Thursday, 30 May 2013

The musings of a single Lagos girl

I noticed him. Then he walked up to me and started a conversation. He was attentive, he made me laugh. He was the new guy in the office.

Today, I am paying good mind to what I wear. Maybe I should try this denim jacket on the polka dotted skirt and the pair of red shoes my mum gave to me or the pair of trousers which make me appear taller with this chiffon shirt-blouse.

Saturday is Chinenye's wedding, I wonder if Kinle will attend the function with me. He had mentioned when we spoke that he didn't have many friends in Lagos and he was often bored during the weekends.

Meanwhile I heard that the wedding team at Bella Naija will be at Chinedu's wedding. Kai. I must look hawt. Don't want anybody abusing me if my picture lands on the Bella Naija website.

How do I afford to buy a pair of designer shoes? Everyone has them. Louboutins why do you evade me??? *tears tears*

Aaaaaaaawwww look at that dude and girl. They are so ooooooo cute together **dreamyeyes** I hope my hubby and I will look that good together.

Mehn! That wedding was classy with a C. Loved loved the dress, should ask her where she got it from so I can include it in my private wedding to-do booklet.

I need to get a vehicle big time, all this cab taking and waiting for a man to pick me is soooo irritating.

Looking into the mirror: I think I am a fine woman. And I have got curves like Beyonce, just need to tone down the belly.

To be honest, Tunde is a cool guy. But he is way too sweet and nice. I need me a little bad boy. Not all the way bad, just a little bad. Tunde is a goody two shoes. But as no one else has proposed, perhaps I ought to give him a chance...

I need to lose weight. Green Tea, Green world, herbs, anything just give me so I can slim down miraculously like Simi. Infact let me take a before picture.
 
And this concludes some of the musings of a maiden. If you think you have more, comment below

**********************************
Hey everyone, sorry for disappearing for a while...I AM BACK!!!

Stay posted to this blogsite.

Mwuah...

Monday, 27 May 2013

Thus saith the Lord, you are not my wife!


The complexities of the human mind and its most unique nature to capture, store and disseminate data, is a concept most fascinating to me. I mean, the algorithmic processes the mind must deal with before making any decision either in fast or slow thinking must be gargantuan even in its most basic forms. The processes must be similar in some form to the processes of the personal computer, especially in its DOS format (i.e. code environment before windows loads). In this environment, every simple click of a button used in the windows/Mac environment becomes a C/ command, a more complex and detailed process, albeit providing the same results but showing every process the computer goes through in delivering on each command. I have read papers which claim that the human mind can match and even better the processing capacity of a computer, as much as to the 1000th degree;  an interesting concept when put vis-à-vis man’s dependence on these gadgets to organise and simplify his daily routines. It is even more interesting when you think of the infinite possibilities accessible to the human mind, even when in error, especially in the direction of our most converted desires. Having entrée to the very core of our wants and desires, pursuing them in the best possible logic while eliminating all non- possibilities, creating the perfect conclusion.

Thus, may be the thoughts on your mind, if you were ever to meet with Dotun, a pastor with the MFM, who calls you out of the blues, seeking to meet with you. The claims of having gotten your number from a mutual friend and needing to meet with you, to discuss some very urgent and personal matters, may at first puzzle you and just as you are about to discard the very thought, curiosity, like the need for a heroin fix, kicks in, and it only becomes a matter of time before, the reason for him wanting to meet with you completely consumes your mind; and grudgingly, you  yield to the temptation. The words of his lips at the meeting scheduled, began with a short sermon on the many demons out and about in female clothing, as i weighed him intently, wondering what manner of scam this had to be. My mind was on high alert, pondering, and just at the point where i was about to cut his act, he stops me dead in my tracks with the words “Your friend Titi says God told her, you are meant to be her husband”.  Shocked was an understatement, I was completely knocked for six. He now had my rasp attention, jaw agape not sure what to make of the words I had just heard. My mind raced to and fro as he lectured me on the manifold ways in which God speaks to his children and how often times, when the man had his ears blocked, God could speak to the woman to reach out. He capped it up by asking me to keep this revelation to myself, for fear that, the devil lurking in the shadows, may be on the prowl seeking to steal this vision; still gobsmacked, I thanked him and left.

I fumbled with the car keys, in ticking seconds after walking away from pastor Dotun, not being able to concentrate, missing the key hole repeatedly; my mind stepping into the heart of a maze, was lost to the world. My vision began to blur as apparitions of Titi and I began to play, over and over in my head, and all I wanted now, was to find solace in the comfort of special living room couch, to ponder all these thoughts through, but commonsensical heads prevailed, as I was sure driving would be a bad idea at that moment, and thus, decided to first, take a walk.

I sincerely did not know where to begin, I mean, if Titi said she heard from God, she had to have heard; but, could God be serious. This had to have been some really mean joke heaven had decided to play on me and though I was sure archangels Gabriel and Michael were reeling in laughter, I for one, could not have been any more sober. Titi and I, are from 2 different galaxies, this just had to be some spiritual setup, absolutely, it had to be a test of some sort, like that faced by Job, or even the prophet Hosea, whom God told to marry a prostitute, making his marital life a complete misery; but, then again, God could not possibly want this for me also, or could he.

I vividly remember the day I met Titi, it was my first day on the job and we happened to be in the same unit; a very fun character, who had this unbelievable zest for life. It was quite an irony though, as she looked so Mary Poppings, from her usual flowing heel-length skirt, to her awkwardly coloured blouse, accompanied with the no jewellery, no make up dress code, you could not possibly miss the obvious, yes, Titi was a highly spiritual sister who worshipped at the MFM. Quite amazingly, my usual anti-social tendencies were not a hindrance to our rapport though, as she was bold and promptly made the introductions in a soft and subtle voice, whiffed with a British accent; I still remember being puzzled with the oxymoron, personified right in front of me, not sure what to make of her person, but like smoke, these thoughts were quickly discarded, as there was work to be done. We were to work together on several projects over the coming months, sometimes working late into the night; and in this time, Titi had I grew to become really good friends; also giving me the opportunity to observe Titi’s really attractive womanly virtues. She always seemed to know when my mind was troubled, consistently displaying that mother hen persona; we could be deeply engrossed with work, skipping launch and she would somehow slip away, often oblivious to me and return with food, no doubt, Titi was the perfect colleague. We got along quite well, since I had a pretty clear grasp of MFM’s tenets, and kept things I felt may be offensive to her outside our interactions, especially as it concerned entertainment, jewellery and the likes. I expected her to be highly conservative on issues of sex and marriage and often wondered what sort of rapport she had with her fiancé; oh! wait, did I mention she was engaged?

