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.

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.

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.

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!!!!!!

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.

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.

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.

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.

Forgive & Forget? I don't know about that.

I realised from a very early age that men cheat. I was 5 and Daniel with the dimples sat next to me in nursery. He would always scribble on my drawing paper during art and then give me half of his Samco chocolate milk at break time to make up for it (Yep! I’ve always liked bad boys). He was my first love. Who knows, we could have been married by now with little dimpled children running around if I hadn’t seen him giving his chocolate milk to that play ground hussy Tanwa. For goodness sake the girl didn’t even wear matching hair bands. I always had matching hair bands and socks too(Thanks Mum). Anyway, needless to say our chocolate milk affair came grinding to a halt. Any attempts by him to scribble on my drawing paper after that was met by banshee like screaming until Miss had to move his seat over to the other side of the room. He would throw little heart broken glances my way but I refused to acknowledge them as he had committed the greatest crime known to the fairer sex. He had shown interest in a girl other than me and I was not the forgiving type.

As I grew up there were other Daniels and sometimes there might even have been other Tanwa’s but I always reacted the same way when things weren’t going my way... I left. I would slam the door on that relationship humming under my breathe “You abandoned me; Love don’t live here anymore”. I would pack all my emotional baggage from each crappy relationship and move on to the next. The only problem with dragging all my issues with me was that I was always waiting for the poor guy to fail. Bags packed, I was just counting the days until he slipped up so I could go storming out of the relationship guns blazing, moaning to world that love had failed me again. I was so determined not to get taken for mug paranoia would kick in. Every call he got was from a girl. Every 5 minutes he was late was because he’d been in some woman’s arms. I would look for cracks where there were no cracks and if I couldn’t find any I would chip way with my insecurity chisel until I made a great big hole. Pretty soon the guy would get tired of my 3 am surprise visits just to tell him I miss him when all I really wanted to do was make sure he was alone. I would be yanking strands of hair off any woman he introduced as his cousin, sister or mother so I could get it DNA tested. NO MAN WAS GOING TO MAKE FOOL OUT OF MENA!!! Yes I was obviously in the first stages of madness but then I just thought I was hard.

Now that I’m one of the great unwashed I have a lot of time to ponder these deep emotional issues and I’m wondering if daddy dearest was right? He once told me all men cheat. He said what you need to ask myself is “Do you throw away a relationship you’ve worked on over wounded pride and broken trust or do you stick with it”? He told me that if he’s actually sorry for what he’s done then you need to weigh all the good against that one bad thing and figure out if all the good is worth giving up. He told me that I needed to learn to forgive or that I was going to be a very lonely woman. I can see where my dad is coming from and I’ve even tried applying his principles but you know the saying “You can forgive but you can’t forget”? Well who ever came up with that saying was absolutely right and therein lies my problem. At what stage in a relationship do I stop forgiving, kick his ass to the kerb and try to forget about him instead?
There used to be a man in my life who, lets just say he did a lot of stuff that I could neither forgive nor forget. So we went our separate ways. Fast forward to a couple of years later and he says he’s a whole new human being. I’ve forgiven him because hey I’m all holy and 10 commandments abiding now. He says he’s changed and sometimes it looks like he has. Sometimes he’s so good I shell out a mini fortune on wedding magazines and start thinking of baby names. Sometime he pisses me of so much I take a walk round my backyard to figure out where I can bury his body when I’m done chopping him up into little pieces. However regardless of if he’s being good or bad, the major problem is that I can’t forget the past. So in the midst of all the do I or don’t I take him back lies the disturbing fact that no matter how much you can forgive another human being the shadow of the hurt they caused you will always cloud your relationship.

So really what’s the point of even bothering if:-
I’m always going to think he’s lying before I think he’s telling the truth.
I’m always going to think he’s cheating when he comes in late or doesn’t pick up his phone.
I’m always going to wonder if he means it when he says he loves me.

I don’t get how other people do it? How on earth do they carry on when someone betrays their trust in a relationship? Is there some compartment in their brains where the store all the bad stuff to make way for the good? Because I sure can’t find mine. “So walk away” you say. “No point sending yourself to the loony bin worrying about stuff he might do because he’s done it before. If you can’t handle the heat Mena, We suggest you get out of the kitchen”. That’s easy for you lot to say but the problem is that how often is Mena going to walk away? So what do? Paint over all the bad memories and try to give this new and improved relationship a fair go or just accept the fact that my decision all those years ago was the right one and keep on dragging my now massive case of insecurities down life’s lonely highway?

