Yeah, So I Got Robbed. On the Express. In Broad Daylight.

I know, huh? I’m really not in the mood to say the story for like, the millionth time, but maybe I’ll feel like it later in the day. Or tomorrow. Till then however, I’m fine, I only(finally) lost N95. Sigh. I guess that phone wasn’t meant to be…

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When Things Stop Making Sense

Backward.

So, there I was, minding my own business, browsing the net as usual before I got down to serious work, and I happened upon a site I’ve become a bit of a fan of (http://feministe.us/blog) these days:

http://naijablog.blogspot.com/2008/04/condom-ban-in-anambra.html

http://www.feministe.us/blog/archives/2008/04/07/the-cost-of-pro-life-policies-27-nigerian-women-every-day-10000-nigerian-women-every-year/

The first article made my heart break a little. What’s the deal with us in this country? Why are we, as Nigerians, so SELFISH and hypocritical? What’s with all these people who are firmly implanted on their moral high horses? I’m so sick of this pretending to be holier-than-thou crap.

Another such case is the story of the rigged-in Senator (not so sure about this, but I’m hating right now), Ekaete, who feels that of all the laws she could be bringing into light (like addressing the abortion issue above for instance), she felt she ought to tackle ‘indecent dressing’. After all, if a woman gets harassed by a guy because she happens to be wearing something above her knees then it’s her fault, and not the randy, undisciplined fellow that can’t control himself *eye roll*.

Don’t act like y’all don’t see it, a wretched society of double standards and finger-pointing where most people are afraid to express themselves for fear of being condemned by the same people who get up to shadiness in their own homes. The same people who comfortably get away with all kinds of atrocities because they know they also live in a society where certain behavior is pushed into a cupboard, and silence is encouraged. It’s weird. It’s hypocritical. And I’m sick of it. They’ll all wear their best geles and laces and prance into church on Sunday and practically sleep on the altar, so other people will think they’re great, upright people. It’s BS. Women out there judging other young women, when their husbands are busy frollicking with the neighbour’s daughter, and they artfully ‘look the other way’. EEEUUURGGH.

One of my biggest fears for this country is that the backwardness and old-fashioned ignorance will still be carried on to our generation. Sure, a few people would snort and say, ‘Oh, they’re trying to copy Western culture’. I have to ask, is that a 100% bad thing? Riding in fancy cars and building lavish homes made of marble, have they been ingrained in the ‘Nigerian culture’ since the beginning of time? Can anyone fault how far we’ve come while ‘copying’ this EVIL culture? Why then, do we wear suits to work despite the fact that we live in a perpetually warm and unsavory climate for such clothing?

I read a story on Indemili’s (I apologize for messing up this name, but my computer crashed recently, and I lost a lot of my links, so if anyone knows who I mean, please let me know, I’ve been trying to relocate her blog for days) blog about women and keeping silent when their husbands maltreat them. That post hit a nerve. If the husband is cheating/beating his wife, it’s almost acceptable, if a woman has so much as a bad temper, she will be publicly shamed and reported.

The HYPOCRISY.

Now, I’m not advocating abortion or anything, I mean, if you put your foot in it, deal with it, don’t rob a human being of their chance at life, but I won’t hang anyone I knew for doing it. Our leaders and older folks keep on harping and singing about abstinence (which, FYI, I’m also not against), banning contraceptives, and preaching decent dressing like it’s ever made a difference. People have been fornicating since the word ‘GO’, so such laws, in times as these, when people are straying even further away from the prudish ideologies of our fathers (eg, no male friends, as in, like, seriously?) and many of these above-mentioned ‘moralists’ are sending their children to the (*omg evil*) West, are totally and completely POINTLESS. If nothing else, they’re further pushing people to commit their ‘sins’ in private, and dangerously.

Sigh…

I’m having expression problems. I’m tired of people quick to jump and judge, ‘OMG, look at her skirt, what a tart.’ Or ‘she had a child outside wedlock, she is incapable of ever finding love’, or something equally stupid.
Live and let live. You’re not perfect, so don’t pretend to be. I also don’t have anything against moral, decent people. I have a thing against those ‘decent’ people who feel it’s their place to put others down or lock them in a corner for their imperfections.