After walking for about 4 kilometres, I had regained a little bit of composure, and being sure I would not drive into a jogging tree, i returned to my car and journeyed home. I drove in to meet Muyiwa, (my sage of a flatmate, with whom I shared a 3-bedroom apartment with) on the front porch. I desperately needed to share this rather ludicrous episode with someone, anyone, but I just somehow couldn’t, remembering Pastor Dotun’s request for secrecy; and after dilly dallying for some minutes in small talk, the issue, struggling to be set free from the depths of my soul, erupted like molten magma flowing from the top of a volcano; I really couldn’t care anymore, If I was to bite the bullet by marrying Titi, then at least I had to make some sense of it. Muyiwa’s immediate response could not have been more annoying though, as 5 minutes after I relayed the encounter to him, he was still laughing with tears flowing down his face, I was impatient and puzzled and the more irritated I became, the more hilarious the whole matter seemed to become for him. He laughed some more and his laughter began to break a smile on my face, which gradually became a chuckle and it seemed at that moment I had an out of body experience, floating above, looking down at my countenance, and I also burst into laughter.

All of a sudden, it hit me, like a bag of coins to the face; the signs I had somehow missed in the past began to come together. The jealous-like rants she gave, on how I wasn’t serious with our present projects, whenever she met me having a canteen chat with any of the females in the office, the consistent gifts, the readiness to pray and sometimes fast along with me whenever I had issues bothering me, the after work calls just to check in on me, the fights and eventual break up with her fiancé, the unsolicited cash she’d randomly deposit in my account whenever she noticed I was low on cash; gosh! It was official; I was the most clueless man alive. Titi had indeed heard a voice, no doubt, but I was pretty sure, the voice wasn’t God’s.
 
Sincerely
Tunji Andrews

Wednesday, 22 May 2013

Polygraph tests before marriage?

My very good, many times annoying friend had this display picture up last night and under it he wrote 'I believe prospective marriage partners should take compulsory polygraph tests'

I saw this and rolled with laughter.

It seems that most people who make it to the altar this days are game players who change the game. This picture and the mindset of people I have come across lately point to the fact that the world we live in now accepts people or anyone who cheats. And the reason(s) for this stance range from
 
a. Boredom with the spouse
b. Too many fine men and women out there who chase them
c.  Unhappy marriages
d.  Innate nature
and all the many reasons people parade as valid excuses for cheating on the spouse.
 
I have also heard that lies, not truth is what keeps a marriage together. They say unfaithfulness doesn't mean you don't love your spouse, it just means that he/she just wants to taste something different. Hmmmmm.

I visited a blogsite the other day and the blogger was poking fun at a wife who was celebrating her husband's 50th birthday and said 'Today I celebrate my faithful, amazing husband ..." this blogger began yabbing the wife and mentioned on her blogsite that the woman was stupid and that the only reason she can say all that was because she had not caught her husband yet. What???

Cheating doesn't have to be only with marriage partners, people in committed relationships feel just as worse when the person they trust and have committed their hearts too. I remember once way back, there was a guy I truly liked, he liked me too but came out straight to say to me that he loved women. Ha. I ran. But I have a ton of respect for the dude. He laid his cards down.
 
This trend of cheating is sooo popular now. For guys, you are allowed to have the chic on the side (like the side dish in a restaurant) and your friends will follow the guy code and not mention to the spouse or (committed partner).
 
The trend is draining Nigeria's resources because our government officials (about 70%) go this route and use money meant for roads, schools to fund the girls on the side (trips, clothes, jewellery) or boy toys etc. So whenever you complain about Nigeria, remember that the Chic's on the side and the boy toys are draining our funds like a conduit pipe.
 
I am a bit worried that the trend is destroying homes. More and more children are growing up in dysfunctional homes and the nuclear family unit is under siege. Let us all strive to do the right thing. The ripple effect of this issue is huge. But I guess there is still some hope for Nigeria if 'ordinary' Seun is alarmed by this photo enough to foot a bill across the National Assembly to force all intending couples to to take polygraph tests.
 
Indeed.
 
It is just through my eyes. You don't have to agree.
 
Please go ahead and view the www.stylesandweddingsbyilsa-aida.blogspot.com
 
 

Monday, 20 May 2013

NNEKA AND MY TEDx EXPERIENCE​: A LIVING DEAD FUNCTIONIN​G IN ANOTHER’S REALITY

I am super super excited about this piece from Lucas. He is a dear friend and a beautiful soul. Hear his words...

I was in lagos for a workshop last year when a friend invited me for a TEDx event. I arrived a bit late and had missed the first few speakers. As I was ushered to my seat, I heard guitar tunes from the stage. I have always been a huge fan of TED. It helps my eccentricity to listen to some select speakers like Ken Robinson. On stage was Nneka giving a rendition. The Nigerian songstress rounded off the song and introduced another. I didn’t quite catch the title as I was being handed an event pack when she announced it. As she began strumming the strings of the guitar and applied the lyrics, the only line that got to me in the entire rendition was “A living dead to function in your reality”.

