RSS Feed

Tag Archives: Naija blogs

Urgent Nollywood Appeal

I have tried very hard to keep this under wraps, it isn’t exactly the sort of information you broadcast, especially when described by one’s own husband with terms like actress or worse, alata, which means pepper-seller. In Africa no one grows up wanting to be a pepper-seller and if by some misfortune they fall onto that path, they would not broadcast the fact either. Sadly, my mum and brothers are on the same bandwagon and have even dragged my innocent sons, kicking and screaming onto it to join them. They think I’m an actress and may have missed my calling. The only one who insists on seeing me as I am, a dignified, ambitious woman is my precious father.

So here it is, I need a connection into Nollywood

Starring in a Nollywood movie isn’t number one on my bucket list but it is there nonetheless. And since I’ve never deluded myself into thinking I’m Ms Organised, I won’t explain why I’m not addressing my list in chronological order. Plus of course being me, chronological order does not mean in order of importance. It just happens to be the order in which the thought  forced itself on me.

Why Nollywood? I can’t tell you why because I don’t know. I only watch the occasional movie and those occasions are very few and very far between. Like many people I became fed up of the cliffhanger annoying endings signalled by the words ‘To God be the Glory‘, followed by credits to the many Chief and Chief Mrs Okonkwos and Otunba Babatundes.

Still, I want the opportunity to ‘side-eye’ people up and down to the cham-cham, kpas-kpas sounds of my chewing gum.  I want the Nollywood style makeup that not only transforms your face, but changes your accent while you’re wearing it. I want to play the part of that wicked madam who treats her minions as though she is only just coming to terms with the bitter truth that they breathe the same air, or maybe even play the role of the secretary that’s so rude even the mice shudder. I want to be able to gist with my friends and say; ‘Gurrl!! Can you imagine? Ehnn!?‘ complete with appropriate hand gestures. I want to say I’ve got my ‘international passport‘  That one baffles me, is there a local or national type?

I’m not keen on the role of being the bit on the side with whom  chief belts out his dirty sexy laugh; and he puts his arm around her shoulders saying ‘Come here my dear, he he heh!!’

So will you hook me up? Bear in mind I do  have a reputation to protect. I don’t want the ones where every character including the vulcaniser has an American accent. I also don’t want any movies with a car accident scene- they just don’t work. Especially when the doctor has the task of breaking the sad news of  death to a worried relative. Although he has been instructed by the scriptwriter to ‘break… gently’ he chooses instead to jab the pre-wailing character with these exact words (every time); ”sorry, she’s dead. No need to cry, no need to cry, be a man!”

My friends and I went to watch Chimamanda’s Half of a Yellow Sun a couple of weeks ago, which by the way in case you’re not familiar does not fall under the Nollywood umbrella. First we had dinner and then the movie. We were very surprised to see a red carpet and a bevy of  beautiful Nigerian folks dressed to the nines all milling around. There were 8 inch heels, weaves down past their bums, make up that I swear changed them on the inside as well as the outside and tons of backs. Chocolate-coloured backs, yellow backs, bleached backs. I’m thinking the dress code was backless dresses. Thankfully I took some pictures- otherwise you would not have believed that there really was a man dressed in a gold shirt with gold accessories. And a white waistcoat. And a white fedora hat. I spotted an acquaintance on the red carpet, sashaying about as the cameras took her pictures. She is fairly well-known on the entertainment scene. She told me it was the premiere for a movie which raised awareness for cervical cancer. My brothers and sisters, there was no indication of cervical cancer awareness anywhere.  There were backdrops, camera men, photographers, actresses and actors, but nothing about cervical cancer. Just hair, make-up, dresses and gold outfits. And backs.

Just so we’re clear, I’m not looking to make a name for myself, go backless on a red carpet or hang out with gold-shirted men. I just want to cross one line off my bucket list.

Thank you for reading, do write something in the box below, I’m desperate for comments I would love to know your thoughts. It’s been a while.

 

2014-05-02 23.11.52

Gold Shirt Tinz

2014-05-02 23.12.36

Backs & Weaves

Raising Awareness.

