My Birthday Guide
Its Seven days to my bday!!! Yaaaaaayy!!
Unfortunately, I have exams that day. :-(
But notwithstanding, I don't want this bday to be like every other bday I've had for the last 20years. C'mon I officially enter the right drinking age.
So here's a guide for ya'll.......Friends and family alike
*clears throat*
Dear Family and Friends,
I am pretty sure you are all having a difficult time deciding what to get for me for my birthday. Due to my importance to you all, I know the coming ten days or so will be most difficult for you as you decide what is most appropriate for me. I’m a very considerate person, and that’s why I’m here to put you out of your misery (certainly not by killing you). I’m here to help you and offer you some tips on what you can get me; what will likely get you a loud and resonated "thank you" as against a long cold stare.
But before we talk about gifts, let’s get this disturbing issue out of the way. And that’s the issue of electronic messages and other allied matters. These have become a very irritating cliché and as a writer, I have been warned to steer clear of them lest they crawl their dirty way into my work and cause you and me incalculable embarrassment when fault finding critics start pointing them out. So, no to messages like HBD, LLNP etc. What do they even mean?
"High Building Destroyed? High Blood Detected? Long Life No Progress? Love Lost No Problem?"
Do not send me those birthday messages you find in those #20 love message books you buy on the street of Shomolu. I hate them and I might hate you too if you dare punish me with those badly written words from those high school drop outs.
Pleeeaaaseeee. Also, do me a favour and disable your Facebook spam automatic Birthday cards. This is a sure cause of pollution to my serene page. And the last thing I want is for machines to join in the celebration of my day. Human only please. Phone messages are allowed but they must be original and not previously published or simultaneously sent.
Now, in lieu of these messages, we can do the greetings the old school way. Send me cheap greeting cards (#500 own should do; I’m a socialist, remember?). Endeavour to add a personal touch to the card; don’t dare send them the way they are. Write a short poem or message or even testimony or appreciation (yeah, It ake that too, but only from the people in my beneficiaries list) on the card. If your handwriting is like my doctor’s, please do us both a favour and have it typed and professionally glued to the card.
Phone calls are acceptable, but as they cannot be saved for future reference, I will advise you to consider them as only a bonus. Please and please, on no account should you take a page out in the newspaper for a congratulatory message (I certainly do not want my parents’ house stampeded by hungry touts looking for free foods).
Ok. Now that we have cleared that out of the way, let’s move on to more important issue and the main reason why birthday celebration was invented. Gifts! As a socialist, I will strongly advice you against buying me cars and houses. I have been informed that due to my reluctance to join the iPhone class that some of you have decided to buy me one of those stupid smart phones. Don’t! Use the money instead for a good cause (like donating fifty copies of City of Memories or Salute to Bori to schools), but of course in my name.
What do I really want?
Books! Yeah, there you have it. Number one on the list (and whoever gets me this will have his name in my book of life).
Please on no account should you get me a Soyinka poetry or play. No, thank you, ma. I had enough headaches while trying to force him and his crazy pal, Okigbo, on myself
some years back. I will gladly accept any of his prose works. Chinua Achebe most recent book will be highly cherished. Get me one and I will always call you whatever you want. Poetry collection of Ojaide, Esiaba Irobi, Ohaeto, and Osundare are fair game. Spare me Okri and his likes. No to headache, I repeat.
That I’m trained as a scientist doesn’t mean you can go and get me those incredibly dull and migraine inducing science journals. Back to sender is what I will do if you dare do that to me.
For those of you who unfortunately are allergic to printed words, or maybe you hate to be seen entering one of those few poorly stocked bookshops in this country and you don’t know where Online is let alone buy something there, this one is for you: clothes. Due to my recent migration to Delta, the most self-indulging city on earth with the highest frequency of self-deceiving inhabitants, I have discovered that my wardrobe is, to put it mildly, inappropriate for such place. Everybody here dresses like they work on Wall Street or something. Like they are in some winter struck European city and not in a warm savanna city. Three piece suit, tie and the whole nine yards.
My tee shirt and palm sleepers which would have been so at home in lagos (God bless that city that refuses to follow the abnormal formality) look so criminally odd in Delta that I can no longer resist the temptation to join the African European style. I’m no cultural activist; just a young man who does not want to become an amusing spectacle. So if you my comrades feel disappointed, please forgive me. But I need a new wardrobe. So, get your butt off the ground and go shop for your man. Get me nice pieces from nice boutiques. Be advised that I can smell a BK cloth from miles away as I’ve worn enough of those. On no account should you buy me one. I will likely shove it down your crooked throat (**just kidding**).
My people in America (the Nigerian Americans and the American Nigerians alike) are hereby implored not to struggle to get me anything expensive. I perfectly understand the economic situation they are facing in the States and I refuse to allow my birthday to become another burden on them. What I want from them (I understand it would be insulting for me to insist on no gift) and others in Europe (with the probable exemption of Spain, Greece and Ireland) are to send me those foods that make Michele Obama scream all the time. Yes, you guessed right.
I wanna get fat! Being skinny in Delta is a sin against the personality of Madame Dame of Afrika and I certainly do not want to be in her bad book, not with my brewing political ambition (Am I too young for A.S.S.A on Facebook and Twitter Management?).
Send those cheap canned calorie rich foods and keeping sending them. God will help you all and keep Obama in power and chase Romney out of the race. May the gods of the seven rivers truncate that buffoon’s (Romney, of course) presidential ambitions.
For those of you in the Middle East (Saudi Arabia and Kuwait most especially), don’t get smart and send me all those free Quran and texts. Hey, Sheikh, I have enough Moshaff to last a life time. What I want from you are those beautiful Jalabia, exquisite watches, and nice perfume. Get them and send them if you still want me as your ally.
Dear family and friends, I hate to be second guessed and misunderstood. So let’s be clear, I do not want your money. No cash, not even share or stock of companies that will melt down in couple of months. I would hate to become a visitor to the EFCC (those dedicated brilliant Sherlock Holmes have better things to do than waste their precious time investigating how an unknown wannabe writer could make millions from his birthday). Get this straight too, I’m not soliciting or asking you for anything; what I have done above is just to help you in making your choice. Not getting me anything will not mean an end to our relationship (it could cause some appraisal sha).
Wishing myself (on your behalf) a happy birthday in advance.
Cheers!!
Unfortunately, I have exams that day. :-(
But notwithstanding, I don't want this bday to be like every other bday I've had for the last 20years. C'mon I officially enter the right drinking age.
So here's a guide for ya'll.......Friends and family alike
*clears throat*
Dear Family and Friends,
I am pretty sure you are all having a difficult time deciding what to get for me for my birthday. Due to my importance to you all, I know the coming ten days or so will be most difficult for you as you decide what is most appropriate for me. I’m a very considerate person, and that’s why I’m here to put you out of your misery (certainly not by killing you). I’m here to help you and offer you some tips on what you can get me; what will likely get you a loud and resonated "thank you" as against a long cold stare.
But before we talk about gifts, let’s get this disturbing issue out of the way. And that’s the issue of electronic messages and other allied matters. These have become a very irritating cliché and as a writer, I have been warned to steer clear of them lest they crawl their dirty way into my work and cause you and me incalculable embarrassment when fault finding critics start pointing them out. So, no to messages like HBD, LLNP etc. What do they even mean?
