Tuesday, June 27, 2006
Found this on a wedding webbie photo link that was posted in the comment section of 'Confessions 2' www.kemi.shutterfly.com. The real page is at http://www.kemiwedsiyke.com.
Now this couple gets ADDY'S BEST WEDDING CAKE AWARD. They kept it very real with the blue rubber pammy-keg, kola-nut and even 'ose-oji'. WHHHHHHAAAATTTT!??! Whoever this cake maker is, she is too too bad. Please what is her phone number, email or website abeg, some people will be needing to holla at her. What say ye?
Thursday, June 22, 2006
Monday, June 19, 2006
The wedding season is in full swing and the various wedding websites that I have been stalking (ya'll have too) are being updated with radiant photographs of a very festive event. Some of the moments captured in the pictures got my friend and I into an interesting conversation. We have had this conversation before and I have with other friends, but this time it was pretty different. At issue why some Nigerian women chose to kneel when feeding their new husbands the cake and why some at the wedding put pressure on the woman to kneel. It is interesting how sometimes when I go to Nigerian weddings, I place a bet with someone one whether the bride will kneel or not. Usually we just reach a consensus that she will kneel but deep in my heart I am crossing my heart and saying a silent prayer, hoping that she won't kneel. When she does, in that white, tulle filled $2000 dress, my heart sinks and I'm like, "Darn, how much more knife wounds can the feminist movement take?' I am sure it is personal preference and mostly cultural. Some quote Ephesians 5:22 and Colossians 3:18 as the basis and the final word on kneeling while others say it is a sign of showing love and respect. don't need to tell you what my opinion is and where I stand on the issue, if at all it is an issue. That's already very obvious. My friend Beedee has been to a number of weddings and she's begun to inquire about this and has been talking to a number of relatives and friends. Here's a write up from Beedee and a response from some one she talked to. Please feel free to share your opinion in the comment section as I am sure this is the invisible Elephant in the room at many weddings and for many brides and single ladies 'aspiring' to be brides (I use the word aspire sarcastically as some equate getting married with getting a degree...like after you graduate from college the nest question you get bombarded with is not just 'when are yo getting your masters" but 'when are you getting married'). I would especially love to hear from former brides who knelt or didn't kneel and if this was even an issue.
Meanwhile here are some more websites to whet your appetite (Just added a few more sites that were posted in the comment section of part one and sent to me by email. Go Crazy!!! Meanwhile make sure you are taking notes because at the end of the season we will pick the winner. I will have to disqualify Deola and Hakeem of http://www.adeolawedshakeem.com on a tehcnicality for being too BAM!!! Just like I'ld love to disqualify Brazil from further World Cups. Anyways send your links and pick your faves.... Don't we just love weddings)
To Kneel Or Not To Kneel
Weddings are one of my favorite events to attend. As a single gal, weddings give me hope that there really is someone out there for everyone. Also they give me an opportunity to dream of my own wedding, what I will emulate and things I will totally avoid.
The wedding ceremony is usually a breeze (gone are the days of lengthy church services), some people skip the ceremony itself and only show up at the reception. I don't think that is respectful to the bride and the groom. The reception is often times the bride's main focus. Most of the wedding budget aside from the honeymoon is spent on the reception and this is where a wedding planner comes in very handy.
Wedding receptions are packed with activities from the first dance to the bouquet and garter too to the cake-cutting. The cake-cutting part of the reception is where my attention is fully focused on the newly weds. This is the time when I put on my gambler hat and begin to place my bet on whether the bride will kneel or not kneel to feed her husband a piece of their wedding cake. My bet is based on the demeanor of the bride, her personality and the person officiating the cutting of the cake termed cake-cutting officiant for the purpose of this article. If the officiant is an elderly person, He or she usually initiates the kneeling act with comments such as "Now show your husband that your parents (family) raised you properly' or 'You will kneel down and feed your husband'. Sometimes the bride is not asked to kneel but her knees hit the ground as if on cue. Some brides do this to avoid being specifically told to get on their knees. I have noticed this phenomenon at Yoruba weddings where the bride or groom or both come from the Yoruba ethnic group. I am not sure when this culture was adopted or whether it is symbolic to the word Submission. A very popular Bible verse about wives submitting to their husbands can be found in the Ephesians, chapter 5 verse 22.
I am curious though as to why a woman has to get on her knees to show her man that she respects him or that she is even submissive. I conducted an informal survey among my male and female friends to get their thoughts on this issue. Most guys do not really care about it and think that it is just part of our culture, they do not see anything wrong with it because and I quote one of my male friends she will not be kneeling down to feed me for the rest of her life, it's just a one-time thing. Some of my female friends think it is alright and it is just one of the formalities during the reception and there is absolutely nothing wrong with it as long as they just have to do it one which will be the first and last time. Other friends believe that is a no-no and there will be no kneeling in their white gowns, all kneeling would be done at the traditional wedding/engagement.
I am not sure whether a generally acceptable reason would be given to encourage all women to kneel down to feed their husbands their wedding cakes, all I can say is to each (bride) her own
WHY WOMEN SHOULD KNEEL & WHY MARRIAGE IS A SHAM!
