Mr and Mrs Series: No.9 Commotion Street – So Long…Farewell!

The discordant choruses of Mrs Okafor’s cockerels at 5.30 each dawn has been my morning alarm for many years. As a matter of fact, the chief rooster led its choir of three cockerels and five hens of assorted feathers from the outer ledge of our rotting bedroom window every waking morning. I reached for my mobile phone to check what time of the day it was seeing the sun’s rays were beginning to spill into the room through the flimsy dayblind-cum-curtains screening the room from prying eyes. I took a second look at the screen of my mobile phone to confirm it was 6:50AM. Impossible!!! In as much as I found the morning crowing & clucking of the roosters annoying, they served me well. The rains last night were heavy and must have left the chickens too cold and lazy for their morning routine, I thought.

Gently, I rested my head again on my flat pillow to gather my thoughts as I rolled over to check on Deolu. He curled up like a baby underneath that sheet of old London wax fabric his mother gave me as a wedding present seven years ago; his face was expressionless. For a moment, I held my gaze on him as images of the open show of madness that happened two nights before reeled through my mind. Was I glad Deolu had finally come to his senses? Oh yes I was!  As I basked in the euphoria of relocating, he suddenly twitched, and then he twitched some more. He began to get restless under the sheet as his face wrinkled up with tension. I could tell he was having a nightmare again and whatever horrible ‘thing’ he was seeing must be the face of Mrs. Okafor. Interrupting his nightmare this time was the last thing on my mind as mischief got the better part of me. After all, I am yet to hear of anyone dying of nightmares.

Like one being stifled, he muttered in what seemed like distant whispers, “drop it, stop it, don’t hit me, don’t hit me”.  Compassion filled my heart for him though for some weird reasons, I was enjoying every moment of this. I buried my mouth in my palms to muffle my chuckles; I’d lost control over them. I thought to myself, this ‘punishment’ should suffice for his default on our ‘open-book’ policy. I caressed his right shoulder as I softly called him out of his nightmare; tiny beads of sweat masked his forehead as he fluttered his eyelids, waking to his environs. With a startling look he said to me, “Good morning, Caro!”. I smiled at him, wiping sweat beads off his brows and said, “Morning my darling, you must have had a nightmare again”, trying hard to disguise my mischievous smile. As soon as he realized what day it was, he sprung out of bed with a different swag.

Source: Google Images

It was Saturday, the D-day had finally come. Deolu, true to his words, had secured a 3-bedroom apartment  in a nicer part of town. The look on his face the evening he walked in dangling the keys to our soon-to-be new home was priceless. I was ecstatic! All of our belongings were already boxed up; I spent all my waking hours the previous day seeing to that while Deolu was out and the kids were away at school. Another quick glance at my mobile phone and the time was 7:15 AM. We didn’t have the luxury of time; the moving van was scheduled to arrive at 10:00AM. Speedily, I got the children ready and fed the family cold cereal for breakfast. There was no way I could have cooked that morning; the cooking range had been boxed up as well. The prospect of relocation had left the kids in the land of Funtopia, you could tell they were on a different high. All things in order!

Without warning, the shrill voice of Mrs. Okafor filtered in from the rear of the apartment leaving Deolu and I startled. We stopped in our tracks , straining to make some sense out of her incessant hubbub; apparently ‘cool and the gang’ had been stolen – all three cockerels, five hens and the notorious chief rooster! Unfortunately for one of the culprits, Mrs. Okafor had managed to trail his path; a path that led her to Morufu’s side of the neighbourhood. Things weren’t about to get pretty. Clearly evident, Deolu couldn’t be bothered to broker peace that morning; he continued with the sealing of the remaining few boxes as he said to me,  “Caro, are you sure we have everything packed? The van is almost here”. The time now was 9:45 AM.

As usual, the noise grew louder and drew nearer. I looked over at Deolu and all I could see was his vehemence; he was so determined not to get involved.  The expected truck arrived on time, pulling up right in the middle of the tumult. Deolu motioned and we started loading the truck. Nathan, Uncle Bayo’s son had arrived that morning to help with the moving so Deolu instructed him to stand guard by the truck. “You know we can’t afford to be careless with our belongings as we take them into the truck with all this confusion going on outside. Those hoodlums could seize the opportunity to loot us o, so be on the lookout!”. “You are very right, sir”,  Nathan replied.

