Thinking about it, it’s not even the beating that would hurt the most. It’s falling for the two-timing bastard, investing time, effort and not to mention some bad ass date outfits on him, only to find out it was all for nothing. What’s an innocent single girl to do when that happens? I guess I’ve been lucky so far but how long is my luck going to hold out for? I’m not always going to know someone who happens to know the devious bastard who's trying to get one over on me and his wife. So what’s a girl to do? How do you spot the single blokes from the pervy married ones?
Maybe I should just send all interested applicants in my buriful self to my mother. She’s the one who’s desperate for a son in-law so she can sheaf the wheat from the chaff.Speaking of which, she’s stopped calling me. That can’t be good. She's probably making her way to the BQ as we speak to disconnect the cable that connects the generator to my room. Thats her new form of torture. It means I'm forced to leave the sanctity of my boudoir and sit with her watching Al Jeezera news channel for the rest of the day. Yep! there go the lights and the AC. I must have been a very bad person in a previous life.
For goodness sake that’s the 3rd time in the space of 30 minutes. Is this woman trying to kill me? She better not want me to bring her something which is currently only meters away from her again or else. Everyone should just leave me alone. Why can’t I be allowed to sit in my towel, under the AC, drinking water in peace? If I have anything to do with it, this is where I plan to sit for the rest of my life. Under the cool refreshing air. It’s too hot to be anywhere else. My once caramel complexion has been singed to a dark chocolate hue by the sun and I’ve had to hack off my imitation Aunty Funmi hair, Sister Kofo, just to stop my brain from frying in the heat. Nope I ain’t moving from here.
By the way, well done to all you evil people that have been coming to London to lie to all of us about the good life you were living over in Niaja. All of you should clap for yourselves. Ah ah! Come on. Clap louder now. Jokers! Parties and red carpet event galore abi? Change my hair and nails every week en? Snails the size of hamsters, bars, clubs, restaurants. Name it and I’ve got it right? What you all forgot to mention was one little thing called MONEY!!! Owo, Kudi, Cash, Wonga. Whatever you want to call it but I sure as hell don’t have any at the prices you people are charging. I paid 1000 Naira for a can of tuna the other day and only as I was about to open it did it occur to me that the price was the equivalent of £4. In all my years I have never seen a can of tuna that cost 4 quid let alone eaten one.
Ah ah! Mena. Soon to be Lagos big girl like you? What’s a 1000 Naira? Please stop embarrassing yourself.
I beg. I beg. Don’t even annoy me today o because I don’t know who told you that tuna is now the gauge by which Lagos big girls are measured? If I were casually hitting your head with my designer bag now you won’t even be able to get upset because you would realize that you were being assaulted by true taste and beauty. On the other hand, if I were to casually chuck a can of tuna at your head would you even wait to hear that it cost £4 before you committed GBH on my fine self? Yeah, just as I thought. So please everyone should stop telling me that I am not acting like a big girl because I refuse to pay your rip off prices for everyday essentials. Anyway this rant is for another day. I will deal with you all one by one, as soon as I learn how not to pass out in extreme weather conditions.
Mennnnnnnnnnnnnaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Oooooh! Is this woman really my mother? She’s done nothing but torment me since I arrived. It’s like being a teenager again...
"Mena why is your room a mess?"
"That top is not revealing enough."
"That skirt is too long (Nope it's not a typo. My mother is determined to get me married at all costs even if it means dressing me up as the whore of Babylon and putting me on a street corner with my bride price tattooed to my forehead)."
" You mean you're at home on Friday night when your mates are out meeting men?"
"No you can’t have the generator on because they are showing Law & Order. Do you think diesel is free or is your imaginary husband a diesel merchant?"
" No you can’t eat food bought on the street."