Let me stop at this point and introduce you to my mind. It is a place best described as a dump stead – everything dey there – from porn to deep revelations of the Bible. My mind is best described as a checkered board where I paint over each box as soon as I have a thought product from thought process. Simply put, if I conclude a nagging thought (and I have quite a number of those) I paint that area of my mind black to signify conclusion and subsequently archive it. The white boxes represent thoughts in process – active or passive. It is one of these passive thoughts that Nneka ignited and immediately concluded in my mind that day when I heard this phrase from her song which I have since come to know as “God knows all”. Other interesting speakers took the stage afterwards but my mind had gone into overdrive dissecting the meaning of what I’d just heard. Argument and counter-argument began among the many “tenants” in my head (you may want to read my piece titled “Multiple Personality Order” ~ www.facebook.com/sparkchange) – what did she mean? How did she mean it? Is it even possible? etc. She’s brilliant. No she’s weird. How did she come about such realization? etc. These were some of the questions I battle myself with.

Afterwards during the cocktail I ran into Nneka. Okay, scratch that, I did not run into her, I sought her out. The kamikaze was so bad I just went straight to the point, “Hi. Nice rendition. What did you mean by “A living dead in another’s reality?” Having been swamped by admirers all evening I excused her look of positive incredulity. “This is different”, she must have thought. “Uh, hi. It means whatever you want it to mean.” “Okay, so are you saying we are zombies who have conformed to the reality created for us by others and we are numb to that effect?” In retrospect I can imagine what onlookers must have been thinking – “kolo guy”. And she must have thought – “weird guy. Who picks a single line from an entire song and gets so engrossed?” But instead, her eyes lit up at my conception and she said “hmm, that’s some attention to detail. That pretty much sums up the idea too.” We went on to liken it to the situation of our dear Nigeria where people live in the pseudo-reality created by the government and how more often than not we live our entire lives in conformity to the said norm instead of a life of innovation. At this point I'd gotten my quote and as I made to shake her hand and bid her well she said she’d have loved to give me the CD she was holding(her album) but she’d promised someone else earlier and apologized to that effect. Obviously she’s not used to such confrontational people and guess I had made some kind of effect. But all these were the least of my thoughts because she only redirected my thought process. We said our farewells and I promised to buy her work from the store or online.

This chance meeting with Nneka and that phrase did not leave my mind and has never left because it became evident thenceforth that everywhere I turned there was a victim of that paradigm – me inclusive. We all go about our day as though we were in control when truly we are soldiers/zombies in another man’s army. Most of us are zombies at work performing mundane tasks because it is whence from our bills get paid and our artificial societal induced lifestyle is maintained. While deep within we would rather be doing something else that’d ironically bring more joy and fulfillment though less money sometimes. My friend you will remain a zombie in another’s reality till you break free. I know the unemployment situation and understand why some remain zombies but let your mind realize that you are in a pseudo-reality and start working on an exit plan.

A girl hits the gym and suffers through a diet she detests just so she can conform to that beauty magazine or that superficial boyfriend who makes her feel less human because of her weight. Girl you will lose the weight today and gain it tomorrow once the situation is right. You are a zombie in another’s reality if your reasons for getting in shape are not self motivated or health motivated.

Parents today have stopped flogging kids when they stray. If this decision is not part of a bigger plan and it is only induced by the excess exposure to Hollywood realities my dear folks you are zombies in that pseudo-reality. Teenage girls have become their mothers’ best friends to the point where the bitter truth is coated with so much sugar that the essence is lost. Young men are lost in careers they detest because they fear to fail a successful father. Tyler Perry's "Good Deeds" epitomizes this concept perfectly. After living the better part of his life in his parents’ reality, it took a "nobody" for realization to set in. But the best part for me was that neither his status nor his age held him back. Not even the intended marriage. He realized. He made a decision. He created his own reality. He followed his path. As parents our reasons should be well thought out and not informed by some shallow trend that will soon pass. I strongly believe that each child should be raised as your faith dictates and environment/health allows. That is a reality that is self defined.

We find this same phenomenon in our churches too where parishioners are living up to the Pastor's standard instead of God's. They have become a zombie in the Pastor's reality that's why they are irreparably heartbroken when the Pastor falls. Let the Pastor lead you but seek for yourself what the truth is. That's your personal reality; it is where you should live.


My wife recently advised me to stop spoiling discussion moods with our guests with my reality puncturing questions. She said I should allow people live in their realities when we have them around instead of constantly being the paradigm shifter. "People are comfortable with norm and don’t want a new picture of what is real or not", she said."They just want to pass time, pay bills and die when the time comes."

Needless to say I strongly disagreed with her and still do. I refuse to be a living dead in anybody’s reality. I define my terms and conditions and do not impose them on any adult. You should do same. No one should live in another's reality. It threatens our natural abilities. It truncates our propensity for innovation. It erases our individuality.

SPARK! Let’s change it.

Wednesday, 15 May 2013

Tunji Andrew is at it again: He says...

Goodbye my Lover, Goodbye my Friend.
 
The firm tip lay gently at the rim of the perfectly shaped entrance
where my lips had once been. The steady flow of nectar had my eyes
glistering in need, swelling lustful emotions from the abyss of my
longing soul. I fought hard to keep my desires in check, the sweet
scents whiffing through my nostrils, as I clasped my lips again softly
around its edge, electrifying my taste buds with the sour taste of its
juices, sending my senses into a cataclysmic orgasm. I opened my eyes
to hold baby captive with the gaze of my eyes as she sat across the
table, a tamer, less explosive character than I once remembered, while
I basked in the after-tremors from a sip of my glass of Ribas de
Cabrera-1956. Aah! The pleasures of fine wine, and its symphonic
ability to become one with its host, unlocking those hard to reach
personality traits, stuck deep within the crevices of the brain; what
can I say, I love my wine.


