Red Robot and Climate Change

My period is the one that's going to do the planet in. For real. I would probably get arrested if I had to measure my monthly carbon footprint within those 5 days. Or lynched. Or worse.

I've got several reproductive health issues that make me a walking, breathing blood fountain.  Chief amongst them are the fibroids that make my lower abdomen look like a distended avocado (I swear, it's not a food baby or beer belly). So, when that time of the month rolls around, all hell practically breaks lose. There are the crazy mood swings, then the period pains that hurt like a b*#$. And don't even talk about the ovulation pains (yup, good things happen in twos on this sorry side of the street). Now, the blood flow, though, that's on a whole new level, even with chugging tranexamic acid like a junkie.

My life sometimes feels like a really, really crappy slasher movie. My bathroom has had blood splatters in the most ridiculous of places. I mean, how on earth did blood get on the ceiling! It's not like I was doing a headstand in the tub while simultaneously doing a vagina fart! Better get Gibbs out of retirement to figure that one out. 🤷‍♀️

Auntie Flo and I have this hilarious game where we see how fast I can run to the bathroom right after being startled awake by the feeling at all hours of the night. Let me try to explain the game. It doesn’t matter if I’ve only just conked out or if I’m wearing Always’ biggest woman-nappy, when the game starts, all bets are off. I usually just start awake with this feeling that something is terribly wrong. Then, in a split second, my sleep-muddled mind clears, and I roll out of bed with my legs clenched together and hobble-run to the bathroom as fast as I can because the tap has gone from zero to 120 in the space of seconds. To me, it feels more like getting kicked out of bed. Nothing is sacred in this kooky game. Not my mattress. Not my sheets or even the carpet. Definitely not my sanity! One time, I started awake and was so absolutely sure that Jack the Ripper had come back to life, and I’d been his latest victim! I’d woken up drenched in blood, and it took more than a few moments for my brain to kick into gear. I should seriously consider sleeping in the bathtub during Auntie Flo’s visits. Let's just say that my mattress is never going to Goodwill. The landfill sef would probably reject it if it could talk.

I keep doing load after load of laundry. I just keep washing, and showering, and scrubbing, and rinsing, and wiping, over and over, in this never-ending cycle. Let's not talk about my water and heating bills during those 5 critical days. Let's not talk about the gallons and gallons of water that just keep flowing down the drain in that disgusting, dirty brown colour. Let's not talk about the amount of bleach that goes down with it. Let's forget the laundry soap and body wash, too. Best not to ponder those things too deeply.

Then, there's the smell, dear Lord! Maybe it's the fact that after the first couple of days, almost every fabric in my apartment (and my car) has gone through the red sprinkler at least once, and my mind starts to amplify the smell, but Lawd, that smell! I've had one woman claim that her red BFF smells like fresh blood. Probably just a heap of porky tales (she was, after all, smiling like a contestant at a Southern Belle beauty pageant while delivering that line. All that was missing was the wave 🙄). I don't think I've met anyone, porky tales or not, who complains about the smell that much, and I've started to wonder if I'm just one heck of a lucky gal or if, like me, everyone else is too embarrassed (or more likely shocked into silence by the ghastliness of it) to talk about it. Even just thinking about it now is making me gag!

You know, these re-useable cloth pads seem to be the rage now, and I’m sure the environmentalists in the house would be giving me side-eye and telling me that considering the number of sanitary products I blitz through each month, I should switch to re-useables and save some space in the landfills for other (more important) things. Maybe save me some money, too. Question: Do you think I want to be faced with a drawer full of that cloying, retch-inducing after-wash metallic smell for the remaining three weeks of my red-free month?! Maybe the real question is if I can survive having that smell waft out of my drawers all month long! The thought of it alone makes me want to sign up for a total hysterectomy! Believe me, Febreze and Lenore are no match for that smell. I just know I would lose my sanity. So, as much as I would love to do my bit in saving the planet, I CAN’T do reusable. I just can’t!

I hardly ever write about Auntie Flo, but when I do, it seems it’s always just to moan and rant and feel sorry for myself! However, on this seemingly innocuous Sunday morning when Auntie Flo decided it was time to play our wacky game again, and I found myself considering my vagina's Picasso abilities again with a blanket clutched between my legs like a woman-nappy, I had this serene moment where I knew I would be okay; everything is going to be okay...January 30, 2022

Justice According To Vengeance

How much will a father give up, to be his little girl’s Hero?