Now I can just about take most of her nagging but damn it! If a girl wants to buy gala, then a girl should be allowed to buy Gala (What the hell is Gala made of anyway? All answers on the back of a postcard please). I’ve been craving all my school day snacks…Gala, Fan ice, Chocó Milo (See all the brand placement I’m doing. You people won’t send me free stuff now or better still pay me an obscene amount of money to be the new face of your product? I can’t afford to buy cherry tomatoes to go with the £4 tuna either so any endorsement deal will do) but can my grown ass self have any? Of course not because when you’re in mother’s car you have to abide by mother’s rules. I need to get my self sorted and get out of here. This getting married thing ain’t looking so bad all of sudden. It’s either that or I’ll be forced to move into the BQ just to avoid her. It all went down the other day when I made the mistake of leaving the card of some no hoper that tried to chat me up where she could find it and I almost ended up out on the street.
“What’s this?”
"Just some useless guy’s card."
"En useless guy. Do you know who this is?"
"Nope and I don’t care. He wasn’t doing anything for me."
"Ye! My own don finish o. What kind of child do I have?"
"Mother please get off the floor."
"Ah Daddy Mena! Come see your child o. She’s turning down the Minister of petroleum’s son. Not Agriculture o. Petrrrrrooooooooooooooleum.”
"Mother please calm down. Stop rolling around like you're auditioning for a Nollywood movie. How was I supposed to know who he was? Anyway what does it matter whose son he is?"
"What does it matter? Who do want to marry? An Okada driver? Your Aunty Sade has been in Ovation 22 times. Yes I have counted. 22 times just because her daughter is married to the son of a common chairman at some Brewery. She’s always coming here in the Land rover they bought for her to pose for me. You! Who couldn’t even bring back common sausages for your mother because you said it would make your clothes smell, you now want to deny me my chance to beat her record by refusing the son of the man that makes this country run? You will not succeed in destroying my happiness. No! I say you will not succeed. Lord! I cast out the demons in this child. Yes! I cast them out. Let me go and get my bible and my holy water then we will see which one of us is in charge today. Before I come back you better bring out your phone and start dialing my future son-in-laws number.”
“Mother please. You're acting all crazy. The guy’s like 4ft 2 and smells like goat (really he did)”.
“I don't care if he doesn't bathe and needs a ladder to open his car door. I said bring your phone or you’re leaving this house tonight. A child that says her mother will not be able to display her Jason & Son lace in Ovation or ride hummer jeep will not sleep in this house tonight”.
Needless to say my father had to be called in to put a stop to the impromptu exorcism of my single girl demons and my eminent eviction. I thought everything was back to normal until I came home the other day to find that she had installed a find a husband count down chart in my room. She takes great joy in coming in to tick off the days with a permanent marker. I tried to rip it off the wall but turns out she’s had it permanently screwed up there. According to her calculations I have 8 weeks to go. I’m ignoring her. She’s not really going to kick me out for not bringing home a boyfriend in 8 weeks? Would she? What does she expect me to do? Drag random men off the street to please her? Anyway she better be careful what she wishes for because in the short time I’ve been here I’ve come to the realization that Lagos guys are dangerous.
What is with you guys over here? I thought London was bad but come on; Lagos guys scare the living daylights out of me. It’s like you’re all on constant heat. Is it the weather? Or are they putting something in the water? I can’t leave my house without some random no hoper making some pervy comment at me. Everywhere I go it’s like …
"Baby you’re buriful?"
"I’m what?"
"Buriful.I say you’re buriful. Very lofly."
Ok! Stop please. I don’t know what language you’re speaking or if you have a speech impediment but I’m assuming you’re trying to tell me I’m hot.
NEWS FLASH! I know I’m hot. That’s why I’ll be ceasing this conversation immediately because not only am I hot did you not notice the Gucci bag, the Pied de Terre shoes(Sale!!! Bargain!!!! but he doesn’t need to know that) and the bangin weave. You did? So what in the hell possessed you to even talk to me? Don’t even get me started on the geriatric’s who are old enough to be my dad trying to slip me their numbers. But the worst thing is the fact that the guys I might actually be interested in, who are my age, speak English, have a J.O.B. and can hold down a decent conversation for more than 5 minutes without passing out from mental exhaustion are the sneakiest of the bunch . They all seem to have developed a very bad habit of not wearing their wedding rings.