Damn… I’ve lost my train of thought for this rant. Please note I was being sarcastic with the whole evil West stuff.

Maybe I Should Become a Lesbian…

Yes, i SAID it.

So, as far things go. Darkman is NO MORE.

Bus and I were chatting this morning, and we came to the same conclusion: Guys can be wastes of emotional energy. They make great friends… but the instance it becomes anything more than that… DRAMA, DRAMA, DRAMA.

As for what happened between me and the fella? Too much. Just take it like that. Let me put it this way, I can handle annoying bosses, financial challenges, irritating colleagues/classmates/roommates, dysfunctional laptops etc, because they’re a necessary part of my life.

Annoying boyfriend who just doesn’t get it? I can do without that. Yeah… I don’t see why chicks kill themselves over being single. I mean, I realised this week that I didn’t spend as much on credit, I had more free time, I didn’t have to update with anyone at the end of the day, and I had nothing on my mind but the important stuff. It’s great.

And here’s a tip to you guys out there: We REALLY don’t want to hear that much about your ex. No matter what we say. I don’t care if she was the cooking, cleaning, submissive 9th wonder of the world. If she was so perfect, you should have stayed with her.

This post is already too long. Damn. I wanted it to be short and mysterious… Ah well.

I Just Re-Dsicovered Why I Hate Weddings, Driving, Nigerians & Everything in General

There’s no other way to put it. I didn’t realise how much of a bad Easter weekend I was having till yesterday.

It’s 7.15am, the clouds outside the large windows are thick and dark with promises of rain, but all is still. Within, the fluorescent lights are a harsh, glaring contrast to the subtle darkness of outside, and there is a din of greetings, football criticisms and post-Easter cheer.

But I’m unhappy. Miserable almost.

Where do I start? With the tragic news I heard about my phone? Or my run-in with the law? How about the alienation I’m having with Darkman? Or wait, should I talk about how I was almost sent to a watery grave? No…

Financially Challenged
Let me start with my tragic case of BROKENESS. Yes. I was skint the whole of the weekend and a couple of days before even, which is very unlike me. No matter how little I have, I always make sure I’m not in a beggar-type situation before payday. Now, don’t get me wrong, I have savings, my little HoneyPot, as I like to call it, but I’ve gotten very good at pretending it doesn’t exist, so it upsets me HEAVILY when I have to dip my hand into my little honey pot. And what upsets me more is that it’s almost NEVER my fault. Everytime I’ve been really financially challenged, it’s because I lent out money to someone who I’d thought would never disappoint me, and they did. I’m yet to successfully borrow money and get it back at least a week after I was supposed to get it back. It usually stretches into weeks, with correspondence with this ‘friend’ fading to zero, as the said person tries to avoid me. Currently I have a LOT of floating cash out there, and I made a decision on Thursday, as I pulled the ATM card for my HoneyPot account out of my wallet, that I am never borrowing anyone money again. I don’t care what they think of me. I don’t care that these people are some of my closest friends. Call me stingy, whatever. I refuse to have my plans ruined, my phone creditless, and my HoneyPot dwindling because someone somewhere thinks, ‘oh, she’ll understand’. On Thursday night, I sent out venom-filled texts to the 3 people owing me and got meaningless promises and excuses in return.

Sigh.
My N95 is down the toilet. Literally.
My folks travelled for a relative’s wedding on Wednesday, so my sis and I basically had the house to ourselves. I went to the gym 3 more times since my last post, and they went quite smoothly. It’s a good feeling, working out, considering the way I sit in the same place for 12-13 hours of the day. On Friday, I got a call from the dude I gave my phone to fix, and he told me that I should just forget about it, that he’ll get me a new one, but much cheaper. At the time, I think I was really pissed at Darkman, I cant be sure, I’ve been pissed at him a lot these days, so I didn’t really digest the guy’s info. Or maybe I’ve just blocked it out, I don’t know. Basically the phone’s gone.

Road Safety officials Should be Hanged and Quartered.
In the course of that night, I had yet another irritating call with Darkman, and woke up sort of early to do some chores so that I could see him before heading off to a beach party. He, however, didn’t feel the same way and 1 ½ hours before I was set to leave, he hadn’t even had his bath. I angrily told him to stay where he was, and waited for my friends to come over instead. The party was titled Alcohol, Ladies and Sand 2. The first one was last summer. I made everyone contribute to the fuel, cos Alpha Beach is not beans. At Mobil office, we jammed traffic, and someone suggested I pass a shortcut through Oniru. Big mistake. As we passed, we were stopped by Road Safety officials. Guess what they asked for.

