Cougar Town

“Hey Babes, can you pass me a fiver?” Noah called out to me. We were at a KFC Drive-Through and he had his head stuck out his window to place our order.

I love KFC chicken and I think it is the Holy Grail of chicken and if anyone dares disagree with me on that, I’ll be bringing out the claws. So, this beautifully freezing Saturday morning, I made him drive through Clapham Common despite the traffic we were bound to face, all so I could get my chicken-fix.

            “I haven’t got a fiver.” I said as Beyonce’s Smash Into You came on the radio. The moment couldn’t have been anymore perfect. I had my favorite person in the world, Robb Howard seemed to be reading my mind and I was two minutes away from chicken-heaven, Ah-mean, what more could a girl ask for?

 “Will a twenty do?” I asked.

“Nah, can you check the cubbyhole?” he replied.

I reached into the cubbyhole and made a face at the junk inside of it. I was crazy about the guy and he ranked up there along with my beloved KFC chicken (which really is saying something) but mehn, his car was the stuff of nightmares.

I met Noah about two years ago at a friend’s party. It had been one of those Naija parties where there was no Jollof rice (someone once said that a party without Jollof is like a Funeral and I totally agree) and the chicken they served had been fried to a crisp (why oh why can’t everyone learn from KFC and save a girl unnecessary heart ache?!), so you can imagine how very miserable I was at the party. He’d been the only non-black person (for lack of a better expression) at the party and he automatically qualified as the listening ear to my elaborate moaning and gripping about the state of the food. Don’t judge me so quick, he also couldn’t identify with the food, seeing as he’d never had fried plantain before in his life and hadn’t even realized that the gizzard of a bird was edible.

We’d hit if off from there and became fast friends. It’s a wonder we hadn’t met before then because we seemed to have the same circle of friends. We became a couple a little over three months ago and his Iranian-German-Celtic ancestry hadn’t bothered me one bit. My mother always did say I was a rebel and that I would be the one to send her to an early grave with my wahala (so she’s been saying for the last few decades and I wonder if she realizes she’s no spring chicken anymore).

“You’ve got just pennies in here…oh found it!” I exclaimed, fishing out the five-pound note.

“Thanks Babes.” He said taking it from me.

“What’s your licence doing in all this junk?” I asked, bring it out of the cubbyhole as well.

“I leave it in there because I almost always forget my wallet at home.” He said driving, to the pick-up window.

“Like seriously!” That was so, so typical of him. If it was possible, he would forget himself at home sef.

“Yup.”

“You look like someone stole your bread!” I said, laughing at the picture on the licence.

“Haha!” he retorted dryly.  He was quite used to my Naija ways by now. The laughter died on my lips when I spied the D.O.B on the licence.

“Wait, is this for real?!” I asked, incredulous.

“What?”

I looked from the piece of plastic to his face in utter disbelief.

“Your date of birth!” I replied, breathless.

“Why wouldn’t it be?” he asked looking at me in that open, unassuming way of his. How could he be so calm when me I was mentally running down the street screaming and tearing out my hair!

“Did you know that I’m older?!”

Five years older! Oh Lord!!! He’d thrown me a surprise party for the big 3-0 last month, so of course he knew!

            “Why, yes I do.” He said simply, still giving me that look and I wanted to scream for real this time.

            “And???!!!”

            “And what?”

He collected our order and the smell of deep-fried chicken filled the insides of the car but I almost didn’t notice.

            “And that doesn’t bother you?!”

He looked at me like I was crazy.

            “Why would it?” He said. “I love you Babes and that’s all that matters. Who cares if you’re from Mars?”

What?!!!!! He didn’t just drop a bombshell and then slap me with the “L” word!!!

He pulled out of the drive-through, humming along with Bey like all was well with the world and the sky was blue.

This Post has previously been published on Breakpoint.

Meeting The In-Laws

"He doesn't exist " Sandra declared and Blessing gasped in faux shock. 

"I'm sure he's just a myth and a figment of her imagination." Sandra continued.

"She probably just made him up to fool everyone " Thomas, Blessing's husband said rubbing her protruding tummy and she practically started to purr. 

"Don't be so mean!" Blessing said and giggled, enjoying every bit of the conversation.