I, on the other hand, was not finding the latest developments funny at all. I had spent the last few days perfecting my farewell speeches and song. I had even taken the liberty to change the lyrics of the song “So Long, Farewell” from the movie “Sound of Music” to suit my farewell symphony. Determined not to let Mrs. Okafor ruin my happy moment, I began to sing in the most sonorous voice I could muster:

♫ ♫”So long, farewell

The Palmers say goodbye

We’re glad to go and leave this awful sight

Pam-Parara-tarara-ta-tara; Pam-parara-tararaaaaaaa!” ♫ ♫

 “Confirmed…you’re a nutter, Caro”, Deolu managed to utter as he nearly choked on his own giggles, walking off into the kitchen to grab the rest of our things. No sooner had he stepped into the Kitchen did I hear his yell of horror, “Caro! Caro!! Come, quickly”. I wondered what it was this time. As I stepped into the kitchen, I met Deolu transfixed with his index finger pointed at something behind the boxed cooking range. On taking a closer look, behold, it was the chief rooster lying half dead right there on my kitchen floor; I wondered how it got there! By this time, the noise was at our door step and with what sounded like missiles exploding, Mrs. Okafor’s fists rattled the half-opened door of our apartment.

 “Where is my chicken o! Mrs. Palmer, bring out my chicken!! You bunch of rogues, sly conniving maggots – hell-bent on ruining me in this neighbourhood…Come out now with my chicken o!!! “, shouted Mrs. Okafor. Apparently, in their haste, one of the culprits had shoved the chief rooster into our kitchen through the steel bars on the window, breaking its neck in the process. Knowing that drama was about to ensue, I took the children into the emptied bedroom instructing them not to move an inch then quickly returned to join Deolu in the living room.

By the time I got there, he was already half way through the front door with Mrs. Okafor speedily inching away from him. In his right hand was the chief rooster and in his left, a glistening carving knife. Just as I had imagined David swinging his sling in the face of Goliath, so was my husband swinging the chief rooster in the face of Mrs. Okafor whilst he jabbed the knife into the airspace between him and her repeatedly, closing in on her. As bewildered as the sight left me, I was confident Deolu had this under control this time around for he had given me the winks before he did the unimaginable.

Unrehearsed, Deolu broke into a crazy dance like an idol worshiper before his deity; his every move intensifying as he chanted gibberish alongside. He beckoned at his ‘sworn enemy’ to come closer if she dared and he broke short evil smiles at the onlookers nearby. Suddenly, he charged at the crowd with his weapons in both hands; none needed forewarning seeing Mr. Palmer was resolved on warring. With the speed of light the crowd dispersed, each one running to seek sure refuge. What has come over Mr. Palmer was the question many asked from their hiding. I could see Mrs. Okafor from where I stood, the look on her face was priceless. Reason had prevailed in her case for she could tell Mr. Palmer meant mad business.

Deolu stood watch with both weapons still in his grips as we moved the last bits and bobs into the waiting truck. So much for farewell speeches; what an insane way to draw the final curtains on our theatrical seven years in this neighbourhood. In what seemed like an endless berserk moment, we  were ready to leave for good. Unceremoniously, Deolu tossed the chief rooster at the feet of its owner who was still rooted in the same spot, gobsmacked.  We cramped ourselves into his old Nissan sedan car and with the truck on our tail, off we drove into our new reality!  

So long..farewell, number 9 Commotion Street!

Hello posh neighbourhood…or so I thought…

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Doctor Doctor, Give Me the News!

The other day, I went to see a Shrink – yes, a Shrink – to find out my mental health status.

*Batting eyelids*

I might as well just let you know before you get ahead of yourself, thinking in the next few lines you’d be reading about the private details of what transpired between the shrink and I; it not gonna happen! Pow-pow….I hear the sound of your bubbles bursting…hehehe!  Ok!  Just to satisfy your curiosities, I will give a mild recap at some point in this post and don’t you dare think about scrolling down to get to the juicy part, just read; you are being watched in 3D… :| cool 

*Batting eyelids still*

Source: Google Images

On a non-serious note, How do you feel?

The word ‘Shrink’ is not one to feature ever so often in conversations around here. There is an unspoken rule of thumb that forbids you from making serious references to such. To consider the possibility of visiting a shrink is a taboo in itself. You would be deemed as one on expired drugs or one on the peripheral of paranormal relations with the ‘spirit world’ if you dare utter to your family or friends a genuine need to see one; yet, this is a fantastic notion as it concerns our mental well-being.

Facing the world each waking morning can be a challenge; we never could tell the sort of experiences lined ahead of us. This makes us somewhat left without the power to choose the nature of the life experiences we eventually go through each day. We may be able to influence the pattern of some of our experiences based on the kind of lifestyle we adopt, however, what constitute the fibres of  those experiences are totally out of  our control. Now, how these experiences eventually affect us are largely dependent on our mental health condition but more importantly, how they impact our mental state is worthy of concern.