I'm not that bored and lonley

It seems some of you are concerned by my sudden lack of a J.O.B. Not concerned enough I notice to send me money. Cheapskates!! You could at least all chip in for a care basket filled with goodies like Mineral make up and Clarins Beauty Flash Balm (I’ve been reduced to chopping the bottom of my tube of beauty flash balm just to maintain my healthy glow...Sob). Don’t know why I’m even surprised by my reader’s lack of initiative. You’re all just trying to punish me by letting my dewy soft skin get greasy and spotty so I’ll be forced to stay indoors and blog.

I’ll blog, but believe me it won’t be because of your diabolical plan but because I might perform Hari-kari on myself if I have to spend another afternoon watching Nigeze (No offence but there are only so many rappers and their crews dancing at Agege bus stop that a girl can watch. Give your grandma back her gold chains and go get a job) and rejecting friend requests from nonentity’s on face book to keep myself entertained.

"Come on Mena what makes you so special as to refer to these people as nonentity’s when they are just trying to reach out to you"? Yawn! I beg...You all talk too much. Less chit chat and more care package assembling please. Despite your goody goody “I want to teach the world to sing in perfect harmony” attitude. Life is no coke advert and we all know that there are people we wouldn’t be caught dead knowing in public.

So excuse me if I’m honest and refuse to accept Prince “Fine Boy” Okafor’s friend request. Firstly because I don’t know who the hell he is and secondly even if I did there is no way in hell I will be bringing down my street cred by admitting to knowing anyone who needs to reassure himself of his looks by calling himself "Fine Boy". Look, this is a girl who once denied her own boyfriend in public for turning up in less than flattering clothing. Harsh? Maybe but we didn’t come into the world together and love is for a season when you’re 18. Street cred on the other hand is forever. This is a boy I was happy to swap unidentified bacteria with so if could deny him I would suggest no one else should feel special.

Let’s face it; Face book has nothing to do with friendship. It’s just an online popularity contest with everyone clamouring to get as many on their friends list as possible. Are those 2000 people on your list really your friends? If they are then you need to consider running for president mate. Yep! Face book is just another way for the popular kids to show off.

I’ve got more friends than you. So what? I choose to maintain my aura of mystery by only allowing a select few into my inner sanctum. That’s why I’m sticking with the 2 friends on my list (Thanks again for accepting my friend request mum and dad).

I’ve just been on holiday to the Bahamas here are my pics. Whatever! I’m a true patriot and that’s why my holiday pics show me pumping money back into the economy by chilling at llorin’s local hotspots.

I have a husband and I love him but why bother telling him even though he’s sitting right next to me. I’ll just update my profile to say “I still love my boo”. Oh my God!!!! Who cares???!!!! I don’t care if you have a hubby and a Brazilian lover or if you’ve just left work, had dinner or discovered the cure to infidelity. Actually I take back the last comment. Feel free to keep me updated on that necessary discovery. My point is if you have nothing interesting to say then please stop updating your profile every hour on the hour. This doesn’t make you interesting. It makes you annoying because my inbox is clogged with all your comment updates. Pick up the phone and call a few of these so called friends instead. Jokers!

Once again you’ve all managed to make me look evil and moany. I’m lovely really and I know when some of you see my hot profile pic on face book you just can’t help yourselves. You feel inexplicably drawn to reach out and try to get to know me. All I can say is I totally understand but please don’t do it. No matter how strong the urge is just say no because I really don’t want to be your friend.

I really don’t want to hook up with the girl I went to school with 20 years ago who stole my candy scented eraser. I don’t want to be reminded of my dodgy taste in men when the guy I thought was hot in secondary school gets in touch and I discover the bow tie was not a fashion phase he was going through. I don’t want to be friends with people who have the same last or first name as me...What’s that all about for God’s sake? Are you lot forming some kind of weird name cult? Look bottom line is if I want to make new friends I’ll go out and meet them like normal people and as for hooking up with old ones...Hmmm!Lets think carefully about this people because surely there must have been a reason why I stopped speaking to you in the first place?

Work is so overrated

Gee! It’s been over a year since I’ve updated my blog and I’ve kind of missed you guys and our little chats. After all it’s not everyday I get to impart my words of wisdom to millions of people. Ok maybe millions is a slight exaggeration but hey it’s my blog and I can throw in as many unverified facts and figures as I please. Anyway I'm not really sure you all deserve to have me back after the total lack of sympathy I received after the trauma of being banned from TK Maxx stores nationwide. I needed some time to cope with not being able to buy cut price designer goods.

"So why have you come back to us Mena"? you ask. "We thought you were too good for blogging"? You thought right peasants. I am too good for this hence my lengthy absence to pursue exciting new activities like cleaning my flat more than once a month, not allowing little old ladies to stop me in the street before I accept the fact that flowing chiffon kaftans are not appropriate for the British winter and getting to work at my contracted hours of 8.45am.