How far will a woman go to protect the ones she loves?

Is all really fair in love and war?

I had it all. My life was perfect. Until one man took it all from me.
Now, it's time to make him pay.

Read Simon's harrowing story. Now available on Amazon in Paperback and Kindle format, OkadaBooks, and other online stores.

Giddi Commute: Abegi Sir

This evening’s drama was straight out of a bad Nollywood movie. It started out as the normal story, dánfó driver on Lékkí-Èpé Expressway driving nonsense. He scratches someone’s Prado Jeep and tries to escape. Mr. Prado Jeep gives chase and of course he catches us after all of two minutes. Where exactly did Mr. Dánfó driver think he was running to, what with the usual traffic on Lékkí-Èpé Express way? So, Mr. Prado catches us and steps out of his car in full military uniform. Kpekélé kpekèlè, arúgbó je gbèsè! Of all the Jeeps in Lagos, this dánfó driver went to scratch a soldier’s own! I don’t know much about the Nigerian Army but the guy’s uniform looked so impressive, he must have been a top guy.

The passengers who had been raining abuses on the driver before then became subdued and kept shut. You know how when someone presses the mute button and the TV just shuts up kpam? That’s how we all just swallowed our voices as if on cue.

The Soldier simply went to the driver’s side, pulled his door open and dragged him out by his shirt.

        “Oga abeg…” the driver started. The rest was silenced with a bone shattering slap.

Kai, I felt that slap from where I was sitting. The driver tried to fall to his knees (or maybe his knees just gave way beneath him) but Oga Soldier simply dragged him up by his shirt and delivered another slap. At this point, we all overcame or speechlessness and started to beg earnestly on behalf of the driver. The conductor went over to prostrate himself flat in front of the Soldier but mba, him no gree. Before we knew it, some minion Soldiers had arrived at the scene. Of course, a big boy Soldier like that one doesn’t walk alone. They just jejely took Mr. driver and carried him to their pick up truck and drove off with him.

        “Ah, tiè ba lóòní!” someone exclaimed.

        “The kain beat he will chop today ehn?”

        “Na where dem dey carry am go?” a woman asked.

I was thinking the same thing but was afraid of what the answer would be.

        “Ah, dem dey carry am go barracks be that!”

        “When him see Soldier again, him go run!”

        “Conductor, you no go go look for your driver?”

        “Abi oh, you no go go bail am out?”

        “Na where him wan go look for am?”

        “If he follow them, them go just beat am join!”

        “Abeg, who sabi drive for here?” That from the conductor.

We all stopped in our commiserations when it hit us that we were now sans a driver and had only just reached Ìkàté.

        “Ah, it’s true oh, how person go reach Àjáh now?”

        “Abeg give me my money oh make I join another bus.”

The pity party was over. People really weren’t smiling at all.

        “Make una no worry, we go reach Àjáh.” The conductor said.

        “How? We go fly?”

        “Abeg no waste time jàre, make we quickly find another bus enter.”

        “This man go sabi drive the bus.” The conductor said, pointing to a man on the second row.

All our collective necks swung to look at the man. The man sef swung his head to see our would-be savior only for him to find all eyes on him.

        “Me ke?!” he exclaimed.

        “How you take know say him sabi drive?” someone demanded.

        “Abi you don become Octopus Paul?” someone else said.

        “Na wetin be that?” some other guy asked.

        “Na where you for dey when them dey play World Cup?”

        “Which one consign me consign World Cup?”

        “See you, them never born you that time.”

        “Shey you even sabi who Obasanjo be?”

        “How I no go sabi that one?!”

        “If Octopus Paul still dey alive, he for tell us tey tey say PDP no go enter again!”

        “Abeg stop that nonsense! Him for warn us say na like this e go dey be!”

Were these people for real at all?! We were stranded here by the side of the high way and they’re arguing over Octopus Paul! Lagos really is a crazy place.

        “Oga, abeg come drive the moto commot for here.” The conductor implored.

        “How you take know say I sabi drive?” the would-be savior asked.

        “I see as you dey control the driver.”

Say what? What does that even mean.

                “True oh, im dey tell am to cut him hand that time when he jam that soh-ja!”

As in seriously! So that’s all that’s needed to qualify for the driver’s seat?

In a heartbeat, everyone on the bus was swearing by their mothers that they just knew that the man was the black reincarnation of double-oh-seven himself.