I expected a lashing from Baby, and the longer it took her eyes to
light up in rage, the more confused I became, see, Baby detested being
kept waiting, a fact that I grew to perfectly understand in our time
together, and yet in some astounding show of courage, I managed to get
there over an hour late. My brain raced frantically, as my thoughts
performed its own rendition of the Harlem shake, ‘she must have a new
way of exploding’ I thought to myself as i held my breath, waiting for
all of hell to break loose; but, it never came. This, may have been a
sadomasochistic craving, but I then realised, with a tinge of
disappointment that this, though still very beautiful lady seated
before me was no longer the girl I once knew. Baby had somehow lost
some of her thunder, that spark that made her unusual, the entire
story told by the pain in her eyes, accentuated by her drooping
shoulders and unhappy demeanour. The spring in her step, the flirt in
her smile, the sexiness in her swag, all gone; this could not be true,
I mean, how did this happen, where was my Baby, where was my soul
mate?


I would never forget that blue dress she had on the first day I set my
eyes on her, it seemed chiselled to her body as it divulged every
curve on her body. I stopped; speechless as she walked towards me, in
the most amazing and graceful ballet-like walk I had ever seen, my
heart skipping a beat as her eyes caught mine, and in an instant,
flashed me a look that was midway between flirtatious and shy, gosh,
this was a goddess sent to take my soul to ecstasy. I was the personal
assistant to the coordinator of our fellowship at the time, a position
I shamelessly used to my advantage whenever I had to, trying to sound
calm as I took her details for “a member database”, the smile in her
eyes telling me she knew my game, but yet, playing along. She was so
Angelina Jolie in ORIGINAL SIN, persona, dripping with sex appeal,
lips looking like honeycombs, body like heaven, Baby was from another
world and if I had to sell all I had to buy and own this precious gem,
I would; and I did.


We had the most passionate relationship ever; intensely explosive in
everyway, every chat, every kiss, every argument, every walk, every
word, seemed to be expressed in millions of mega-pixels, never
ordinary, always deep. Baby and I, were not just lovers, we were best
friends in a very strangely surreal way; our souls connected at such a
deep level, which birthed such an advanced bond that looking into her
eyes was all I needed to read her soul and vice versa. This however
became a negative, when it mixed with both our extremist personalities
and thus our passion developed into obsession, and this obsession
became the monster that began to consume us. The enemy was now within
and our dependence on each other for air was beyond unhealthy, she was
my ‘Buttercups’, I was her ‘The One’ and together, we were soulmates.
Nevertheless, even this could not stop us from being torn apart, by a
force too great to be managed by the naivety of our young hearts, the
treasured love we shared grew so fiercely passionate that it imploded
and we regrettably broke up.


We sat at the movies hand in hand; barely able to concentrate on the
feature film, trying to bury every sense of guilt the thoughts of her
fiancé was drawing attention to. We did not converse much, but our
hearts spoke epistles, translated in silence, published in our eyes,
experienced by the sweet/sour taste of strawberry fruits on her lips
and the enchanting presence of Moschino Glamour on her neck; God, I
never stopped loving her. Back in the car, the sheer vivacity of our
kiss could light up the night sky, and as we pulled away, I felt my
heart break and my eyes grow moist, powerlessly realising at this
point that she was the one for me and yet, I was letting her (my soul
mate) go. I avoided her after that day as we both struggled with
coming to the reality that we would spend the rest of our lives not in
each other’s arms. A few weeks before her wedding, she sent me a text,
expressing her frustrations at planning a wedding while still in love
with another; and my heart screamed in pain, I wanted to stop the
wedding and in one desperate attempt, declare my undying love for her,
daring the wrath of her fiancé, but, like a complete idiot, I never
did, and thus, my soul mate became help-mate to another man.

So I beg of you dear reader, should you ever meet my Baby, please tell
her that while I seek out the fillings to mend my shattered heart, the
fire it carries still burns for her. Tell her that, her smile on
Facebook still takes my breath away, tell her I can still perceive her
perfume, and most important, please tell her I still love her.



Thank you for viewing this post.
Please go ahead and view the sister post. Today, we feature DJ Exclusive also known as Rotimi Alakija and his world of style. Enjoy www.stylesandweddingsbyilsa-aida.blogspot.com

Tuesday, 14 May 2013

The Yoruba Culture: Creating Respect or a Subservient culture?

 
The Yoruba's occupy the western part of Nigeria. They are largely regarded as the first tribe in Nigeria to make education a priority, a necessity.

This makes me proud. It makes me glad that I am a yoruba girl.

Thumbs up, Awolowo & his cronnies.

We kneel before our elders, we don't call them by name. Everyone is aunty or uncle. Even our house maids and drivers. When we see our elders standing, we give up our seats. We use ''eh'' a yoruba word for 'you' but specifically for the older person,, we don't talk back to our parents/elders (  no matter the situation). We are not rude to our elders but it is okay to gossip about them behind them. When we hear the talking drums, we jump up and dance to the tWe take aso-ebi with our friends and family for many occassions and sometimes rack up debts for our poor  dads/husbands/man in our life to pay. We consider friends the clothes we cover ourselves with.  It is our culture. It is the Yoruba way.

But like the Book of Revelation states...nevertheless, I have a few things against you.

Proud Yoruba girl yet I realise I have a problem with speaking my mind about issues. I don't speak up to elders when they do wrong or something to upset me. I swallow and push it down my guts.

And I find that this is the way it is for my yoruba friends.

My Igbo/Calabar friends/Yoruba girls who did not grow up in Nigeria speak their minds. They tell you off as soon as you do something wrong. They are considered rude but they tell the truth even though people get incensed by it. They convey the truth without any sweeteners or honey. They say it as they see it. ( they are amazing people to have around)

Some people may argue that it is possibly an individual issue but I daresay that such a person should look around him and pay attention to the damage this subservient culture is causing.

Respect is good, do not get me wrong but at what cost are we breeding kids and telling them to shut up and not question adults? The world is such a large place and information is at the finger tips of everyone. .

I find it difficult to be rude even when I am terribly upset. I convey my displeasure with words that are not disrecpectful but does not necessarily portray to the annoyee that I am upset.
 
This gets me thinking.

Is the Yoruba culture with all its greetings and respect undertones causing more harm than good? Are we breeding children who cannot speak about things they perceive to be wrong because an 'elder' said it? Are we enslaving our children in the name  of the Yoruba culture?