Ah yes! It’s been fun. I only wish I hadn’t wasted so much time and effort on the latter. I should have continued with my usual routine of strolling in at whatever time I finally manage to drag my fine tooshy into work after stopping for a Starbucks and muffin of course (No this is not why I am fat. I am fat because I am genetically predestined to be fat...ignoramus). My efforts at being a normal employee after my last performance review was obviously not taken into account because the other day Joan, my manager, called me into her office and...

“Mena I’m afraid I have some bad news”

“Bad news? What’s wrong? Is the sandwich guy not coming in today”?
Ricardo the sandwich guy...6ft 160 pounds of Brazilian hot stuff who is made even more gorgeous by the fact that come 11.30am he’s striding through the door bearing a variety of luscious snacks to keep a girl going. It would be a disaster if he didn’t turn up.

“Erm no, it has nothing to do with Sandwiches. The company has been badly affected by the recession and they are trying to cut costs where ever possible”.

Geez not again. It’s bad enough that the staff bathroom is now only supplied with industrial grade toilet paper. It’s so horrible I’ve actually had to start buying my own toilet paper instead of stealing it from work like I usually do. What on earth are they going make us give up now?

“We thought long and hard before making this decision and as painful as it is we have decided to let some people go”.

Ah ha! Finally my anonymous suggestions to HR have been taken into account and they are about fire my arch nemesis...Telly Tubby from Accounts. The bane of my life is now about to get her comeuppance. No one charges Mena £5.96 for paper clips and gets away with it. No siree!

“Having discussed it with upper management and other members of staff we have decided to let you go”.

I totally agree with your decision as nice as Telly Tu..., Sorry Amanda is, her people skills leave a lot to be desired.

“Sorry, you’ve lost me. What has Amanda got do with this? Why would I call you in here to talk about Amanda”?

Isn’t she the one leaving? Ok something’s wrong here. Maybe I should actually have been listening whilst she was talking instead of trying to think of witty one liner's to send Telly Tubby on her way. My current favourite is “Adiós muchachos. Don’t let the door hit your tubby bottom on the way out”. Anyway focus Mena! What is the boss lady saying? So far I’ve got bad news, recession, let someone go and the someone isn’t Amanda. Ok if it isn’t Amanda then .......Gee is it suddenly kind of warm in here?

“Sorry who’s leaving again” I ask even though the fact that she’s slowly edging her office chair closer to the fire escape is more or less an indication that it’s me.

“I’m sorry Mena but it has nothing to do with you. It was all based on a last in first out basis. So please don’t take it personally”.


“Oh I see. There’s obviously been some awful mistake with HR then because I wasn’t the last one in. The new document production girl was the last person we hired. Phew! That’s a relief I actually thought I was going to have slap you silly for a moment there and I can tell you that wouldn’t have been any fun for me as I just got my nails done. Cool I’ll get her to come in so you can ruin her day”.

“Ah no Mena. There hasn’t been a mistake. I’m sorry but the truth is that we took a vote and the ballot was unanimous. Everyone finds you rude, aggressive and difficult to get along with. We really can’t afford to keep you here any longer because it’s only a matter time before one of the other member's of staff takes us to court for employing a bullying psychopath”.

Emi Psychopath?? Breathe Mena. Remember the 12 steps to conquering your inner demons. Breathe, smile and repeat after me “I am an intelligent, superior and sexy woman who is surrounded by stupid and ugly people and I must always be patient and kind to those who are less hot than I am.”

“Joan please stop trying to open the fire escape and come and have a sit. I’m not sure why you are so anxious around me? Let’s sit down and talk about this like adults”. Wèrè! Feel free to jump out the window sef; I’ll be right behind you so I can kick your ass in mid air.

“You just threatened to slap me silly and you’re wondering why I’m anxious around you”?

“Joan, Joan, Joan. You really shouldn’t take everything I say so seriously. Can’t a girl crack a few jokes in the office? I think that’s what the problem is here. You all just don’t get my unique sense of humour. I’m not rude or aggressive; I’m just playing with you guys. This is so not a sacking issue. How about we plan an office night out and I take you guys to a couple of comedy clubs to get your humour juices flowing”?

“Look Mena I’m sorry but we’ve made up our minds and our decision is final. I would really appreciate it if we could end this on a dignified note. Please pack up your desk and leave peacefully or I’ll have to call security”.

Needless to say after sepeing on the whole office in Yoruba and attempting to help Telly Tubby lose a few pounds by chasing her round the office with stapler in order to give her free tummy tuck, I was forcibly removed from the office by security.
So you see it’s not worth being a diligent employee in the long run. If I’d known it was going to come to this I would soooo have stolen a whole lot more from the stationery cupboard.