        “I sabi drive the bus but na Igbó Efòn I dey go oh. After that one you dey on your own.” The man finally conceded.

        “Oga, nothing do you, abeg help our situation.” The conductor begged.

        “Na wetin you wan make I do? I no go go house?”

        “Chairman no worry, I go settle you bus money reach Igbó Efòn, just hep me drive this bus reach Àjáh abeg.”

Long story short oh, the conductor psyched the man sotey he agreed to drive us all the way to Àjáh without jamming anyone’s car on the way! This is Lagos after all, what else is new under the sun?!

Bestie of Life

No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no! This can’t possibly be happening!

I was having a heart attack, cross my heart and hope to die. Really. I refreshed the Internet Explorer window again and tried to open the word document. I got the same error message that the file I was trying to open was corrupt and could not be opened. I ejected the flash drive and tried it on another laptop. Same results.

Kai! T’emi bami!

That wretched stick of a thing had somehow gobbled up my project and I was due to show it to my Supervisor. Unfortunately for me, my supervisor is stationed at Idi-Araba, not Akoka, so I always have to make the dreaded weekly visits there to meet with him. And if you had a sadistic supervisor like mine, you would realize that you didn't even need a world-people flash drive for him to do you strong thing. In fact, my predicament would have him doing cartwheels in glee.

There was only one person that came to mind in that instant and I called her up immediately, knowing she would have a solution sha.

                “Bimpe.”

                “Hey what’s up!”

                “I need your help.”

                “What’s the matter?”

                “Please tell me you’re still at home.”

                “Why, what’s wrong?”

                “My stupid flash is corrupted! And I have to show Ajayi my Chapter six today!”

                “Wow! “

                “Everything is on my desktop at home. I just need someone to send it to me.”

                “Okay, let me see…”

                “You’ve left already abi?”

                “Yeah but don’t worry about it.”

                “Ah, how will you do it now?”

                “Shebi you can access your emails from Idi-Araba now?”

                “Yes but I don’t want to put you out like that oh, I’ll just rush back and pray that there’s no traffic.”

And Dr. Ajayi will gladly kick me out of his office for being late.

                “Don’t worry, I’ll email it to you.”

                “Are you sure?”

                “Of course! Don’t worry about it.”

                “You’re simply the best!” I gushed, relief washing over me.

                “Haha, and I know it!”

                “Thanks a million, I owe you big time!”

                “Yup you do! Give me like twenty minutes.”

                “Okay, oshey ore mi!”

                “Laters.”

What ever would I do without that girl? Bimpe is simply the best friend and sister anyone could ask for. She is the Martha to my Mary in the practical sense of it. She is as organized as I’m scatter-brained and the thing with my project is just one of many instances where she’s come in and saved the day. Who went to face off my Landlord when he suddenly decided to disconnect me from power supply? Who plans our shopping and cooks for the week on weekends? Who helped me pick out the dress to wear to my class Dinner? Who helped me sort things out when my junk-heap of a car was burgled and my laptop and handbag stolen? Me, I just had a total meltdown. Who was there to kick my butt through second semester exams last year when I lost my mum? Now you’re starting to get the gist.

We had been roommates in Moremi in year three and we got along so well even though we were in different faculties. We decided to step up to the Big Girls level in our final year, so we got BQs in Ozolua and stayed just around the corner from each other. We were more than Besties, she was more like the sister I always wished I had. I had even introduced her to my clan of crazy cousins and nieces and nephews and all what not. We'd all been close growing up and had gotten in and out of trouble together. She had been a big hit with them and had been literally adopted into the mad-house. That was why I was doubly excited when Capt’n Zii, my usual partner in crime within the clan gave me gist of this road trip to Ghana. When I got back home that day, I was bursting to tell her the news.

                “The guys are organizing a road trip to - wait for it!!” I started dramatically and she laughed. I started to make dramatic drumming sounds.

                “Hope everything went well with your supervisor?” she asked and I ignored her. That one was past tense joor. I was talking legendary stuffz here and she’s bringing up Mr. Ogre.

                “Ghana!”

                “Wow nice!”

                “Yup, yup.”

                “Gee, can I come?”

                “Of course! Why do you think I’m telling you? Zii has warned me not to show my face if you’re not there too!”

                “Yay!”