I know I will get an earful from my Yoruba senoirs. On the flip side, my hubs will think he has successfully indoctrinated me. But seriously, are we making a difference in the name of culture or wrecking havoc?
 
So I am here to say, prostrating and kneeling is good, respect is beautiful but please please let it not create an adverse effect on our generation in the name of culture

Monday, 13 May 2013

Lagos and the art of lawlessness

Every where I turn I hear people say Lagos is working. Maybe it is, maybe it is not. I really don't care.
 
One thing I do know is that people are suffering and the entire state is bearing the burden of making a select few happy.
 
Before you go all ...on me. Hear me out!
 
The bus driver who is trying to earn legally, has to pay a minimum of 4,000 Naira everyday to illegal tax collectors who 'deliver' to an unknown entity. These illegal collectors often drunk and high on different substances make it a point to harass and coerce every public transporter into giving him money so he (the collector) can meet his target. (Did not realise that they ran the same operations like the financial institution
 
I ask the government, if this is right, why don't you make it legal?
 
Then the hardworking citizens who live in certain areas have to pay toll fees to make it home or pass an inadequate alternative road. Please ask anyone about the proposed Chevron alternative road, it is a huge joke.
 
Enter the enforcement agencies like Lastma. We all know most of the officials want money. If you are caught and you have no cash on you, they will follow you to the ATM machine. By the close of business, their pockets are lined with extra cash made from lawlessness.
 
Never mind that the petrol attendants at Filling station look for new and improved ways to cheat customers at the fuel pumps.
 
Hotel security & employees accost well-respected Nigerian ladies and give the Caucasian woman a free pass because of her skin colour.
 
The two-star general makes a truckload of noise when stuck in traffic. I mean, how dare he wait like the rest of the ''subhuman" countrymen.
 
Eateries/Food Joints serve animals with their meals and there is no one to question what they do.
 
Hospitals are a death trap. No effective regulatory bodies and no one is monitoring anything. As long as it is not the health of the government.

Don't even get me started on the communication giants, they are the synonym for useless. They are a joke.

All the colours of the stink in Lagos is enough to weave a blanket of rottenness over the state in the next decade.

And the police do this...
 
Food, shelter continues to be more than a daily struggle for the average Lagosian.
 
It is all about Tax. Tax. Tax.
 
 
And the people like its government have mastered the art of lawlessness.

Let us keep it at it after all Eko o ni baje. O ti baje already **not interested**


Have a fab day y'all

Don't forget to check out www.stylesandweddingsbyilsa-aida.blogspot.com

Friday, 10 May 2013

Lucas asks, Change- A Constant or an Inconstant?

CHANGE - A CONSTANT OR AN INCONSTANT?

~Lucas Togan(@ltspark)

Every time I hear people say "CHANGE IS THE ONLY CONSTANT", I wonder if they understand what they are talking about. I used to wonder how anything can change and still remain the same. In an attempt to understand this paradox I decided to research the root word.

First, what is change? The dictionary defines it as "the act of making different". So if change is to make different and different is the opposite of constant, then is it not paradoxical to say change is constant?

No, it is not. There are two things to consider here and these are the forms in which the word "change" exists. It exists in its nominal form (...the change we seek) and also as a verb (change your style). The nominal form of the word change is what lends the phrase change is constant its credibility. The result of an action produces a change from the previous state and over time we have come to realize that actions always result in change. Hence, change is constant.

On the flip side, that action, in the process of application, is the verb change and that is by no means constant. It is imperative to admire the beauty in the duality of the nature of the word change. It is the mother.It is the child. Change only becomes CONSTANT after it has existed as an INCONSTANT. It is the process of changing that delivers change. Invariably change births itself.

Do not let the paradox be lost on you. The next time you hear or read change is the only constant, you should think of it as you would the phrase “a deafening silence”.

Thursday, 9 May 2013

Got a text and it said that my daddy died...

Got a text and it said that my daddy had died.

We had a fight many years ago and had not spoken to him in 10 years.

Even though he retained his title as dad, it wasn't because he fought and won battles with me, it was only because he contributed to the DNA  that created me. He argued that he did me a favour by not aborting me and  a little more by sending me to  primary & secondary schools. He nevertheless never let me and my siblings forget that he was doing us a favour by sending us to school. He was abusive, condescending and my dad.

He cheated on my mother on several occasions, the beautiful woman I knew as mum became frail as a result of his constant abuse. He made her life hell. She was the woman who tied him down when he was not ready, she was the woman who did not allow him enjoy his life. (He said ever so often). In reality, she was the woman who held the family together with her finances while he squandered his great wealth on women. 

I know pops was just a man but how do you hurt someone you love, I couldn't understand. I still don't understand.

Now the telephone rings, what am I supposed to do?

The last time I saw him, he sent me out of the house at age 19. I had no money, no savings, no one except my mum who managed to squeal out little from the small she made. I slept on the cold hard floor, sometimes under the bridge, watching with one eye for anyone who might want to harm me. And once because I was so hungry, I had to perform homosexual acts with a male Senator for a fee. A fee that I eventually transitioned into paying tuition for my first year in the university.
 
I went through school working odd jobs. I had to provide a bit for my mother who was exhausted from just surviving with the younger siblings.
 
I had no one to teach me, I had no to guide me. I had no one to tell me my left from my right.
 
Despite all that, I fantasised that my dad would come looking for me and establish a connection that dads and sons did.
 
But that will never happen. The man. My dad. He is dead.
 
...and even though I have got my girl beside me, a father's love is hard to find. Every boy wants his daddy there, wants his daddy at his graduation, wants his daddy at his wedding day.
 
So now...I make this vow, my son will have me in his corner. But I am afraid, I may turn out to be like my dad. I don't want to abandon my kids...
 
I need help
 
 
 
 
All men...there is more to life than carrying the ego of manhood. Be a father. Be an uncle. Be a brother. Be a friend...It is all that matters.
 
It is just through my eyes...
 