Mr. Nwachukwu, the girls’ father looked at them over the top of his Sunday Sun, opened his mouth to say something and thought the better of it. They were awaiting the arrival of their weird cousin and her so called fiancé. Cousin Ezinne was weird in more ways than one but the one Blessing couldn't stand the most was her annoying accent, which they were all sure was fake. All because she had gone to University in Scotland, she had to come and be forming with her fake phone and her eccentric ways. A few weeks ago, her mother, Auntie Nkiruka had announced that she was coming home to get married and the whole family had been astir with the news.

                “Which kain engaged?” Sandra continued. “Someone that didn’t even have a boyfriend two seconds ago.”

                “Abi oh!” Blessing chimed in shifting in her seat to ease the ache in her back. She was almost eight months pregnant with her second child.

                “From where to where now?” Sandra added.

                “I’m sure it’s pride that has caused her to remain single until 32. Which man wants a Professor woman doing gra-gra in his house?” Thomas said and Blessing nodded in agreement.

                “When she was meant to have settled down, she was busy chasing some pipe dream.” Mrs. Nwachukwu said shaking her head.

                “It would have been better for her not to have even gone to school at all and be properly married, rather than having all these degrees and awards with nothing to show for them.” Thomas said, really warming up to the topic. “Will her PhD make her a real woman ehn?”

                “With all that reading, she probably thinks she’s better than everyone else.” Sandra said, drawing out a long hiss.

                “What if it’s something else?” Blessing said slyly.

                “What else could it be?” Their mother asked.

                “What if she’s a lesbian!” Blessing said and the other women gasped.

The Sunday Sun came down all the way this time.

                “Why would you even say such a thing?!” Their father asked glowering at her.

                “Think about it. How is it possible for anyone to get to that age without as much as a Boyfriend? Abi have you ever seen her bring any man home before?”

                “It’s true sha.” Sandra said. “Who knows what nonsense she has gone to learn in that place.”

                “See why I always advised her mother to bring her back home to Lagos.”

                “Don’t ever mention that nonsense in this house again!” Mr. Nwachukwu declared.

                “But it’s true now Daddy, she…” Sandra started.

                “That’s enough!”

Blessing exchanged a knowing look with her sister.

“Whether we say it or not, people will come to their own conclusions and talk, and it’s the family’s reputation at stake.” Mrs. Nwachukwu countered.

                “Has she not brought a husband home like you all asked?” their father said exasperated.

                “Let’s wait and see first.” Sandra retorted and he shook his head and went back to the Newspaper.

                “He’s probably a married man with children.” She continued.

                “Abi oh, just like Caroline.” Blessing chimed in.

                “That one is another case entirely, opened her eyes wide and had not one, not two, but three children for the same man who kept promising to leave his wife for her!” Mrs. Nwachukwu said. “God only knows what girls of nowadays are coming to. I blame it on bad upbringing.”

                “Yes oh. God forbid that any of my children becomes like these our cousins.” Sandra said snapping her fingers over her head.

Just then, the doorbell rang and the house girl ran to get the door. Cousin Ezinne came in holding hands with the mythical fiancé and all their jaws practically dropped to the floor. Not only was he very real with red blood flowing in his veins, he was also very white.

Ezinne went down on both knees in front of her uncle.

                “Ehihie Öma.” She greeted.

Ghost Fiancé prostrated before her uncle and his wife. He actually prostrated! The nerve of that girl, trying to pull the wool over their eyes!

                “Good evening Sir.” He said.

If he noticed the mouths hanging agape or the incredulous looks coming his way, he showed no signs of it.

                “It is a pleasure to finally meet you Sir.” He added. “And you too Ma’am.” He said to Mrs. Nwachukwu.

“Uncle, Auntie, this is Jared" Ezinne said shyly.

Despite how excited she'd been about introducing him to her family, she was very nervous. Her uncle was the first to overcome his shock and he proffered his hand, which Jared shook. 

"You're welcome. Please have a seat."

“These are my cousins, Sandra and Blessing, and this is Thomas, Blessings husband.”

"So, this is your fiancé!" Sandra blurted out and Ezinne beamed. 

"Yes." she replied.

They all stared, flummoxed as the myth they had thought was non-existent settled his behind on the leather sofa. He took Ezinne's hand in his and gave it a reassuring squeeze.

                “So how did you two meet?” Mr. Nwachukwu asked.

                “We met at University.” Jared answered. “We were housemates during our third year.” He said and Sandra’s and Blessing’s ears perked up at that.

                “So you two lived together?” Blessing said almost jumping out of her seat in righteous indignation.

                “Yes.” Ezinne replied. “We lived together for almost two years actually.” She turned in her seat to look at Jared. “Remember we had a leak in my Block during the last few months of year two and I was placed in a temp room on the second floor of your Block.”