Our threshold for absorbing the aftermaths of negative experiences differ from one person to another. These aftermaths often include shock, the feeling of disappointment, mistrust, bitterness, resentment, doubt, paranoia, self-doubt and nonchalance to name a few. The fact that these conditions  are not physical even makes it scarier and worrisome. Meanwhile, a major chunk of our behavioural patterns are directly linked and mostly in sync with these aftermaths. Recovery from these kind of aftermaths often requires the services of a shrink whom a lot of us around here would never want to be associated with.  The apparent reason being stigmatization fueled by ignorance and myopia. For this reason, many opt for a visit to some cleric who may actually need the services of a shrink in his life too… just saying neutral 

Everyone needs psychiatric evaluation. The regularity of this routine would vary from one person to the next, exaggerating the obvious! Now, don’t lie, someone just crossed your mind! Yes, someone just did and I can bet some loose change on that. *side eye* You actually just looked across your work table, scanning the open-plan office you work in for that colleague of yours that naturally exudes psychotic tendencies. Hmm, but has it also occurred to you that your supposedly sane-looking, ever comporting, unassumingly harmless work associate, friend or family member could actually be mentally disturbed?

Being the devil’s advocate, It is almost second nature for a lot of us to want to play shrink on other people. We always believe to know the reason Jack and Jill need to get their heads examined but in the real sense, the joke is on you. You need to get your head examined and I am dead serious about that. :| Make it top priority to find yourself a medically qualified Shrink to unburden that mental baggage you’ve carried around for eons. It may help you bring closure to that self-doubt you are struggling with, come to terms and make peace with your schizophrenic nature. Thank me later 😀

On a final note, thanks for enjoying enduring another post of mine 😀 Here is my two cents on Sunday’s media chat; there’s so much he is internalizing and that seat he occupies can be very traumatizing, I just hope he is seeing a shrink! 😯  As promised earlier, here is what I came back with from my visit to the shrink’s. He identified through his diagnosis some tendencies that may lead to certain excesses based on his prognosis  if further occurrences with unscrupulous alliances are not checked. Phew! Now, I feel alright though I left my prescriptions at the shrink’s 😉   I think my shrink needs to see a shrink also! 😆

Source: Google Images

Pop in on Friday for the continuation of the Mr and Mrs Series, yay! 

That’s all folks! Do your boss a favour…get back to work!

Mr and Mrs Series: No.9 Commotion Street

As I stood fast endlessly staring through the old French sash windows that separated  me from the billowing storm outside, watching as each June raindrop hit whatever was in its way without mercy, I couldn’t help but ponder on the vivid imaginations rioting through my brains. The time on the old grandfather’s clock leaning against the awkward middle pillar in our little one-bedroom apartment said 9.45pm. Oh how I so detest the hideous-looking monster of a clock, Deolu’s prized possession. It’s been in his lineage three generations and counting! I dare not say one more uncomplimentary comment about it to his hearing, the vigour and passion with which he’d vent; you’d think I just disrespected his mother!
 
 It was way past Deolu’s estimated time of arrival from yet another intervention mission at the Okafors. The incessant savagely fierce thunderbolts rattling outside denied me hearing what was really going at our next door neighbour’s house. The houses in our neighbourhood were close enough to turn an intimate private conversation into a community town hall meeting usually. Phew! Overwhelmed by an uneasy calm, I pressed my ears harder against the windows, straining to find out if per chance I would hear anything at all…alas, nothing! He’s been gone for a little over two hours now. I don’t trust those Okafors, they could be pretty volatile during their altercations.
 

I said a quiet prayer for the safety of my dear husband as I started pacing, making use of what was left of our tiny floor space. Everywhere was packed with our worldly possessions, the apartment was no longer practical for our family of four. There wasn’t an immediate need to move into a bigger space though, seeing that Deolu worked out-of-town and he was only in every fortnight – for two days. Even if we wanted to, money was likely to play tricks on us. *Sigh* Describing our family as affluent would only be appropriate when compared to the average family in my neighbourhood. The poverty around here ran skin-deep with most of the people already resigned to fate, living from hand to mouth.

I quickly made my way back to the window when I heard what sounded like war cries. In my hurry, I stumbled into Deolu’s prized possession, sending it tumbling down to its final sojourn, its grave.E gba mi, mo daran”  was all I could mutter! Deolu was going to have my head on a platter! In that moment, that was the least of my worries for the noise was growing louder. What I saw through the windows left me bewildered! What is this I am beholding?! Commotion rendezvous!!!

Source: Google Images

In circular motions, running like a headless chicken in the rain was my dear husband with Mrs Okafor right behind him with wrapper tied high above her breasts.  Mr Okafor stood afar yelling, “Prisi, Prisi, no wound person o!” In her right hand was the 24-inch long pestle she grabbed from her kitchen, raised high in the air. From her mouth came words I couldn’t understand; she was speaking in her dialect, cursing more like. The neighbours began pouring out of their homes in droves, the unscrupulous ones amongst them chanting for more drama as I watched my Deolu leap over puddles of muddy waters, dodging every swing of Mrs Okafor’s pestle. His shirt was in tatters already. Only heaven knows what transpired in that house!

