Ten Years Don Waka

I was working hard at being me- unruffled in any storm of things that do not concern me, when Marian called my name.
“Adaeze!” She floated into the scattered room that had me in the middle of it.
“Ada is there anything I can help you with? The truck is almost ready to move and you haven’t packed anything.”
“I’m good” I tell her, a smile dancing at the corners of my eyes at the concern in her voice
“I don’t want them to say you’re the one who’s delaying the movement, you’re my friend and I don’t want them saying things about you.”

Artful Dodger.

Feeding the three picky eaters she had given birth to, always required plenty thought, trickery and cunning and if all failed, her weapon of last resort- fried plantains and scrambled eggs would get them to finish the food, leave two or three slices on the plate, or eat the fried eggs and four slices of plantain respectively in order of their births.

The Young and the Innocent

Nuttin No Go So was my favourite song when I was 15, I would listen to it several times daily on my brother’s discman. It held me through the twists and turns of teenage angst and uncertainty about impending adulthood and choices.

Then I forgot about it.

Lyrically- Look what Love Has Done to Me

Tomorrow’s my friend’s birthday, I met him on his birthday… not physically, on WhatsApp. It was his picture that brought us together, he was posed with a toothpick in his mouth and for a reason I cannot decipher even three years later, I was so irked by it that I kept complaining to Hero who’d put up the picture. Hero was irritated by my pestering and forwarded his number for me to tell him myself.

That was the start of one of the most beautiful friendships of my life, I’d have said the most beautiful but Hero would sulk and Zagira would send a barrage of WhatsApp messages. Anyway, he’s the quickest connection I’d ever made, he almost seemed to have a brand of truth serum and got me to tell him all my secrets. 
Three years on, I count him as one of the major blessings of my life, the one who knows me better than I know me, the one who will listen to my problems at midnight when he has to leave home at 4am (if you think the hustle is crazy in Naija, you should try relocating to Illinois USA). He’s still the one who has refused to find me an American bobo 😦 I’m mega vexing for him, like all my married friends who rub marital bliss in my face but refuse to hook me up… Is it fair?

I wanted to put up “That’s what friends are for” by Dinner Warwick but I was listening to a random selection on my phone and Patty Smith’s “Look what love has done to me” came up and I knew it was the right song. Knowing and loving Christian (Baby) has changed my life. Agape love oooo he’s a married man, biko. 

 Look What Love Has Done

I woke up this morning feeling lonely

There’s so much my heart just does not understand

There were times when nothing really mattered

But now I find I care too much

There’s life in everything I touch
Look what love has done to me

I am not who I used to be

Everything is changing, now we’ll never be the same

Look at what love has done to us

Will we ever learn to trust

We’re running out of time, there’s so little time

Baby look what love has done to me

Oh, yeah
Now it’s late at night, I’m here without you

I’m trying to make my way to where you are

Can’t you see, I’ll still be here waiting

Can’t you see, our two hearts were always meant to be as one
Look at what love has done to us

When will we ever learn to trust

We’re running out of time, there’s so little time, baby

Will you look what love has done to me
I’m calling out your name, baby

Calling out, calling out, yeah, yeah, yeah
Now look at what love has done to us

When will we ever learn to trust

We’re running out of time

There’s so, so little time, baby

Oh, look what love has done

Baby look what love has done to me
Look what love has done

Done to me

Valentine gift.

Yeye girl,
How e come be say na you dey control my mumu button like how Okocha dey gum ball to im boot as twenty defenders dey chase am? You wey no even fine like that sef, with your k-leg and opolo eye and you no even dey try draw your eyebrow like your mates them. No be say na the better cloth you dey wear or long hair wey you kukuma get. No be say you no get your good points sha but I dey suspect say jazz dey involved for this matter.

Man Vs. Machine- it won…

The title of this post should be woman vs. machine because the story is about a woman but I wanted to keep the M vs. M theme, so M vs. M it is.

 

Earlier today I was at the Nedoux Sewing Club which held somewhere in Lagos and I got to meet Nedu! And fifteen or so other fabulous ladies who obviously had a keen interest in sewing. I loved the class, Nedu was splendid- she made sure she carried everyone along and the course was engaging and interesting. This isn’t so hard, I thought and irony laughed hard at me.

 

It was the machines, the sewing machines- I used two! that robbed me of my triumph or was it satisfaction? It got so bad that I couldn’t stand to stay and watch others fly while I couldn’t even crawl, so I went out and got myself a drink and something to eat (I have to stop using junk food as an emotional clutch) and I called F who encouraged me to go back and make one more try.

 

It didn’t end as we hoped, I had to leave before I collapsed in a heap of tears and frustration (I hope Nedu forgives me for bailing like that). The journey back calmed me, helped me put things in perspective and I no longer felt like the biggest failure on earth (interestingly, I watched a talk by JK Rowlings on failure an hour ago on facebook. I feel much better now).

Will I still attempt another battle against the beautiful sewing machine? Not anytime soon, I need to recover from this one first. Apart from meeting Nedu and admiring her legs all through the class, I took some pictures that I absolutely love.

 

Just before I left home…

That’s how my Saturday went, tell me about yours.

Of Bridges and Mortality

The bus stops at the bridge in front of the National Stadium and you come down, there’s a woman at the back of the bus who’s insulting the conductor. You don’t linger to hear the end of the argument, it had started even before you boarded at Anthony bus stop and it will continue until she gets tired of shouting at him. You’re very grateful to have gotten to Stadium without losing a limb, the driver had driven with the speed of a man who was pursued by a vengeful ex girlfriend.