And for suggestions, questions, please email tme.throughmyeyes@gmail.com

Mwuah.

Tuesday, 7 May 2013

No! I am Independently Owned and Operated!

She gets up by 4.30 am in the morning.
 
She says her prayers, and gets on the bicycle in her living room and works out for 30 minutes. She detests fat. Plus it does not help her reason properly. It slows her mind and body.
\
At 5.30am, she picks up her planner (paper notebook and the handheld tab) and plans her day. She checks her bank account details as she writes cheques for her
a. her PHCN bill
b. her water bill
c. her security
She remembers that it is her sister's birthday today, so she transfers a bit of cash on the Internet to her younger sister.
 
At about 6.15am, she puts on the TV to catch the latest on CNN. A bit of news will help the direction of the financial market today.
 
At about 6.45am, she gets into the shower and by 7.20am, she sets out in her 2011 Toyota Camry from her 1004 flat to her office in Victoria Island.
 
She walks through the door by 7.40am and picks up the newspaper which has the section on the shares and stock prices for the day. She checks them and mentally calculates how much her shares are worth as of the day. When she has sees that the Cadbury shares have not appreciated in the course of two weeks, she calls her stock broker and orders him to sell the shares.
 
At 8.00am, she begins her work day.
 
From meeting to meeting, she shares her wealth of knowledge on the capital market and gives advice to her bosses and clients on the dangers and potential joys of investing in certain markets.
 
At 1.00pm, she orders her lunch from Yellow Chilli and settles in the corner of the office kitchen to gist with some of the colleagues. Her colleagues are not fooled by her. Even though she easily speaks about the different types of human hair and the latest fad in clothes and shoes, they know she can ease quickly into speaking about every other important topic under the sun.
 
At 3pm, she gets an SMS from Emeka who would like to go to dinner with her. She replies that they could have some dinner at 7pm at Oriental Hotel because of the short request time so she can go home early to sleep.

She arrives at the hotel by 6.45pm and makes her way to the restaurant to meet her date. Emeka calls by 7.15pm that he has been asked to head to Abuja and so will not be able to make the dinner.
 
She goes ahead to order her dinner, pays for it and heads home.
 
At home, she slips of her clothes, checks and replies her emails and goes to sleep.
 
You call her single, she says she is Independently owned and operated.

 


Be sure to check out our latest post on www.stylesandweddingsbyilsa-aida.blogspot.com

Thanks Fauziah for the inspiration on your instagram picture. Mwuah.

And for any questions or enquiries, please email TME.throughmyeyes@gmail.com


Monday, 6 May 2013

Lucas Togan says BEGGARS, BAGGERS & BAGA

I write this piece with a deep sense of grief as I ponder how many
civilians will die and continue to die in this American-styled
worldwide war on terror.



I would like to start with the events of April 16, 2013 in Baga town
of the West African state of Nigeria where it is alleged that hundreds
of civilians were massacred in the hunt for Boko Haram suspects. As of
today according to the government, all the terrorists have either fled
or have been killed. Good job you say? They even showed us some graves
where the terrorists had been purportedly buried. On the flip side the
entire nation and the international community believe that the
civilian casualties exceed the 200 mark. This back and forth between
our government and the people serves only one purpose - the birth of
conspiracy theories. Ditto the drone war America continues to unleash
on the Middle East. I therefore ask the question - what is the
acceptable number of civilian deaths that qualifies for collateral
damage? What is the true cost of this war on terror?

In Nigeria, the opportunity cost of this war is every other sector
suffering a dearth of proper funding. The money cost at this point
must be in the trillions of naira. But the real cost is the loss of
human capital - the civilian death toll, which can neither be
quantified (with the accusation, counter accusation, denial and
counter denial going on) nor qualified let alone replaced.

The ODI massacre might have faded from our over populated minds but
has anyone taken stock of the "collateral damage" incurred during the
retaliatory attack on the militants in that Niger-Delta community? Can
we sincerely realize that after the ODI massacre, the militancy got so
high the government had to succumb, albeit in the form of an amnesty
grant? If any lessons had been learnt from Nigeria or America in their
approach to these nuisances, we will realize that force should be a
last resort and not a first option. Fine, I agree that dialogue might
be equally ineffective but we cannot continue to turn a blind eye to
the rising deaths of equally innocent people who happen to have the
misfortune of sharing a geographical space with “enemies of state”. I
strongly believe that there is a better way. Don’t get me wrong, I am
all for the annihilation of terrorists but there’s got to be more
subtle ways of achieving these targets.

 
American troops have left Iraq “officially” but have there and will
there ever be a true account of the "collateral damage"? Afghanistan
is still suffering collateral damage and there is no end in sight. The
Nigerian government continues to employ force in the same manner but I
think the time has come for us to stop throwing the baby out with the
bath water. It is time to acknowledge the unacceptable numbers
filtering in as civilian deaths. It is time to restrategise.


SPARK! Let’s change it.

Friday, 3 May 2013

MY HE-MOTIONS by Tunji Andrews

I am pleased to post this piece by Tunji Andrews. I think he is a great writer. But you don't have to believe me. Read for yourself.
 
Enjoy.
Many thoughts have bedevilled me of late, pouring in torrents, and even though guided by reason, I still cannot seem to wrap my head around them. My failure this day, is my inability to comprehend how the mind can grasp complex theories and concepts, yet be absolutely clueless to the logic of a woman’s ways. I have tried all the textbook manoeuvres and even studied the ancient scripts of the sages, yet continue to face massive turbulence in my relationships. I’ve practiced tough love, permission, yielding, even submission, but nothing just seems to work and I sincerely have lost all hope of finding that one whom together our hearts can find peace and love, each day for the rest of our lives.
 