By One Guy Like That
A good friend of mine raised a very good question regarding kneeling down to feed your husband cake at the wedding. There are I believe a few good reasons why women should kneel. Firstly, there is one thing called Humility. There is absolutely nothing wrong with a woman being humble enough to get on her knees and feed her husband the cake. Women get caught up in this independent self pride that really takes them no where. I personally do not care if we eat cake talk less of you feeding me cake on your knees, but its worthy to note that it is a sign of respect to your husband (some deserve, some don't) and the institution of marriage (if such an institution still exist). It also shows respect to your family and in-laws and tradition.
Ephesians 5 (22) says to submitting to your husband, which I think is still a valid thing these days. The fact is marriage, like weddings, has lost its importance in society today. It has become a day you spend tons of money to feed a bunch of people you don't like (they don't like you either) and smile a whole lot. It's about compromise, a business partnership, two people who stand each others s*** for a few years. It has become a shameless parade of men looking for women who will shut up and put up with their s*** and women who will be their wives and pretend life is wonderful. Then you have kids and stay together for their sake, while the men entertain themselves outside and the women focus on their kids and careers and church to keep themselves occupied and happy in their deceitful lives.
Most men and women marry for the wrong reasons, women play around until their mid to late twenties then become desperate to get married. All this while, they've been looking for Mr. Right. Guess what there no Mr. Right is! Men on the other hand are busy trying to make money buy the house the nice car to become more attractive to the ladies. What was wrong with you in your one bedroom roach infested apartment? Nothing! But fact is we are all material empty baskets, we judge each other by what you drive, where you live, how much you make, career blah blah blah. There is no real substance to how we interact, how we judge each other etc. So ladies if you want to kneel down do it, if you do not want to don't but I guarantee you, your in-laws won't forget it!
Finally in closing I personally do not think it's important or necessary for women to kneel and feed the husband cake. But I also take issue with arrogant women who feel they are too big to kneel, when you know damn well you have been on your knees several times before you wedding day! (Now that one gets the Addy 'Ouch!' award )
POST AWAY YOUR COMMENTS
Thursday, June 15, 2006
Especially In the Middle of the Night
Sometimes people turn off their phones because they don't want to disturbed by pesky relatives begging for one thing or the other or just calling to say 'How is America?' Then there are those call that only come at evil hours of the day and make the rest of your night a sleepless one. You know the ones. When they tell you someone has died or has been in an accident. We all dread those calls but they come in every now and then. The only good thing about those is that you can control when you get that kind of call my by just switching off the celly. But there is one critical phone call that you don't have the luxury to turn of with the click of a button. It's a phone call that if not answered can ruin so many possibilities for you depending on where you are, can become an embarrassment or could give you a lot of work. That call can ruin not just your night and the next day, but your appetite, respiratory and muscular system. The dreaded call I speak about is Nature's Call. See Nyja Guy for a reference case and If you are eating or about to eat this is the time to turn away because I am about to gross you out.
Well I got that call last night and it was not pretty. I came home from work and after listening to some old school jams on some website and logging some sound bites, I decided to have a bowl of spaghetti and some sauce that I had made the previous Sunday. Thinking of which, it may have been my cooking that caused me to have this bout of food poisoning, but I will blame it on the Chinese food I had that yesterday afternoon. So I ended up going to bed around 10.30pm shortly after eating. Keep in mind that I need all the sleep I can get because I have to be up at 6am and be at work at 7am.
Suddenly I felt a rumble in my tumble, a sharp cramp on my left side and then again on my right. I started to rotate on the bed and commenced to break dancing in hopes that the various positions will suppress the raucous going on in my digestive system. I look at the clock. 2.30am. OOOHHH God!!! I exclaimed to myself, 'Why does this have to happened now?' I asked. In my head I was thinking what could be the cause of these cramps in my stomach. The funny thing is that there was no pressure in the anus rectumus area of my lower digestive system so I was quite concerned that I had something serious on my hands. I moaned and groaned and hugged my pillow tightly. I had to be a soldier. There's no way I am going to let this ruin my good sleep. And I was having one sweet dream like that and I tried to think if I had had anything to eat in the dram. You know how it is when they tell you not to eat food in the dream because it could be poison. Well my mind went far. I looked at the clock again. Kai!! 2.45, the pain was still agonizing and yet no pressure. I started sweating. I thought to myself that I know i have not eaten anything out of the ordinary and this must be the handiwork of my spaghetti sauce so I went to the glass chair and sat. Nothing. The pain in my tummy was agonizing. I had some laxatives and one funny green tea that apparently makes you go. I thought perhaps if I take that and make myself go the pain will ease. I even thought to take Tylenol, but I immediately realized that was a very dumb idea because Tylenol does not work on 'that kind of pain.'. I sat there massaging my stomach and talking to motivate the stuvs to come out. I was falling asleep and time was not waiting for me at all. Then all of a sudden I hear my stomach go 'ppprrrrrrrrr'. I knew then that it was game time. Skip that part.