"High Building Destroyed? High Blood Detected? Long Life No Progress? Love Lost No Problem?"
Do not send me those birthday messages you find in those #20 love message books you buy on the street of Shomolu. I hate them and I might hate you too if you dare punish me with those badly written words from those high school drop outs.
Pleeeaaaseeee. Also, do me a favour and disable your Facebook spam automatic Birthday cards. This is a sure cause of pollution to my serene page. And the last thing I want is for machines to join in the celebration of my day. Human only please. Phone messages are allowed but they must be original and not previously published or simultaneously sent.
Now, in lieu of these messages, we can do the greetings the old school way. Send me cheap greeting cards (#500 own should do; I’m a socialist, remember?). Endeavour to add a personal touch to the card; don’t dare send them the way they are. Write a short poem or message or even testimony or appreciation (yeah, It ake that too, but only from the people in my beneficiaries list) on the card. If your handwriting is like my doctor’s, please do us both a favour and have it typed and professionally glued to the card.
Phone calls are acceptable, but as they cannot be saved for future reference, I will advise you to consider them as only a bonus. Please and please, on no account should you take a page out in the newspaper for a congratulatory message (I certainly do not want my parents’ house stampeded by hungry touts looking for free foods).
Ok. Now that we have cleared that out of the way, let’s move on to more important issue and the main reason why birthday celebration was invented. Gifts! As a socialist, I will strongly advice you against buying me cars and houses. I have been informed that due to my reluctance to join the iPhone class that some of you have decided to buy me one of those stupid smart phones. Don’t! Use the money instead for a good cause (like donating fifty copies of City of Memories or Salute to Bori to schools), but of course in my name.
What do I really want?
Books! Yeah, there you have it. Number one on the list (and whoever gets me this will have his name in my book of life).
Please on no account should you get me a Soyinka poetry or play. No, thank you, ma. I had enough headaches while trying to force him and his crazy pal, Okigbo, on myself
some years back. I will gladly accept any of his prose works. Chinua Achebe most recent book will be highly cherished. Get me one and I will always call you whatever you want. Poetry collection of Ojaide, Esiaba Irobi, Ohaeto, and Osundare are fair game. Spare me Okri and his likes. No to headache, I repeat.
That I’m trained as a scientist doesn’t mean you can go and get me those incredibly dull and migraine inducing science journals. Back to sender is what I will do if you dare do that to me.
For those of you who unfortunately are allergic to printed words, or maybe you hate to be seen entering one of those few poorly stocked bookshops in this country and you don’t know where Online is let alone buy something there, this one is for you: clothes. Due to my recent migration to Delta, the most self-indulging city on earth with the highest frequency of self-deceiving inhabitants, I have discovered that my wardrobe is, to put it mildly, inappropriate for such place. Everybody here dresses like they work on Wall Street or something. Like they are in some winter struck European city and not in a warm savanna city. Three piece suit, tie and the whole nine yards.
My tee shirt and palm sleepers which would have been so at home in lagos (God bless that city that refuses to follow the abnormal formality) look so criminally odd in Delta that I can no longer resist the temptation to join the African European style. I’m no cultural activist; just a young man who does not want to become an amusing spectacle. So if you my comrades feel disappointed, please forgive me. But I need a new wardrobe. So, get your butt off the ground and go shop for your man. Get me nice pieces from nice boutiques. Be advised that I can smell a BK cloth from miles away as I’ve worn enough of those. On no account should you buy me one. I will likely shove it down your crooked throat (**just kidding**).
My people in America (the Nigerian Americans and the American Nigerians alike) are hereby implored not to struggle to get me anything expensive. I perfectly understand the economic situation they are facing in the States and I refuse to allow my birthday to become another burden on them. What I want from them (I understand it would be insulting for me to insist on no gift) and others in Europe (with the probable exemption of Spain, Greece and Ireland) are to send me those foods that make Michele Obama scream all the time. Yes, you guessed right.
I wanna get fat! Being skinny in Delta is a sin against the personality of Madame Dame of Afrika and I certainly do not want to be in her bad book, not with my brewing political ambition (Am I too young for A.S.S.A on Facebook and Twitter Management?).
Send those cheap canned calorie rich foods and keeping sending them. God will help you all and keep Obama in power and chase Romney out of the race. May the gods of the seven rivers truncate that buffoon’s (Romney, of course) presidential ambitions.
For those of you in the Middle East (Saudi Arabia and Kuwait most especially), don’t get smart and send me all those free Quran and texts. Hey, Sheikh, I have enough Moshaff to last a life time. What I want from you are those beautiful Jalabia, exquisite watches, and nice perfume. Get them and send them if you still want me as your ally.
Dear family and friends, I hate to be second guessed and misunderstood. So let’s be clear, I do not want your money. No cash, not even share or stock of companies that will melt down in couple of months. I would hate to become a visitor to the EFCC (those dedicated brilliant Sherlock Holmes have better things to do than waste their precious time investigating how an unknown wannabe writer could make millions from his birthday). Get this straight too, I’m not soliciting or asking you for anything; what I have done above is just to help you in making your choice. Not getting me anything will not mean an end to our relationship (it could cause some appraisal sha).
Wishing myself (on your behalf) a happy birthday in advance.
Cheers!!
Posted from WordPress for BlackBerry using MTN NIGERIA.
RANT | Girls, women, Females...Whatever your problems are!
It’s so infuriating the way most girls think.
They say they are not the weaker vessels, that they are equal to the average man, but then they go around to expect men to open the door for them and wait for them to enter the room before we can, before they can call him the so-called ‘perfect gentleman’.
They go around waiting for the guy to ask them out when THEY like him. They go around playing their feminine charm and if it doesn’t work, they say the guy is insensitive.
They fight for woman rights and all of that unnecessary crap; I feel it’s because they are totally insecure and cannot hold their own and can only find the opposite sex to put the blame on.
This is only because the animals of lesser importance are scary, cute or irritating. Man takes all the blame. I don’t blame them; they have nothing else to do.
They try to hide behind cooking cleaning, child rearing and all that shit that not much people care about. Hell, some are even getting high end jobs, the nerve of those women. They leave the child rearing to others like them who then inflict our children with the pains of child abuse or the evil of witchcraft. And they say we don’t appreciate the fact that “we are trying to add to the money you bring home”.
And then they come home at night and tell us they are too tired to attend to their marital responsibilities and when their men find others of their specie to satisfy them, they cry their hearts out telling them that they “loved you, how could you do this to me?”. Like we told them to go to work and come back home tired, like they didn’t say at the altar to love and to cherish.
And then what’s this thing about them expecting guys to read their freaking minds. It’s so disgusting when they say, “I expected you to…” and then u are like “why didn’t you say it?” and then they would be like (while rough-necking and playing with their annoying fingers that won’t stay still), “a natural person in their right mind…” My left foot!
You can’t begin to imagine the amount of time men would be about to slap into the abyss the freckled face of those annoying… And then they’ll say stuff like you can’t or won’t or don’t understand.
I can tell you without bias that every word stated here is as real as the hair on your scalp [i mean if u actually have your natural strands on! i don’t mean the Brazilians or Peruvians!]…a piece of advice, ladies why don’t you simply cut your hair according to your pocket! It’s simply annoying that every female species can’t seem to feel normal or straight without starving just to afford the almighty weave! For Christ’s sake it’s the remains of another dead woman in a suburban country!
