SHALLY A.

The elderly woman seemed frantic as she turned around and asked a million times, “Where is the Chief Brides Maid?” She was the entertainer, MC and comedian of the day – Alaga iduro for my cousin’s introduction ceremony. She hastily picked one of my cousins’ friends and crowned her Chief Brides Maid. Her goal? Lecture and make sure the CBM wasn’t slacking in her duties. This event is our way of saying ‘meet the parents/family’ and like most Nigerian events, it had to be extravagant. With a little trepidation from the Alaga iduro’s biting stare, I ran to my duty post of Chief ‘House’ Maid. It seemed I had a sticker on my forehead saying ‘ask me, and I shall give thee’. Suddenly, I was the assistant caterer. I was also the photographer making sure people took still moments with bride and the groom. I wiped the bride’s face while my own face was oily. I fanned her while I was sweating. I was chosen as a sign of love, for which I am grateful and I certainly do honou

I'm obsessed…I keep checking how many views, comments, or whatever is on my blog page. I keep wondering when I will be a mad blogger/writer that makes a difference and wins so many awards.  On my birthday, thanks to the strike, I had a 24 hours lazy day and lots of time to be blog obsessed. I even gave myself a new goal; a blog goal (obviously) which is to have a thousand views by next month (don’t have that just a thousand views look or the Thomas never believing look either, anything is possible). Am sure you are wondering why the blog obsession? The real deal is I am an upcoming writer; a good blog could boast my ego and help achieve my dreams. I could move from level 5 to 100. You know nothing is impossicant. Besides, I need to know and feel like I am achieving something. The feeling of accomplishment, fulfillment and self actualization…  Don’t want to bore you with all my feeling and obsessions. My question is ‘what is your obsession or dream?' You can never l

The sound of a siren rings in my head. My sweat dripping body turns, adjusting my eyes to the normal darkness of my room. I reach for my watch and touch light under my pillow, my eyes bulging out of my eye socket… 6am ke! I overslept. Stretching and rushing my prayers (sha chanted something), run to the bath, dress, do a little house work and ‘yippee’ am out by 7am. And here goes my Lagos day (saying it in a Jenifa’s voice) The bus conductors use the gong and crying method to advertise their different bus stop names “Isaga, ogba, agege’. Driver’s hands are glued to their horns. There is always something to horn or scream at with your head hanging outside the driver’s seat window “get out of the way”. Everyone is going somewhere in their cars, tricycles, bicycle, motorcycle, wheelbarrow or legedes benz. The bus line (that is if there is a line sef) is long and depressing. When a bus stops to pick passengers, I notice that the door has almost fallen off, smh well; it’s still tran

LOVE: Love lasting overflowing vulnerable and enduring. Love huh! It seems time stops when we finally find you. We are not rushing to the unfathomable future; not caring about the silly whinny past. I walk down the street with a new beam. Sunshine clouding my eyes. My smiles shyness is gone, am wide mouthed in love.   HAPPINESS: There are times that I feel like the world is changing me around and that my soul has so little to dance about. I have so many words in my heart and my voice fails to speak out loud. In the stillness of my heart, am praying to find a reason, a will to be madly happy. I just don’t know how to let myself know that everything is for a time, am keep waiting for us to find each other. Huh! Happiness it seems like you are lost and found and I really need this sunlight smile of mine. THE BOOK: My life is like a book. I had no right to choose the cover. It was fearfully designed from up above. It’s an irony though that the pages are blank. I am allowed

I met Taiwo through my cousin Bimpe, they were very close friends. The first thing I noticed about him was that he seemed hard enough to handle  her. Bimpe was no raw meat and she had a hard exterior which too many people were afraid to crack to find the soft gush of love. Maybe that’s what made me like him. I  also found out his twin sister was someone whom we had shared, played and laughed together throughout my first year in the University.  Kenny, Biola and Femi had made my year one bearable. Sometimes, I remember the strong sound of laughter that came from their room and smile. Taiwo and I worshiped in Daystar, I saw him almost every Sunday. He usually dropped me near my house. The last time I saw him, he was going to see Bimpe and I went with him. Somehow, his car developed a fault and our 10 minute journey was turned to an hour. We ended up parking the car in a nearby parish and took a tricycle to Bimpe's place. Alas! the most wanted Bimpe was not at home, so we tal

As I walk down the street away from the voting center, am perplexed, angry and disgusted. When will I live with absolute believe in my country? When will I go to the office without getting dirty due to the dust on the street? When will green, white, green mean life, purity and plenty food.  I see their eyes every morning, the stains of neglect, betrayal, confusion. The stressful lines that depict that they haven't had a good night, NEPA obviously has failed and the next meal is a mystery. I see the boy that came from Anambra saying ‘Aunty Aunty I am from secondary school Nnawfia and I walk away wondering if he wants to steal my purse or jazz me. Later I realized that I had known him or he had known me. I thought to myself OMG!! why didn’t I take a second look (secondary school Nnwafia was where I taught English Language two years ago during my NYSC). The depressing thoughts came: What was he doing in Lagos?  Did he come for greener pastures? He didn’t look any greener to me;

Mother: magnificent offer to harness, enrich and refrain. A mother can words describe her? Can letters paint her? Can life be without her? 'Iya.' A nursery rhyme says it all; who sat and washed my infant head, when sleeping on my cradle bed and tears of sweet affection shed, my mother. That song played a certain tune in my mind as I watched her hold her baby. Hmm! Thoughts flowed through my heart and my mind realized that she had a certain look, maturity; a responsible yet loving adoration for the tiny baby she held in her arms. He was so small and today they called him a name; a name that father, mother, grandfather and grandmother put much thought in and suddenly a craft, a word seemed to hold their hopes, love and dreams –Oluwatimilehin, Anjolaoluwa, Abubakar. I wonder when a mother’s love begins. Is it from the 'yes I am pregnant' or when she brings life into the world? She feeds, lives, sleeps for two. She can’t be selfish, for a life depends on her. She