Anyway here I am sitting at home forced to blog for entertainment because there’s only so much day time TV a girl can watch. My main worry not being how I’m going to survive without a 9 to 5 but more how the hell am I going to buy shoes??? Boo Hoo! This situation has allowed me time to think and I’ve decided I need to be amongst like minded people who get me and where better to find them than back home.

Yes blog fans I’m coming home. Where the crazies run free and people actually pay attention to the statement “Do you know who my father is”? Believe me it doesn’t work here. I’ve tried on several occasions when trying to get a decent level of customer service at Tesco’s. So as soon as some lucky lucky person who doesn’t believe in references and a decent work ethic snaps me up, I’ll be winging my way over to the sunny shores of Niaja.
See you guys soon.

No! That didn't just happen.

Mena is not happy! You wanna know why? Where are you going? Will you come back here? What do you mean you have stuff to do? Sit down my friend. Now listen…

As you might have read in my last blog I am being unfairly persecuted at work. All theses things they have said about me; It’s all lieeeeesss. Lies I tell you. I was feeling dopey so I decided to cheer myself up by doing some shopping. There I was in TK Maxx minding my own business and wondering why I couldn’t fit my delicate little tootsies into a pair of size 7 boots. Winter is fast approaching (yes I know it only May) and I need a new pair of boots. These are perfect. They are black, flat and long…very on trend. More importantly they are reduced to £29.99. Barrrrrrrrggaain!!! My leg must enter by force. I finally manage to zip them over my calves and hobble to the mirror to admire myself. Ok they pinch a bit but I’m sure that will pass. I’ve also lost all circulation in my lower region and I’m experiencing a peculiar tingling sensation. But I ain’t dead yet which means I should be able to manage them.

Brain to Mena: Shoes are too tight. Please return to the shelf and stop deceiving yourself.

Mena to brain: I am your master so I suggest you shut up with the unhelpful comments and start sending messages to the receptor cells in my feet telling them that they feel no pain.

Brain to Mena: have tried sending specified message but feet receptor cells are not responding. I fear they may all be dead.

Fine! I’ll take off the shoes but let it be known brain that I am not happy with your inability to withstand pain for fashion. As I struggle to remove my now swollen feet from the accursed boots I spot a woman heading towards my general direction. I eye her suspiciously. Has she spotted my boots? No! She can’t have them. They hurt like hell but I refuse to let another woman walk away with my on trend designer bargain whilst I’m forced to wear thick orthopaedic shoes from Clarks after killing all the cells in my feet. I’d rather buy them and just put them in my closet until my feet miraculously shrink than let her have them.

She stands a few meters away pretending to look at stuff and then finally approaches me.

"Sorry I couldn’t help noticing that the shoes you’re trying on were a bit tight. Do you mind if I try them on"?

Lady, hell yes I mind. Don’t come slinking over here with your I’m so skinny and hot I might just burst into flames attitude. But naturally being sane I didn’t say all that. I just put on my dealing with crazy members of the public persona, smiled and said

"I’m sorry but I’ve decided to get them".

"Oh, are you sure??? You did look very uncomfortable".

Ah ah ! Na fight? Did my feet write you a letter of complaint or what part of bugger off, I’m getting the shoes did you not get?

"I’m quite sure but thanks for your concern".

I quickly gather up my too small boots and head to the till. Standing on the line, waiting to pay I’m starting to have 2nd thoughts. Was I really going to buy these instruments of torture just because I don’t want someone else to have them? Hell yeah! Who cares if I never wear them? I’ll save them for Baskelina... mine and Basky’s love child. I’m sure they will be back on trend by the time she’s old enough.

"Excuse me" says a voice behind me.

It better not be skinny jeans chick or I might just snap and whooop her ass.

I turn round and gasp in horror as I am confronted by a clown thrusting a card in my face. On closer inspection I realise it’s just a lady wearing waaaaaayyyy too much neon eye shadow and unattractive clothes in primary colours


I take the proffered card, read it and realise that right here in TK Maxx, the home of designer bargains, my enemies have sent one of their minions to find me. They know I have promised not to sepe in exchange for not having to spend another millennium as a single and maybe unemployed woman. So they are taking advantage of the situation. People, her card read

Helga Putski
Specialising in makeovers, style advise and colour mapping.

I eye her slowly wondering why this woman in florescent eye shadow felt the need to annoy me. What exactly had she seen that made her think I needed her services?? Is she blind or can’t she see I’m already a vision of loveliness in my Island Cosmetics (You can all laugh. The lipstick I’m wearing is 99 pence and apart from a slight stinging sensation and an inability to feel the right side of my face, it’s just as good as Mac. I will need all my dole money for food so time to start looking for alternatives to my luxury brand)? Not to mention the fact that I am buying this seasons “it” boots. Are those the actions of someone that needs style advise? OK! My hair might be a tad due but I’m hot enough to get away with it. Anyway if her eye shadow and panda eyelashes were anything to go by there was no way in hell I was letting her near me. The age of disco is dead woman. Keep your day glo colours to yourself.

