My Problems Were ‘Better’ Than Yours

Don’t you just HATE it when you’re trying to make a perfectly VALID complaint about something, and then some OLDER person goes, ‘Oh, what are you talking about, back in my day…’

YEAH, I GET IT.

You walked to school through the pouring rain, barefooted with a desk on your head. WHATEVER. And yes, yes, i KNOW, back in your day, as a corper you earned 1,500 Naira month. Cry me a bloody river.

HOWVER, RIGHT NOW, I cannot limit my annoyances by such standards. Right now, I don’t happen to have anyone who’s strolling to school for MILES, barefooted and showing the warning signs of neglect. UNFORTUNATELY for YOU, dear older folk, I got driven to school a few times, my secondary school was not a plane flight from my house, and YES, I wore footwear! Much as I HATE to diminish the ‘oh-so-horrible’ salary you weare earning, YES, I DID earn more than 1500, and you know what? I don’t care what YOU think! My parents haven’t given me money since I started serving… 2 years scrimping and saving, thanks very much!

If I don’t like a situation, I will damn well complain, and you don’t get to trivialize because you had it ‘rough’ BACK IN YOUR DAY, old person!!! It’s called CHANGE!!! Move with it!

*deep breath*

I’m okay now.

Stick it in Your Eye – Why I Think I Rock (1)

I haven’t updated in… a while. I wish I had a good reason this time, like an illness or a trip to some exotic location. However, the simple thing is this: I was uninspired. Everyday it crossed my mind that I wanted to blog… but I didn’t. A couple of times I actually started a couple of posts, but I lost my fire halfway through. Again, no real reason for that either. Maybe I just had things on my mind that were beyond blogging about.

That said, I’ve been feeling strongly about a lot of things – like inequality to women, and Nigerian greed, and Obama running for President of the US, and total annihilation of mankind. I’ve also been nursing some scarily VIOLENT homicidal tendencies again (one of such was when I imagined beating a robber to death with my ultra large umbrella; I admit it freaked even me out).

I’ve been doing a lot of random, stupid stuff, like Social Networking. If you look to the right of my blog, you’ll see my Twitter updates :). I have also been accused of using ‘nerd slangs’ like ‘W00t’. I’ve been hearing that a lot more these days. Darkman actually called me ‘gadget girl’ once. Or twice. Just cos I have a huge action-packed iPod, a bulky phone and have my eyes greedily set on an HP dv9000t (*experiences a moment of euphoria at the thought*). A colleague once said I was almost a tomboy, too. Hmm.

I was reading a couple of things here and there, and being in a relationship has mad me really reflect on a few things about the future and marriage and (*gasp*) kids, and my career and after getting myself worked up over SOME things, I just thought, ‘you know what? Screw it. I rock.’ So for any guy/girl out there:

  1. Yeah, I’m a bit of a nerd. I embrace the classification wholeheartedly. I’ve played with computers since the days of DOS, and I still play with them now. Fair enough, I realised on Tuesday that I had an installaholic syndrome of just randomly installing any software that tickles my fancy (and you think after all this time I’d learn). I love playing games, I love phones chock full of features, I love just playing around brand new shiny laptops and pressing buttons (think of Dee-Dee, you’re close). I can successfully spend 24hrs on the net and not get bored. I’m now privy to saying things like, ‘OMG’ and ‘WTF’ in real life, and I love it.
  2. Yeah, I listen to weird, obscure music. BITE ME for having a musical taste that spans beyond Boyz II Men and 2face. Yes, I listen to all the tracks on those popular albums no-one listens to. They’re actually good! So what, I listen to Enya while working, and Linkin Park when power-walking. Got a problem?
  3. 3. Yeah, I’m a feminist. I think I fully accepted that fact this week. If any of you have happened to venture onto Nairaland’s Romance section recently, you’d see all the sort-of objectifyingly pointless topics on the ideal woman, and Nigerian women don’t do this and don’t that, and I admit, I got a bit peeved. Yeah, that’s right. You put up your feet up dear husband, and act like making money is so hard. Yet you want ur ‘perfect wife’ to be hot, good-looking, great in bed, great in the kitchen, employed, have a basketball team for children, a housekeeper, and SOMEHOW, also be loving and caring and submissive. *Eye roll*. I don’t do submissive. I can be feisty, and I HATE getting the lower end of the stick. And none of you give me that, oh, but it’s women’s lot. Yeah, WHATEVER. If you’re treating me like crap, you’ll have no peace. Guaranteed.
  4. Yeah, I don’t REALLY care what you think. I mean, I don’t come off as a snob. Or a b****. But I’m not going to bend over backwards to impress anyone. If you don’t like me, it’s not taking years of my life. I have enough friends already.
  5. Yeah, I’m never going to be THAT chick. I’m never going to enjoy shopping of any kind. I’m never going to care if I’m wearing the ‘latest’ fashion, whatever it is. I believe in timeless clothing. Nicely cut jeans with a flirty, sort-of low cut top never grows old. And no, I never saw the beauty in skinny jeans, and bright yellow bags. I can’t be bothered with 4 layers of make-up. Got pimples? They’ll go one day. No point lying to the general public. Lip gloss is still the best and only necessary form of makeup ever invented. Half the time, you’re going to catch me with my natural hair. It’s not long and glorious, is almost always due and in my weird permed style, and hasn’t been black since I was a kid. I look presentable and I still have stalkers, so I must be doing SOMETHING right.
  6. Yeah, you know what? I’m overweight. I know. I look in the mirror everyday. Telling me that I am hasn’t taken the pounds off. If you like everything about me but my belly, you’ve got a problem I can’t help you address.
  7. Yeah, I’m not a homely person. I clean my house because I have to. And I cook because it’s the only alternative to starvation. I’m no Jamie Oliver. I mean, I have most recipes up there in my head I think, and I’ve successfully done many dishes countless times, but if you’re looking for that gourmet Nigerian dinner of pounded yam and egusi soup, you’re on your own. If I’m a guest at YOUR house, you’d have to give me a really good reason (preferably financial, lulz) as to why I should enter YOUR kitchen or suddenly clean YOUR mess just cos I’m there.
  8. Yeah, I’m a chick, but I’m not shallow. I feel embarrassed when chicks out there have this quest for money. I don’t get it. They have their own. They should spend it.
  9. I really don’t need a guy. No guy has gotten me to where I am, and I refuse to compromise just so I can have a MRS attached to my name in forms.
  10. Speaking of which, I have no plans of getting married before I’m 26. Where’s the rush? What’s the big deal? Ok, you’re married. So? What’s that magical benefit you’re receiving? You want kids now? Why? What’s the difference between today and next 2 years? Do you think marriage is child’s play? Do you think raising a family when you can barely feed yourself is fun? What’s wrong with you?

There’s probably more. But I’m tired. And believe it or not, I actually have work to do. To be continued. Peace.

A Series of Unfortunate Events

So, due to certain events, and the last paragraph of my last post, I was passing through yesterday in a faintly foul and irritable mood. Like I mentioned to Naija Chickito, I thought it would only be fair if I avoided Darkman completely to prevent some psychological dagger throwing.

To add to that, for some reason, I couldn’t focus on anything, so I got absolutely NOTHING done. And I felt no shame. I did, however, install a demo of Tomb Raider: Legend on my system. That was my greatest accomplishment. I love that game. I was waiting until like 7 to launch it and give it a spin, but people just wouldn’t go away, so I left to go catch the bus.

Did anyone in Lag notice the awful fluke rainfall of Tuesday night?

It was hot. It was bloody hot. All day. And at night. I’ve been cursing this heat for over a week now. It doesn’t help that I’ve gotten this new hairstyle from hell that traps heat around my face and blocks all breeze whatsoever once I am out of the safety of a fully air-conditioned environment. It was hot. I was in a suit. But you know what, I walked. I power-walked to the bus park sweating in a very unladylike but very Onyeka-like fashion.

Got in the bus, the bus got moving, and I plugged myself into the lovely world of Enya, which quickly sent me into a snooze. As we approached Anthony, precisely Palmgrove, I looked out the window and noticed that there was a lot of loose, leafy debris jumping along the road. Hm.