Wake up and smell the coffee… to think another woman who can’t afford a mold of bread in a public Mexican market decides to sell a part of her hair to feed, should make you sit and ask yourself… What do i have on or in me that’s valuable? The response we all know is ‘nothing”.
It’s not always about the physical. Ladies! Ladies! Ladies! When was the last time you sat by yourself and tried applying some make up on your attitudes, disposition and mindset! It’s not always about the ‘victoria secret’… because she’s definitely keeping the truth from you.
Not about the “Mary Kay’… Are you sure you’d rather hide behind another feminine image rather than just be real and clean! And then you make the brothers go through hell trying to please you so you can afford a whole stack of make-up set! I think you should have a handy stack of the scriptures because it’s got all the prescriptions for your confusions.
Bottom line, Work on the attitude and leave them brothers alone… They have their lives to live and you have yours so… Buzz off.
They say they are not the weaker vessels, that they are equal to the average man, but then they go around to expect men to open the door for them and wait for them to enter the room before we can, before they can call him the so-called ‘perfect gentleman’.
They go around waiting for the guy to ask them out when THEY like him. They go around playing their feminine charm and if it doesn’t work, they say the guy is insensitive.
They fight for woman rights and all of that unnecessary crap; I feel it’s because they are totally insecure and cannot hold their own and can only find the opposite sex to put the blame on.
This is only because the animals of lesser importance are scary, cute or irritating. Man takes all the blame. I don’t blame them; they have nothing else to do.
They try to hide behind cooking cleaning, child rearing and all that shit that not much people care about. Hell, some are even getting high end jobs, the nerve of those women. They leave the child rearing to others like them who then inflict our children with the pains of child abuse or the evil of witchcraft. And they say we don’t appreciate the fact that “we are trying to add to the money you bring home”.
And then they come home at night and tell us they are too tired to attend to their marital responsibilities and when their men find others of their specie to satisfy them, they cry their hearts out telling them that they “loved you, how could you do this to me?”. Like we told them to go to work and come back home tired, like they didn’t say at the altar to love and to cherish.
And then what’s this thing about them expecting guys to read their freaking minds. It’s so disgusting when they say, “I expected you to…” and then u are like “why didn’t you say it?” and then they would be like (while rough-necking and playing with their annoying fingers that won’t stay still), “a natural person in their right mind…” My left foot!
You can’t begin to imagine the amount of time men would be about to slap into the abyss the freckled face of those annoying… And then they’ll say stuff like you can’t or won’t or don’t understand.
I can tell you without bias that every word stated here is as real as the hair on your scalp [i mean if u actually have your natural strands on! i don’t mean the Brazilians or Peruvians!]…a piece of advice, ladies why don’t you simply cut your hair according to your pocket! It’s simply annoying that every female species can’t seem to feel normal or straight without starving just to afford the almighty weave! For Christ’s sake it’s the remains of another dead woman in a suburban country!
Wake up and smell the coffee… to think another woman who can’t afford a mold of bread in a public Mexican market decides to sell a part of her hair to feed, should make you sit and ask yourself… What do i have on or in me that’s valuable? The response we all know is ‘nothing”.
It’s not always about the physical. Ladies! Ladies! Ladies! When was the last time you sat by yourself and tried applying some make up on your attitudes, disposition and mindset! It’s not always about the ‘victoria secret’… because she’s definitely keeping the truth from you.
Not about the “Mary Kay’… Are you sure you’d rather hide behind another feminine image rather than just be real and clean! And then you make the brothers go through hell trying to please you so you can afford a whole stack of make-up set! I think you should have a handy stack of the scriptures because it’s got all the prescriptions for your confusions.
Bottom line, Work on the attitude and leave them brothers alone… They have their lives to live and you have yours so… Buzz off.
Posted from WordPress for BlackBerry using MTN NIGERIA.
April Fools | My experience
All I had on my mind was to have a mad night of fun with this sweet girl I had just met and hardly knew.
Slim', was her name if memory serves.( Well you didn’t think I was going to mention her name) She was a lovely gal and I was so happy when I ran into her earlier in the day. I had been on her case for a minute, telling her how attracted I was to her blah, blah, blah. You know how we do.
We agreed to meet up later that night. I was way excited about the prospects of our date, I took her to the most famous restaurant in my area. The evening was great and was getting better the longer the night went. Diner was awesome and I was all pepped up, ready to have a wonderful night.
After paying the bills and all, we ended up in the car park, got talking and we started kissing passionately. BOOM the night was going according to plan. I managed to convince her to move to the back seat with me, which she politely declined to do. But with much honey tongued persuasion she finally gave in.
It was the perfect setting for any mischief. Darkness, No light in the car park area which further added to my excitement. Struggling to find her lips was fun and I got carried away. She suddenly asked me to stop. Which I did, cooled down the passions a bit. We relaxed then continued again.
All of a sudden she started shouting "NO! NO!!NO!!!" I could hear odd sounds, but wasn’t sure it was me? The way she held on so tight to me but was still saying “NO” was not making any sense to me. I thought she was talking to me. But to make the situation more confusing she began yelling “please”!, “please”. That was when I began to realized it wasn’t me she was talking to.
By now it had began to rain outside the car. Am sorry, did I say rain? I mean storm!. The thunder and lightning plus the pitch darkness wasn't helping the situation but I was trying to be a man. As you can guess, my imagination was running in different directions. I asked her what was wrong and she wouldn't answer or talk to me. I was so scared, trying not to shake but very close to tears. Asking what was happening and getting nothing in return.
The next thing she said was...
“don’t move, they are close”.
Gosh!, I almost passed. She said this while I was trying to make my way back to the driver’s seat from the back where we were seated. At this point I knew I was a dead man because she had started using words like “no please, I am begging”. I have never prayed as hard as I did that night. Yes I was now living my nightmares, thoughts of friends and family flooded my subconscious. I was going to die.
The last thing she did was cover both our mouths with her hands telling me not to talk and she kept silent as well. We must have sat down like that for 5 minutes but it felt like an eternity to me, I was sweating profusely and I even made promise to stay away from girls.
Then she said “THEY ARE GONE, WE CAN GO NOW” that was the best thing that came out of her mouth that night. With no shirt on, legs shaking I managed to crawl to the front seat with her. Tried starting the car but my nervousness got the better part of me cos all I had in mind was to get away from that place as soon as possible but the car refused to start. I prayed for forgiveness of all my sins and promised God never to touch another gal again.
I turned around and looked at her, the tears were all gone and she had this big smile on her face. All I heard from her, was Hendrix "relax now", she went further and said that I should take it easy and we should go to my house.
I was lost for words, I quietly started the car and drove towards the girl’s house. She attempted to touch me but I told her I had to concentrate. I dropped her and drove straight to my house, picked up my bible and prayed all through the night.
I saw her the next day in our estate, I tried avoiding her but she walked up to me smiling, laughing more like it and said
“OK come on I was joking”
Well maybe she was joking, maybe it was a spiritual attack, I didn’t want to find out but it had been such a terrible night for my nerves and most especially my heart.
Ever since then I stopped trying to get intimate with girls…..until 2 days later... ;-)
Slim', was her name if memory serves.( Well you didn’t think I was going to mention her name) She was a lovely gal and I was so happy when I ran into her earlier in the day. I had been on her case for a minute, telling her how attracted I was to her blah, blah, blah. You know how we do.
