In loving memory...

 In loving memory of my best friend, a friend like no other
 Ojoma Idajili- Adejo Moses

I do not know why she decided to be my friend.  We were different, different is just the word. She decided to see the awesomeness in me and be there for me at all times. We grew up on each other over time, became inseparable but the time was so short.

I remember some of the secrets we shared, she knew my deepest secrets and I hers. When all we dreamt of was meeting Prince Charming and falling in love in the sweetest of ways, we both experienced that.

We had big expectations for sex too. I remember her ‘waiting’. Waiting for that one perfect person. We had all these grand fantasies about actually ‘doing it’. Those were the good old days.

I remember Ojoma tagging along with me in my secret quest to satisfy my carnivorous needs. My siblings repeatedly say I was switched up at birth with a Tiv couples’ child hence my love for beef. (Meat-eater is the Igala word for the Tiv people) They say I started eating beef before I started drinking water. She never judged me.

Ojoma never judged my anti-social nature, she never judged my cynicism, she just loved me. Yes she knew I was anti-social and cynical but she loved me all the same. I loved her too, she knew I loved her.

My best friend is just a memory now. My best friend is in past tense, my best friend is dead. All I have with me are the sweet sweet memories of the girl that selflessly loved a cynical, unfriendly me. My Ojoma is gone. I feel honoured I had such a glory as my best bud.

She was all about life, celebrating every birthday, hanging out and having fun. I remember one birthday party she made me organise, I invited everyone I knew for the party, that was half the town or more! On the said day Ojoma said that funds were yet to arrive. We did the party somehow. I stole my mother’s chicken, Ojoma stole her mother’s chicken, I made some kind of fruit punch with zobo leaves, baked a cake and iced it, wonder of all wonders, the icing was really nice. The party was a huge success. I remember how we threw back out heads and laughed after the party, I remember our mumbled responses when we were quizzed about the whereabouts of Ojoma’s mother hen.

The next year, I declined to organize the party, I even did not attend. I could hear the music blaring but I did not show up till after the party.  Ojoma was not angry with me. In retrospect, I would have organised that party, I would have organised every birthday party for me dear friend. In retrospect…

Ojoma decided to follow me to my village for my father’s burial, for my traditional wedding, even I did not want to go to the village. My village is faaar, even I don’t go there as frequently. She even made matching clothes and all.  I can go on and on, the story will never end. She was just a rare gem.

My dear Ojoma left behind her loving husband and two kids. The honeymoon was not even over before my bestie died.

For the first time since I started writing, I experienced writers block. I had so much to pen but I couldn’t control my body to do my bidding. I am writing this now.

In loving memory of my friend among friends, I wish I deserved your friendship more, I wish I was a better friend, I wish we had many more years to just chill and have a nice time and celebrate all that is life. I take solace in the fact that we will meet at Jesus’ feet. We will groove every day, we will celebrate every minute in style, in pomp, with joy. Sandalili, I meant it every time I called you my love, I meant every nice thing I did for you I meant it when I said I wished I could do more and I meant it every time I told and did not tell you thank you for being there. You were a friend among friends. You will never be forgotten.

On baby mamas and side chicks

1. I heard the rumour almost eight years ago that 5 girls were expecting babies for Tuface Idibia, the reigning Nigerian musical legend. I was quite shamefaced, as a budding feminist that was all about the dignity of the 21^st century woman but I guess I was alone.

Eight years down the line, the trending phrase is ‘baby-mama’! What in the name of God is baby mama? Of course it started in Hollywood, with the sad exes of famous people getting public attention for all the wrong reasons (eg, Black Chyna, Amber Rose etc) and Nigerians got on the trend train thanks to Linda Ikeji blog and her cohorts (I respect Linda a lot, she is an icon). The concept of baby-mamaism was gold plated and pedestalised and every other day another Nigerian baby mama was unveiled.

2. My favourite Nigerian artist Flavour, the Igbo dude with the bod, had a baby-mama, a real Princess from a royal family, as fair as the morning sun, and all the rave was about her till she had the baby. Then came the next baby-mama, a beauty queen at the peak of her life/career. Baby-mama number 2 has just been delivered of a most beautiful daughter, no ring, no vows, rather back and forth banters about who the main chick is amidst rumours of a new romance brewing.