                “Oh yeah, that’s true. I was on the fourth floor, so we didn’t really get to know each other well until our third year.”

                “Okay, so you lived in a Block of Apartments?” Mr. Nwachukwu said, giving the girls a pointed look.

                “Yes, the University’s Student Apartments.” Jared said.

Sandra huffed under her breath. Story for the gods, like that was going to fool anyone.

                “What do you do?” Thomas asked, eyeing him up. Let’s see if he was man at all.

                “I’m a Geophysicist with Halliburton. Been with them the last four years, since I completed my Masters degree. But now, I got an offer from Exxon Mobil so I’ll be returning home to Houston in a few months.”

                “So you’re American.” Mrs. Nwachukwu said.

                “Yes Ma’am.”

                “So you’re going to move to Houston.” Mrs. Nwachukwu said to Ezinne. “We thought you were finally returning home.”

                “Yes I’ll be moving to Houston. I’m already looking for Academic positions there.” She replied, crossing her legs. Blessing’s eyebrows shot up when she saw the line of music notes tattooed on her right ankle. She caught Sandra’s eye and shook her head in disgust.

The interrogation continued for almost two hours and with each moment that passed, their opinion of Ezinne kept dropping until it was at the bottom of the barrel. They didn’t want to have a big wedding (so now, she’s too big for all their family members to attend her wedding), they wanted to wait a year or two before having children (agaracha did not realize that her biological clock was ticking away) and they wanted just two children (of course she would be too busy chasing her career to have time to raise children), Jared’s family was Jewish (what happened to all the Catholic men in the world oh?) and they were going to have a Nissuin instead of a Church ceremony.

"I'm sure she's just using him to get a blue Passport." Timothy said as soon as Ezinne and Jared were out the door. 

"Before!" Sandra said. "It has arrangee written all over it!"

"But why on earth would he want to be with her?!" Blessing exclaimed indignantly "She's so old, why would anyone want to marry her?"

Outside, Ezinne almost collapsed with relief.

“Wow! That went way better than I expected!” She said.

“I told you it would be fine.” Jared replied.

“I was just so nervous!”

“You did well Babes.” He said giving her hand a squeeze.

“I’m so glad we got that out of the way.”

“You think that was scary? Wait until you meet my family!”

“They can’t be as bad as my family for sure.”

“They’re old-fashioned Southerners and won’t be too happy about having colored grandbabies…”

Baby Blues

            “You’re pregnant.”  The Lieutenant said to me matter of factly.

            “Sorry?”

            “ Urine analysis says you’re pregnant.” He gave me a look that demanded I explain myself. I stared at him dumb founded. I sure didn’t have a clue what to say. In fact, my brain was far from working at that moment. Without saying a word, I got up from the hard, plastic seat and walked out of the office in a daze. At the back of my mind was the thought that my Army career was over even before it’d started. First, I’d walked out on a senior officer without first being dismissed, and then there was the issue of the Baby. How was I going to explain that?

I brought out my phone still feeling numb. This was a call I really didn’t want to make but it had to be done. Bae’s number was on speed dial.

            “Hey Baby!”

            “You’re pregnant.” I blurted out.

            “Sorry?!”

Ah, my words exactly!

            “How is that even possible?!” I demanded.

            “Wait, what are you on about?” she asked, her confusion apparent in her voice.

            “I thought we said we were waiting! How…what’s happening!”

            “Excuse me!” she sounded affronted now. “What the hell are you talking about?”

            “The urine test came back positive!”

Positive for what exactly? I never even realized they carried out pregnancy tests. When I’d been doing my medicals, I’d just thought they would test for drugs or whatever. After going through 20 whole weeks of military training, imagine getting kicked out over a simple urine test! I have a history of kidney stones and I hadn’t wanted to take the chance that it would show up in my urine tests, so I’d asked my Girl Friend to pee in the little bottle. See where that has landed me, Baby-Daddy-to-be with a career that was DOA.

            “Wait, the urine I gave to you…”       

            “Yes Babe, it showed you’re pregnant!”

            “Err, I might have…”

            “Might have what?”

            “Well, that day when you asked for it, I crashed over at Kayode and Halima’s place.”

            “What has that got to do with anything?”

            “Well, Halima was at the Conference in Abuja and…”

I sure wasn’t liking where the story was going. Kayode is Bae’s  Best Friend from way back, like when-we-were-still-in-diapers way back.