He could have made his way into our home for shelter and safety but knowing him for who he is, he wouldn’t want to bring harm his family’s way. The children were fast asleep in all of these and I was unsure of what to do. Stepping out to join the ongoing madness was not an option. It could leave both Deolu and I injured or bring about the untimely death of either of us – Mrs Okafor was vicious like that! We also stood the chances of being looted. I know the area too well so I stayed put, watching helplessly.

Mrs Okafor’s reign of terror on Deolu continued with no end in sight. This left me exasperated and all I could pray for was a divine intervention of some sort. From nowhere appeared Morufu, the neighbourhood tyrant, and for the first time, I loved Morufu, for I could see an imminent end. Morufu nicknamed himself “Voltron” because he was of the belief that he defends the helpless in the neighbourhood irrespective of their gender. Deolu was the obvious helpless in this case and Morufu’s venom was about to be unleashed on Mrs Okafor. Thank goodness!

The chase was steep; Deolu was now within her reach. As she gathered herself to launch her deadly attack, she did not notice Morufu nor his outstretched leg in her way. Her very next stride landed her in the awaiting pool of muddy water nearby. She was covered in mud like an apple on a stick dipped in melted dark chocolate at Carlos’ Bakery. Talk about divinely answered prayers. On seeing what had just happened, Deolu stopped for a moment, looked at Morufu with the eyes of gratitude, gave a nod and resumed his running. This time he was headed in my direction.

I immediately undid the door locks and let him in; marking the floor of the apartment with heavy muddy impressions from the sole of his bare feet as he crumbled into the nearest seat to him. He was a total mess.  I had never seen Deolu this disconcerted. I dare not try Mrs. Okafor’s stunt with him, not with the way he prances around the house like Achilles from the movie ‘Troy’. Seriously, I really do not have any reason to disrespect him, he is a good man.  I made my way into the kitchen to get the kettle boiling while I gathered old towels and the small tub of Aboniki balm to soothe him with.

Apparently, it was Deolu who triggered the pandemonium when he reprimanded Mrs Okafor for slapping her husband in his presence. I warned him severally to stay out of  Mr & Mrs Okafor’s business but the peacemaker in him wouldn’t let him. Now he’s learnt his lesson the hard and shameful way.

As I emerged from the kitchen armed with all I needed to bring him relief, he asked quietly, “What happened to the clock?” Taking a deep breath, I narrated how the accident occurred, stammering along the way. He listened without interrupting which made me fidget. I had just succeeded in ruining a family heirloom. Soon after, he started to laugh. By this time, I was mopping his body with a hot towel; I stopped for a minute and took a long look at him, he was laughing real hard. I couldn’t help but chuckle along though dismayed. He eventually calmed down and said to me with all seriousness, “Thank you for helping me rid that menace of a clock from my life. It wasn’t worth anything much anyway! I only held on to it as a result of Uncle Bayo’s sentimental blackmail.”  What a relief!

As we retreated into bed at almost midnight, Deolu made the announcement I’d been fantasizing about for many years. “We have to leave this neighbourhood. It is unfair to raise the children in an environment such as this. What’s the point in saving all the money if we cannot invest it in creating a better life for the kids?” “Deolu, you know we don’t have that kind of money to rent  a new place in a decent neighbourhood?”, I interjected. He then revealed, “I have some money saved apart from that in the joint account. I will make use of it to secure a new place. We are moving out by the weekend and that is final.”

I snuggled into my dear Deolu with a satisfactory grin on my face, knowing our days in the neighbourhood were numbered. The curious woman in me wanted to make a fuss about his hidden savings; I thought we were operating the ‘open book’ policy with everything but at this point, it was best to let that slide. After all, we all would be benefiting from his hidden treasures now. My fantasy was finally becoming a reality all thanks to Mrs Okafor. I began rehearsing my farewell speeches to all and sundry in my head till into coo-coo land I faded.

Aside

And so the Cookie Crumbles

Good morning NW readers,

Trust the weekend was nicely spent. Yeah, I know we never get enough of it but on the flip side, another one is only 4 days away…yay!!!

Now to the matter for the day: I’ve got a tough meat on my plate this week, nothing short of a deal breaker in my opinion! The events you are about to read are the realities of a frustrated, on-the-verge-of-giving-up young married couple. Take a dive in and let’s have your take, advice and/or counsel on it. Here we go…

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An evening of merriment to celebrate Akin’s latest promotion at his work place just went pear-shaped…well, at least for me. The music was excessively loud, compounding the throbbing sensation rippling through my head and body. In my trembling hands was a piece of paper that carried as much weight as I perceived on that day the Vicar handed us our marriage certificate. Clearly printed on it was the result of a pregnancy test that could change the rhythm of things in our marriage…forever? Below it was a P.S. note neatly handwritten in cursive addressed to me. I stared endlessly at the piece of paper hoping what I had just read was untrue….

“Hi Tade,

In less than 7 months, this would be ‘our’ reality. I thought to do you the honours by letting you know before hand; seeing that Akin may never mention it to you. I don’t want you to leave, just move over and create me some space too. 