I went back to Enya, then thought about it, and looked out again.

In the distance the air was brown and thick with dust and debris. Further away, I could see people running. Was there a fire?

I looked to the front of the bus. Lo, and behold, I saw drops of water on the windshield. Rain? Impossible. There were no drops on the side window. A minute later, I looked out again.
The road was wet. A glance towards the windshield confirmed muy thoughts. It was raining. Hard. Oh, God no, I thought. I was almost at Anthony Village, and the rain was getting worse with each inch we moved. It was finally time for me and three other people to get down. I consoled myself with this thought: Oh well, I was going to dry clean the suit anyway.

So I cover up my 4 day old hair and step into the chilly showers. It was unpleasant. There was a strong, cold wind, and I was drenched in seconds. We all ran together. Occasionally stopping under awnings to gather our courage, wading through flooded roads and enduring showers from speeding cars, I finally got home. And my dad wasted ten minutes in coming out to open the front door. My legs ached (I have a mild, inherited case of rheumatism) and I was shuddering. M

My dad SMILED at my pathetic figure when he saw me. I had to walk around with a mop everwhere I went until I dumped my soaked clothes, and there was no light, so a hot bath was out of the question.

Needless to say, the next day I got to work feeling like crap. I’m currently nursing a sore throat and aching limbs. Curse you, rain! I usually love you, but not right now!

Sigh…

To add to these instances, my sister got robbed again this morning. And that makes four in the past year. Four times. I felt so sorry for her when I came out of the house and saw her in the midst of all the street thugs that watch our area, her eyes shiny with unshed tears of frustration.

She’s lost so many phones you wouldn’t believe. She apparently struggled with her assailants, causing them to hit her over and over to let go of her bag and the bulky security guy that usually accompanies us to our bus-stops in the morning FOR SAFETY was absolutely useless. He claimed that they had guns and he was looking for a weapon. Complete, total BS. Couldn’t he have at least distracted them? Raised an alarm? His ‘boys’ weren’t far away, they could have come along if had. I tried telling her to just go home and take a break, but she insisted on going to work, and followed me instead.

My mum heard and called in a panic (mums, bless) and started asking what we could do. But you know what? You really can’t win these days. It made me realise that I too, had started getting comfortable when moving out to work in the mornings. I carry too much junk, and I don’t properly secure my valuables. We should be doing that, you know, especially if one is forced to roam the streets before dawn just to get to work in this jungle.

I’m off to drink hot tea. My throat burns.

Peace.

Sorry, You Said What – The Languag Debate

Traitor. Confused. Lagosian. Hybrid. Heck, even sad.

I’ve been called a lot just because due to some weird twist of fate that resulted in me not being able to speak either one of my parents’ languages. People have tried to make me feel bad or guilty about it. They’ve even tried to make me out as some kind of freak.

Frankly, I feel guilty. Because I don’t care.

I know, I know, it’s a tragedy, I can’t ‘identify’ with my people. It’s just something I can’t kill myself about. Probably if I cared more I would have been inspired to learn a smidge of Igbo. I hear a lot more Yoruba than I do of it, god knows!

And interestingly, it’s NOT because I grew up in Lagos! I lived a sheltered enough life, went to private schools where it was so common to not be able to speak your mother tongue, it was OKAY. I never once had an issue with it. At least, not till I got to my final year in University and I realised that my roommates were gossiping about me in a foreign language AND playing the same New Dawn CD by Yinka Ayefele day in and day out *many, many, many people… many, many, many people…*. The tarts.

So, it became a bit imperative to have impromptu sessions with Kitty, where I’d ask questions like: ‘What the heck does ko si mean?’

At a point though, I realised it was a bit of a lost cause, cos barely managing to understand what they were saying about me did not benefit me in any way. So once again, I stopped caring, and also became an ardent Ayefele music recogniser. Yes. I can even smile when I hear that Many People bit.