Raising Awareness…







 

 

 

 

A Brief Report About Nothing

I first awoke at 5:36am. Some days I wake up twice. And I don’t mean postpone waking up by 5 or 10 minutes with the snooze button. No. I actually go back to sleep, the sort of sleep you embark on at 11pm, having left home at 4am to go to work in a factory with faulty machinery. That sort of sleep.

My second wave of sleep was accompanied by a dream in which I was driving. In India. Ladies and gentlemen I’ll have you know that the only time I’ve been to India was in conversation with my friend Tanya who makes Luxury Leather Fairtrade bags there.
I haven’t got ‘go to India‘ on my bucket list. I haven’t even got ‘perhaps go to India‘ on the list.
I woke up again at 9:32am, and thankfully remembered #4 had a birthday party to attend  exactly 18 minutes from that moment. I had my day planned out- and it didn’t include hanging out waiting for him at a party. I wanted to read, blog and do some outstanding work  that’s been outstanding. The double emphasis is not an error. The single good thing about that party is that it was in the shopping centre that housed my favourite cafe.
I arrive looking like the coolest mum in town, no one knows what’s happening underneath; that my insides are carefully knitting themselves back together again, the way it does after you’ve done something as drastic as getting yourself ready and out of the door in 18 minutes, with #4, the one who has Mafia mannerisms, not the one who has a story for every word. That’ll be #3.
I say ‘Hi‘ to the other mums and will forever remain baffled yet stand respectfully in awe of those supreme women who choose 20 or more children, over their own company.
Why would I? When I can go for a Chocolate Viennese and toasted baguette all by myself? The Chocolate Viennese is a steaming mug of chocolate drink topped with a generous swirl of whipped cream and a dusting of cocoa powder. I barely finish taking off #4’s coat and escape from the scene like I’m being pursued.
I make my way to the cafe and place my order. I scope out the joint to find my favourite table, the one by the window. That spot is perfect for observing. It is from that seat that I will later swing effortlessly and in perfect rhythm between guilt and justification, as I watch mother after mother arrive for a special time of breakfast with their children . While Toks ran away left hers behind so she could be by herself. That feeling will occur in due course, because like my sleep, I arrive at the cafe twice. Meanwhile I go to pay. My wallet isn’t there. Yes Toks, how can your wallet be there when it’s in your other bag?
I brace myself as I prepare the speech for the security guys as to why I can’t pay for my ticket. At that point I remember a few years ago when I lost my parking ticket . It was the second time in as many days. So I buzzed the help button at the exit barrier to let them know I needed their kind assistance to please let me out. OK I didn’t quite put it like that. They were not ecstatic.
”Madam, did you not use the same excuse just yesterday?”
”Yes I did. Because I actually lost my ticket”
”Sorry madam, but you have to pay a lost ticket fine of £10”
”Ok, but how do I do so when I don’t have my wallet on me?”
By this time a long line of cars had started to form behind me. Some drivers were already craning their necks to see who was holding up traffic.
”Well there’s nothing I can do, I offered. No ticket, no wallet.”
Defiance was starting to set in . Life for me was hard so some drama to punctuate my sadness was welcome.
”I’ll come down to sort it out”.
The security guard sounded like he couldn’t wait to let this woman out. I was wrong. I think what he really said was I’ll sort you out. He came for a fight. He proceeded to erect a temporary barrier behind me and direct traffic to exit on the oncoming lane, effectively locking me between the exit barrier and the makeshift one.
I switched off my engine and got on the phone to hubby. After a few unsuccessful minutes of role-playing as a traffic warden,  he let me through. Hubby’s concern was more for my emotional well-being as I had become rather forgetful and distracted, and it was starting to look like a ‘pattern’.
Thankfully on this occasion I was treated with grace and sympathy and was immediately allowed out without any drama.
My drive home to get my wallet was uneventful, besides nearly running through a red light. I am later seated with my mug and baguette, by the window where I pick up a rhythm; observe, guilty; observe, guilty. 
I picked #4 up from the party, this is #4 who never has enough of parties. This time there were no mild tantrums about leaving. Instead he had a look on his face like something was bothering him.
”Mum, can I ask you a question?”
”Of course sweetie!”
”Are we vegetarian?”
I laugh in amazement at his perfect pronunciation of a word (I think) he has never heard before.
”No darling we’re not. Why do..”
”Oh crumbs! I think we have a big problem mama!”
”Why?”
”I was asked and said we were and I was given chicken nuggets for vegetarians!”
He sounded like being classed wrongly as one meant certain doom for he and his family. Like he had unknowingly initiated us into some kind of cult. I assured him that we were both vegetarian and not vegetarian, we ate everything. I confused him more I think.
I went on to explain that vegetarians didn’t eat anything that was once alive, like chickens or cows.
The next day and I decided to buy some fish, I rarely eat fish but I decided some grilled fish and roast plantains sounded exotic and yummy so fish it was. Blame it on Aji who doesn’t stop going on about her hubby’s grilled fish and plantains. And you know there are some people who would beautify an unsightly item just by the way they describe it? She’s one of those. I had them gutted and cleaned but according to Mustapha ‘we don’t fillet fish here’. And yes he may or may not be called Mustapha.
I showed the whole, gutted, headless fish to #4 and he promptly asked; ”Is it dead? Why did they kill it?”