Love,

Irene” 

Irene, oh Irene! My gut feelings never fail me. She works as PA to Akin and I have always had this reservation about their “relationship”… a little too close and unnecessarily chummy for comfort. For each time I brought up the issue with Akin, he succeeded in side-tracking it either by telling me I was just conjuring things in my idle head or I was being overly sensitive. “What transpires between Irene and I is strictly professional”, he’d say. So, to see her walking towards me at the celebration party with a satisfactory smirk on her face as she handed me the envelope left me ruffled.

Akin and I got married exactly 4 years ago in a very extravagant ceremony. Our parents have been family friends way before either of us was born so to see their seeds come together in matrimonial union was the climax of their friendship of many decades. Don’t get it twisted, we were never childhood sweethearts though I could tell my mother wanted that from the get go. As a matter of fact, whenever there was reason for us to meet at mutual family functions, we avoided each other like a plague; maybe it was just me. I also found it very discomfiting to hear his mother refer to me while growing up as their “wifey”. My heart was somewhere else…my heart was with Ejiro.

I met Ejiro in my 1st year at the university; he was in his final year. The spark between us was instantaneous and electrifying. He was my first boyfriend and he sure did rock my world. The circumstances under which we first met was anything but romantic; this, however, did not in any way affect the chemistry that transpired between us as we recovered from the unintentional collision that caused our paths to meet on that fateful day right outside the senate complex.  In less than 2 weeks, we became inseparable till he graduated.

Till date, I am yet to unravel the mystery surrounding how my mother found out about Ejiro and I. She literally had feats as though she were epileptic, spitting fiery words of disapproval like cannonballs. If my memory serves me well, in the 2nd semester of my 1st year at Uni, I overheard, for the first time, her and father discussing their plans to seal the friendship between Akin’s family and ours with a marriage. The tone of the conversation didn’t sound like a new topic to them. It was at this point I realized my time with Ejiro would only be but for a moment; a reality that stung to the bones. I stood the chance of losing  my inheritance if I did not comply as it were. We parted ways soon after he graduated, we couldn’t bear to keep in touch. The breakup was so painful, its remembrance never fail to unleash the waterworks in my tear ducts.

I refused dating other guys for the rest of my academic years seeing that my marital fate was already sealed. The frequency of Akin’s calls and visits increased and I wasn’t surprised. He was already primed for the task ahead. Being someone with a natural aversion for confrontation, I settled into the role of fiancée without much ado. I grew to like Akin over time and showed him respect for the role he was about to play in my life not minding the disparity in the way I feel about him in comparison to Ejiro.  As at the time we got married, I had just landed my first real job in an Oil & Gas  multinational organisation post National Youth Service. For a fresh graduate, I was well positioned in the company thanks to my father’s goodwill.

3 years and 2 months after we got married, it happened. I was one of the delegates assigned by the company to attend an annual Oil & Gas Industry  International Conference in Atlanta, Georgia in the United States of America. I was awesomely excited at the prospect of this. It would be the first time away from Akin since we got married; I needed to exhale! He had already declared since the 4th week of our marriage that he has now satisfied the parents and he’s willing to play house with me as long as I don’t disturb his equilibrium, meaning – his liberty to exercise his masculinity beyond the confines of our marriage. He also did not forget to add the need for us to postpone having children till after our fourth year of marriage. Neither of these went down well with me but I stayed put, too afraid to challenge him. There was no way I could mention this to my parents either, Akin could do no wrong before them.

As fate would have it, it was in the land of far far away somewhere in America, while on this official trip that I met Ejiro again. He was also attending the same conference. As a matter of fact, we were lodged in the same hotel, on the same floor, even, the same wing.  We wasted no time, seeing all the elements had come together for us, we picked up from where we left it years back…my soul came alive again. We  did our best to exercise uttermost discretion in how we sneaked into each other’s room every night  of the 5 days we spent there. Evidently it wasn’t good enough. Upon my arrival back home, Akin presented me with photographic evidences of my escapade with Ejiro! How on earth did he get these? Your guess is as good as mine, he obviously had me spied! Damn!!!

My escapade with Ejiro wasn’t planned in any way, we lost contact since he graduated…the circumstances simply played out. He works and lives  on a different continent so the chances of a repeat are narrow.  Before the incidence, it had been 11 months since any coitus action happened between Akin and I. He was always too busy or too tired. I knew those were just excuses, he sure was getting his groove on elsewhere; I’d seen enough incriminating bbm chats and phone call records to corroborate this. Although, I may never love Akin the way I love Ejiro but I was not ready to throw my marriage away…too many things at stake. So, for these reasons, I came clean, gave my deepest and most sincere apologies to him and he said, “I forgive you”. As a matter of fact, his niceties took a turn for the better which honestly got me worried. Something didn’t feel right!