Caution signs and fire extinguishers. I mean, WTF??? I showed the guy the caution signs, but really didn’t know I had an extinguisher HIDDEN in the boot. Hello, it’s my mum’s car after all. They said I should show them my papers, but it was mostly insurance copies, and the guy proceeded to ask for the vehicle license slip. I almost told him he was crazy, but said instead that I didn’t have it. The part that mattered was stuck to my windscreen. He made to tear it off, but me and my friend blocked him, and I got livid. I told him he shouldn’t touch it. He said he needed something to hold until I paid my ticket, I felt like telling him to kiss my big, black hiney. He already had my driver’s license. After much cursing and spitting, and telling them they were all stupid for asking for something as unimportant as that when there were accidents out there causing traffic. Finally, angry and hot, I called my mum to ask if there were other copies of the stuff they wanted to confiscate. I refuse to pay 4k for no good reason. Because she was at a noisy place, I couldn’t tell her the full gist, and I wish I had, she would have told me about the extinguisher was in fact, there and all this would have been avoided. But whatever, you know. What’s done is done.

Party Poopers
We got to the party, where finding a non-alcoholic drink or water was impossible. It was too damn hot to savour any thing else, and after over-dosing on goat meat and barbeque fish, we went to stand by the water where there was breeze and easy conversation. It was another Babcock University re-union, but I didn’t see as much craziness as last year, alas. It was during that party that I was once again hit with the reality that there are a lot of sluts out there. There’s nothing sexy about walking about with half of your butt showing or in a scrap of cloth that barely holds everything in. I believe you must have an aim when wearing such, like bedding a rich man’s son or something. It’s disgusting. We were staring like idiots, and we were chicks, imagine those poor guys! Some artist named Shenk (is that correct?) came, and one of his lackeys came and asked me and my girls if we wanted to see him, and I was like, who the hell is he? The lackey seemed annoyed that we weren’t wetting ourselves with excitement, but I would have felt the same way if it was an artist I KNEW. Unless he’s Hayden Christanssen, or Justin Timberlake.

My car got stuck in sand, but we rescued it and headed home at 7.30pm. Easter Sunday sucked. NEPA had been using us to play games all week, taking and bringing the light every 10 minutes. But that day, we saw no light at ALL. And it was scorching. I drove around, unsuccessfully looking for an open salon, then came back to stew. Desperate, my sis and I went to see a late movie at Silverbird, but couldn’t find an open filling station, so I drove home with my fuel on reserve, scared the car would stop on 3rd Mainland Bridge. It didn’t.

Weddings, Traffic and all the Reasons why I Hate Lagos.
Monday was the height. I drove around again, unable to find an open salon, and jammed a pointless 90-minute traffic at CMS. Guess why.

A (insert anger-fuelled expletive here) WEDDING. A bloody wedding. EEEEUUUURGHHH!!!!!

The parked cars stretched for miles, and reduced the 3-lane road to ONE. It was the bottleneck from hell. I was pissed. I’m so not having a large wedding. What’s the point of blocking the streets of Lagos and approaching bankruptcy for an event no one will remember in 5 days?

I also realised the cover for one of my tyres had flown off. Great. I decided to branch the road Safety office, which I only found after 15 minutes of fuel-burning, and I was told I had to pay to a bank (my mum insisted I get her documents back). Vexed, I decided to go home. On the bridge, the caterers from that stupid wedding were passing and they had a convoy of road safety officials (oohh, I hate them now). And they just had to pass by my side. The last bus hit my car. And I almost crashed into the railings. My heart stopped while I tried to swerve my car back into normalcy. Already angry, I got REALLY angry and drove like I’ve never driven before. I was speeding, over-taking like a lunatic, hell-bent on catching up with that convoy. I did a good job, I had them within sight up onto Maryland where I got stuck in traffic. And I calmed down a bit, and thought, ‘what’s the point?’ before turning off and carrying my still scary looking hair to the salon down my street (where I should have gone since).