I’m sorry. Is that I’m too old to keep up with current trends (Yeah, like that’s ever gonna happen) or when did it become acceptable to get married and not wear a ring? Your wife is wearing one so what makes you so special? Ladies what are you thinking let him out of the house without some sign that he’s taken? For goodness sake he better be wearing a ring or at least a sign saying "I’m married but I am allergic to metal or after paying for my wife’s big ass diamond I can’t afford a ring for myself". I’m not saying wearing a ring prevents a guy from cheating or a total bitch from making a move on your man but at least it gives us girls who want to live right a chance.
On 2 separate occasions I’ve been chatted up by guys, who truth be told I thought were kinda cute. I was already picturing what our kids would look like, only to find out they were both married. Did I know? Nope. Would I have pushed out my 38GG assets (I know. God help me. I’m still saving up for boobie reduction surgery), fluttered my eyelashes and pretended to understand the current global fuel crisis if I had? Highly unlikely. I don’t waste my beauty flash balm enhanced looks on non potential hubbies. Fortunately for me I happened to find out before any dates were had and any germs exchanged, that they were taken. By the way, next time you dodgy guys are out on the pull you might want to put your phone on silent because believe me the "You don make me fall in love" ringtone is kind of a give away that there might be someone else in the picture. But can you imagine what could have happened if I hadn’t found out? I would probably be in hospital by now recovering from the trashing some displeased wife and her friends had given me after spotting me with her husband. Thinking about it, it’s not even the beating that would hurt the most. It’s falling for the two-timing bastard, investing time, effort and not to mention some bad ass date outfits on him, only to find out it was all for nothing. What’s an innocent single girl to do when that happens? I guess I’ve been lucky so far but how long is my luck going to hold out for? I’m not always going to know someone who happens to know the devious bastard who's trying to get one over on me and his wife. So what’s a girl to do? How do you spot the single blokes from the pervy married ones?
Maybe I should just send all interested applicants in my buriful self to my mother. She’s the one who’s desperate for a son in-law so she can sheaf the wheat from the chaff.Speaking of which, she’s stopped calling me. That can’t be good. She's probably making her way to the BQ as we speak to disconnect the cable that connects the generator to my room. Thats her new form of torture. It means I'm forced to leave the sanctity of my boudoir and sit with her watching Al Jeezera news channel for the rest of the day. Yep! there go the lights and the AC. I must have been a very bad person in a previous life.
Tuesday, January 26, 2010
Ladies & Gentleman, Mena's in the building.
Eeeeeekkkkk! I’m melting! I’m melting!!!!!!!!!!
Oh my gosh did I die in transit? Are these the fiery waiting rooms of hell? They must be. It would explain the suffocating heat, noxious smells and the surge of people trying to step on my beautiful Kurt Geiger clad feet. Watch it sister! These are limited edition bejeweled gladiators I’ll have you know. Bought at full price and £79.99 no be joke. Not even sure why I am bothering to explain this to you …are those original Liverpool street market sling backs you’re rocking? Thought so. My style is so wasted on the masses. Anyway I’m way too hot to be giving style challenged sister tips. I’m soaked to my Spanx(I am endorsing your product and I expect to be paid because I don’t see why I should have to pay £30.00 for the privilege of being tortured to fit into my jeans) and I need to get out of here. Where’s the blinking exit for crying out loud? Wait! What was that? I just felt a cool blast of air. Where’s it coming from? Oh my gosh! There it is … My knight in glossy white armor. Come to Mama.