We agreed to meet up later that night. I was way excited about the prospects of our date, I took her to the most famous restaurant in my area. The evening was great and was getting better the longer the night went. Diner was awesome and I was all pepped up, ready to have a wonderful night.
After paying the bills and all, we ended up in the car park, got talking and we started kissing passionately. BOOM the night was going according to plan. I managed to convince her to move to the back seat with me, which she politely declined to do. But with much honey tongued persuasion she finally gave in.
It was the perfect setting for any mischief. Darkness, No light in the car park area which further added to my excitement. Struggling to find her lips was fun and I got carried away. She suddenly asked me to stop. Which I did, cooled down the passions a bit. We relaxed then continued again.
All of a sudden she started shouting "NO! NO!!NO!!!" I could hear odd sounds, but wasn’t sure it was me? The way she held on so tight to me but was still saying “NO” was not making any sense to me. I thought she was talking to me. But to make the situation more confusing she began yelling “please”!, “please”. That was when I began to realized it wasn’t me she was talking to.
By now it had began to rain outside the car. Am sorry, did I say rain? I mean storm!. The thunder and lightning plus the pitch darkness wasn't helping the situation but I was trying to be a man. As you can guess, my imagination was running in different directions. I asked her what was wrong and she wouldn't answer or talk to me. I was so scared, trying not to shake but very close to tears. Asking what was happening and getting nothing in return.
The next thing she said was...
“don’t move, they are close”.
Gosh!, I almost passed. She said this while I was trying to make my way back to the driver’s seat from the back where we were seated. At this point I knew I was a dead man because she had started using words like “no please, I am begging”. I have never prayed as hard as I did that night. Yes I was now living my nightmares, thoughts of friends and family flooded my subconscious. I was going to die.
The last thing she did was cover both our mouths with her hands telling me not to talk and she kept silent as well. We must have sat down like that for 5 minutes but it felt like an eternity to me, I was sweating profusely and I even made promise to stay away from girls.
Then she said “THEY ARE GONE, WE CAN GO NOW” that was the best thing that came out of her mouth that night. With no shirt on, legs shaking I managed to crawl to the front seat with her. Tried starting the car but my nervousness got the better part of me cos all I had in mind was to get away from that place as soon as possible but the car refused to start. I prayed for forgiveness of all my sins and promised God never to touch another gal again.
I turned around and looked at her, the tears were all gone and she had this big smile on her face. All I heard from her, was Hendrix "relax now", she went further and said that I should take it easy and we should go to my house.
I was lost for words, I quietly started the car and drove towards the girl’s house. She attempted to touch me but I told her I had to concentrate. I dropped her and drove straight to my house, picked up my bible and prayed all through the night.
I saw her the next day in our estate, I tried avoiding her but she walked up to me smiling, laughing more like it and said
“OK come on I was joking”
Well maybe she was joking, maybe it was a spiritual attack, I didn’t want to find out but it had been such a terrible night for my nerves and most especially my heart.
Ever since then I stopped trying to get intimate with girls…..until 2 days later... ;-)
Posted from WordPress for BlackBerry using MTN NIGERIA.
When Trust is too much to ask for in a Relationship
Modern cosmopolitan dating is one confusing trip to be on.
So, it’s no surprise why most people are opting to remain single, not necessarily by choice, but by a subconscious inability to put up with the socio-emotional shortcomings of cosmopolitan dating.
Recently, I’ve tried to drive through the boulevards(is that a word) of the female psyche to decipher some of the reasons why the bridge of emotional disconnect is getting wider by the minute, yet getting more and more battered by the motorists (or more aptly, lovers) who use and abuse that bridge.
When you’re dating, is it too much to ask your girlfriend not to spend the night with an ex boyfriend? Is it too much to ask your girlfriend not to lie to you about her whereabouts if as she claims, she’s up to no tricks.....at all?
Let me paint you a picture. I have been dating this girl for a while now(say..6months). We love each other, but recently that love is up for eviction. I was recently put in an awkward position by my girlfriend, Lu.
Like I said, we’ve been dating for about 6 months and are thinking of taking things a lot more seriously – now the issue we must confront is one of trust.
My girlfriend, Lu, leaves my apartment one afternoon at about 1:30 pm, informing me that she’s going to meet up with her “ex-lover” Jacob, to formally let him know that she had moved on, and was no longer interested in whatever they had in the past – to break up with him – let him down softly so to speak,
So i say “it’s okay, go for the meeting, but please be safe, and come back home on time”.
But then it’s nightfall already, about 8:30pm, Lu still hasn’t called or come home, so i call her, “hey babe, are you okay?”, and she responds, “yes I’m fine, I’m in the car with Jacob now, he’s dropping me off at jenny’s place”,
Jenny! I ponder for a bit, asking, “I thought you were gonna come home after meeting him, why the sudden need to go to jenny’s place – is she alright?”, and my girlfriend says, “she’s not feeling too fine, she called several times, so Jacob is just going to drop me off at her place, depending on how bad she’s feeling, I might spend the night at her place”,
Feeling for jenny, I say “it’s okay, but let me know how she’s feeling when you see her – give her my best regards, please”.
An hour later, i call her again, and say “hey, how’s jenny doing”, and my girlfriend says, “oh, I’m still with Jacob, we’re eating, afterwards, he’d drop me at jenny’s place”
Becoming suspicious, i say, “don’t you think it’s getting late already – I’m not comfortable with you hanging out with this dude late into the night, it’s almost 9:30pm and you’ve been with him since 1pm – anyway, just assure me you’re telling me the truth that there’s nothing amiss here”,
She gets all warm and fuzzy, “oh no, everything’s fine – he’s gonna drop me off at jenny’s place immediately after this meal, okay, you have nothing to worry about” then i retort, “so, you’re assuring me that you’re not spending the night out with this guy”, and she says, “I promise, dear, I can’t do such a thing to you”, i conclude the call by saying, “please call me as soon as you get to jenny’s place”.
But suspecting that she might give the same cliché excuse most unfaithful women use in their defense, “I wanted to call, but there was no airtime on my phone” – i transferred some airtime to her phone, just to cover all tracks. After exactly one hour – 10: 30pm now, i try to call her but she’s not picking – after a few rings, i gave up. 30 minutes later, he calls again, and she picks up, and launches into “oh, I’m sorry, I wasn’t with my phone”,
so the now suspicious boyfriend asks “where are you?”, and she responds, “I’m at jenny’s place”.
So the guy says, “oh good. How is she feeling, please give her the phone, I’d like to say ‘get-well-soon’”, and the girlfriend says, “oh,I’m downstairs, jenny is upstairs, I’ll give her the phone when I go upstairs” and the guy pauses for a minute, before he adds, “is Jacob still there with you?”, and she admits, “yes”, the guy continues, “and he’s the reason you refused to pick my call – you know what, send me jenny’s number, I’ll call her myself”.
understanding that she’s been caught in a lie, but still trying to defend her immoral honour, “jay, don’t worry, I was just in the car with Jacob, he’s leaving soon” – the boyfriend seeing the lie clearly now, “you’ve been lying all this while,just admit you’re not at jenny’s place, and that you are spending the night with Jacob, at least, I’d know you’re not calling me stupid by wanting me to believe you’re not doing exactly what both you and I know you’re doing”
The truth unfolds, and she says, “jay, I’m sorry, I’m actually at Jacob’s but I’m not gonna screw him, trust me…I need this, please”
However, conversely, is it too much to ask your boyfriend to trust you while you spend the night in your ex-boyfriend’s house? In princesses defense, as she claims, Jacob isn’t actually an ex-boyfriend, but rather a friend with whom she occasionally had sex with. But in jay’s defense, he feels this Jacob guy has been described as a randy, horny toad that gets a boner each time an attractive female’s in sight.