I hate frigging holidays.

Gym Class Horrror

I think the title is very self-explanatory.

Onyeka went to the gym on Saturday and overdid it. That’s the long and short of this story. I blame myself. I was feeling like a star.

I didn’t even wake up with the intention of performing any form of physical activity. I literally screwed myself over. I crawled out of bed at about ten am, feeling good, and happy for the rest. I had no concrete plans for the day, so I decided later on in the afternoon I would head down to the office and finish up some work. I stepped out and saw my sis, and for SOME reason, I decided to do some skipping. After a minute of that I thought, why do this half-baked workout when there’s a gym down the road that’s basically pay-as-you-go?

So, I borrowed my sister’s trainers, threw on some Capri pants and a Virgin t-shirt and hopped over there with my iPod in my pocket. This was at 12 noon.

I got in, paid, and because I was there so late, the place was empty. One of the trainers came up to me and the receptionist told him I wanted a ‘workout’. He got me on the treadmill. I’ve been to the gym before, but never on the treadmill. I was actually hoping for the elliptical, because it meant less strain on my semi-rheumatic bones, but whatever. I was to be on it 20 mins he said. No probs. He gradually increased the speed and because I had no playlist on my ipod at the moment, decided to listen to the calming echoes of Enya. I pretty much jogged for 20 minutes. (*high five*) My heart was slightly achey, and I was sweating in places you wouldn’t believe, but the machine said I had burned 110 calories, and I felt GREAT.

I got off and felt a moment of dizziness. The trainer asked if I was okay, and I waved him off. On to the cycle-machine thigny! After a 2-minute break, I was cycling. Kept going, for about 10 minutes, and the trainer, who by this time was rather impressed with my ‘fitness’ level thought it would be a great idea to increase the resistance to the highest for the last 1 minute. I barely made it. I stood up and this time, the dizziness was unmistakeable. But I walked to the next machine and sat down.

That’s where it all hit rock-bottom. I suddenly felt a strange and highly unpleasant weakness, like someone had just drained all the blood from my arms and legs. You ever get that? Like if you sit somewhere uncomfortable for too long like the loo, and you get up? Well, to add to that drama, I suddenly felt like my stomach was about to heave. And all I could think about was when I watched this show on MTV called ‘Made’, where this highly overweight teen was being trained to be a cheerleader, and she went running for the first time in her life and threw up halfway through.

That thought did not help. I HATE throwing up, and have only done so once in the past 9 years. But I realised this condition was more than me and pleaded for the loo. I got there and… heaved. And heaved. And heaved. I hadn’t eaten in over 12 hours, and my body had nothing to throw up. The trainer was stunned. I felt stupid. I couldn’t have gotten so horribly unfit, could I?

Feeling better, I went back out, and insisted that I would continue, dammit. He was doubtful, but I wanted to prove I wasn’t a wuss. No such luck. After three stomach exercises, I went weak again. I sat down and tried to find my bearings. I couldn’t heave again. But I did.
(*Gross story alert*)

But this time, my body was hell bent on throwing SOMETHING up. I think I threw up stomach juices. All I knew was that it was BITTER and GREENISH. And this time, I said, screw it, I’m not going to throw up my intestines for a workout. The trainer was apologising, saying he shouldn’t have pushed me so hard on the cycle thingy. Iwas just nodding weakly, like yeah, whatever. I sat under the ac for a bit, and got up, drenched (the guy had oured water on me while I was heaving) and tired.

Somehow I made it home, had a cold bath and made some lunch before passing out for three hours. Needless to say, as of this morning I ache all over. But am I discouraged? Heck no! I’m going back next week!

The drama continues…

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.

Onyeka Takes on New Adventures Ep. 2

Ok, I’m back from a rather hectic and somewhat emotionally tasking weekend. I have a lot of things to go on about, so expect a lot from me this week.

Onyeka Takes on LASTMA and Evil Lagos Gutters

Now, it’s been officially a month that I’ve been cruising the streets of Lagos in ‘my car’. And while I’ve had a few issues… I never saw myself jamming those yellow-clothed retards anytime soon. Cue: Darkman. After waking up early to scout for gifts for him (it’s costing me physical and financial stress… the financial I can handle, the physical? Not so much!) We met up at CMS to go catch a movie. He suggested going to the drycleaners.