I give her back her card, smile sweetly and say thanks but no thanks. She looks shocked.

"Are you sure? The consultation is free and I really think you could benefit from it".

OK! Enough is enough. I took the 1st insult on the cheek but now it’s going too far. I only promised not to sepe, I didn’t say anything about not throwing tight designer shoes at people.

“I’m really not interested thank you all the same“.

“OK that’s fine. Maybe you might be interested in my other services” she says offering me another card.

I sigh and take the card out of politeness and read the words

Helga Putski
Immigration Lawyer

"Who sent you"?

"I beg your pardon"

"You are begging my pardon? I SAY WHO SEND YOU COME?? Ta lo ron e wa" ?

"I’m sorry I don’t understand what you are saying" she says starting to shuffle away.

"Where are you going? Sebi you want to be helpful. Come here let me help you be helpful". I said heading towards her.

"No really it’s quite alright. I didn’t mean to offend you".

"You imply that I look like an unattractive illegal immigrant then you say you didn’t mean to offend me? Na lie! You cannot say that and get away with. Come here and let me show you something".

I reach into my handbag and...

“Securityyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy!!!!!!” Help me she’s got a gun!!!

What the hell?! What gun? I was going to show her my Pali with 100% authentic visa.

Next thing I know I am being tackled to the floor by some overzealous gorilla in an unattractive red TK Maxx t-shirt, my hand bag is ripped from my hand and my “it” boots go flying through air and right into the arms of skinny jeans chick.

Nooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo!!!!!!!!!!!!! My boots!!!!! Get off me you pillock. She’s stealing my boots.

And so she was. Skinny Jean chick was making a run for it to the nearest till and the girl wasn’t looking back. In the meantime I was having my face shoved into the unwashed floor of TK Maxx surrounded by a crowd of cheapskate shoppers who can’t pay full price for designer stuff. This soooooo cannot be happening.

Mena on the dole?

Help! Mena is in trouble. This is not the time to tell me off over my lack of dedication to blogging. I am being falsely accused of crimes I have not committed. I need a pro bono employment lawyer ASAP. Let me start from the beginning. I got into work and….

I’m sooooooooooo bored!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I’ve been here for an hour and I’ve already cleared out my desk drawer…so that’s where I put that half eaten bag of plantain chips. Eya! And I’ve already cursed that roly-poly from accounts as she was seen loitering round my desk the afternoon it went missing. I suppose I should apologise to her for putting those drawing pins in her chair support in retaliation. The poor thing hasn’t been able to sit down properly for a month. Actually, won’t bother with the apology. There were rumours of disciplinary action being taken should the culprit ever be caught. I can barely afford to buy luxury brand goods like Kellogg’s Crunchy Nut; so getting disciplined or sacked is not on my future agenda. I feel remorse so that should suffice.

Within the hour I have also made a full set of matching paper clip jewellery. Very Stylish. As a gesture of goodwill I walked over to Telly tubby who, with the whole drawing pin/back incident, was perched precariously on a stool, to offer to make her some. She eyes me suspiciously as I approach (she knows I did it but she has no proof. Hehehehehe. Sorry Lord I am very remorseful).

“Hello look what I made”.

Her eyes rove over my paper clip adorned features and then do you know what Tinky Winkys sister said to me?

“Mena I hope you know it’s against office policy to use stationery supplies for your personal amusement”.

Emi personal amusement? This is a legitimate business enterprise. One-day paper clip jewellery will adorn the likes of P Diddy. It will be the new bling of choice and this one is talking about personal amusement. Nonsense. You see Lord? Not that I am justifying the drawing pin incident for which we have ascertained that I feel remorse, but some people deserve to be pricked by sharp pointy things for their stupidity. I hissed and started walking back to my desk.

“Mena before you go”…

I turned around and the crazy thing had pulled out her calculator and was typing away.

“Mena according to my calculations you now owe the company £5.96 for the paper clips. I would appreciate it if you could hand over the money to anyone in the accounts department before the end of the day then we won’t have to take further action”

I don suffer finish. £5.96 for what? God forbid I should give my KFC variety meal money (I beg shut up. I have decided to accept my faith as a plus size midget and will no longer tolerate any comments about my eating habits) to these people. This is bullying in the work place. I stomp back to my desk, grab my coat and head out for an early lunch.