About now I’m blinking rapidly, wondering if I’m prepared for what might come next. I have never imagined living the vegetarian lifestyle- nothing against them but you can almost say it’s against my religion not to eat meat.

I think I may have created my first vegetarian. And since it’s this particular child, we’re all in trouble. Big trouble.

Do share some words of support. Please!

A World Away

I’m sitting with Ian, he’s driving. My ears are being held hostage by the radio. The song’s chorus goes; ”every time I think about you I touch myself”. Uncomfortable does not describe how I feel. Nothing does. So I do what I do best, I start to chat.

He studied Eastern European History. I don’t ask why, even though I really want to know why he chose to dedicate his future to the past of a group of people who thankfully have stolen the spotlight from Nigerians in the UK. He is Welsh, born of Welsh parents and raised on Welsh soil. I ask him what sort of career path he’ll be taking, he doesn’t know. Perhaps my question isn’t clear. So I rephrase. His answer remains unchanged.

I leave Ian in mid-sentence and mentally teleport myself to West Africa, where I arrive in the sitting room of an average Nigerian family. They’ve just finished dinner and father asks son to repeat what he just told him. Then he holds up his hand signalling to the son, to ‘hold that thought’… he calls mother  to come and hear what her son is saying. Then turns back to son;

”Oya, tell us again what you want to study at University, the university that I’ll be paying for. With my own money”.

The rest of the scene is a blur so I take my leave and return to the car, we’re nearly at our destination but there’s time to chat some more. He tells me he’ll be leaving his job in 15 days to travel to South America. I ask where- eager to add my tuppence worth. I have Brazilian roots and I’m buzzing with the newfound knowledge that my ancestors first arrived on Nigerian soil exactly 100 years before I was born. My dad is our genealogy tzar. I’m blessed.
He tells me he’ll be travelling everywhere. I probe deeper. When will he be back? Because in my world people come back when they travel- usually within two weeks, four weeks tops if you’ve gone to bury a relative who had a chieftaincy title and lived long. Any more than that they’ll consider you as having emigrated. His answer reminds me he’s not from my world; for he’ll be gone for a year, maybe even two.
He did the same thing two years ago, quit his job and went travelling. Again I ask where.

”Oh you know, the standard. India, USA, Turkey”.

Standard?

I shut the heyall up. He carries on humming to the song. I don’t make the comment that’s been slowly making its way down to my mouth from my head.

Yesterday I met another one. I needed to buy a mobile broadband dongle, she looked and sounded like she would rather be in bed. The 21-year-old proceeded to take my details.

Ms or Mrs?

Mrs.

She replied in her sleepy voice, ”oh! You’re sooo lucky!”

I decide she needs some advice. A slap upside the head. A wake up call. Kick up the backside. So I ask how long she’s worked for Carphone Warehouse. ”one year”, she manages to offer. As though an additional word would send her over the edge and into Alice’s wonderland, which is precisely where she doesn’t want to go- in my opinion she’s halfway there.