Now, growing up, I never really thought I would have such issues, for even though I’m no Brad Pit, I am certainly not that bad looking, Six feet and pretty well spoken, even if I say so myself. Yes, the cash does not flow as I would want it to (a key issue for the ladies), but all who know me, know I am a man on a quest and its only a matter of time before Dangote has my number on speed dial (Surulere). I’m quite Melancholy with a strong choleric strain, which means I’m not entirely romantic, but very loyal and devoted to fault, don’t have too many friends and pretty much a loner. Not one for too much drama and would do anything to avoid it; even as far as waving aside hurts, leaving them unresolved, just to avoid the issues. You can say I am a man with plenty of he-motions, strong yet touchy, driven yet complicated, loving yet sometimes cold. I am sure you now see why I’m still single, even though on the surface, I posses some level of charm and wit. Very few women would resist my intelligent demeanour, that almost arrogant look, those deep knowing and piercing eyes, bursting from within the sockets fitted right above my boyish smile (Beep! Beep!), I was made this way.
 
You see, it’s not all terrible though, as even though the ones I’m crazy about seem to never stay; there are those who I care very little for, that never want to leave; it’s a bitter irony, as I feel the karma for those I never loved hunt me with those I do. I return every night to an empty apartment, cheap takeout in hand, to the cold embrace of silence, wishing, yearning, wanting, but at the end conceding to the whims of loneliness, letting it take me, ravaging my mind in pure lust, remote control in hand, rocking me to sleep. The stirring of my exhausted body, does not occur until about 3am, when PHCN restores power and the Fan powers intensely, sending chills down my spine. I roll over in anticipation to hold, to wrap around, to cuddle, but there’s nothing than the emptiness I felt earlier, the pillow doesn’t help either, so in irritation, I get up, switch off the fan and go back to bed, this isn’t the life I signed up for.
 
I had thought I would have the issue of marriage done and dusted by the time I hit 29, but here I am, way into my thirties, still single. I must confess though that some of the not so great experiences of being taken for granted by the very women I loved, has left me a little phobic, manifesting intensely whenever I get close to anyone. I recall Seun, just from two nights ago, we’d only spoken just once before that night and she did impress me with how well she remembered every detail of our last conversation. It was just after a church midweek service, while I waited for Jane (a not so new friend), we chatted for a bit and then we got to that point where we should have exchanged numbers; sensing that neither party was psycho. It seemed pretty ‘next step’ really, plus she appeared a bit hesitant to leave, even as I tried to wind down our conversation; but I just couldn’t see myself going through it all over again and instead, I said “good night” and walked away. So, here I am, on one hand completely tired of being single, but at the same time very relationship-hurt phobic; with my heart seeming to lack the ability to take anymore. Some might be tempted to feel sorry for me at this point, but I don’t share in that sentiment, as I have practically been sowing my royal oats for the last 2 decades plus.
 
I lost count of the ‘relations’ I have had after number 40, and that was 4 years ago; looking back now, I’m not really sure what I was thinking in all that juvenile time, skipping from girl to girl, but, It however left me with a deeper understanding of what I needed from my would-be spouse. Whilst, I hear most men go on and on about how pretty their women had to be or how fun their backsides should look, I realised that somehow I had come to lose all respect for externals; and I do not say this lightly. I found it a bit ironic that the less pretty women I’ve interacted with, had rather excellent personalities, compared to the overtly beautiful ones, men can’t seem keep their eyes away from. You see, I am big on personality and nothing works more for me more than a great after-sex conversation; it’s completely mind blowing (you should try it). And whilst all the pretty girl’s intellectual ejaculations are simply ‘sea-shore’, commensurate with her not so great IQ (factors of having had an easier life), the more intelligent and less pretty lady could keep you engaged for hours non-stop in a super-orgasmic symphony of words, on about everything from philosophy to politics. It is however true that some men find this intimidating and would rather hang with the types men refer to as ‘FISH-BRAIN’, but not me, and here-in lies my woe.
 
The truth is that whilst the FISH-BRAIN (permit me to borrow this expression), waits for a man or a relationship to complete her, the intelligent woman is already complete lacking nothing. She has a great career and does not really need your money; even though she would love to have it. She is confident, articulate, and often knows what she is worth; and when all these virtues mix with the highly volatile emotional being of a woman, you create a hybrid, an entirely new species, one we know almost nothing about. She can be petty like the next woman but she does it in a rather amazingly constructive way and with a lot of intellect to back it up. She nags in bullet-points, too smart to buy the text book lies, employs emotional blackmail skilfully and sees every argument as a test of wit; she may be a descendant of Eve, but she’s light years ahead of Adam’s beloved, and she knows it.
 
This 21stcentury woman has become my opium and subsequently my curse, as though she is the only one I can be married to, the volatility of her ways are somewhat too much for my poor beating heart. They say you cannot make an omelette without breaking a few eggs, and even though this may be true; I am just not sure I can take anymore breaking.

Blog Critique-The Reader's views


Hearing what the readers think about how I write is very very important to me. Many people have told me about how they love love my blog and I really appreciate that. I  appreciate even more, the people who have critiqued my blog in a bid to get me to do better. So, I have decided to publish some of those critic comments I got here on the blog or got as a private message. The point is to hear what the others have to say as well. I want to get a good sense of what you all think.
 
1. Anonymous posted on 'Who do we blame?' I think what you published made a ton of sense. But, think about this, what if you added a little content? I mean, I don't want to tell you how to run your website, but what if you added a headline that makes people desire more? I mean "Who do we blame?" is a little plain. You should look at Yahoo's front page and note how they write post headlines to grab viewers to open the links. You might add a video or a picture or two to get people excited about what you've got to say. Just my opinion, it could make your blog a little bit more interesting.
 
Me: Do you agree with this?
 
2. A friend told me I want taking on too strongly the government and I should perhaps tone it down a bit. I mean with the recent federal government awarding an Israeli company money to monitor Internet activities. It may just be an Internet tracking kill squad.
 
Me: |Do you agree with this?

 
3. A friend told me she liked things as I saw them through my eyes but my foray into story telling reminded her of the stories written in Hint Magazines.
 
Me: Do you agree with this?
 
4. Two people mentioned privately that my blog content was too flighty. Not deep enough.

Me: Do you agree?