            “Auntie Flo was around and I was still on Nuerofen-Plus then and I reckoned the codine might show up in the test. We don’t want the army thinking you’re a junkie now, do we?!”

I sure had no idea what the hell she was on about.

            “So I had to ask Kayode to give me the urine sample since Halima wasn’t around.”

            “Wait, so the urine wasn’t yours?”

            “Yeah, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you at the time. I just felt it wouldn’t matter.”

            “So, Kayode is pregnant!”

            “It sure seems like it!”

Two minutes later, she had set up a WhatsApp group chat because I definitely wanted to hear what Kayode had to say.

 

The Negotiator

My madam is not necessarily the easiest person to work for. She has her moments and can be outright crazy. I have come to understand her and her crazy mood swings and we have our ways, we know how we roll.

About six weeks ago, she told me her best friend was coming from Abuja to visit and that we had to prepare specially for the visit; clean up the house from top to bottom, get the guest room on the first floor ready, stock the house with her favorite foods. My crazy madam went overboard during the days leading up to the arrival of her friend. One moment she wanted the red curtains and the bed pushed against the wall, the next, she wanted the bed at the window and the curtains hanging in the other guest room, which had to be taken down, washed, ironed and then hung up. And of course she changed her mind like five million times. Then she decided I had to wear a uniform and changed her mind and said I looked like a “trendy maid” in my regular clothes.

At first, I thought it was all in a bid to impress her friend and show off but as the arrival date drew closer, I realized that it was more of feelings of insecurity, and you could tell that she was somewhat intimidated by her friend. She became even more impossible to live with and practically drove me up the wall.

When Mrs. Monica (like she asked to be addressed) arrived, everything went fine for a few days before it all started to go pear shaped. She started out really nice and sweet and she even said please and thank you all the time. Then she just seemed to wake up one day and started to complain about everything, even when it was perfect and of course my madam would blow a fuse at every little thing. One day, when Mrs. Monica complained that her móí-móí was too hot and had scalded her tongue, my madam dragged me into the kitchen by my ear and told me the story of my life. She said I was trying to ruin her reputation by disgracing her in front of her friend and that I wanted to make her the laughing stock of the town. I desperately wanted to tell her that laughing at her was the last thing on my mind, seeing as my ear was about to fall off. When we went back into the dining room, Mrs. Monica smiled at me and asked if I could please warm up the móí-móí as it had gone cold while she was waiting for us to come out of the kitchen. You should have seen the evil look my madam gave me, as if I was the one who had wasted a good half hour cussing in half a dozen different languages.

One time, Mrs. Monica taught me how to make omelets and she was so pleased with my finished work. She told me I was a natural and how we were going to have such a great time trying out recipes. Next thing, when my madam got back home from work, she told her she was tired and famished from doing “all that work in the kitchen”, imagine! And she would do all these things with a sweet smile on her face and you would wonder if your ears were deceiving you or if you had suddenly gone senile.

Two days before she was to leave, she asked my madam to let me accompany her on a shopping trip. After visiting practically every shopping mall in Lagos and every exclusive store, we went back home and spent the night and the next day packing up her luggage. Again, she did the about face thing and was really pleasant during the shopping. Every time she got herself a snack or drink, she insisted I have something too. She even asked for my opinion on what gifts to buy her nieces and grand children. While packing, she reminisced about her youth and all the places she had travelled to and she told me these amazing stories about these amazing places. She even showed me pictures on her phone. By the time she left, I had forgotten about all the issues she caused with my madam and I really started to miss her. That was until she called my madam and complained to her that she was really dissatisfied with my work and that I hadn’t packed up her luggage properly. That’s how my madam went into a fit of rage like I’ve never seen before, throwing things and telling me the story of my life. She abused me, abused my mother and everyone for my village join, and then threw me out that night. Even if she no fire me, me sef I go carry my leg waka commot. I don tire jàre. As I was walking to the bus stop with my Ghana-must-go on my head, wondering how I was going to return to my mother in the village, a car pulled up beside me. The driver’s window came down and lo and behold, it was Mrs. Monica’s driver who had been around with her on her visit. He gave me a phone and said Mrs. Monica wanted to speak with me. I reckoned that if she was also going to start abusing me and my mother, she sha couldn’t attempt to throw a knife at me through the phone.

            “Omoladé,” she said without any preamble. “I want you to come and work for me. There’s a plane ticket to Abuja with your name on it…”