So what do you plan on doing? I’m sure you don’t want to work for Carphone Warehouse forever?

No, I want to travel. Afterwards I want to finish my final year of degree.

Oh that’s nice! Where are you off to?

Australia.

What’s your degree course in?

Criminal psychology.

Sounds exciting!

Everybody says that.

She drags out ‘everybody’ so much so that the poor thing is unwillingly turned into a seven syllable word. I pay for my dongle, and as I leave, I wish her well on her travels.
Oh it’s not for a while, I have to save first. I don’t even know when I’m going.

I start to tell her where the nearest Starbucks is, so she can grab a coffee. then I change my mind. It’s only 10am. I don’t need this. Besides they may not drink coffee in her world.

Joanne says I attract odd people. Like those gypsies. Did I share about the day they came to the office? And puked in the toilet? It was no small matter. Another day! Now you have to come back!

Thank you for reading!

Eavesdropping

EavesdroppingLast night found me at the hospital with child #4. He suddenly developed severe pain in both legs and couldn’t stand, let alone walk. I wasn’t in the least bit bothered as #2 had that right after a bout of cold when he was 2. At the same time one must not take chances. Off we went to the GP who looked perplexed (she was young and inexperienced) and she panicked, calling the hospital ahead to expect me; she sent me off with a letter to the children’s A+E explaining her ‘concerns over this odd turn of events’ I tried to reassure her that it wasn’t serious, then I realised I had unwittingly swapped roles with her and stopped.

At the hospital we had to endure a 4 hour wait, a situation that wasn’t helped by new patients arriving and then leaving before us. I decided to make time pass by eavesdropping on every diagnosis my itchy ears could pick up. Then my attention turned to the young mother of a newborn, no more than 3 months old. She was having a slightly heated conversation with the police, about 4 of them were with her. Then she disappeared into a room presumably with the doctors while the cops gathered outside the door of the waiting room where Toks was strategically positioned for more gist. They talked amongst themselves and I heard them say ”16 times in the last x weeks”. And I heard the phrase  Munchausen’s By proxy.  I vaguely remembered a nurse in the news about 10 years ago so I whipped out my phone to check on Wiki. Between the great Wiki and my hyperactive imagination, we concluded that this young woman had brought her baby to the hospital 16 times in the last 3 months, trying to convince the doctors that the baby was ill. When she was sent home again and again with no diagnosis she possibly deliberately harmed the baby- at least that’s what the police determined. It is a psychiatric disorder and the mum needs help- if this is the case. An hour later she left crying with her mother- but without the baby. The nurses where stifling their tears. The atmosphere in paediatric A+E was very heavy and sombre. For a moment the only noises were the mother’s cries and the bleeping of the monitors. The machines appeared to be busy minding their own business, yet silently conversing amongst themselves about how crazy the humans were with their strange problems. And how glad they were not to be humans.

About 20 mins later another woman left cradling the baby while receiving instructions from the police  She was either the foster mum or the social worker. My heart was heavy and I felt so sad for that woman. Of course I began to wonder how they determined that she was an unfit mother. What triggered the hospital to call the police? I took my first son to the hospital many times and even once took a carrier bag of  dirty nappies filled with green poo. That’s normal for a first time mum right?  Whatever! to you if you’re busy shaking your head! And what if they were wrong about her? I wondered if there were any false signals I gave out that would lead them to think I had some unpronounceable syndrome. The first time I brought #4 to the hospital I couldn’t remember his date of birth. We tried 3 different dates, all of them wrong and had to call hubby who found it hilarious; he comforted me by telling me I had a lot on my plate. 4 children plus him and running a business wasn’t an easy brew to swallow daily.

Later as I chit-chatted with the doctor, she asked the ages of my other children. Wahala. #1 just turned 13 but I’m still used to saying 12, so I said 12- er.. 13! Long and short of it I muddled up all their ages., I wondered if they’ll see that as a sign of a syndrome. I decided from now on, if I am mistaken with their ages, I’ll stick with my first story. They might be keeping a tab. I can just see it;

  • Appears uncertain about ages of her children- Frequently changes their dates of birth.
  • Takes bag of dirty nappies to hospital and forces senior doctor to look at each one.’
  • Doesn’t cry when child goes camping for a week. Evidence here
  • Uses unconventional threats to discipline children, see tongue-cutting episode and cancer story.