Ah! Thank God. Cool, refreshing air. I can feel my skin regenerating and plumping out. My once frizzy weave is soaking up the cool moisture and becoming all slick and bouncy again. I’m starting to feel like Mena again. Like maybe I didn’t make a mistake packing up my stuff and heading home. Maybe things won’t be so ba…
“En madam”
Great! What now? Can’t a woman enjoy air conditioning in peace?
“Excuse me madam I am talking to you. Can you please explain to me why you are attempting to mount Nigerian Airport Authority property?”
“I’m sorry?” Fine; I might be straddling the cooling system but I have a perfectly good reason. As I said before I am wearing spanx and anyone who’s ever worn one of those bad boys knows they get pretty darn hot. Especially if you’ve had them on for over 10 hours and then get thrown into a freakin heat wave. I need to cool my tushy and I have no intention of explaining to anyone in a badly ironed uniform that 1) I need to cool my burning loins and 2) my sexy figure is not all au naturel. I shall ignore the commoner until he goes away.
“Sorry for yourself. I say tell me why you are trying to have relations with an air conditioner belonging to the NAA?”
“I beg your pardon officer. I am doing no such thing. I am a soon to be tax payer and I am merely prevailing myself of the facilities my taxes will be paying for. Now if you don’t mind, I am trying to get better acquainted with the Samsung E300 cooling system. So run along like a good little airport official and go catch someone trying to smuggle in Primark’s spring/summer collection. Look, here’s something for your diligence”
“Wetin be this?”
“It’s a 2 pound coin silly. Uuuuhhh…Look how shiny it is. Now don’t spend it all at once (Cute girly giggle. That always gets them)”.
“Madam!!! I beg enough of the grammar and dismount from our AC immediately before I have to call for back up.”
Oooooohhhh! I beg this man should go away jare. Not only is he messing with my flow, he’s also starting to cause a scene. There’s a crowd starting to form and I can already see a sweaty, ample bosomed, bubu wearing mama eyeing up my AC. I can hold my own in a street fight but this mama looks hotter than I do. I am not sure if my freshly chilled limbs can muster up the necessary Kung fu moves to stop her dead in her tracks should she make any kind of attempt to overthrow me as the current head of state of the AC. Anyway, God forbid anyone is going to move me from this AC until I am good and ready. Even if I haven’t paid any tax yet, my father has been paying it on my behalf for the past 20 years. So this AC is as good as mine. In fact where is the plug sef; this baby is coming home with me.
“Yankee. Charlie. Bravo. Come in. Na me Ejiro. I require serious back up in the arrivals terminal. Over”
“Bravo. Charlie. Yankee. Na me Jimoh. Wetin dey? Over”
“Na one woman wan damage our new AC wey Fashola just send come.”
“Chia! Na lie?! Enemy of progress. After 10 years of standing fan she wan come spoil better thing. She dey craze? Abi na those boys from Nigerian Port Authority send am come because dey no get?”
“I no know o. She just dey lomance the thing. I beg dey come and bring like 2 other boys with you.”
“Ah ah! Wetin dey? Sebi na woman? I beg deal with her and stop disturbing us.”
“En na woman but she big pass malu and me I never chop.”
“Ah! our AC don finish be that. We dey come”
“Madam I have called for backup. So if you like yourself I suggest you come down and start going before we decide to arrest you. So now, before I count to 3.”
Me? 3? Do I look like a 5 year old or who is he counting for? It’s good. Let them come. We shall see who really owns this AC today.
Mennnaaaa!!! Is this really the way you want your new life in Lagos to begin? Remember what we said about anger management before we left?
Oooooohhhh…rational side of my brain, leave me alone o. Let him count to 3 now and then we will see how well I manage my anger.
Remember it’s your anger issues and impulsive nature that finally left you no choice but to come back home? So let’s think hard about this…do we really want to pee of airport officials so we can start off our first day back home in jail?
I ain’t scared of them!