So, the facts are: Princess told Jay that she was going to meet Jacob for a chat. princess changed her mind along the line and decided to spend the night at Jacob’s place. princess not wanting Jay to worry tells him a lie, saying she was going to crash at her girlfriend’s place. jay discovered the charade, and princess comes clean about her intention to spend the night at jacob’s place.
Now, princess wants jay to trust her, and believe that she didn’t screw Jacob that night.
The ultimate question is: is it too much for your girlfriend to ask for this sort of trust? And what would it take a boyfriend to give her that trust?
So, it’s no surprise why most people are opting to remain single, not necessarily by choice, but by a subconscious inability to put up with the socio-emotional shortcomings of cosmopolitan dating.
Recently, I’ve tried to drive through the boulevards(is that a word) of the female psyche to decipher some of the reasons why the bridge of emotional disconnect is getting wider by the minute, yet getting more and more battered by the motorists (or more aptly, lovers) who use and abuse that bridge.
When you’re dating, is it too much to ask your girlfriend not to spend the night with an ex boyfriend? Is it too much to ask your girlfriend not to lie to you about her whereabouts if as she claims, she’s up to no tricks.....at all?
Let me paint you a picture. I have been dating this girl for a while now(say..6months). We love each other, but recently that love is up for eviction. I was recently put in an awkward position by my girlfriend, Lu.
Like I said, we’ve been dating for about 6 months and are thinking of taking things a lot more seriously – now the issue we must confront is one of trust.
My girlfriend, Lu, leaves my apartment one afternoon at about 1:30 pm, informing me that she’s going to meet up with her “ex-lover” Jacob, to formally let him know that she had moved on, and was no longer interested in whatever they had in the past – to break up with him – let him down softly so to speak,
So i say “it’s okay, go for the meeting, but please be safe, and come back home on time”.
But then it’s nightfall already, about 8:30pm, Lu still hasn’t called or come home, so i call her, “hey babe, are you okay?”, and she responds, “yes I’m fine, I’m in the car with Jacob now, he’s dropping me off at jenny’s place”,
Jenny! I ponder for a bit, asking, “I thought you were gonna come home after meeting him, why the sudden need to go to jenny’s place – is she alright?”, and my girlfriend says, “she’s not feeling too fine, she called several times, so Jacob is just going to drop me off at her place, depending on how bad she’s feeling, I might spend the night at her place”,
Feeling for jenny, I say “it’s okay, but let me know how she’s feeling when you see her – give her my best regards, please”.
An hour later, i call her again, and say “hey, how’s jenny doing”, and my girlfriend says, “oh, I’m still with Jacob, we’re eating, afterwards, he’d drop me at jenny’s place”
Becoming suspicious, i say, “don’t you think it’s getting late already – I’m not comfortable with you hanging out with this dude late into the night, it’s almost 9:30pm and you’ve been with him since 1pm – anyway, just assure me you’re telling me the truth that there’s nothing amiss here”,
She gets all warm and fuzzy, “oh no, everything’s fine – he’s gonna drop me off at jenny’s place immediately after this meal, okay, you have nothing to worry about” then i retort, “so, you’re assuring me that you’re not spending the night out with this guy”, and she says, “I promise, dear, I can’t do such a thing to you”, i conclude the call by saying, “please call me as soon as you get to jenny’s place”.
But suspecting that she might give the same cliché excuse most unfaithful women use in their defense, “I wanted to call, but there was no airtime on my phone” – i transferred some airtime to her phone, just to cover all tracks. After exactly one hour – 10: 30pm now, i try to call her but she’s not picking – after a few rings, i gave up. 30 minutes later, he calls again, and she picks up, and launches into “oh, I’m sorry, I wasn’t with my phone”,
so the now suspicious boyfriend asks “where are you?”, and she responds, “I’m at jenny’s place”.
So the guy says, “oh good. How is she feeling, please give her the phone, I’d like to say ‘get-well-soon’”, and the girlfriend says, “oh,I’m downstairs, jenny is upstairs, I’ll give her the phone when I go upstairs” and the guy pauses for a minute, before he adds, “is Jacob still there with you?”, and she admits, “yes”, the guy continues, “and he’s the reason you refused to pick my call – you know what, send me jenny’s number, I’ll call her myself”.
understanding that she’s been caught in a lie, but still trying to defend her immoral honour, “jay, don’t worry, I was just in the car with Jacob, he’s leaving soon” – the boyfriend seeing the lie clearly now, “you’ve been lying all this while,just admit you’re not at jenny’s place, and that you are spending the night with Jacob, at least, I’d know you’re not calling me stupid by wanting me to believe you’re not doing exactly what both you and I know you’re doing”
The truth unfolds, and she says, “jay, I’m sorry, I’m actually at Jacob’s but I’m not gonna screw him, trust me…I need this, please”
However, conversely, is it too much to ask your boyfriend to trust you while you spend the night in your ex-boyfriend’s house? In princesses defense, as she claims, Jacob isn’t actually an ex-boyfriend, but rather a friend with whom she occasionally had sex with. But in jay’s defense, he feels this Jacob guy has been described as a randy, horny toad that gets a boner each time an attractive female’s in sight.
So, the facts are: Princess told Jay that she was going to meet Jacob for a chat. princess changed her mind along the line and decided to spend the night at Jacob’s place. princess not wanting Jay to worry tells him a lie, saying she was going to crash at her girlfriend’s place. jay discovered the charade, and princess comes clean about her intention to spend the night at jacob’s place.
Now, princess wants jay to trust her, and believe that she didn’t screw Jacob that night.
The ultimate question is: is it too much for your girlfriend to ask for this sort of trust? And what would it take a boyfriend to give her that trust?
Posted from WordPress for BlackBerry using MTN NIGERIA.
Caught In-between Two Women | Final Part
Finally, here's the last part of this series. i'll like to remind you that All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead is purely UN-intentional
*********************************************************
She smiled at me as we settled into the back seats. We still had not said a word to each other. There were three of us on a row of seats that ordinarily sat four, so it was as comfortable as a bus could get. The driver started the bus and the tires started to roll, when the conductor ordered a stop to take on one more passenger.......
-cont'd
My mind went blank and time seemed to stop. I would not have been more shocked if an embalmed monkey had climbed into the bus and taken a seat next tome.
‘CY was equally shocked.
Here she was, presumably going to obtain some exotic ingredient from big market – and the object of all her ‘work’ was off on a trip with some other girl?
I tried to speak, but the words would not form. There was nothing to say: no lie or excuse; no hurriedly concocted fib with the slightest chance to save my sorry ass. I was caught, not red-handed – but pants down!
Again the events of the past few weeks flashed before my eyes. - The dinner in coca cola spot, the play at the artscan hall, the repeated visits to the Anatomy Museum, the walks in the Staff Quarters… It had been fun to finally do what I wanted with someone who shared similar passions, but I knew then that those days were gone forever.