Fast forward to my current workplace. It’s an issue of ‘Oh, you’re name is Onyeka?’ Cue the switch to Igbo. I don’t get it. I think even if I DID speak the language, I won’t speak it all that often cos I’m unbelievably comfortable with the English language. It’s the language I grew up speaking, analysing and I express myself EXCELLENTLY in it. I felt funny even saying French phrases in class –now that’s another language I know better than my mother tongue. If someone says something to me in a language, and I understand it, I’ll reply in English, cos you know what? It’s what I prefer. I could only use it to talk to old relatives and conc Igbo people, cos my friends are all Yoruba ANYWAY.

A few people tried to blame my parents for my mono-grammar (yeah, I totally made that word up). I frankly can’t blame them much. They speak different languages, and as such speak English to each other. It really didn’t start bugging them until late that my sis and I couldn’t understand diddly-squat, and even then, like me, their discomfort didn’t last.

Another funny thing I’ve been asked on many occasions is that whole, ‘But what if you want to discuss in private, something’s that a secret? How would you do it?’

Er… I’ll leave the room!? That’s the worst argument for speaking a language I’ve ever heard. It’s not like Igbo, or even Yoruba is horribly uncommon. Chances are, if you switch languages, you’ll STILL be understood. Abi I lie? Another one is the ‘if there’s a war/coup/political-tribal disaster how would your people know you’re on of them?’ *Eye roll* He-llo. I know people that can speak like 3 languages. What’s your point? Besides, if there WAS a war… I really doubt I’d stick around!!! ‘What if people are talking about you in another language?’ Um…so? Ignorance is bliss sometimes, men.

I’m not arguing or justifying myself. I just don’t see it as that big a tragedy. It’ll lead to the dilution of my culture. Perhaps. But highly unlikely. The ratio of us Traitors to you Good guys is like 1 to 50. So far my English has served me well. And while it would be cool to be able to speak another language, I admit I’m in no hurry to learn any. Does that make me such a horrible person???

Broken.

So, something tragic has happened. A close relationship to me, which I used to use as the comparison, the milestone, the MODEL of a lasting relationship, has just fallen apart. It hurt me, because the people involved are both very good friends of mine. And it had lasted so long (5 years isn’t beans), NO-ONE would have NOT seen it ending in a wedding.

I admit, on the rare occasion, we’d fantasize about how their kids would look, and what we would wear as bridesmaids, and how cool it would be that the we would know pretty much all the guys on the Groom’s side, and how nice that wedding photo would look.

Perhaps that was a bit creepy, but you should have seen them. Despite everything, still together; despite living miles apart, still going; despite serving in 2 very far, very distant states, still together.

And then … WHAM! I get the call. I took the call the same way I would have probably taken the news that someone had died.

Everytime someone made a comment about girls, about infidelity, about dating, I would proudly say, ‘Well, you don’t know what you’re on about, I know this girl/guy who’ve been so and so for YEARS…’

What do you do, when that happens? I felt like someone had ruined my reality, as if to say, if such perfection couldn’t last, who are we, mere mortals, to think we can achieve it? I mean … fine, I know it happens, but it sucks anyway.

Onyeka Takes on New Adventures Ep.1

Onyeka takes on Sunday Drivers

So I FINALLY made the bold and daring leap from depressed pedestrian to happy driver. You know… sort of. Sunday morning, I drove down from Agbara to Anthony. I would have gone straight to Bus’s house, but I got a severe fear of getting lost.

I know, years and years of bussing and I never really paid attention to the routes that MATTERED. Oddly though, I didn’t lose my way, until I was about to make my way to Bus’s place. On my way out of Anthony, I missed the exit that would have taken me towards to Third Mainland via Town Planning, and found myself headed down a straight and totally ‘un-Uturnable’ road to Oshodi and beyond. After about 5-7 minutes of fuel burning, I decided to stop and ask for directions. I thought it would be REALLY SILLY if I had to get all the way to Mile 2 just because I missed a turning. Luckily I escaped that embarrassing situation and got to Ikoyi some mins later where Bus and Viva decided to give the car a once-over. They even told their mum about my ‘amazing’ feat, at which point she double hi-five’d me.