And it all went wrong from there.

First of all, I said let’s go to VI and do everything there. So, we tried to leave the bendy, confusing roads of Broad Street. He said I should enter a turning. I did. I knew something was wrong the INSTANT I did. A bus was coming our way and blocked us, while flashing his headlights. Darkman wondered why the guy wouldn’t use his own lane. I slowed down, and the words formed in my throat: “Are you sure this road isn’t one-way?”

It never came out. What did come out however, was a LASTMA guy. From NOWHERE. To my absolute horror, he climbed in. I was speechless. I had forgotten to pin down when Darkman had entered minutes ago. At that point I became mute. Didn’t say a word, while Darkman tried to argue with the guy, pleading that we had gotten lost. I reversed out of the street, but at the last minute he said I should take some funny road, and so, I had to engage in some funny manoeuvring. The more the guy spoke, the ANGRIER I got. Angry, because the ‘One-Way’ Sign was facing the wrong way, so that, you would only see it if you ENTERED the street and looked back. Angry because, I would have never taken that road, but I assumed Darkman knew where he was going. Angry because it was going to waste our time and burn my fuel.

So, naturally, my driving temporarily became rubbish. I was reversing badly and I hit a pick up at my back. I was also blocking traffic. And I didn’t care. Darkman saw I was in no mood to be criticized and told me to relax. LASTMA guy told me I should let him drive and I very rudely told him I wasn’t letting him touch my steering. The guy frowned and asked me what I said, and I told him again. Darkman re-phrased it to sound nicer. We perambulated Lagos Island – at one point, a danfo partially scratched my side, jerk – till we got to their office, at which point we parked outside and the guy decided to ‘help us out’ by only asking us to pay N22,500. I almost laughed at that sum. Darkman and the guy argued in Yoruba for almost 20 mins and finally we parked somewhere further away, and he told me the guy won’t come down from 10k. At this point I was just SO amused.

I was like yeah whatever. We agreed to split it 50/50, cos it wasn’t like it was really his fault, and I would have felt bad making him pay the bulk. After he paid the guy, he came in and sat next to me. There was silence for a while, and I felt like I ought to have been livid.

Instead I was fighting the urge to laugh. And that annoyed me more. I told him. And he said he felt so guilty. I just sighed, started playing Robin Thick on the radio, and got moving.

We decided to go to the cleaners’ around there after all. But then he changed his mind and we started winding and turning the streets of Lagos Island again. I had drifted into a better mood and we were talking when …

WHAM!!!

The car sank with a dramatic and heart-stopping thump. I panicked and looked out the window. I had entered an open gutter that stretched right across the road. Someone had thought it wise to remove most of the cement slabs covering it, leaving about 3 or 4 for cars to drive precariously on. I hadn’t seen it, and now the front left wheel was buried in a large pool of soapy water. I couldn’t believe it. And neither could Darkman. Luckily it was a very busy street and once again we were blocking traffic, so a few guys came out to help lift the car. Problem was, every time I tried to move, the wheel sent a spray of dirty soap water everywhere. Tired, I finally got out and let Darkman take the wheel.

We got out. But not before half drenching about 6 guys. And realising my speedometer had decided to stop working. Later on, Darkman asked me if I had prayed that morning. We went to VI, wasted so much time at the Cleaners’ we missed the movie. Then had a horrible lunch at Munchies. The day ended badly after that. I couldn’t believe it. I could have just gone to Agbara and slept. Sigh.

I woke up yesterday morning, reflected over the previous day and felt the anger I should have felt. So much that I couldn’t sleep. I decided to drive back to Agbara. At eight am. Just to kill the distraction.

I ‘m over it now. But I swear, if I see another LASTMA guy…

Oh No! My N95 fell into the LOO! Part 2

So… Following from my previous post, Nokia said they couldn’t (wouldn’t) fix it. I know they’re just scared of it cos it had water issues and they know I’ll sue their asses if something else goes awry.

I have an action packed MP3 Player/Radio/Camera/Flash drive/Wireless Browser/Game Box/Organiser/Paperweight.

That can’t call!!! 😦

It does everything, works brilliantly offline/SIMless!

My colleagues have all suggested Computer Village.