                “I’ve thought the whole thing through.” I said and she gave me a dubious look. Everyone knows I’m soooooo not the planner. “We have to go by air because we only have the long Independence weekend, but we can save money if we share a room. We can also save on feeding by taking some edibles along. Then we can…”

                “Really? We’ll share a room?” she interrupted. “The both of us?”

                “Yeah. We could save more money if we got a bigger room and shared with two other people but I guess it’ll be better if it’s just two of us, I know my family, they can be cu-ray-zay!. The cost shouldn’t be too bad and I’m sure we’ll be fine. Worst case, I’ll pull the Baby-Sis-card with my Brother and get some money off him.”

                “You’re willing to let me come on a family trip?!” She asked getting all mushy. Bless her, she was such a sentimental wuss.

                “Of course! It’s going to be such an amazing trip, we’re going to have such fun!” I said literally bouncing off the walls in excitement. "It's gonna be just us, no adults or babies! Tunrayo and Derenle are coming, and the twins as well. Dare is bringing a friend as well and uncle Leke said Ireti can come, which should be interesting, what with all that drama between her and Dara! Oh God I can't wait!" I gave a silly little laugh and she laughed too, getting infected with my excitement. Then she threw her arms around me and kissed me smack on the lips.

                “I love you Boo, I’m so glad I found you.” She said earnestly.

Say what?!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I pulled back from her, totally lost for what to do or say!


*An abridged version of this story was originally published here on Breakpoint.
Breakpoint is the official Blog of Connected, a Christian Entertainment and Social Networking Platform. Read up on events and activities on Breakpoint and follow @connectedlagos.

Fear Itself

Ah, and Mommie said we should not watch that movie oh!

It was the week of Mum and Dad’s wedding anniversary. It was special because it was the 15th and Daddy had been making plans for a long time. It fell on a Thursday, so they were going to go away on a romantic weekend getaway. Mum had asked her sister, Auntie Kenny to Baby-sit that weekend and me and my sisters were excited about that. We all loved Auntie Kenny because she’s never too fussy about brushing our teeth before bed and she lets us stay up a little bit later than we should. Auntie Kéhìndé is just four years older than Solápé, my oldest sister who is fourteen. Pèlúmi is eleven and I’m the man of the house at nine.

We all waved good-bye to my parents on the evening of Friday at about seven. Mommy had come home a bit early from work and had taken out time to get all dressed up. They were going for dinner at Four Points and then going to spend the rest of weekend at some resort on an island, Inagbe I think it’s called. Mommie had been raving on and on about it and I’d looked at all the glossy pictures in the Brochure.

As soon as daddy’s Peugeot 607 drove out of the gates, we all let out a whoop. It sure was going to be a night to remember, and not just for Mommie and Daddy! You know when you’re told not to touch something, it’s then that it starts to call out to you in Dija’s voice, Boy you’re all that I want, even if on a normal day, you wouldn’t be remotely interested in it? That Clash of The Titans DVD sure knew how to sing! Mommy had bought the DVD at Shoprite and had been excited about it. She said it was the original 1981 make of the movie and that she’d been dying to see it again after so many years. When we’d asked to watch it with her, she had refused and said it was one of the “touch not”s. She said we were too young to watch it, even Solápé who was a teen-ager already. So that DVD had sat on the shelf for all of two weeks while our curiosity just grew and grew. And of course it was the very first thing we asked Auntie Kenny to let us do that Friday night. So as soon as we had gobbled down our dinner of beans and fried plantain, and washed up the dishes, we all piled into the three-seater sofa with Auntie Kenny in the middle to operate the remote controls. Solápé made some dramatic drumming sounds as Auntie Kenny pressed the play button and the movie started.

The first sign of trouble came when Calibos appeared in his half human-half beast form, but since all the women in the room didn’t seem fazed, I had to chop small tushka and continued to watch. It didn’t help that I was at the edge of the sofa closest to the door into the dark corridor. By the time Perseus went to visit the three witches, the space on the couch had mysteriously increased and the four of us were huddled together in a tight ball in the middle. I was practically sitting in Pèlúmi’s laps but she didn’t seem to notice or mind one bit.

When you’re watching a horror movie late at night, especially one that you’re not meant to be watching, there’s only one thing that can happen at the very height of the horror. Picture this: Medusa makes her grand entry in all her horrific glory, eyes blazing and snaky hair waving in a million directions. Your heart is thudding in your bony little chest and you’re strangely quiet, not because you’re cool, calm and collected or even forming man of the house, but because your scream is frozen in your throat. Then on cue NEPA takes light.