3. Neyo, my favourite R/b artist, on whose voice I had a huge crush (till I saw a picture of him without his hat) was the rave of many ladies in my time. He had a baby-mama who had two lovely children for him and they both decided she have a tubal ligation (tying or blocking of the fallopian tubes to prevent future pregnancy). I mean, that was deep, till he broke up with her and had another baby-mama on the way, who he is planning to walk down the aisle (after she puts to bed of course). In a recent development, he rained down a tirade of flaming words on everyone who thought or felt that it was unfair to the first baby mama and claimed that all that was important was his happiness. This was on twitter, for the whole world to see!

4. Let’s not mention more of these, the list is inexhaustible…

Who is a baby mama? The main/side chick that decides to have a baby for a guy whom she is dating even though he doesn’t see the need to put a ring on it, most times in hopes that she will be his main/only chick.

For a feminist, this whole definition and terminology is both disgusting and condescending. In this generation of the ‘power woman’ it is a major disgrace.

I know a number of women who are single mothers. Strong, dignified and to be applauded for their decision to be moms against all odds and the concept of baby-mamaism puts their efforts and sacrifice to shame.

It’s really fresh when ladies claim that marriage is overrated and the in thing is to have a child to love and hold but it becomes embarrassing to feminists like me when they start fighting and dragging with the side/main chick of the baby daddy. It punches holes on all the independent woman claims.

If the guy can go unscathed to his next relationship or marriage, how come, the lady, who will be the one to suffer the hormonal changes for two years or more, who has to battle with weight gain and body image, who gets to be at the butt of judgmental fingers pointing at her and labeling her doesn’t give a thought to this?

I had a lot of crazy lady friends back in the day and I know for sure that the craziest and naughtiest of  young girls back in the day are the most settled as wives today, this really gets me thinking, when did this concept of side chicking, baby-mamaing become a norm? Its un-African and it just makes my job as a feminist difficult unnecessarily.

This is the dating formula of self-respect. Date, court, wed, bed, become a parent. Alternately, quietly have your baby and raise him/her like royalty. Definitely not bed, baby-mama, bitch at the next baby mama etc, its painful to watch.

I expect a lot of backlash, most of the lashers however would be married mothers. I’ll tell you this in advance, if baby-maming was such a cool idea, why are you respectfully married? Why aren’t you chasing the guy and his present girlfriend about like Amber Rose and Black Chyna were, making a mockery of yourself?

credits; ojonugwa sapphire abu

Please, no more pasta!!!

 

credits; Musa Haruna!

My wife and I

I love my wife, I loved my wife, it’s quite confusing. Ara used to be a sweet and gentle babe. I couldn’t wait to marry her. Ours was a dream wedding, I was so happy I thought I was going to run mad. She was all that and then some.

I started noticing some of her annoying behaviours after we had our first baby. She would not let anything, not even the baby get in the way of her comfort. I got scared for the baby’s safety and got a nanny. She didn’t seem to bother.

After the second and third children, I realized that the concept of Ara and I was an unbalanced one. I was fulfilling the roles of both parents. She would sit at home and complain about everything, the country, the economy, the kids, me, even her family.

I was relieved when she got a job. She was on the morning shift which meant she had to leave early to resume by 7 am and close by 3 pm. She was the perfect employee. She would wake up even before the roosters began to rustle and prepare for her work day.  At 6 am, she would leave the house. There was never a thought given to the kids well being or care. After work, she would eat whatever she found in the house and sleep or watch movies.

So I became the head nanny. I would bathe the little cuties and prepare their meals. The nanny tried to take charge but I let her take the backseat. Every child deserves at least a parent. Naturally, the children and I bonded and they preferred me to their mother. That got her really pissed. She basically ignored and avoided us.

That’s when I met Hauwa. She was quite the opposite of Ara attitudinally. Where Ara will hold in selfish emotions and be passive aggressive in the most annoying manner, Hauwa was selfless and expressive. She could even give a scold as harsh as my mother’s. she would call to find out where I was and send me home to my boring wife.

Hauwa was a chef. I took to ordering meals from her. She made the best Ogbonno, Egusi and Vegetable soups. Her stew was to die for. She even made snacks and chops for munchies. I would order 2 litre bowls of each and refrigerate in smaller bowls for the kids and I. If Ara noticed that there was food from elsewhere, she never said anything.

Hauwa is very well behaved. She always says that she will never marry any woman’s left overs and I know that whoever succeeds in snagging this one is one lucky dude. I envy him.