I know you’re not but think what would happen to your brand new glad’s if they get taken off you in jail. You might never see them again.
Ok! There was no need to bring the glad’s into this. Fine, I will disentangle myself from the AC but it’s not because of them or anything you said. I just happen to be tired of straddling the darn thing.
That’s a good girl. Just keep sliding down. That’s it; you’re almost at floor level. No, no…ignore the crowd’s jeers of “Orobo you wan break am?” Just pick up your little drag along suitcase and walk away. No, no…don’t try and collect your 2 pounds back from the airport official. That’s a good girl. Just head towards the sign that says Immigration and luggage.
God save them that I did not want to run the risk of someone stealing my luggage or else they would have needed a crowbar and a blowtorch to pry me off that AC. Anyway it’s not their fault. It’s mine for deciding to embrace my spirit of adventure, chuck in the UK and head for pastures new. And to think my mother tried to warn me…
"Hi Mum! Great news. I’m coming home".
"Why? Have you met a man that you are coming to introduce to me and your father"?
"No mum. I..."
Click... Please tell me that woman did not just hang up on me?
Redial
"Mum what happened? Is something wrong with your phone"?
"There is nothing wrong with my phone. You just weren’t saying anything that interested me. Abi at my age should I not be getting phone calls from my daughter who is over 30 that she has a boyfriend or that someone has finally decided to give her a new last name ? Abi you think the one you have now is your own? It’s not o. That one is mine and I went out there to find a man to give it to me. So please stop disgracing me".
"Mum for goodness sake will you stop harping on about this hubby thing. It’s not my fault that I haven’t met a man worthy of being my hubby".
"Really... I should stop harping on en? No problem. Carry on with what you were saying. You want to come home abi"?
"Yes mum. I’ve managed to get a job. It’s not awesome and so not at the salary scale I was expecting but hey it’s a start. Anyway I figure it will give us a chance to hang out and stuff".
"Hang out? You and who? I am too busy going to other people’s children’s weddings to hang out. Anyway are they giving you a house with this job or where are you going to stay"?
"Of course I’ll stay at home with you and Dad".
"Which home? You mean MY HUSBAND’s house abi? You want to come and enjoy my own husband’s generator, food, water and DSTV on Dolby surround sound wide screen TV, whilst you are saving your own mystery husbands money for him abi? I don’t think so".
"Mum he might be your husband but he’s still my father".
" See this alakoba child. Did I say he was not your father? or you want your useless village aunties to come and do family meeting in my house? He is your father that’s why he’s fed, clothe, put a roof over your head and sent you to school. But you have now graduated, worked and provided for yourself, so my husband’s job is now done. So if you want come home prepare to fend for yourself. There will be no free ride. You have been reading Genevieve and you think Nigeria is all Aunty Funmi hair and parties abi. You don’t know anything yet. Anyway if you are staying with us then it will be under my terms. Also you have 3 months to bring a man home to me and your father or else you better start looking for somewhere else to stay. I have said my own".
Click…
This is why I have issues.
I’ve only been in the country half an hour and Mum’s already winning the torment Mena battle. Oh well at least I’m almost out of this blasted airport. Gone through Immigration and now all I have to do is wait for my 7 suitcases, go through customs and find my way home to the loving arms of my family. I can’t wait to start living the good life everyone’s been talking about. Yeah right! What the hell have I let myself in for? Oh well it’s too late now. Lagos here I come.
Oh my gosh did I die in transit? Are these the fiery waiting rooms of hell? They must be. It would explain the suffocating heat, noxious smells and the surge of people trying to step on my beautiful Kurt Geiger clad feet. Watch it sister! These are limited edition bejeweled gladiators I’ll have you know. Bought at full price and £79.99 no be joke. Not even sure why I am bothering to explain this to you …are those original Liverpool street market sling backs you’re rocking? Thought so. My style is so wasted on the masses. Anyway I’m way too hot to be giving style challenged sister tips. I’m soaked to my Spanx(I am endorsing your product and I expect to be paid because I don’t see why I should have to pay £30.00 for the privilege of being tortured to fit into my jeans) and I need to get out of here. Where’s the blinking exit for crying out loud? Wait! What was that? I just felt a cool blast of air. Where’s it coming from? Oh my gosh! There it is … My knight in glossy white armor. Come to Mama.