Getting to Darkman’s house? Not so smooth. First of all, Bus and Viva misdirected me (they refused to admit this though) and instead of finding my self on the way back to Third Mainland, i somehow ended up on Osbourne. I recovered quickly and got as far as CMS… then I took another wrong turning somewhere, and found myself going the WRONG WAY on a one-way road. I asked at the beginning if it was 2-way, and trust Lagosians, they nodded enthusiastically. I was just lucky it was a Sunday, and no LASTMA was around. After that, I managed to hit someone (more like brushed him with my side mirror – but saying I hit him gives it a more dramatic effect), while driving through one of the narrowest and congested streets I’ve encountered so far. Balogun. THEN, I performed the 25-point turn when attempting to turn a narrow U-turn. At a point there were like 5 people just yelling instructions at me… Hmm, I think I may have scratched the car, but who knows? The finale was parking in his compound.

I told him quite truthfully after that next time, I’ll just park and take a bike there. Saying all this doesn’t mean I’m a bad driver… I’m just not very good. Not like Bus (she’s my vehicular HERO) who dares the twists and turns, crooks and crannies of Lagos… and manages to do it LAUGHING.

Onyeka takes on the Kerosene Stove

So due to an inflation in gas rates and just a general scarcity of all things gas, we have resorted in my house to perpetually using the Electric cooker. While not a bad way of cooking, is miserably slow, so when we need to cook something large like soup or stews, we use…. CHARCOAL!! Believe it.

At Anthony however, apparently we have now been sentenced to a kerosene stove. Last night my dad unwrapped some random Christmas gift he had abandoned somewhere, which was the stove and together we tried to solve the mystery that was assembling it. It went pretty well. My sister was an uncaring observer, and halfway through she disappeared into our room much to my dad’s irritation. It was very rickety, and nothing quite seemed to fit into anything, but after about 20 minutes, with about as much ceremony as the lighting of the Olympic torch, the little stove came to roaring life.

We did this outside because we’ve all heard too many exploding stove stories. I looked at it with boredom – I wanted to go to bed – but had to smile when I saw the happy triumph on my dad’s face. Fast forward to this morning. I had originally made a mental note to get up a few minutes earlier, so that I could boil water AND still have time to make my dad’s breakfast. Well, guess what, I didn’t.

First of all it took ages to light the stove, then AGES for the water to get hot (I had to have a hot bath, mehn, it was COLD). Then I had to do my dad’s grub. The pots were nice and black by the time I was done, so I had to scrub it off. Oh yay. Then I forgot that turning off the fire was not as easy as turning a knob. I didn’t realise that till I was about to go and I still saw a hint of flame. I did all this, plus have my bath, arrange my hair and dress up… in 30 minutes. Can someone give me a virtual high five for kicking domestic butt?? Anyone?!

2007 Review! Woohoo!

Since it’s the end of the year. I think it’s only fair that i write about the year that has passed.

It’s been pretty exciting … ok, well, in a ‘yeah, something that’s supposed to be pivotal has happened’ kinda way. I started off this year, with no job, no money, no plan, nothing… just my dreams, a rejection letter from Intercontinental Bank, and an acceptance letter from my current place. By the 8th, I’d started off work doing Insurance work and hating it with all the passion in the world. I was wearing thick, heavy suits to work, and hating THAT too. I had to be dealing with every-day VI traffic and feeling miserable.

But then i started following D to work, and things got a little better. I had a free, AC’d ride to work, with a former classmate and friend, and the suits weren’t SO bad, when you got a few pretty ones. And then I got paid! Oh alleluia! I mean it was like the average corper’s pay, but that plus 8500, and I felt like a millionaire. That’s about the same time the credit addiction started. I couldn’t go a day without having credit.

I finally had my eye surgery in February/March. I’m one eye-ball less, but it’s better.

My life fell into a sort of lazy ritual that started with the Monday rush and ended with the Friday CD hook-ups with my girls. We’d show up for CD, do absolutely nothing, sign our names, and go out a-jollying. Ah, the good times. I miss those. Those 4-day work weeks, and the Friday fun, then I’d cap it all off with a quiet, peaceful weekend at Agbara. But truth be told, I wanted MORE. More fun, more money, and a more interesting job.