There was a split moment of calm before Pèlúmi let out a scream, which of course led to utter chaos.

       “Something touched my leg!” she sobbed when we’d calmed down a bit.

Instinctively, six feet snapped up and onto the sofa.

       “What was it!” Solápé demanded.

       “I don’t know!” Pèlúmi snapped. “If I did, would I have screamed?”

       “Well, if you did know and it was Medusa’s tail, you would have done more than scream.” I pointed out and was rewarded with an elbow in my side.

       “Owwwwww!”

       “Everybody quiet!” Auntie Kenny snapped. “We have to go figure out why the inverter didn’t come on.” She said.

That got us all quiet. The inverter was located under the stairs, all the way outside the house, plus there was that dark corridor with all the unknowns lurking in the shadows between the sitting room and the front door.

       “So, who is coming with me?” Auntie Kenny asked and we all stayed silent. “Two of us will go to the inverter and two people will stay here.” She declared when no one said anything.

I started to do the maths in my head. I’d heard the neighbors’ Gen come on, which meant if I decided to go to the inverter, I only had to worry about the monsters hiding in the dark stretch of the corridor. The security lights outside would have come on.  Meanwhile, there were so many possibilities with staying in the house. Suddenly, the house started to feel very large indeed.

       “Okay, I’ll go.” I said and I heard Solápé and Pèlúmi heave a joint sigh of relief.

Auntie Kenny turned on her phone’s flashlight and we headed for the door.

       “Wait!” Solápé called out at the last moment.

       “What?” Auntie Kenny snapped. If I hadn’t known better, I would have thought her voice had a tremor to it.

       “We won’t have any light in here when you go.” Solápé said.

       “Well, there’s just one phone.” Auntie Kenny said. “You might as well go and get the torchlight from the kitchen.”

       “But it’s dark in the kitchen.” Pèlúmi wailed.

       “You can either go and get the torchlight or sit here and wait.” Auntie Kenny said.

On the long run, all four of us huddled around the light from Auntie Kenny’s Nokia 101 and made our way into the corridor with all its dark cavernous doorways leering at us like monsters’ mouths. I tried not to imagine the Kraken jumping out at me from those dark doorways but men, it was hard!

We were almost at the front door when we heard the scraping sounds from the other side of the door. I don’t even know who screamed first. It was probably the lot of us taking up the chorus at the same time. We’d all somehow found our way to Mommie and Daddy’s room before we remembered that they weren’t home and couldn’t save us from the legion of Titans at the front door. Sometime during the commotion, Auntie Kenny’s phone must have fallen or died because the room was plunged in darkness.

       “Lock the door!” Solápé panted.

       “You lock it!” I retorted.

       “But you came in last!” Solápé snapped.

       “No I didn’t!”

       “Auntie Kenny, tell him to lock the door before they get in here.” Solápé demanded.

       “Auntie Kenny?” I called out when she didn’t reply.

       “They got Auntie Kennie!” Pèlúmi wailed and started to cry.

The three of us found our way in the dark to the king size bed and huddled together in the center of it. I looked out into the dark in the general direction of the door, expecting it to burst open at any moment.

       “What have they done to her?” Pèlúmi sobbed against my back, her tears mixing with the sweat that was soaking through my tee shirt like a river.

       “How am I supposed to know!” Solápé snapped, her voice wobbling.

I knew she was fighting hard not to cry and that she didn’t mean to be short with Pèlúmi. The terror was doing crazy things to all of us.

       “Whhhhat is tttthat?” Pèlúmi asked shakilly, pausing her sobbing.

       “What?!” Solápé snapped.

       “Ttthat ssssound?”

We all listened and sure enough, there was some eerie noise coming from the direction of the door that we were reminded was still very unlocked. It sounded like a low hissing interspersed with some nerve racking clacking. It sounded familiar, in fact, I didn’t even have to think too deeply about it before recognizing the sound for what it was. It was the very last thing we’d heard just before NEPA took light and this horrible nightmare started: it was the sound of Medusa’s hiss and her rattling tail. And it was getting louder and closer. Pèlúmi and Solápé seemed to join the dots at the same time as me and for probably the umpteenth time that night, all hell broke loose and we did the mad dash in the dark for Mommie and Daddy’s en-suite bathroom. I slammed my shin into the corner of the bedpost and someone scratched out half of my face but I didn’t even notice a thing. All that mattered in that moment was making it through the five feet or so to the bathroom and safety. We fought our way to the bathroom and locked the door this time. We crowded into the bathtub and pulled the shower curtains for extra protection. Both girls started to wail and the only reason I didn’t join in was because I was probably shutting down from all the terror.