There was a loud commotion in the bus. Somebody was asking me questions, but they had two different voices. I did not answer; my mind could not decide which voice to process.
-I was lost in thought, far away thinking back to the text message that started it all.
Something stung the left side of my face, then the right. My eyes shook violently in their sockets.
-I was now entering coca cola spot, selecting the table in the corner.
I was hit again, alternately left then right. ‘sandra started to cry.
-I was now standing, to introduce myself to ‘CY.
My face was hot. The bus had stopped. I heard the soft whoosh of a nylon bag as it swung through the air. I tasted tomatoes.
-I was now rising again, approaching the counter to ask for our food.
There was pepper in my eyes. My face felt even hotter. The conductor held tight to one struggling woman, the driver to another.
-I was now turning in slow-motion to greet ‘Ruki.
I tried hard to see, but the tears made it difficult. Somebody was grabbing me, pulling me, their arms under mine.
-I was now noticing ‘sandra, she was standing right behind ‘Ruki.
I was moving through the air one instant, laying on the ground in the next. Two more people were deposited beside me. The bus moved off. I was now feeling like a cheat, caught at my first attempt.
- And then I came back to reality.
We, all three of us, were on the ground – beside the bus-stop. There was pepper all over me. ‘Sandra was sobbing furiously while ‘CY cursed in ibo: till the very end, differences between them screaming for my notice. Some fool was taking pictures; passing students stopping to point and giggle. I had successfully made a public ridicule of myself.
I scarcely noticed when the police van pulled up at the bus-stop, parked so as to ‘shield us from public view. The last I remember is ‘Ruki running down from the van, and dragging me and ‘Sandra into the back. ‘CY refused to move, despite his entreaties – so we left her there. And then I broke down in tears…
If I ever get down to making a list of the things I am not, ‘player’ must come first. I simply sucked at it.
The rest of the day passed in a blur. I scarcely heard my room mates as they sympathised with me. I hardly heard ‘CY’s vituperation when she returned with her friends for her handbag. I had moved on. I knew I had lost her, and had accepted the fact already. I knew what I had to do next.
**********************************************************
I went back to ‘Sandra’s room that night. It took all my courage to knock at her door, to bring myself to walk into her room amidst hostile stares from her room mates.
To sit on her "plastic-chair-that-was-originally-mine" when she burst into tears rather than offer me a seat. It took all my courage to say the words, appreciating her for the years when she had been a loyal friend; acknowledging that she was right to have refused my offer to ‘date’, knowing that we really did not have much in common; pleading that she put the happenings of the day behind her and allow us to continue as good friends.
I told her about the many questions I had asked myself already on my way to her room. I told her that I would never stop wondering if a little more loyalty from my end would have won her over, if a little more perseverance would have helped her to find joy in the things that made me happy. What if I had not sent that text to both of them? What if I had not met ‘CY? What if I had not written that article?
I knew then that I loved them both, but I would always love ‘Sandra more. ‘Sandra was the quintessential friend, the type that did not understand or get involved in what you did – but was loyal none-the-less; ‘CY was the stuff of which dream girls were made – shared passions and common interests – but she was too good to be true.
I knew then that I would meet some girl later on, who would combine attributes from these two.
++++
All of a sudden, there was a lump in my throat.
Tears gathered in my eyes as I watched ‘Sandra cry, threatening to reveal the turmoil I felt inside. I swallowed hard as I fought the urge to put my arm around her shoulders and comfort her. I dug my fingers into the back of my chair till they hurt,willing myself to remain seated. It was better to let her cry, to leave her to settle this on her own.
It hurt me even deeper to see her hurt so. The sight of tears wracking her body, throwing her lean frame to and fro like a leaf before the wind, would haunt me for years to come. The sound of her crying would wake me from my sleep, stabbing at my heart in an endless rhetoric: “What If?”
THE END
*********************************************************
She smiled at me as we settled into the back seats. We still had not said a word to each other. There were three of us on a row of seats that ordinarily sat four, so it was as comfortable as a bus could get. The driver started the bus and the tires started to roll, when the conductor ordered a stop to take on one more passenger.......
-cont'd
My mind went blank and time seemed to stop. I would not have been more shocked if an embalmed monkey had climbed into the bus and taken a seat next tome.
‘CY was equally shocked.
Here she was, presumably going to obtain some exotic ingredient from big market – and the object of all her ‘work’ was off on a trip with some other girl?
I tried to speak, but the words would not form. There was nothing to say: no lie or excuse; no hurriedly concocted fib with the slightest chance to save my sorry ass. I was caught, not red-handed – but pants down!
Again the events of the past few weeks flashed before my eyes. - The dinner in coca cola spot, the play at the artscan hall, the repeated visits to the Anatomy Museum, the walks in the Staff Quarters… It had been fun to finally do what I wanted with someone who shared similar passions, but I knew then that those days were gone forever.
There was a loud commotion in the bus. Somebody was asking me questions, but they had two different voices. I did not answer; my mind could not decide which voice to process.
-I was lost in thought, far away thinking back to the text message that started it all.
Something stung the left side of my face, then the right. My eyes shook violently in their sockets.
-I was now entering coca cola spot, selecting the table in the corner.
I was hit again, alternately left then right. ‘sandra started to cry.
-I was now standing, to introduce myself to ‘CY.
My face was hot. The bus had stopped. I heard the soft whoosh of a nylon bag as it swung through the air. I tasted tomatoes.
-I was now rising again, approaching the counter to ask for our food.
There was pepper in my eyes. My face felt even hotter. The conductor held tight to one struggling woman, the driver to another.
-I was now turning in slow-motion to greet ‘Ruki.
I tried hard to see, but the tears made it difficult. Somebody was grabbing me, pulling me, their arms under mine.
-I was now noticing ‘sandra, she was standing right behind ‘Ruki.
I was moving through the air one instant, laying on the ground in the next. Two more people were deposited beside me. The bus moved off. I was now feeling like a cheat, caught at my first attempt.
- And then I came back to reality.
We, all three of us, were on the ground – beside the bus-stop. There was pepper all over me. ‘Sandra was sobbing furiously while ‘CY cursed in ibo: till the very end, differences between them screaming for my notice. Some fool was taking pictures; passing students stopping to point and giggle. I had successfully made a public ridicule of myself.
I scarcely noticed when the police van pulled up at the bus-stop, parked so as to ‘shield us from public view. The last I remember is ‘Ruki running down from the van, and dragging me and ‘Sandra into the back. ‘CY refused to move, despite his entreaties – so we left her there. And then I broke down in tears…
If I ever get down to making a list of the things I am not, ‘player’ must come first. I simply sucked at it.
The rest of the day passed in a blur. I scarcely heard my room mates as they sympathised with me. I hardly heard ‘CY’s vituperation when she returned with her friends for her handbag. I had moved on. I knew I had lost her, and had accepted the fact already. I knew what I had to do next.
**********************************************************
I went back to ‘Sandra’s room that night. It took all my courage to knock at her door, to bring myself to walk into her room amidst hostile stares from her room mates.
To sit on her "plastic-chair-that-was-originally-mine" when she burst into tears rather than offer me a seat. It took all my courage to say the words, appreciating her for the years when she had been a loyal friend; acknowledging that she was right to have refused my offer to ‘date’, knowing that we really did not have much in common; pleading that she put the happenings of the day behind her and allow us to continue as good friends.