The more time progressed, the more likely it seemed that a career in the IT department was a pipe dream I was never going to achieve. Then one fine day, it all CHANGED. I got a call, and a letter was sent to me. I was moving to the IT department. Oh happy day! And not just IT, web development. Exactly what I wanted.

Then things went depressing again. I disliked it somewhat, and the job was really not the party I thought it would be. But I pressed on, and used my newly acquired, fast internet access to learn a few skills.

Finally in July, NYSC began to come to an end, and my past came back to haunt me. The 3 or so months I spent at home (thanks to Intercontinental’s foolishness, and NYSC) were not ignored by officials, and they told me I had to do an extra month. I fought that ruling and was given my papers. I thought that was the end. Until Passing out Parade. And the official rudely told me that I didn’t deserve to pass out because I was sitting at home, while my ‘mates’ were working. After much hustle, and a little tear-jerking, I finally got my walking papers. And I was HAPPY.

I resumed work as a full staff in August, but lost my free ride and D that same month. However, I discovered the convenience of the staff bus, met Darkman in September, and got a pay rise in October. For the first time in 2 yrs I had a SWEET new phone, and the iPod of my dreams. I also got a new colleague at work, and life became more tolerable. Better in fact.

In December, I started off my first real relationship, and began to fully work towards my plans for the future.

All this, and still 3 weeks to my 21st birthday. Despite everything, I have to admit I was pretty well blessed this year. It wasn’t the party I hoped it would be, and at times I felt so miserable I cried tiny little tears of frustration, but you know what?

It wasn’t bad.

Have a great 2008 y’all.

A Trip Down Memory Bliss

Tuesday, Bubu and I decided to go down to our uni – Babcock, to see about getting our certificates and a reference. I was just happy for the day off. Alas, I didn’t even get any of the extra sleep cos the instant my sister got up and started moving about around 5, I was ruined. She left not long after, and instead of going back to bed like an intelligent person, I decided to try and see if I could convert her South Park DVD into iPod format.

I met up with Bubu at about past 10. Okay, sorry, what I meant was, I left my house after many accusatory calls from Bu at past 10. She was waiting to see someone at Obalende, and finding her location was a quest in patience. It was sweltering, and I admit I got there a little peeved, cos I knew that we won’t be able to make it back in time. And I was hoping I would… so I could possibly see Certain Som1. The annoyance soon became a mild acceptance.

We headed off at about 12, Bu driving, stopping to buy Pizza at the Mobil on the Expressway. Just like we used to back in school, after a joyous weekend at home, or whatever magical place we would have found ourselves spending the night, most usually Bubu’s crib. The ride to school was ridiculously long, and during the drive we both noticed the abnormal heat while guzzling pizza and mountain dew and reminisced about how it seemed to always be bloody hot in Babcock. Even when it rained. As far as most people were concerned, that school was cursed with its own special climate. It didn’t help that there was this urban legend that said the school was built on an evil forest against some witch’s advice or some crap. I personally didn’t understand how all them girly-girls would succeed in making it to class from our distant halls with their powdered faces intact and shine free while I was mopping up buckets of sweat from just half the distance.

We got to school and did a little making up. After all, if YOU got a chance to go back to a place where you had been made to wear shoulder-length, dark hair, minimal make-up, no jewelry and SKIRTS for 4 years, won’t you try to make an impression??? To be honest, we were still wearing skirts cos BU officials can be psychotic like that, and most likely won’t give us the time of day if we looked so ‘horribly indecent’. Bubu looked dashing in her own right, what with her red-black hair. We made a point of prancing around the place and reveling in our conspicuousness. 🙂 It was funny to remember the many demerit point I gathered for my nails, or an unintentionally low necked top, or even a bit too much armpit showing (yes, they gave our boys such little credit).

The more we walked around school, the more we remembered all those afternoons in between classes, how we would carry our laptops and base ourselves in the cool confines of the cyber café and download as many songs as we could with our time or the engineering lab… assuming a class wasn’t going on in there. The school’s actually looking better these days, and they’re actually (FInaLLY) tarring the remaining roads, but neither of us had the energy to reach the hall area.