Her sarcastic laughter from the distance was loud enough to startle me out of my state of reminisce. I raised my head from the piece of paper in my hands to behold Akin and Irene whispering sweet nothings into each other’s ears. With the corner of his eyes, he caught me and for what seemed like eternity, we held each other’s gaze; he made no attempt to comport his actions with Irene and without remorse he looked away.

Source: Google Images

 

I am in a state of confusion and I am absolutely clueless on what to do now. My plan was to break the news of my pregnancy to Akin after the celebration party but clearly, Akin & Irene had other plans. What am I going to do now? Should I tell him I am carrying his baby or not? Should I walk away, get rid of it and pick the pieces of my life and start over again, probably with Ejiro…at least he is not married? Should I get the parents involved? What should I do? I am so shattered!!!

– Tade 😦

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Pleas find the comment link below to leave your thoughts, thanks!

The Chase Loop

Partly distracted by the crystal embellishing project on my work table, I listened to Lizzy over a long distance call as she waxed strong in her reverberation on how some “matured” singles in her locale are carrying on lately. Worthy of note was the case of a lady almost closing in on 40 being chased by a guy in his 40s – both ‘singularly single’, never been married! To the average observer, from a percentile viewpoint, the chances of faffing in this particular scenario would have easily been capped at less than 10%, seeing both are of age. This was not so in this case. From information gathered, a ground rule of zero tolerance for faffing and time-wasting was established by the lady from the outset. However, the guy began drawing back near the completion of the chasing phase…the point where the lady began showing signs of acceptance and consent.

As someone who ponders a lot, I have come to realize that there is always more to what we see than its face value. For this reason, the curious cat in me never resists the urge to probe deeper. Coming off the telephone conversation, I began to process all that transpired, taking caution not to allow sentiments champion my analysis. A number of factors were put into consideration, ranging from observations, personal and impersonal experiences to logical assumptions and established facts. Here we go…

The relationship process is one I’d like to fit into that of a typical flowchart strictly for analytical purposes. There are different phases in this process and a variety of external and internal factors may and do contribute to the successful completion of one phase and the transition on to the next phase in the process. Relationship in itself is a very extensive subject but for the purpose of this post, I will focus on just a phase or two in the entire process.

It is impossible to talk about relationships and neglect the subject of maturity, therefore, may I digress and address that first.

Age is only but a number that offers a grand illusion of maturity to the unsuspecting. The higher the number, the more likely the susceptibility to this state of delusion. Contrary to the prevailing belief system, with age does not come maturity. Life has shown that men advanced in age can be left destitute of wisdom and sound counsel thus causing utter disbelief at certain attitudinal displays that emanate from them at certain times. Maturity is a conscious state of being. It is more of a decision than an acquisition through elongated existence on planet earth. Sadly, it is pretty easy to bask in the grandeur of this sad delusion.

With that said, relationships are not for babies! It is not uncommon to find a number of people in love with the idea of being in a relationship but clueless about the demands, sacrifices, self-control and bittersweet pressures it may and does exert on one. In reference to my simple flowchart above, a lot of people (both dudes and chics) get stuck in the chase loop. With no disrespect to the male gender, they constitute a higher percentage of the lot stuck in the chase loop purely because they do the chasing mostly. To chase is naturally expected of a man.

So, what’s “the chase loop”?

Have you ever wondered why the excitement is usually peak at the beginning of the relationship process – The chase! It is the adrenaline rush, a resultant effect of the chasing game, pumping through your system. Both the chaser and the  ”chasee” experience this rush, though maybe to differing degrees. The truth is, there’s absolutely nothing wrong with experiencing the rush, however, where the problem lies is becoming a junkie!  It is getting stuck on the buzz thus not seeking to bring a decent closure to the chase phase and go ahead to the next phase which requires a greater level of seriousness and a descent  from cloud nine. Agreed, not all chases transition on to the next phase for reasons best known to the chaser and the “chasee” but I won’t be dwelling on that today.

The reality is that our performances in life are measured against age milestones. Unfortunately,  our state and level of maturity are seldom considered when analyzing these. This means there are natural expectations of us at certain ages in life and if these expectations become unfulfilled at those age milestones, we risk being labelled. The tale of this 40-something year old chap is one I can relate to very well. More than likely, he is stuck in the chase loop; in love with the idea of being married but too strung up on the rush he gets whilst chasing and helpless to get out. This is where maturity comes into play.

This malady of immaturity in this regard is often responsible for the restlessness experienced. The inability to stay focused and give in to the attending demands that come with getting involved. The lack of discipline and self-control are also off-springs of it.  The rush would naturally wear off but the question that begs to be asked is, “Are you ready to put down the chase tools and take on the next phase of seriousness?” Some women do get lost in the loop as well. They love to be chased constantly by someone, anyone…anybody. Attention and thrill seeking, ever ready to take, never willing to give. In some cases, they are the chasers!