Ah! Thank God. Cool, refreshing air. I can feel my skin regenerating and plumping out. My once frizzy weave is soaking up the cool moisture and becoming all slick and bouncy again. I’m starting to feel like Mena again. Like maybe I didn’t make a mistake packing up my stuff and heading home. Maybe things won’t be so ba…
“En madam”
Great! What now? Can’t a woman enjoy air conditioning in peace?
“Excuse me madam I am talking to you. Can you please explain to me why you are attempting to mount Nigerian Airport Authority property?”
“I’m sorry?” Fine; I might be straddling the cooling system but I have a perfectly good reason. As I said before I am wearing spanx and anyone who’s ever worn one of those bad boys knows they get pretty darn hot. Especially if you’ve had them on for over 10 hours and then get thrown into a freakin heat wave. I need to cool my tushy and I have no intention of explaining to anyone in a badly ironed uniform that 1) I need to cool my burning loins and 2) my sexy figure is not all au naturel. I shall ignore the commoner until he goes away.
“Sorry for yourself. I say tell me why you are trying to have relations with an air conditioner belonging to the NAA?”
“I beg your pardon officer. I am doing no such thing. I am a soon to be tax payer and I am merely prevailing myself of the facilities my taxes will be paying for. Now if you don’t mind, I am trying to get better acquainted with the Samsung E300 cooling system. So run along like a good little airport official and go catch someone trying to smuggle in Primark’s spring/summer collection. Look, here’s something for your diligence”
“Wetin be this?”
“It’s a 2 pound coin silly. Uuuuhhh…Look how shiny it is. Now don’t spend it all at once (Cute girly giggle. That always gets them)”.
“Madam!!! I beg enough of the grammar and dismount from our AC immediately before I have to call for back up.”
Oooooohhhh! I beg this man should go away jare. Not only is he messing with my flow, he’s also starting to cause a scene. There’s a crowd starting to form and I can already see a sweaty, ample bosomed, bubu wearing mama eyeing up my AC. I can hold my own in a street fight but this mama looks hotter than I do. I am not sure if my freshly chilled limbs can muster up the necessary Kung fu moves to stop her dead in her tracks should she make any kind of attempt to overthrow me as the current head of state of the AC. Anyway, God forbid anyone is going to move me from this AC until I am good and ready. Even if I haven’t paid any tax yet, my father has been paying it on my behalf for the past 20 years. So this AC is as good as mine. In fact where is the plug sef; this baby is coming home with me.
“Yankee. Charlie. Bravo. Come in. Na me Ejiro. I require serious back up in the arrivals terminal. Over”
“Bravo. Charlie. Yankee. Na me Jimoh. Wetin dey? Over”
“Na one woman wan damage our new AC wey Fashola just send come.”
“Chia! Na lie?! Enemy of progress. After 10 years of standing fan she wan come spoil better thing. She dey craze? Abi na those boys from Nigerian Port Authority send am come because dey no get?”
“I no know o. She just dey lomance the thing. I beg dey come and bring like 2 other boys with you.”
“Ah ah! Wetin dey? Sebi na woman? I beg deal with her and stop disturbing us.”
“En na woman but she big pass malu and me I never chop.”
“Ah! our AC don finish be that. We dey come”
“Madam I have called for backup. So if you like yourself I suggest you come down and start going before we decide to arrest you. So now, before I count to 3.”
Me? 3? Do I look like a 5 year old or who is he counting for? It’s good. Let them come. We shall see who really owns this AC today.