An average day in our final year of school was quite simple. Wake up late (cos in those last days we campaigned for no more 7am classes), took our sweet time, unless of course it was a Tuesday or Thursday or maybe Sunday when they were serving Pap/Custard/Oats with moin moin/akara/plantain; in which case we’d be up and out of the hall by 8 to get to caf before the 9am closing time. Yes, we were caf ninjas (considering the other options – provisions or the crap they sold in the mini grocery, I think we did well). However, if it wasn’t a breakfast day, we’d rendezvous (by we, I mean, me and my posse, Bubu and Kitty) at the junction that connected all three of our separate halls, and buy a nice cold cup of ‘lemonade’, and then try to finish it and chew up all the ice before we actually got to the class. There, we’d proceed to sit somewhere in the middle. You see, the front was for what we dubbed the F.R.V.Ps – Front Row Village People (those that got to class on time ALL the time, asked all the questions and did all the stuff front row people did), and the back was for the really unserious/unbothered/late people. I take pride in the fact that I was okay. We’d then listen to mp3s/browse for free on my phone/copy notes/maybe listen/draw(in my case)/gist/receive calls/finish our lemonade/sleep for the rest of the class, depending on the lecture and the lecturer. We were known for always doing the above in class, and once one of our lecturers banned us from sitting together. Oops. The way I wrote that, we may sound unserious, but I we weren’t BAD, our notes were always (kinda) complete, and our attendance was great, and we did stuff we were supposed to, besides, I like to think of myself as less theory and more practical. 🙂

After class, we’d keep on doing what we were doing DURING class, or go browse or go to the halls to eat/sleep/play games. In the evenings, we’d pretty much get out late for worship, and towards the end, Bubu and I started stabbing them altogether (my attendance card for worship was a disgrace) or perambulating around school till we got caught and went to the nearest worship center. After worship, our larger posse would slowly assemble and we’d usually proceed to make a noisy, happy nuisance of ourselves till 9.30, when we had to get to the halls again. Good times. Viva once remarked that she didn’t know how we all got out with 2.1s. To be fair, we read when it was necessary. In terms of the course I did, I consider myself, better than some people. At least I can get around a computer (even if I always seem to suffer from viruses and spyware). There were of course, the constant clashes with authority, the changing to an ‘illegal’ skirt while walking to class (I was a pro), the cooking (oh, that alone needs an entire book chapter) but aren’t all these things what University is made of? Even in a touchy, self-righteous Seventh-Day Adventist one? I could go on all day. Maybe one day I’ll write about our very first hall in 100 level. That was slumming at its most adventurous.

But to finish my original story, we did in fact, not get our certificates. Apparently, because the school changed its logo (last year…cough), it won’t be ready till beginning of next year. What??? Oh well, at least I only have to work 4 days this week.

Moving On?

I wasn’t going to share too much about this. But I think I need the objective opinion of an un-biased third party.

In my last post I mentioned I’d found a place. And I really have. It’s not too far from where I currently stay during the week. In fact, it’s even closer to where I get my staff bus, but from another side. The friend that helped me find it, a classmate from school was able to get it at an amazingly affordable price, and we’re supposed to be roomies.

Honestly, I didn’t plan to move till next year Jan (my 21st) or so. But I guess I could hold it till then. So, last night I launched the idea to my mother. I’ve done something similar recently, when Kitty was getting a place, and she was all up for it then, so I didn’t expect the reply she gave me.

“Your father won’t have it”

I won’t say all she said, but she gave reasons and excuses ranging from the timing to me following peer pressure (??!) to safety to the classic: it’s not right for a chick to stay alone when she’s not abroad or married.

My jaw dropped. I couldn’t believe it. Times are changing, by God, and I won’t be held hostage by an old way of thinking. Besides, I won’t be ALONE, I’ll be living with someone. I was too shocked by her reaction to put up a more intelligent argument. She said I should wait. I said I was planning to wait till next year, and she said it was STILL too soon. That I was thinking like a guy.