I said a prayer for that mum and had to drag myself out of the feelings of despair that overwhelmed me, there’s just too much pain in this world!

Thankfully we were sent home after a few hours. Earlier when I left for the hospital I was grumpy. I had a sore throat, most of the folks in my house were either dealing with or recovering from the flu or cold. I was unhappy about the icy cold weather. I was tired and felt drained from countless nights waking up to administer cough medicine, rubbing menthol on their chests, and forcing calpol down reluctant throats. But as we drove back home, I did so with joy and thankfulness. Joy that I had a home to return to, and I’m blessed with a sizeable family that’s mine. And of course that I don’t have any syndromes named after foreign Doctors or professors. There really is nothing quite like good physical health and soundness of mind, for that I am thankful to God. No doubt you are too.

Thank you for reading, do come back!

50 Shades of Blue

Shantung & Tulle Dress by Shade Brielle

It’s been a busy last couple of months but I still found time to learn about the different shades of Blue, read a scandalous book on competition in black churches and ramp up my facebook activities on the business page.

On the home-front, hubby picked up his Blackberry this morning and went into the browser. Lo and behold, ‘someone’ had done a google search- how to fake being sick to your school nurse’.

We narrowed the culprit down to either child #2 or child #3. In cases like this I don’t believe in simply asking who did that. That’s too easy. They’ll admit and jump onto the emotional wagon as to the reasons they hate school. I prefer to use ‘small talk’ as my method. My first suspect was #2 because he’d been complaining of a runny tummy for the last week. I even gave him Imodium and Paracetamol. So I stole up to him in the bathroom and casually mentioned that I had been up for hours speaking to the doctor, because I didn’t realise that taking both Imodium and Paracetamol could lead to cancer. He stopped dead in his tracks:

#2: ”Mum, what do you mean?”

Me: Oh it’s only if it’s taken improperly, for example if you don’t have a tummy ache but you say you do, you know that sort of thing. Nothing to worry about.

#2: (Looking very worried); Did he say taking them together or taking them at different times?

I mumbled something incoherent and left him stewing. Five minutes later, he wanders up to me.

#2: Can children have cancer mum?

Me: of course, you know there are lots of Children at Great Ormond Street Hospital with cancer.

#2: What’s going to happen to them?

Me: Oh, some die, some survive you know the usual.

#2 Can cancer show up outside the body?

Me: (slightly confused as to what this has to do with anything) Not really, usually it’s too late by the time it is found out. But you have nothing to worry about, you have Jesus in your heart and you’re really ill. Now go get ready for school.

Then #3 shows up, “Mum, #2 just told me he has cancer.”

Mission accomplished. But I’ll let him stew all day before letting him know he’s been caught out.

#4, Josh has had his first days off sick at school, he had an eye infection. I picked him from school on Wednesday and he didn’t return till Monday. Here’s how the conversation went.

Josh: Mum do I have to go to school today?

Me: Of course darling, it’s Monday!

Josh: Ooooh! Flaps arms about in frustration. Why? Why do I have to go? Every single day I go to school why? Why do I have to go again? It’s not fair!

Me: Stunned into silence wondering what I did to deserve a drama king with mafioso style mannerisms.

I learned an important lesson on friendship this month. I am blessed to have some really good people as friends, that post on friends is coming up soon! But I also discovered something about a friend that revealed what they really thought about hubby and I. Not nice at all. We’re still friends but I’ve placed them neatly in a box labelled ‘one to watch’.

I’ve been nominated for an award- business of the year. I am chuffed about it and when I received the notification I didn’t ask who nominated me for fear of revealing the nagging thoughts that screamed; ‘you don’t deserve it!’. The award is given on merit by a panel of judges and not on votes. Sadly I don’t know the judges’ names as I would have asked my homies to go and ‘have a word with them’ complete with al qaeda threats. So all I can do is pray that their hearts are turned like a watercourse in my favour.