Mennnaaaa!!! Is this really the way you want your new life in Lagos to begin? Remember what we said about anger management before we left?
Oooooohhhh…rational side of my brain, leave me alone o. Let him count to 3 now and then we will see how well I manage my anger.
Remember it’s your anger issues and impulsive nature that finally left you no choice but to come back home? So let’s think hard about this…do we really want to pee of airport officials so we can start off our first day back home in jail?
I ain’t scared of them!
I know you’re not but think what would happen to your brand new glad’s if they get taken off you in jail. You might never see them again.
Ok! There was no need to bring the glad’s into this. Fine, I will disentangle myself from the AC but it’s not because of them or anything you said. I just happen to be tired of straddling the darn thing.
That’s a good girl. Just keep sliding down. That’s it; you’re almost at floor level. No, no…ignore the crowd’s jeers of “Orobo you wan break am?” Just pick up your little drag along suitcase and walk away. No, no…don’t try and collect your 2 pounds back from the airport official. That’s a good girl. Just head towards the sign that says Immigration and luggage.
God save them that I did not want to run the risk of someone stealing my luggage or else they would have needed a crowbar and a blowtorch to pry me off that AC. Anyway it’s not their fault. It’s mine for deciding to embrace my spirit of adventure, chuck in the UK and head for pastures new. And to think my mother tried to warn me…
"Hi Mum! Great news. I’m coming home".
"Why? Have you met a man that you are coming to introduce to me and your father"?
"No mum. I..."
Click... Please tell me that woman did not just hang up on me?
Redial
"Mum what happened? Is something wrong with your phone"?
"There is nothing wrong with my phone. You just weren’t saying anything that interested me. Abi at my age should I not be getting phone calls from my daughter who is over 30 that she has a boyfriend or that someone has finally decided to give her a new last name ? Abi you think the one you have now is your own? It’s not o. That one is mine and I went out there to find a man to give it to me. So please stop disgracing me".
"Mum for goodness sake will you stop harping on about this hubby thing. It’s not my fault that I haven’t met a man worthy of being my hubby".
"Really... I should stop harping on en? No problem. Carry on with what you were saying. You want to come home abi"?
"Yes mum. I’ve managed to get a job. It’s not awesome and so not at the salary scale I was expecting but hey it’s a start. Anyway I figure it will give us a chance to hang out and stuff".
"Hang out? You and who? I am too busy going to other people’s children’s weddings to hang out. Anyway are they giving you a house with this job or where are you going to stay"?
"Of course I’ll stay at home with you and Dad".
"Which home? You mean MY HUSBAND’s house abi? You want to come and enjoy my own husband’s generator, food, water and DSTV on Dolby surround sound wide screen TV, whilst you are saving your own mystery husbands money for him abi? I don’t think so".
"Mum he might be your husband but he’s still my father".
" See this alakoba child. Did I say he was not your father? or you want your useless village aunties to come and do family meeting in my house? He is your father that’s why he’s fed, clothe, put a roof over your head and sent you to school. But you have now graduated, worked and provided for yourself, so my husband’s job is now done. So if you want come home prepare to fend for yourself. There will be no free ride. You have been reading Genevieve and you think Nigeria is all Aunty Funmi hair and parties abi. You don’t know anything yet. Anyway if you are staying with us then it will be under my terms. Also you have 3 months to bring a man home to me and your father or else you better start looking for somewhere else to stay. I have said my own".
Click…
This is why I have issues.
I’ve only been in the country half an hour and Mum’s already winning the torment Mena battle. Oh well at least I’m almost out of this blasted airport. Gone through Immigration and now all I have to do is wait for my 7 suitcases, go through customs and find my way home to the loving arms of my family. I can’t wait to start living the good life everyone’s been talking about. Yeah right! What the hell have I let myself in for? Oh well it’s too late now. Lagos here I come.
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