I heard my wife complain the other day about the smell of perfume on my clothes, it’s actually the incense that Hauwa burns in her place, the place that I have to go because I don’t want my children to starve and I cannot add the duties of a family cook to my almost single parent role. I did not bother correcting her. As a matter of fact, I even have female perfume in my car that I spritz on the way home from work. I am past caring.

I hear her on the phone complaining to whoever it is she talks to about my behaviour. She doesn’t even care that the kids can hear her, kids that even now treat her as a step mother. It hurts me.

My friends are really pissed off with Ara, none of them comes to visit anymore. One of them, a lawyer has even drafted divorce papers. I stare at them every night. I wonder what I would lose, I really have no wife, my kids have an absentee mother, and I am so unhappy and unfulfilled. This is the one thing that drags me down the most.

Tomorrow I will hand her the papers to see her reaction, just before she rushes out to her beloved morning shift. 

credits

story; ojonugwa sapphire abu

photo; pixgood.com

Crazy Office Experiences 1

I am privileged to have worked in some very cool organizations, and then in some not so cool organizations. The whole idea of 'work experience' is some deep stuff...

Anyways, in one of the last places I worked, it was such a beautiful place, beautiful from the outside. All my friends wanted to have a bite of the 'glamour and beauty'. We were all about appearances, perfect everything, talk about major packaging.

I learnt the most about work ethic and business sense from these guys, top notch public image and branding. It was a most educating experience for my budding-rising-inner- entrepreneur. I cannot express how much I learnt or had to unlearn from my two year work experience in this Organization.

The picture that greeted clients was perfection. Perfect happy staff, lovely picturesque girls, chipper friendly colleagues, and all that. What the client did not see and really had no business seeing was what went down outside the perfect reception.

They did not see the death-traps that were the offices that the staff had to work in. On more than two occasions, we experienced fire outbreaks that made us flee for our lives but had to return to our seats after the physical fires were put out (not bothering about the source of the problem) because we had deadlines to beat.

I remember that we created fun and laughter for ourselves. At least we did in my department. We found a reason to laugh about the numerous challenges that was our work life.

We always looked forward to the end of year (yeah). Traditionally, we would get bonuses which amounted to 150 -200% of our normal monthly salaries (that is what the employee hand book promised). Older staff looked forward to this with joy and anticipation as they had enjoyed it over the years.

I think Management decided that it was not public enough and decided to give bags of rice instead (one for each staff). Older staff lamented the development, for us newbies it was fun. So the bags of rice were stacked outside the office from the first light of day and towards the close of business the staff would pick theirs and take home. All our neighbours would be rainbow coloured with envy.

My second end of year however, there was no bonus whatsoever. We had worked so hard and the sales and profits were up in the sky. The bag of rice was all we had to show. On the said day, the rice arrived earlier than usual and stayed for longer than usual, right in front of the entrance. The process of collection was elaborate. We practically had to sign an undertaking to collect the bag of rice.

I took my bag of rice on the said day and even bought someone else’s. It was a good deal. I happily dropped two bags of rice at home that day and everyone was impressed. Salaries came much later, with dire deductions…

In January when we returned to the office, work resumed, the disappointment of the holiday season behind us, we faced our chores with the renewed strength and vigour of the New Year. I went to the head office to receive funds for an important Project and what did I see or hear? A woman who had been quietly coming for booked appointments with the Boss which never saw the light of day barged into the office and was yelling atop her voice that she gave unbelievable discounts for the bulk purchase of bags of rice and the Company had given her dud cheques. Twice.

I felt the goose bumps on my arm rise to my face. The Boss calmed her down and gave her assurances that she would be paid. She was at that point already being dragged to the authorities for financial crimes.

I sat back and considered what I just witnessed, (which I shouldn’t have) if we were to bring back the rice (laugh out very loud) I had two bags to return. Those bags were ancient history.

I didn’t even have to dig deep to discover that the Company had a reputation of issuance of dud cheques and terrible financial relationships. It took the rice incident to open my eyes to this open secret.

This is funny to me now because I am no longer a staff of the Company and I do not have to imagine the pay cuts that may await me this coming end of year given the crash of the Naira.

Change begins with you, be the change you want to see. We complain about corruption in leadership when in our own dealings with people we only seek to cheat and swindle. Let’s think about this.

 Credits

Story: Ojonugwa Sapphire Abu

Photo: theworkinggirl.com