I feel better. I have taken my frustration out on a defenceless breadcrumb coated chicken and chanced an old woman for the last sit on the bus. I will ignore these peasants that do not know that in my country my papa could have them knee capped. I will give them their £5.96 and make up for it by stealing toilet roll and window cleaner from the supply cupboard. I am at peace and all is well with the world again. I settle down at my desk and start going through my e-mails. There is one from HR. What is it now? Why won’t this people just let me do some work and go home. That thing better not have gone to report me or else she will find more than drawing pins her chair next time. Its because I am God fearing Christian woman that I haven’t gone to visit one of those Marabouts of International fame to help me use juju to glue her mouth shut. Nonsense…she should keep trying me.




Dear Mena

With regards to your progress within the company I am afraid to say that several issues have been brought to our attention that we would like to discuss with you during your appraisal next week.

1) It has been pointed out that you are in the habit of kissing your teeth at other members of staff. As you can appreciate they find this behaviour rude and aggressive. I can appreciate we all get stressed in the office at times but kissing your teeth and leaving voodoo dolls of other members of staff around the office is not the best way to address the issue.


2) You constantly use the word “Weree” when dealing with staff and customers. During your last review you were asked about this and you told us that it was a term of endearment from your country. Further investigation has led us to believe that this is not necessarily true. I have been informed that it is actually a way of implying that someone is insane. Why would you want to say this to people?


3) You were observed shouting at candidate as he tried to help himself to the complimentary chocolates in reception. I believe the phrase you used was “Na your papa own Cadbury’s? Abi you no know say you go chop before you come for interview. I beg leave the thing for me my friend.” Might I remind you that they are “Complimentary” and that your role is to ensure that you make our guests feel comfortable?


4) You are constantly inappropriately dressed for the office. Your manager has addressed this issue with you previously, when you turned up to work in what I believe you called a “bubu” and flip-flops. Whilst we are sympathetic to your weight issues, we are a place of business and not your local Weight Watchers meeting. We cannot have you representing us to our clients dressed in that manner.


5) You have had 68 sick days since taking up employment with us. Whilst I appreciate that you come from a large family with several wives. I find it odd that your step grand parents seem to only pass away on Fridays and Mondays. Also you were observed taking part in Karaoke night at the Lion & Bear pub on a day you had called in sick with tonsillitis. Also might I add that not liking your weave does not constitute as mental stress and is not a legitimate reason to take a day off.


6) You have been observed shoving foreign objects into the photocopier. I am assuming this is so you can call out the service engineer, who has previously made a complaint against you for sexual harassment. Might I remind you that we have to pay for the call out charges and that this not a singles bar but a serious place of business. You have been warned on many occasions regarding your predatory behaviour towards our male clients.


7) The cleaning supplies in the office are meant for the office. You seem to think they are perk of working for us as you have been observed on many occasions taking toilet roll and other cleaning supplies for your own personal use. All missing supplies will now be deducted from your salary.

I hope you will be able consider your response to this points over the weekend so we can have a productive meeting on Monday.

Have a great weekend

HR Team

My own don finish. They are going to sack me!

It's good to talk

Ewwwwwwwwwwwwwwww...I have a boil in my ear. I promise, I no longer let Pedro the Pizza delivery boy lick my ear as part payment for my weekly meat feast pizza. My elderly neighbour caught us at it on the driveway the other day and called the police. I was cautioned for lewd conduct and sadly Pedro is now on a ship back to Mexico cursing the day he met my broke ass self. Don’t know why he’s pissed at me. Not my fault he’s illegal. Anyway I have to be careful. Can’t afford to get anymore cautions from the Met police or my dream of waving a red passport around might stay just that. Anyway, I suspect I've been bitten by some poisonous tropical spider which stowed away in my recent delivery of Basky Monthly. Oh my God! I've been poisoned. How can this be?? So young, so beautiful and so unsnogged by Basky and yet I am about to be snatched from the world. WHYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY?????!!!! Boo hooo!

Sniff. Okay Mena, no more hysterics. You will continue to maintain a calm and dignified demeanour. Yes the world is about to lose a good thing but think what they have gained from your very existence. Sniff...true. I should start preparing for my grand exit. I guess I should sort out my assets.

Dear Ma & Pa Mena,

Please find listed below instructions on how to divide my vast wealth.

To the person who loved me most and appreciated my heart, mind and tremendous spirit...ME! I leave my shoes, bags, clothes, money and other amazing accessories. Please ensure that I am buried with ALLLLLLLLLLLLLLL my property. If see anybody rocking my Fake Louis Vuitton Luggage (Yes even you mother dearest) I will have to take a leave of absence from heaven to come and haunt you. I'm not talking about Casper the friendly ghost hunting . I mean the “Haven't slept in a week because I see dead people” kind of haunting.