Come next year, I’ll probably hear the some story. And by then, I won’t have this opportunity. It’s ridiculous. There’s no harm in it. And I don’t think anyone I know sees it either. I live at Agbara, for goodness sake, and it’s FAR. Where I stay during the week, Anthony, is way too small to make sense. Besides, this way, I’m out of everyone’s hair (and vise versa), and there’s more room for my sis. I don’t really eat at Anthony cos I leave by 5.45 every morning and get back past 9. So basically all I do is sleep and bathe. Nothing to miss there.

I’m going to pay for it, anyway. So what’s the problem?

Oh, what will people think? Or, what, no-one will be able to ‘monitor’ me anymore??? I want my shot at independence, and this concept of going from the clutches of my father’s house to my marital home has never fared well with me.

I’m upset. I really wanted to be able to move out with as little bad blood as possible, but it’s looking like a pipe-dream. My sister said I should do it, the few friends I told said I should do it… I’ve prayed on it. What should I do? This won’t be waiting for me forever. I need to make a decision now. Put my foot down and alienate myself from my parents… or stay where I am and revel in trapped misery?

Flashback 1: Social Misfits

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Now playing: Republica – Ready to go
via FoxyTunes (Ed:This is part one of a special series of stories I’m going to share about my past.

I’m going to dedicate this to a close friend of mine…)

Recently, I was talking to a close chum from secondary school, and she suddenly says, ‘You know, we turned out alright, didn’t we?’ I’m confused at first, and then she clarifies and I think, hmm, she’s right.

The 2 of us bonded over art. So , as you can imagine, normalcy was out of it from the word ‘go’. We weren’t social butterflies in school. You know them, those boys and girls in your class that constantly look and act like they’re hot stuff. It’s a universal characteristic of adolescent education. To be fair, we all wore uniforms, but you could ALWAYS tell. Looked the most conspicuous and danced the most at our rare social events, had the most elaborately weaved hair, had their little cliques… all that stuff. Some of them were quite tolerable, in fact. In junior school, they even NAMED their clique *eye roll*. It was more famous for the silliness than anything else. I was pretty grounded, and thus, never cared. I had other problems. I never considered myself a catch in secondary school. I was (still am) overweight, and I had a creepy, grey left eye that people actually noticed a lot less than i thought. My friend was better off, I felt. Slim and neat, and perfect looking. But we weren’t in that crowd.

On the flipside however, as she so bluntly put it, we didn’t qualify to be nerds either. Some people over-compensate for their poor social life with academics, we just … didn’t.

I mean, we weren’t DULL. I did well enough, especially in Biology and English (2 awards I DESERVED to get IMHO, but lost to some other chick and class valedictorian respectively, pah!), but again we weren’t geniuses. Ironic, as we sat right in front of class. Upon reflection, I’m not quite sure why I did that. I used to nod like crazy, and half the time, when the class was half-full i’d move to the windows of the back to write. She was the TD guru, and together we.. yup, alternated the fine art prize each year till our finals.

I think, now, that people had a bit of a problem with the two of us, and I heard a lot of stupid comments from those people. A few people liked to call me her ‘follower’, or make a remark about our size difference, one of my teachers (a religious, and vaguely touchy guy) said I must be jealous of her just because she had a bf. Totally unnecessary, dude. But mostly, we were called the ‘Corona Twins’ (yeah, I went to THAT school). At the end of the day, in our final year, when we practically head-to-head for the Fine Art prize, our Art teacher (great guy, instilled in me the absolute refusal to use erasers when drawing, and as such I only draw in pen) gave me the prize, while she took the TD. But there were no hard feelings cos everyone was happy. Girl, you were happy, right???

We weren’t perfect ourselves, I recall for a few months we kind of just drifted apart, and till today, I’m not really sure why, I know there are things we did that offended each other (is that English correct?!?), but we defied the odds, didn’t we?

And these days, I’ve recovered a little from the complex that plagued me, and not to toot my own horn, I’m a bit of a babe. No Halle, but I get by. 🙂 She too, is looking great. We still aren’t solving rocket science, but she’s close. Closer than I am anyway. I just want the world to look pretty.

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Now playing: Republica – Ready to go
via FoxyTunes