On the plus side I’ll be dining at the magnificent Savoy Hotel in London. That’s how come I got to know about the various shades of blue. I want to wear something in my company colours and ideally would be this navy blue dress by my good friend Shade, but since at $470.00 it’s ‘a little’ outside my budget, I thought I’d find an alternative. It was my search for something similar that led me on an adventure of becoming acquainted with ink blue, midnight blue, navy blue, ice blue, baby blue and kingfisher blue as relatives of the simple colour, blue.  I tried on this dress at Phase 8, but with the lacy bits I think it looks more like a party dress. I want to be taken seriously. So My options are down to a black dress with petrol blue accessories if  I can’t find the perfect blue dress. Which I won’t. Because the perfect blue dress is the one that’ll cost me $470.

I’ll keep you posted!

On the subject of black churches, my good friend Joxy is throwing it down with a series on how to run a black majority church. Please check it out here

And if you are looking for Christ-Centred Inspiration, check out my other blog, InspireMe.

Thank you for reading 🙂

Toks Uncovered

Yesterday found us at a parray! My big cousin turned 60 and we attended her surprise birthday party. It was grand!

I have no idea what the matter is with me but recently I’ve caught myself tearing up so easily. Even a fond memory has me welling up in tears. It happened again when she walked into the hall- all decked out for a party because she knew she was attending one, just not hers. When she walked in and everyone cheered, she realised what was going on and immediately started crying, then I started crying too.

Later when the announcement was made to give congratulatory messages, yours truly shot her hand up because she had plenty to say. The celebrant is a darling, darling cousin of mine and as I grabbed the microphone (which I’m not shy of) to give an epistle of her fabulousness, dusted with good humour in all the right places, I just knew I’d have the guests roaring in laughter and begging for my autograph afterwards. Guess what happened? My eyes welled up with tears again and I never made it beyond the first sentence. The rest of the night was spent kicking myself over and over again. Please if you have any explanation as to why Toks keeps crying, do share. Just to give you a heads-up to aid your diagnosis, life couldn’t be better for me, seriously. I have ‘found my happy’, when I cry I don’t feel sad at all, just happy and overwhelmed. I am baffled.

One reason I’m in a happy place is because I read ‘Who moved my Cheese’ by Spencer Johnson. I recommend it to everyone. It’s a funny little story that shows us what we’re like when we’re forced to change and we resist it. Cheese is used as an allegory for what you want out of life, financial freedom, a happy home, dream career, etc. The 4 characters in the book are all in this maze (life) searching for cheese. Sometimes they find it, sometimes they don’t. Sometimes they get lost, at other times they hit dead ends. Either way they keep searching. The cheese station is the site of copious amounts of cheese, which is akin to finally having that dream job or meeting that special person to share your life with. Of course for everyone it is different. When the cheese runs out what do you do? In my case I began to see the truth about an ongoing saga in my life. I finally accepted that a part of my life I had held onto stubbornly for years was well and truly over. That cheese was finished and the crumbs were mouldy, but I remained at the old site of the cheese factory hoping it would somehow show up again. Letting go of the old has been a refreshing, liberating experience for me and  has freed me to move unto bigger and better things.

I met an old friend at the party, he is pretty much family and although we only tend to meet at family functions sometimes as rarely as every other year, we carry on where we left off, no warm-ups needed. He calls me Tokunbo. Most people at the party call me Tokunbo and I respond easily because it warms my heart. Anyone who calls me that has been in my life for a very long time. I tend to use Toks a lot more, but I love being called Tokunbo. It speaks volumes to me, comfort, home, familiarity, family.  Being in a ‘cheese station’ is a comfortable place to be and it’s hard to leave, but there are times we have to get up and move, either because the cheese has run out or our tastes has changed.

On another note, hubby used to call me Tokunbo, then he moved unto Toksi, then Toks and now he calls me T. I’m thinking the next step is to  just imagine my name and I’ll hear him.

Thanks to my dearest friend and sister Iluobe who started me on that path of  ‘happiness’, gave me the word ‘fabulousness’ and has been so kind to remain in my life. You are a blessing in a million ways, I love you sis!