Next thing I knew was that Medusa started to push against the bathroom door. She rattled the doorknob a few times and then thumped on the door. My sisters shrieked and went crazy and used me as a human shield. The last thought that flickered across my mind as the lock gave way on the door and it burst open, flooding the bathroom with light (most definitely from Medusa’s blazing eyes) was I wished Mommie were here…

       “Akínkúnlé…” Medusa shrieked in Mommie’s sweet, sweet voice. I braced myself, wondering what it felt like to turn to stone.

Then someone paused the horror movie and pressed fast-forward to about thirty odd minutes later in the horror movie that our evening had become. Picture all four of us standing with our hands clasped behind our backs and staring intently at our toes while Mommie and Daddy gave us a serious tongue scalding. Yeah, Mommie and Daddy. There had been a storm (the reason for the black out) and their boat couldn’t leave for the island that night, so after dinner, they had returned home. Well, you can piece the rest of the story together. Titans at the door? Yours truly. Medusa starting to sing? Well, Daddy put on the generator on their way in and the movie started to play again (see how the thing just koba’ed us! Ain’t no way we can deny watching the forbidden movie now). Medusa at the bathroom door? Mommie trying to figure out why we were hiding out in the bathroom. Auntie Kenny being eaten by the Titans? Well, when we all freaked out at the front door, she’d heard Mommie’s voice behind the door and had opened the door instead of making a run for it like the rest of us.

Now you can bet your last penny that if anyone says “don’t touch that thing”, I’m running a million miles away from it!

Conquering The Wench

I don’t like fizzy water. I never have. I thought I never would. It’s like drinking tasteless soda, which to me is pointless. Very pointless. The only reason I would subject my teeth and my body to soda’s assault is to enjoy that short-lived pleasure of sweetness on my taste buds. I don’t even like carbonated drinks to start with, so why on earth would I drink fizzy water!

Every time I saw someone take fizzy water, I would shudder, imagining that tasteless taste on my tongue and I would gag. Like seriously, It’s like paddling a boat on sand and wondering why you’re not getting anywhere. It’s like running on a treadmill to catch the bus. Basically, pointless!

Then one day, I was having a meal and started to choke and all there was within my reach was a bottle of fizzy water so I gulped it down. Then some other time, I drank it, just for the sake of it, just to prove to every crazy person out there who thought the idea of fizzy water was a great one, that they were crazy. And before I knew it, it didn’t seem so bad. From not so bad, it started to have a character of its own, the way the gas effervesces in your mouth, filling it up temporarily before the bubbles all pop, that tasteless taste that was full of abstract flavors, each one unique and telling your taste buds a different exotic secret of its own, the way it goes down your throat, still bubbling and popping…sigh. Now I’ve become the one who asks for fizzy water at restaurants or eateries and sighs long-sufferingly when she’s given the blank, uncomprehending stares.

And you know the very worst part of it all? Now that I have finally admitted how much in love I am with the infuriating thing, it is nowhere to be found! I think I have checked every single Supermarket in Lagos and the very best I have got is “Sorry, we just ran out.” It’s as if the silly thing is trying to make me pay for all the years of snobbery and turning up my nose at it and doing my mouth like they put ewúro in it. Sometimes, I wonder if it didn’t just come after me relentlessly, stopping at absolutely nothing to woo me just for the satisfaction of dumping me and stomping on my heart when it finally had it.

And you know how these things work, the more it eludes me, the more I want it. Even knowing as I do right now that this whole romance of ours was just a farce and it was all just a ploy at payback, doesn’t stop me from wanting it and craving it. I can just imagine it standing with its fellow carbonated drinks on a hidden shelf somewhere in Shoprite (probably in Portharcourt or Kano or Pluto), bragging with pride “I broke the Ice Queen, I climbed the tree no one else can, brought the Wench to her knees!” >:(

I hate and love the annoying thing in almost equal measure! Someone please, please get me a bottle of fizzy water… :’(

This Post has previously been published on Breakpoint.

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…”