To the British Government, I leave my National Insurance Card. Please check my number against your tax records and give me back all the money you stole under the pretext of saving it for me until I am too old to work. You thought I would forget abi? No be so. I beg write me a cheque and let my people bury me with my hard earned money.

To Ijebu Chick, Bunnylicious, Essex Chick nee SE Chick, I have left money for my parents to pay a Mallam to come to your various houses everyday to administer 5 hooootttt slaps and 5 lashes of his koboko. You may think I am being cruel and vindictive (next time you will know who you are calling fat and bow legged. I am CUUUUUUUURRRVVYYY dammit!) But it is for your own good. I feel you all need someone to keep you in check whilst I’m not here so you don’t become more wayward than you all already are.

To my other assorted friends and family members, please distribute these signed pictures of me. So they can gaze upon my beautifully regular features everyday and realise what a good thing they had.

PS: Mama & Papa should I become famous after passing over. Please dig me up every month to deposit any future royalty checks.

Sniff…that was so emotionally draining. Who would have thought such a little person had so much to give. I think I’m going to have a nap. Between the realisation that I might never have my fairytale wedding to Basky showcased on The Bisi Olatilo Show, the stress at ibi ise and lack of sleep; I am quite knackered. I can hear you uncaring cretins saying "Ah! Ah! Mena. No be just typing you dey type for this your J.O.B? Not exactly physically taxing". All I can say to that is bad bele no go kill you. And don’t even try and turn the lack of sleep thing into anything sleazy. It’s all down to my inability to turn off my mobile phone…ever!

Just the other day I was having the most amazing dream. I was in a village looking cute in my wrapper and being chased round the well by Basky in a loin cloth. And just as he's about to catch me...his mobile phone starts ringing!!!!!! What the h...! We are in some back water village. How on earth is he getting reception and it suddenly dawns on me that ITS ALL A DREAM!!!!!!!!!!! I'm not about to be dragged into a hut caveman style and ravished. Boo Hoo!

I rub my delicate peepholes and glance at my Barbie Princess alarm clock. Yes I'm 31. What’s your point? If my mother had bought me a Barbie doll when I was a child. I wouldn't now feel the need to relive my childhood with Mattel accessories. Instead she bought me one of those plastic dolls Danfo drivers used to put in front their vans. I'm still traumatised by the experience. Please send money to ease the pain.

Where was I? Yeah I looked at my alarm clock and it's 11.30pm. Who dares call Mena at this hour interrupting her beauty sleep? It’s Mama Mena from Lagos. Panicking I grab the phone.

“Mum what’s the matter“?

The only time my mum calls at this hour is when I’m in a whole heap of trouble. My mind is on overdrive trying to remember what lie I might have told or what amount I kinda borrowed without asking when it suddenly occurs to me that I haven’t lived with my parents in years. So I couldn’t possibly be in any kind of trouble. Maybe it was something else. Maybe she was finally going to tell me the truth about why I’m the only hot member of my family. My true royal heritage was about to be revealed to me. Sultan of Brunei watch out! Your illegitimate daughter is on her way home. I am hardly able to contain my excitement.

I’m like “Mum are you alright? Do you have something you want to tell me“?

“I’m fine. We were just discussing the wedding and we were thinking maybe you should wear iro and buba“.

I’m confused. What wedding? Had someone come to ask for my hand in marriage without asking me first? Or had my mother lost her mind through years of waiting for me to bring a guy home and finally accosted Brother Tobias, our driver, and made me his 3rd wife? My heart is beating at 10 times the normal rate now.

“Mummy what have you done o??? The Lord says his time is the right time o. Don’t do something we will all regret. What wedding are you talking about again and more importantly why the hell would you think I would be caught dead in an iro and buba”?

There’s a pause on the phone and my mother finally responds

“O ti ya were ni? Why are you shouting at me? Pa Mena!!!!!!! Your daughter is shouting at me o. When I told you not to let her go London you didn’t listen. I told you all the women in my family have attended Ogbomosho Girls Grammer School for generations but no. That’s not good enough for your “Little Princess”. See your “Little Princess” now? She is sitting there unmarried, probably smoking Ganja and shouting at her own mother on the phone. 9 months I carried you and because you are now breathing by yourself you are wasting your oxygen shouting at your mother abi? Pa Mena! Where are you going? Come and talk to your daughter o! Oh! They’ve started African Movie Magic. Is it a new episode? OK! I’m coming. Let me finish this girl off. En hen. Where was I“?

“Look Mum I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to shout. I was sleeping and I was just a little confused about what wedding you were talking about“.

“You must still be sleeping. I’m talking about your sisters wedding of course“.