Source: Google Images

A “chase-junkie” is not unlikely to be a multiple chaser, simultaneously pursuing two or more ladies or men as the case may be. Theirs may be likened to the dilemma of a kid with bulging eyes placed in a candy store. With people like these, it’s really not about completing the relationship flowchart rather, they remain in the loop where they get their constant fix. At the core of this, you’d find conceit and self-absorption; always about self and self-gratification, seldom considerate of the ripple effect of their recklessness on other involved parties. A very common modern-day habit for chase-junkies is getting strung up on dating sites. On there, they easily get cheap thrills and instant fixes with minimal effort.

The fear of the unknown also contributes to this “stuck in the chase loop” syndrome. Past experiences and unpleasant childhood memories are often beneath the fear of the unknown , leaving its victims absolutely petrified so much so that the only way of resolve is adopting “the chase loop” cycle as a coping mechanism. They are afraid of possible eventualities so rather than square shoulders with the real deal and take the risk to proceed into meaningful relationships, they choose to stay in the “safe zone”, faffing ! This ultimately earns them the title -” un-serious”. Unlucky for them, the Instantaneous Gratification Syndrome, the bane of our generation offers zero tolerance for such character defect.

Source: Google Images

Another common denominator with chase junkies is this: there is always this insatiable longing embedded in their subconscious, an illusion that drives them to believe it’s better and gainful for them to bypass a tangible cup of water in the desert as a result of their fixation on the mirage of a fountain ahead! Hmmm…Selah! This explains why everyone they date is never really good enough for them! Sadly, this fixating disposition almost by default beclouds their sense of judgement which climactically results in repugnant choices ever so often.

A chase-junkie may “succeed” in reaching the end of the relationship flowchart, that is, end up getting married either through coercion, hook or crook but because the root of the addiction hasn’t been dealt with, it is no surprise they still continue in the loop recklessly laying their marital relations on the altar of jeopardy. The chase-junkie traits without doubts masquerades certain dysfunctionalities, sometimes complex and deeper issues that has been overlooked and left unattended to for years.

Now, it is very likely some people out there may have contrasting opinions which is permissible and I have no qualms with that. Some may also have opinions that resonates with these. The bottom line is; these are my thoughts deduced from my observations over the years. Irrespective of what premise you opine on, I’d love to hear them cause we all learn everyday.

Please leave your thoughts below.

Cheers and lovely of you to pop in 🙂 !

Live Laugh Love

Top of the morning!

Last Friday evening, I was with close friends, Bim and Lola, at an event which took place at the Lagos Oriental Hotel. It wasn’t a fun fest rather, an assembly of aching hearts and hurting souls. As I met up with Lola in the lobby area, I couldn’t but notice her plain face – devoid of all make-up. Her day’s activities included attending 3 different funerals…all as a result of the June 3rd plane crash in Lagos. Bim joined us a little later with eyes as deep as scarlet. We barely spoke. The atmosphere was intense.

The last speaker for the night started by reiterating two words – “3 minutes”. He dwelt on that for at least half a minute and I kept wondering where he was going with this. He then said, “all they needed was 3 minutes to make it to the runway where emergency services were awaiting the plane after making the distress call, all they never got was 3 minutes!” Heavy sighs rippled through the room simultaneously like an orchestrated symphony. He then proposed a series of mind-boggling questions; questions that have filled my thoughts the better part of this weekend.

“If you had only 3 minutes left before you meet with your maker, what would you do with them? Would you at that point be considering the shoes you bought and never wore? Would you be considering your achievements? Would the monies in your bank accounts or the house(s) be your priority at that point or the piece of your mind you forgot to give Freddy last week be your focus? Would you be regretting life un-lived,  love un-expressed or kindness un-shown?

Source: Google Images


Sometimes in life we get so caught up in all sorts and somewhere at the back of our minds there is this vague assumption that we have time. For this reason, we procrastinate. We plan and live our lives like we control time. But really, how many of us deeply understand that we don’t have time?

I read a tribute written by a bereaved husband to his late wife who was a victim of the crash. He detailed the chronicles of his late wife’s life which I found absolutely inspiring. Then I thought, someone on that flight probably left their partner that fateful afternoon without mending fences over a little, trivial misunderstanding and now, the grieving partner, faced with the reality of living with such deep and painful regret.

Tragedies do have a way of re-focusing us as humans. For some, this change in perception lasts a lifetime while for others, no sooner do they slip back into old habits.

Source: Google Images

Life is fickle, life is short. A moment in time is all we are sure of, it’s all we truly have. Do good while you can. Treat people right even when they seem undeserving of  your acts of graciousness and benevolence. Love the “unlovable” especially when what they seem to deserve is a cold shoulder or better still, abandonment. Try not to withhold good when it is in your capacity to do it. Cut yourself  and others some slack. Show appreciation for every kind gesture. Don’t be a user, that sucks! Apologize and mean it. Forgive and move on… 🙂 Lead a less complicated life. Seriously, you don’t need the dramas! Live everyday to the fullest…make it count. Be thankful!