5. Someone said the blog was not addressing enough economic issues and that was important because it was necessary to call the attention of people to socio-economic issues.

I will like to hear what your thoughts are.


 
 Thank you my darling readers. Mwauh.

Thursday, 2 May 2013

My horrible secret...

I fell in love with Kunle when I served in the company where he had just started working. He was attentive, amazing, made me feel like a woman. He was the man of every girl's dream. Well spoken, tall, hardworking and very goodlooking.
 
We got married a year and a half later. As I walked down the aisle to meet Kunle I was sure that I had made the right choice in marriage
 
The first year was a dream, we couldn't get enough of each other. We were so in too each other, there seemed to be no room for anyone else.
 
Then the second year came and I was yet to take in.
 
Then trouble started.
 
Kunle began to distance himself from me emotionally, then physically and before I knew what was happening. He would wake me up at night to ask why I tricked him into marriage. He boasted that he was very fertile because his last girlfriend had gotten an abortion at his request in the past.
 
I began to wonder what was happening. The man who was supposed to have to be my rock and have my back was the one taunting me. I became dejected.
 
We both went to see the doctors and were told there was nothing wrong with either of us.
 
Then Kunle's words got worse when five years had gone by, he called me barren, called me a desert, called me the biggest mistake of his life. He called me any rotten name he could string together. All because I was yet to get pregnant.
 
I would cry and cry and cry, praying that I would die so that all the taunting would stop.
 
After 8 years of marriage, there was still no child. I was desolate. There was no comforting me.
 
On one of my trips abroad, I met Laitan, he was a married man who was so unhappy at home. We began calling each other just to express how unhappy we both were in our marriages. In less than 7 months, Laitan and I were sleeping together regularly.
 
He was a welcome comfort after years of cold, anger and pain.
 
Then the unthinkable happened, I became pregnant.
 
There was no question, I was going to keep my baby. The baby my so called husband said I couldn't have. Here I was pregnant after a little love came into my life.
 
Laitan and I discussed.
 
We agreed that I would get Kunle to sleep with me so that I could say the baby was his.
 
I slept with Kunle and when I told him I was pregnant, he was overjoyed.
 
Today, my baby Olaoluwakitan is 5 years old and Kunle thinks he is his son. But I will keep it a secret.
 
I have no intention of letting him know now. And when he does know, it will be suitable revenge for all the years of pain he caused me.



Watch out for more stories on this blogsite.

Have a fab evening my darlings

And the winner is Dapo Popoola.

Hey Dapo, Congratulations!

You are the winner of the silent competition!

Please send your full name, phone number to ibilolaessien@gmail.com. We will respond with further instructions.

Nigeria's Racing Eagles. Ngwanu!

Yesterday, I was determined to pick up a tee-shirt from my dad at the Palms Store. I had seen this beautiful tee-shirt a while back and I was determined that my daddy would wear the shirt.
 
After a long day, I sauntered into the mall hoping to do a quick pick & buy and zoom out before I was tempted to spend more money than I bargained for.
 
As I got down from the vehicle, I noticed this group of good looking guys huddled in a corner wearing a white and green stripped race track suit.  I tapped into my mental storage and began to "mindedly" investigate who these people were, but I came up blank.
 
I continued on my pick & grab expedition but as many of you may know now, I am a shopaholic. One item in over a hectare land of store? Naaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa. When I was done with the spontaneuous shopping and while regret was still seeping from my skin. I saw this same boys/guys mingling with the crowd. So I asked someone walking close to me who they were? The reply I got was that they were the Nigerian race track team
 
Nigerian Race track team? How did I not know this?
 
I stood for about five minutes appreciating the beauty, I mean the team and made a mental note to self to read as much as I could about them.
 
Turns out the team is owned by Ribi Adeshokan.  
 
And on March 8, 2013, the first Nigerian auto racing team known as the Nigeria Racing Eagles was unveiled to the world, at VANILLA, 131 Great Titchfield Street in London.
For now, the riders are a mix from different African countries. Here are their names:
  • Adrian Zaugg (South Africa)
  • Christian Ebong (Cameroon) – Ebong was a former Redbull F1 Racer
  • Sam Collins (Nigeria)
  • Gugu Zulu (South Africa)
  • Ovie Iroro (Nigeria) and
  • Nathan Wright (Nigeria)

They all will be competing in the British GT Championships. Nigeria Racing Eagles is being put together by GRC Motorsport, with United Autosports, a renowned GT racing team as technical partner.
Nigeria Racing Eagle has also partnered with Tiger Racing; a British racing car manufacturer which designed the world record breaking Tiger Z100, to do 0-60mph in 2.8 sec. The partnership will involve using the Tiger range for Driver Academy & Training and also to build Tiger Development Centres in Africa to train youths on Motorsport Engineering. (culled from Peace Ben William's blog)
 
This team probably has the best looking dudes of any Nigerian Sports team. And I am just saying.

Well it is just through my eyes.

The Snow White state, expecting true love's kiss!

 
You go wait tire!
 
We all know the story of a witch who encouraged Snow White to bite an apple which eventually led her to sleep for a gazillion years. The sleep ended when she received true love's kiss from Prince Charming and lived happily ever after.
 
Na so!
 
Today, I am criss crossing an allegory between this story and earthlings like you and I that are waiting for that lover's kiss to do something right with our lives.
 
Some are waiting for the perfect spouse, some the perfect car, some the perfect business, some are just plain focusless, while some others have done every degree imaginable to man but are clueless about what they really want to do.
 
My darlings, you are in a Snow White sleep state.
 
That lover's kiss might never come. That shining bulb that is supposed to illuminate your senses and guide you to your path and direction may not appear.
 
If it is not too much trouble, please telepathically ask a relative to jumpstart your heart from the Snow White state because darling, things are happening! Do not have an excuse to remain in your vegetative state.
 
With this few words of mine, I hope I have been able to convince you and not confuse you that the Snow White state is bad for your mind and health.
 
Gros Bisous.