I told her about the many questions I had asked myself already on my way to her room. I told her that I would never stop wondering if a little more loyalty from my end would have won her over, if a little more perseverance would have helped her to find joy in the things that made me happy. What if I had not sent that text to both of them? What if I had not met ‘CY? What if I had not written that article?
I knew then that I loved them both, but I would always love ‘Sandra more. ‘Sandra was the quintessential friend, the type that did not understand or get involved in what you did – but was loyal none-the-less; ‘CY was the stuff of which dream girls were made – shared passions and common interests – but she was too good to be true.
I knew then that I would meet some girl later on, who would combine attributes from these two.
++++
All of a sudden, there was a lump in my throat.
Tears gathered in my eyes as I watched ‘Sandra cry, threatening to reveal the turmoil I felt inside. I swallowed hard as I fought the urge to put my arm around her shoulders and comfort her. I dug my fingers into the back of my chair till they hurt,willing myself to remain seated. It was better to let her cry, to leave her to settle this on her own.
It hurt me even deeper to see her hurt so. The sight of tears wracking her body, throwing her lean frame to and fro like a leaf before the wind, would haunt me for years to come. The sound of her crying would wake me from my sleep, stabbing at my heart in an endless rhetoric: “What If?”
THE END
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Caught In-between Two Women | Part VI
I let out a little yelp, and my room mates gathered around me immediately. Dumb stricken, I let the phone fall from my hand – and someone picked it up and read the text out loud. They all went quiet for a while, and then started to talk all at once. Everyone had an idea on how to save the day, and each person felt their idea was best.
After a few minutes of hullabaloo, someone suggested that I dash out of the room immediately, meet 'Sandra on the way, and head for the palace; I would turn my phones off, and explain to ‘CY on returning that I had to do something for someone urgently. They all went quiet, and then started to talk all at once again – everyone claiming the idea was originally theirs.
It seemed to make sense, so I picked my phones and wallet and left the room. As I descended the stairs, I called ‘Sandra to say I had gotten tired of waiting and had left my room – so we would meet halfway. She was already at the hostel gates by this time, and so said she would return to the bus-stop.. My plan was to take a bike from my house, so doing reduce the risk of inadvertently running into ‘CY.
As I made the three minute walk to the gates, I thought back over the events of the past few weeks. ‘sandra was yet to congratulate me on my article; in fact I did not think she had read it yet. I had come to grips with the fact that we did not share much common ground, and more importantly – she could not be bothered to become interested in my passions. While we could survive that as friends – it would not be good for a dating relationship.
I thought back to my second epiphany. Things were a little better – at least now I had one more female friend. I had since given up expecting all women to be versions of ‘Sandra, and even though I honestly did not know what ‘CY’s motivations were – it felt good to know I was making progress on this point.
I knew I was fully responsible for not developing other friendships over the years – preferring to give all my time and attention to ‘Sandra. I would not deceive myself that she was responsible for that in anyway. What I had to do now was change that.
I smelt ‘Sandra before I saw her; the distinctive scent of Omnia Green Jade. She was beautiful, as always, dressed in a simple blue dress and carrying one of her trademark Ankara handbags. I looked upon her and knew: I would always love this girl.
There was a lot on my mind, a lot that I wished I could tell her as I took her hands –but I could not bring myself to speak. In that instant I decided this would be our last ‘date’ in this undefined state: professing to be best friends, but acting like lovers and blocking each other’s chances. When we got back I would take her into some empty classroom, and we would align on a way forward for our friendship.
She smiled at me and started to say something, but then stopped. It started to drizzle lightly; the heavens shedding tears for me, expressing how I felt at what I had to do. I closed my eyes, and ran my fingers all over hers, vainly trying to memorise the velvet of her touch. Tears formed behind my tightly clenched eyelids,and I ground my teeth together to keep from crying. As we climbed into an almost-full bus, I knew this was a magic moment – a last ‘date’ – and there was nothing I could imagine that would mar this experience.
The keyword in that last thought of mine must have been the word ‘imagine’, as what happened next could not have happened in my wildest imaginations.
She smiled at me as we settled into the back seats. We still had not said a word to each other. There were three of us on a row of seats that ordinarily sat four, so it was as comfortable as a bus could get. The driver started the bus and the tires started to roll, when the conductor ordered a stop to take on one more passenger.
*******************************************
Wait till you read the final piece…
After a few minutes of hullabaloo, someone suggested that I dash out of the room immediately, meet 'Sandra on the way, and head for the palace; I would turn my phones off, and explain to ‘CY on returning that I had to do something for someone urgently. They all went quiet, and then started to talk all at once again – everyone claiming the idea was originally theirs.
It seemed to make sense, so I picked my phones and wallet and left the room. As I descended the stairs, I called ‘Sandra to say I had gotten tired of waiting and had left my room – so we would meet halfway. She was already at the hostel gates by this time, and so said she would return to the bus-stop.. My plan was to take a bike from my house, so doing reduce the risk of inadvertently running into ‘CY.
As I made the three minute walk to the gates, I thought back over the events of the past few weeks. ‘sandra was yet to congratulate me on my article; in fact I did not think she had read it yet. I had come to grips with the fact that we did not share much common ground, and more importantly – she could not be bothered to become interested in my passions. While we could survive that as friends – it would not be good for a dating relationship.
I thought back to my second epiphany. Things were a little better – at least now I had one more female friend. I had since given up expecting all women to be versions of ‘Sandra, and even though I honestly did not know what ‘CY’s motivations were – it felt good to know I was making progress on this point.
I knew I was fully responsible for not developing other friendships over the years – preferring to give all my time and attention to ‘Sandra. I would not deceive myself that she was responsible for that in anyway. What I had to do now was change that.
I smelt ‘Sandra before I saw her; the distinctive scent of Omnia Green Jade. She was beautiful, as always, dressed in a simple blue dress and carrying one of her trademark Ankara handbags. I looked upon her and knew: I would always love this girl.
There was a lot on my mind, a lot that I wished I could tell her as I took her hands –but I could not bring myself to speak. In that instant I decided this would be our last ‘date’ in this undefined state: professing to be best friends, but acting like lovers and blocking each other’s chances. When we got back I would take her into some empty classroom, and we would align on a way forward for our friendship.
She smiled at me and started to say something, but then stopped. It started to drizzle lightly; the heavens shedding tears for me, expressing how I felt at what I had to do. I closed my eyes, and ran my fingers all over hers, vainly trying to memorise the velvet of her touch. Tears formed behind my tightly clenched eyelids,and I ground my teeth together to keep from crying. As we climbed into an almost-full bus, I knew this was a magic moment – a last ‘date’ – and there was nothing I could imagine that would mar this experience.
The keyword in that last thought of mine must have been the word ‘imagine’, as what happened next could not have happened in my wildest imaginations.
She smiled at me as we settled into the back seats. We still had not said a word to each other. There were three of us on a row of seats that ordinarily sat four, so it was as comfortable as a bus could get. The driver started the bus and the tires started to roll, when the conductor ordered a stop to take on one more passenger.
*******************************************
Wait till you read the final piece…
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Caught In-between Two Women | Part V
Within one week of seeing that play, I re-discovered passions and hobbies I had thought lost forever. I would dream up some exotic activity in the morning and send texts to both of them – inviting them to ‘trip’ with me. Inevitably, ‘sandra would say no – and in fairness to her, suggest some other activity that she preferred. ‘cynthia on the other hand seemed to exist for me, and so we did all sorts together.