Oh her! Gee I can breathe again. Yeah what about the crazy psycho’s wedding?

“Your cousins and I have been thinking that maybe you should all wear iro and buba but I will discuss it with you tomorrow they are starting movie magic“. Click.

Its at times like these you need to remember the "Honour thy mother and father" part of the 10 Commandments because I was about to call her back and scream “Where are my real parents”? And hang up. Instead I snuggled back into bed and prepared to go back to my dream of being chased round a village well by Basky in a loin cloth and then…RIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIINNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGG!!!!!!!!!!

Somebody better be dying. Its Ijebu Chick otherwise known as “Pain in my delicate backside”. I was going to ignore her but seeing as she was preggies I decided to give her the benefit of the doubt that it was an important call.

Mena: Hello! Are you in labour?
Ijebu Chick: No.
Mena: Are Ibadan J Lo Princess and your Hubby ok?
Ijebu Chick: Yes. I called because....

CLICK! Yeah I hung up on her. You want to make something of it? I beg. She ain't in labour and everybody else is fine. You people think it's easy to have a dream about Basky in wide screen Technicolor? I've been praying and fasting for 2 solid weeks for this miracle (Sorry fellow prayer group members. I know we were meant to be doing it for world peace but certain things are more important). If I'm quick I might be able to get back to where I left off.

Riiiiiiiiiiiiiinngg...Lord why? I've been so good this week. I didn't curse anybody even when they deserved it. I didn't steal toilet roll from the office bathroom when I ran out at home. All I want is 5 minutes with Basky. Just let me see what is under the loin cloth and I will call her back. Riiiiiiiiiinnnng. Fine! I'll pick it up but I just want the record to state that I think this is very severe punishment for lying to the pastor and fellow prayer group members.

Mena: Hello
Ijebu Chick: Whats wrong with your phone?
Mena: I don't know. It must be your signal. Whats up?
Ijebu Chick: I can’t see my feet
Mena: Sorry? (Has this woman been sniffing folic acid again?)
Ijebu Chick: My tummy is blocking my feet, so I can't see them.
Mena: What do you want to see them for? Just keep wiggling your toes to make sure they haven't fallen off.
Ijebu Chick: Why would they fall off?

I don't know crazy woman. Why they h... are you calling me at this indecent hour and expecting me to make sense.

Mena: Is that why you called me?
Ijebu Chick: No! Actually I wanted to find out if you knew where I could get a Mobile policeman uniform on the down low.

Lord please tell me it’s alright to trash this woman senseless the minute she pops out that baby. I'll do it whilst she's still in the Maternity ward so they can transfer her directly to A&E.

Ijebu Chick: Hello?? Are you still there? Mena!
Mena: Sorry…Even if I knew where to get one, why would you want one?
Ijebu Chick: Promise not to tell anyone?

I am now awake with all thoughts of Basky’s loin cloth momentarily forgotten. There is nothing like those 5 little words “Promise not to tell anyone” to signify that hot gist is about to land. Fluffing up pillows and opening the can of Red bull I keep on my bedside table for such emergency situations.

Mena: Yeah I promise(My fingers are crossed, so dosen't count)
Ijebu Chick: Ok! IT Dude (Her hubby) told me yesterday that his fantasy is to dress up like a Mobile policeman, arrest me for driving without my particulars and then have his wicked way with me.

Thank you Lord! I now realise you were not trying to punish me for lying at prayer group but rather to reward me for no longer stealing ibi ise supplies. This gist is hot. I am already planning who I can tell even as she is talking.

Mena: Really?
Ijebu Chick: Do you think it’s weird?

Weird ke? This one don pass weird my friend. I understand dressing up as a fireman, sailor, soldier, as a NORMAL policeman or even Santa Claus. But a Mobile Policeman?? That just takes razzness to a whole new level. Maybe if I liked you I would tell you run now and go and meet your mama for village before he asks you to dress up as a pure water seller. Unfortunately I feel you deserve the severe beating that Mobile policeman like to dish out with their batons to non particular holding drivers such as yourself.

Mena: No dear it’s not weird at all. It’s quite a common fantasy actually. Don’t worry. I’ll get in touch with my contacts and you and your (kinky weirdo) hubby can be rocking the night fantastic by the weekend.


Ijebu Chick: You’re a star. Sorry for calling you so late. I’ll let you get back to sleep. Click

That’s right sucker. Keep thanking me. As sweet as your gist was, it doesn’t totally make up for the lack of Basky action (hope he doesn’t have any weird fantasies o. My mama no raise kinky pikin). So will have to find a way to make you pay. I’ll just start by anonymously posting this interesting piece of info on your face book page and then see where else my spirit takes me.