Thanks to my dearest friend and sister Suzy who had my beautiful dress made in record time AND found someone to bring it to me on time for the party. When I think of the words ‘loyal’ and ‘reliable’ Suzy comes to mind. I love you Suzy!

Now let’s see if I have the guts to upload my photo to Pawpaw  & Mango and completely blow my ‘cover’, I do want you to see that dress!

Thank you for reading 🙂

This, That and Part Deaux of Church Wahala

It would suffice to say that the reason for a 2nd part to an April post is of course, my dealing with more church wahala. But I’d be lying, and as I already shared the lie I told in part one, I shall refrain from telling any more. Today’s thoughts and musings are enough to account for my er…intermission.

What hasn’t gone through my mind today? That’s like asking which models of cars drove during rush hour Third mainland, Brooklyn or Tower bridge. It has been a traffic jam of thoughts all day.

The four boys and hubby have decided to come down with a cough and cold, no doubt getting it before me so I’d be the one to nurse them all. I went from feelings of despair at the thought of waiting hand and foot on five men- little ones and large ones- to feelings of joy that I’m the presiding queen blessed to have them all in my life.

A friend changed her facebook profile picture to one taken back in her school days, I marvelled at how pretty she was then and still is. She appears to have perfect features- she’s from the Ashanti tribe in Ghana and has such a beautiful smile! Shout out to you Harriet O!

Son #2 found an unopened sanitary towel in the bathroom, opened it and brought it downstairs to ask what it was. After years of telling them it was part mummy’s make up kit, I told him what it was, straight-up! He knows all about the birds and the bees but I had omitted the towels part.

There are four people in my household who now use mobile phones, we also use the same chargers so there is sometimes a scramble for one. It is both disquieting and satisfying. On the one hand my babies are growing up too fast, the day is coming where we won’t be a young family any more- who am I kidding? The day has come. Son #4 thankfully anchors us to the coveted category of ‘young family’ as we sometimes go out with just him in tow, leading people to think he is our first- we love that. Yes hubby (not me) can be a fraud sometimes, he pretends to have just started a family. The thing is he looks like it too. On the other hand, it is satisfying because this is how it should be, things are progressing in the natural order. Babies should grow and one day turn into adults.

I miss my mum. Very much. She is an amazing, kind-hearted and selfless woman, it appears she has lived her entire life for us her children, and even now still places us ahead of any and everything else in life. I can only hope I do nearly as good as she does as a mother, if I do I’ll win a prize for the world’s’ greatest mum.

I spent Saturday evening with my dearest friend and sister, we watched the movie, Think Like a Man, and then gisted into the night. There is something about having a transparent conversation with a fellow sister that you really click with. I am so blessed to have a number of friends that share a connection with me on an unimaginable level. These are sisters I can comfortably call in the middle of the night without needing to apologise that I disturbed their beauty sleep. I am blessed to have some friends who are selfless and would go out on a limb and for me; and I’ll willingly do the same for them.

I have a half-finished post on the business blog, it remains half-finished because I started by talking about one thing, digressed and lost my way. With that admission, you obviously know where today’s post is going. Nowhere.

So to part deaux of my church wahala. Since the gist is stale, I’ll round it up by saying they incessantly texted and called us inviting us for one event or the other.

One day hubby ran into the man and he declared his undying love for us, shared how broken-hearted they were that we didn’t warm up to them. Don’t you feel the same way for us that we feel for you?’ He kept asking. And if you knew my hubby, he is not the touchy-feely type, Christian brother or not. He’s more like Jack Nicholson in the movie something’s got to give. We are friends, but no strings attached. So imagine his horror when this man went on and on, and in front of the shopkeeper too. Have we offended you? What if something happened to us, you would never have known. You didn’t even check on us. I will not yield to the temptation to type out the myriad of borderline expletives that went through hubby’s mind. Thankfully he didn’t yield either so they remained unspoken.

That’s been it, I am so glad to be back on Pawpaw and Mango- and yes I agree no one drove me away in the first place. I am excited about some help I’d be getting at work which should free me up to do what I love doing, writing.

Thanks so much for reading!