We saw plays and attended book-reading events. We explored the Anatomy museum and got lost walking around the Staff Quarters. I began to spend less and less time with ‘sandra. In the past, I would plead with her when she refused to do something with me – and still hang out with her regardless of her decision. Now, all that had passed. I had an option, and a beautiful one at that. My heart would sometimes revolt, but inevitably acquiesce – after all, it felt good to finally do the things I wanted.
I had the best of both worlds. At least so I thought until it all came undone. One fine Saturday morning, I awoke with a renewed urge to visit the Ovie’s palace. I had drawn up a list of ten locations within and around the University campus I wanted to visit before graduating – and the palace was one of them. I had studied a book about the origins of the urhobo tribe back in my first year, and had wanted to see many things. For Three years I had asked ‘sandra to go with me – receiving a negative answer on all occasions. Now I had an option. As had become my habit recently, I sent out a text message to both ladies. While I awaited their responses, I took my bath and got ready to go out.
I was stunned when ‘sandra responded in the affirmative. It was so shocking that I called her immediately to verify that she read the text right. When she explained that it had been long since we spent quality time together and she thought this was a good opportunity, I knew I had boxed myself into a corner. I chuckled, weakly, and arranged to meet her at BMS in about an hour. The instant I dropped the call, my mind went into a mad race for excuses. I needed one for ‘CY, and I had better find it fast!
After holding a hurried conference with my room mates and creating a shortlist, I settled on the most basic excuse: I had just found I needed to turn in my Head and Neck Seminar on Monday and did not have the luxury of time – hence we would visit the palace next week. I was not a convincing liar, and my fingers trembled as I dialed her number. The trembling grew worse when I found that her phone was switched off. A friend suggested going to her room, but it was well before the 12pm visiting time. As we deliberated other options for reaching her, there was a knock at the door.
As I turned the knob to open the door, I caught that familiar scent and knew: it was ‘CY. She had pulled the ultimate one on me: rather than respond to my message, she had gotten dressed and showed up. My foolery had finally cut up with me. I had no option other than to continue with my prepared excuse. As she made herself comfortable on my bed, I explained that Mr. Enahwo had slammed my class with yet another seminar topic.. Yes, it was his habit to give out projects at random. No, this was different from the one I wrote last week. Yes, I had missed his class during the week, so I only just found out. Yes, it absolutely needed to be ready by Monday. No, I could not start writing it tomorrow and needed to get to work immediately. Sorry, but would she kindly agree to move our ‘palace visit’ till the next Saturday?
My room mate winked at me as I spun an elaborate web of deceit. Thumbs went up all around the room – of course out of her range of vision – as my room mate applauded my skill at lying with conviction. I patted myself on the back – in my mind – as I put on my most pitiful face, describing how much I had looked forward to the visit and how it would have been more fun because we were going together. My phone started to ring, but I could not take any calls right then, so I reached into my pocket and muted it.
And then she responded: she had not really wanted to go out, she said, but agreed because she would do anything for me. Her original plan had been to come and cook for me, in my room! I could work on my computer while she cooked outside. She would be as quiet as possible, almost invisible. That was win-win, she said, I would work on my assignment and we would still spend the day together. If I was aligned, she would now leave for Big market to get the necessary ingredients, and would be back in about an hour. My phone beeped twice, giving an eerie sense of finality to her statements. I was suddenly dumb. The entire room went quiet.
I could not say a word as she stood to leave for the market. She blew me a kiss as she stepped out the door, and I smiled weakly in return. For want of something else to do, I retrieved my phone from my pocket. It was a text from ‘sandra. She had decided to meet me in my room instead…......
We saw plays and attended book-reading events. We explored the Anatomy museum and got lost walking around the Staff Quarters. I began to spend less and less time with ‘sandra. In the past, I would plead with her when she refused to do something with me – and still hang out with her regardless of her decision. Now, all that had passed. I had an option, and a beautiful one at that. My heart would sometimes revolt, but inevitably acquiesce – after all, it felt good to finally do the things I wanted.
I had the best of both worlds. At least so I thought until it all came undone. One fine Saturday morning, I awoke with a renewed urge to visit the Ovie’s palace. I had drawn up a list of ten locations within and around the University campus I wanted to visit before graduating – and the palace was one of them. I had studied a book about the origins of the urhobo tribe back in my first year, and had wanted to see many things. For Three years I had asked ‘sandra to go with me – receiving a negative answer on all occasions. Now I had an option. As had become my habit recently, I sent out a text message to both ladies. While I awaited their responses, I took my bath and got ready to go out.
I was stunned when ‘sandra responded in the affirmative. It was so shocking that I called her immediately to verify that she read the text right. When she explained that it had been long since we spent quality time together and she thought this was a good opportunity, I knew I had boxed myself into a corner. I chuckled, weakly, and arranged to meet her at BMS in about an hour. The instant I dropped the call, my mind went into a mad race for excuses. I needed one for ‘CY, and I had better find it fast!
After holding a hurried conference with my room mates and creating a shortlist, I settled on the most basic excuse: I had just found I needed to turn in my Head and Neck Seminar on Monday and did not have the luxury of time – hence we would visit the palace next week. I was not a convincing liar, and my fingers trembled as I dialed her number. The trembling grew worse when I found that her phone was switched off. A friend suggested going to her room, but it was well before the 12pm visiting time. As we deliberated other options for reaching her, there was a knock at the door.
As I turned the knob to open the door, I caught that familiar scent and knew: it was ‘CY. She had pulled the ultimate one on me: rather than respond to my message, she had gotten dressed and showed up. My foolery had finally cut up with me. I had no option other than to continue with my prepared excuse. As she made herself comfortable on my bed, I explained that Mr. Enahwo had slammed my class with yet another seminar topic.. Yes, it was his habit to give out projects at random. No, this was different from the one I wrote last week. Yes, I had missed his class during the week, so I only just found out. Yes, it absolutely needed to be ready by Monday. No, I could not start writing it tomorrow and needed to get to work immediately. Sorry, but would she kindly agree to move our ‘palace visit’ till the next Saturday?
My room mate winked at me as I spun an elaborate web of deceit. Thumbs went up all around the room – of course out of her range of vision – as my room mate applauded my skill at lying with conviction. I patted myself on the back – in my mind – as I put on my most pitiful face, describing how much I had looked forward to the visit and how it would have been more fun because we were going together. My phone started to ring, but I could not take any calls right then, so I reached into my pocket and muted it.
And then she responded: she had not really wanted to go out, she said, but agreed because she would do anything for me. Her original plan had been to come and cook for me, in my room! I could work on my computer while she cooked outside. She would be as quiet as possible, almost invisible. That was win-win, she said, I would work on my assignment and we would still spend the day together. If I was aligned, she would now leave for Big market to get the necessary ingredients, and would be back in about an hour. My phone beeped twice, giving an eerie sense of finality to her statements. I was suddenly dumb. The entire room went quiet.
I could not say a word as she stood to leave for the market. She blew me a kiss as she stepped out the door, and I smiled weakly in return. For want of something else to do, I retrieved my phone from my pocket. It was a text from ‘sandra. She had decided to meet me in my room instead…......
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