Sigh.

I’m sad.

A Tale of Lost Sight

There are a lot of things I was going to write about as of this morning… but I swear I can’t remember any of them. In the meantime, due to popular demand ( and by popular demand, I mean afrobabe and undacovasista’s requests) , I’ve decided to talk about … THE EYE *insert dramatic music here*.

The whole drama started on the 2nd of January 1994 (whew! 14 yrs, I’m old!) a mere 3 weeks before my 7th birthday. We had gone to my dad’s place in Delta for Christmas, and were due to be on our way back to Lagos the next day. Because we had a long drive ahead, my sis and we got the go-ahead to pour soft drinks in our flasks to put in the freezer overnight. I couldn’t find any drink but Maltina in the fridge, so I took it, and headed to the kitchen only to see my sis with a bottle of Sprite, which I would have preferred.

She told me she got it from the kitchen store, so I went in to check (I should have just let sleeping dogs lie, right?). In my quest to scout the numerous crates on the shelves, I must have rocked an empty Sprite bottle some shelves up, and it began to rock. Panicking, I reached out to grab it before it fell, and in the process, I slackened my grip on the cold, wet Maltina bottle. That was my last vision for a while. I recall looking down to see the bottle smash and seeing Maltina pour everywhere before realising something entered my eye.

Now, being a kid, I started bawling and scratching my eye, thinking it was just the drink that had poured in. It wasn’t. Some pieces of glass had flown in as well…

Upon reflection, I shudder at the thought that I was actually scratching GLASS in my eye. Anyway, parents ran in and made me stop while I continued to bawl. They took me in the bathroom and washed the glass out, but I was traumatized somewhat and refused to open it. I slept in their bed that night, and the ride back to Lagos passed in a subconscious blur. Unfortunately, it was a Sunday, and we couldn’t really find any good, open optometrist. Desperation drove us to LUTH where we recommended to some woman named Dr Majekodunmi. I write her name cos she’s a quack.

We went there the next day and she said we needed to stitch up my eye, cos the glass had scratched the coloured part and I remember there were like 3 or so thin white lines at the top of the darker ring by the pupil. We did the stitching in what would be the first of many surgeries. I still couldn’t open the eye. It stayed closed and I stayed home until June that year. During that time, we got tired of the woman’s stories, and my dad began to contemplate shipping me abroad. At the last minute we found this really cool, rather new optometrist 5 minutes away called Eye Foundation and went in for a chat. The doctor was very optimistic, and that month we did about 3 more surgeries. Apparently Dr Majekodunmi used the wrong type of stitches in my eye, and they had complicated the situation. My lens was damaged.

I opened my eye sometime in June. It felt so amazing. But 2 problems, my vision was blurry because they had to remove my lens, and the eye had no tolerance to bright light i.e bright lamps, daylight. I was perpetually squinting for months after.

The next 6/7 years was a whirlwind of glasses, and eye tests, and 3 cornea transplants rejected by my body, to lasering to remove the liquid pressure in my eye that was escalated by the constant trauma. It was so bad the hospital ended up doing some of my surgeries for free. My sight was like a man with a terminal disease. With each test, and each rise in pressure, it slowly faded away, as my eye got coated with a thicker and thicker layer of protein. By secondary school, it had pretty much turned a weird blue-grey colour. I lived with it, and it barely affected me. I think it’s because I had it from so young. Finally, I think it became clear I wasn’t seeing again, and my doc suggested cosmetic contacts. I got those the week of my graduation from secondary school and wore it all trhough university in my left eye.

But it wasn’t the end. Apparently, lack of use, and the glaucoma induced blindness resulted in a weird growth on the top of my eyeball. It looked like a little grey boil, and it pushed on my eyelid. That gradually grew and by graduation, my doc decided it might not be wise to leave it there. He’d been throwing the idea of an orbital implant around, but my parents were obviously not too eager to take out their daughter’s eye. I didn’t care.

An irritation to some accidental water in my eye last March finally sealed the deal. Within hours of visiting the hospital, I was back at work drafting a request for medical leave. The night pre-op and that morning, the story passed to most of my friends and they called me up to encourage me. I was just worried I would be walking about with a hole in my head. But I was happy, no more irritating contacts!