2012 has been a very eventful year for me so far; life keeps happening, leaving me with new realities, hmmm…*deep sigh* In these, one thing I do remember is; my life is not mine and for everyday I get the privilege to see, it’s a gift not a right!

I learn daily and stay thankful for the gift of life!

Source: Google Images

Thanks for stopping by 🙂

Black Sunday 2 – Action time!

Now, it is more than 72 hours since the devastating Dana Airline plane crash which claimed all 153 lives on board and more at the crash vicinity. Quite a number of people were affected by this unfortunate occurrence. Families and friends of the dead are still in the Sheol of grief, some still in denial, some still in a state of shock and a great chunk still very angry about the senseless mishap.  The harsh reality is – life goes on!

The degree of our proximity to fatality such as this often determines how we respond. For some, the Sunday crash has already been compartmentalized and locked up in their archival memories; some didn’t even process it at all-seeing they did not lose any family member, close relative or friend to the disaster. However, beyond our creed, belief, principles & values, we are essentially human and at the core of our existence is the undeniable desire to preserve mankind. Sadly, our experiences over the years often becloud our judgement of this.

Where am I going with all of these?

It is insanity to keep doing the same thing and expect a different result. A lot of Nigerians both at home and in the diaspora have ranted and  expressed displeasure at the state of affairs in the nation and have, without mincing words, expressed the need for change. A lot have even identified that the needed change ought and must start with us as individuals just as I clearly stated in my last post, Black Sunday. So, if we want change, we must make deliberate efforts to effect it starting from our immediate circle of influence.

A lot of lives will never be the same again since last Sunday. A lot of people are now displaced from their homes as a result of this. It is injustice to self and humanity to have expressed displeasure without seeing it through with at least an act of kindness towards the affected. We cannot wait on the  government alone. We, the people, are the government and we have a  duty and responsibility to this nation. This is not the time to get buried in self-absorption nor alienate ourselves from the ills of the land. I humbly ask that you remember in your high estate, no one is self-sufficient…we all need one another at some point!

My soul remains restless since Sunday and it’s impossible getting the thought of the multiplier effect caused by this crash out of my mind. People need help, they need it fast, they need it now!

This is why I have decided to associate with the Dana Crash Action Relief Programme.

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Following the Dana crash, a group of people formed the #DanaCrashAction team to respond to the national disaster. The request for clothes, shoes, diapers, toiletries, basic necessities and relief items  is a fallout of this response programme.

We have been to the crash site, spoken to the victims and ascertained their needs. They need more than clothes and shoes. Tuesday night, we ensured they got shelter by building some makeshift place covered with iron roofs. It is not the best but they slept in the rain Monday night and we thought “never again”. We would also be providing for their feeding for a while till they get back on their feet.

The victims in the affected community have refused to be relocated which is understandable as this community is what most of them have known as home for many years. We have received a number of calls from interested citizen at home and abroad wanting to be a part of this.

#DanaCrashAction  (Click link for twitter updates)

If you are resident in Lagos, you can pack a relief bundle and drop off at designated points nearest to you. Please click on the link below to view the various locations in and around Lagos, Ota, Ife, Ibadan, Abeokuta, Kaduna, Abuja. There is also a drop-off point in the United Kingdom.

Phase 1: Relief AID (Immediate) Relief Materials Drop-Off Points In Lagos

If you want to help, you can now make donations to

GTBANK –  DANA CRASH RELIEF FUND  0116631906  – NAIRA

0116662382 – DOLLAR  ( Click on link for full correspondent banking details and funds transfer instruction)

I have been informed that all monies going into these accounts are to build a Trust Fund. At the moment, there are no signatories to the account, GTBank  remains the sole custodian of  all donations. The plan is to eventually use the generous donations help the families of the dead,  re-establish the displaced, provide scholarships to affected children etc. This means we do not have access to the donations for now. For the purpose of accountability, we are not receiving cash donations at any Relief Materials Drop-Off Point. If you intend to help with money, please make all payments into the accounts above only.

We need relief materials asap! Kindly make Relief Material Drop-offs as much as you can offer.

We still need volunteers to support these people at these trying times.

To volunteer, please send a tweet to  @dupekilla @seunfakze @rosanwo

Telephone: + 234 (0) 704 501 2906 (Text preferred)

Of course the relief efforts would be nothing without your prayers. #GodHealNigeria

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So, let us make a difference and stop preaching rhetorics. It is not enough to just be a social media activist, there’s more to be done. There is a time for everything; a time to speak, a time to act! Now is the time to act. I beseech you, I beg to crave your indulgence, for posterity’s sake, please, let’s make a difference! Please spread the word!

Thank you and God bless!

**Picture updates coming soon**