The procedure was pretty quick. I couldn’t have been in there for up to 3 hours. I made a point of rolling my eye one last time before the anaesthesiologist pressed the syringe that would knock me out. When I got out however, I think I imagined the sensation. I remember murmuring, ‘It hurts.’

It kinda did. A dull ache going through the left side of my face. But it was hidden beneath layer after layer of bandaging and I couldn’t do much. I was given what I consider the BEST PAINKILLERS EVER. Instant action, they put me right back to sleep every time I took them for the next 3 weeks. The morning after, a nurse came in to take the bandages off for a post-op consult and I remember my mum and I freaked. It was huge and swollen and very fleshy. I couldn’t open it, naturally, and I was in no hurry. The next few weeks were cool, sleeping, eating, watching tv… The only sucky part was putting the anti-biotic in. Cos it was an ointment, and it required me to open the eye. I admit I rarely used it.

After a month, the swelling was down, and my eye a pink, fleshy shell of its former self. I got a prosthetic eye a few days later. It was uncomfortable at first, but I’m all good now. And thanks to the orbital implant, I can still move the eye and cry. Cool, huh?

The prosthetic is not 100% the right size, and my lid is a bit slack from the swelling of my old eye so, when I’m tired, it tends to close/drop a bit, but I’ll get by till I can get a custom made one done.

So, erm, that’s it. Really long. Sorry.

Oh No! My N95 fell into the LOO!

There was no poetic way of titling this post. It basically SOAKED for HOURS in the john.

How, you ask? I’ll tell you.

There I was about to go out, my beautiful N95 in my hands, attached to me, as always, and I realised I really needed to adjust my (crazy) hair. However, I had other things in my hand, and I thought it would be really wise to place the phone on the water closet. After all, I’ve done it loads of time right? I use the mirror, adjust my hair…

And forget all about it.

I get to Bus’s house all the way in Ikoyi, and realise I forgot my phone. That was annoying on its own, but then, I proceed to make sure by calling it. And y’all know, I gotta have on my vibrate right?

Do the math. This was around 2 or so. I didn’t get back home till past eight. Luckily I was with my girls. It didn’t eve register to me that I’d left the phone there, until I was turning the key in the lock for the front door. At which point, my heart literally skipped a beat. I started opening the door faster, and walking like a person possessed to the toilet.

It’s probably at that point I went into shock. There it was, sitting in the water, the battery floating out. The fact that it was the toilet lasted for about a nanosecond. It was clean, not so? I picked up my wet, dripping phone, and walked out slowly, feeling like I should cry, but not having the capability. I left all the doors open, ignored the gate- man, and walked back to my car, where everyone was sitting.

“My phone. Fell. Into the toilet.”

Bus was freaking that I had put my hand in, everyone else was telling her that was the least of my problems. Kitty was nice enough to help me shake the water out while Bus drove us back to her place for the night. I was distraught. I got in, checked the memory card was still cool (it was), and blowdried it for a bit, before laying its components (which aren’t much, what happened to those Nokias we could dismantle??) out under the fan. Later that night, I poured my heart out to Darkman, and he, like everyone else, said I was lucky that the battery fell out before it hit the water. Last night too, I put in front of a turbo fan. It looks alright, but I’m scared…

You see, whenever the phone falls, the batter y falls out, and the fact that it was already out probably means it knocked something on the way down (thank god!). But I’m scared to try it on. If there’s just a SMIDGE of moisture, I’m going to short circuit it. It’s Monday morning, and my baby’s sitting on my CPU, sucking in the warmth. I read somewhere (actually, a lot of places) that putting it in uncooked rice will suck the moisture out, so I’ll try that too.

But if it doesn’t work…

UPDATE: Tried it the next morning…. actually a colleague tried it against my will. It came on! W00t! Problem is… half of the screen was kinda funny, so we’re going to get that professionally checked. Oh bless you, NOKIA!

ANOTHER UPDATE: Turns out nothing was wrong with the screen, it works perfectly OFFLINE but it’s not reading any SIM cards. AND the instant you pop the battery in it comes on…. without you touching the power button. So I took it to the Nokia Care center in VI, and they were nice enough to tell me that I voided my warranty and they usually dont collect water-damaged phones. But they did. And now the wait begins…