Then I went back to bed feeling a little better. Little did I know I was in for a rough night. 4 trips later I was totally exhausted and thinking perhaps it was time to call in sick. But the devil is a liar. I haven't called in sick since I started working here and I do not intend to start today. So I went back to bed. How about I could not get out of bed in the morning because I was absolutely exhausted and spent. My stomach was empty and I had no energy. No pep in my step. No groove in my move. No spunk in my funk. I knew then I was in for a rough day.
Boy was that an odious experience. Now I am very afraid to eat my pot of spaghetti sauce and to think I made that huge pot to last me the whole week. I wonder if it was the six cloves of garlic that I put in the stew that caused the upset stomach. Hmh.. The mysteries of life. Anyways I have just been drinking water all day in an effort to de-acidify the lining of my stomach. I am afraid to eat today so I will be having some regular bread, egg and peak milk... mainstay Nigerian hospital food. You can't go wrong with that.
Meanwhile I am beginning to feel restless again. I feel I am not stimulated enough by my current work. My creative out juices are crying to be set free otherwise they will explode. I am marinating on that concept and I am having seriously sleepless nights trying to come up with solutions. I know what the prize is but I gotta find a way to get to it. I can just hear it beckoning, I can feel it pumping my blood hot, I can see it in my minds eye, if only I can just reach out and GRAB it.
Anyways I reluctantly went and got my nails done. I am trying to be a 'lady' not just on Sundays. I have been living a hemaphrodite lifestyle and I need to either switch totally to one side and be completely prissy and dainty or with to the other side and be butch and lesbian. The former appeals to me more or don't you think.
Tuesday, June 13, 2006
Random Hang Out Flicks
Friday, June 09, 2006
So the King of All sports has started. Who is watching? Fortunately and unfortunately for me I have TV at work but the games will be distracting me from doing any thing. Like right now.
Anyways for the duration of the Tourney you may refer to me as Mrs. Henry. That's my darling cheesing a bit too much. Close Up is working overtime on his 32's.
I don't know about ya'll but my Ghana hating has been elevated this week. Ghana must not advance in this world cup. Even Cameroon sef should not make it. I am throwing all my support to Angola. Anybody but the Black Stars. I am sure some of you agree with me. Just because any win from any of the african countries is a Continental win does not mean that I will be hapy to see Michael Essien or Asamoah kissing that golden trophy. Infact come sef that Essien boy no be Efik name be that. Check it oh. Home boy might truly be from Calabar or Ikot Ekpene.
Thursday, June 08, 2006
I remember reading on ONADA'S blog about housegirls. It didn't hit me then to write this entry, but yesterday I had an epiphany that promted this. For the past three days, I've walked in to my room to an unmade bed, books and clothes strewn all over the place, still living out of my suitcases and then it hit me. A eureka moment that explains it all. I need a housegirl back in my life. I've just realized that cannot survive without aone or someone assigned to taking care of me, wait on me and someone to command and boss around and someone to do the dirty job called chores. Basically I honestly need some one to pick up after me, even if it is my junior sisters. I noticed I tend to do that with my uncle's kids, making them pick, but that's different because that's mostly their mess. No way I'll be taking responsibility for their mess, uh uh.
It is strange how after 9 years of living with out a house girl and practically being a "house girl" myself at some point (no shame in admiting that...you know there's no way you can live with a relative without being relegated to changing diapers, doing dishes or babysitting) that I'm still useless when it comes to taking care of my self. I don't know now whether it was a good thing to have house girls growing up or if it has bene detrimental to my development, and it wasn't like I was raised with a silver spoon or came close to being spoilt. In fact, I didn't even get wooden or plastic spoon sef, I got FIVE FINGERS and a few knuckles. But thinking about the fact that I never got a chance to do things on my own and for myself much of my life before I turned 17. Someone had to even wake me up and if not for the embarrassment and shame of puberty I would not have started washing my you know what. I had to learn how to wash my school uniform when we got this very mean housegirl whose story I will tell you later.
So back to my epiphany. I remember my mom, uncles and aunts nagging me to do this and to do that but I was always out playing some sport, fishing the gutter for tadpoles to experiment on, reading some shakespeare or mills and boon or sleeping because I was too tired from walking home because I decided to hang back at school with my friends. Gosh was it so uncool the way my mom always showed up at the gate in her ugly brown peugeot. I always had to lie that I had extension class. They would always say you can't take the house girl with you to your husband's house or to university blah blah blah. I guess they were right...DUH!!!
My dad's step sister and neice were our first experience of pampering. Then came CHIBUEZE. She must have been like 8 when her father brought her to our house in Lagos. I was just 4 then and my mom was about to have my sister Onyi. Chibueze was suppose dto go to night school, but let me not lie, for some reason that didn't happen. But let's just say she was home schooled because she learnt to read, write and do math just as well as we did. I don't remember how I felt about her coming but I remember staying with her and giving her my dolls to play with and helping her to wash (right) because she cried for the first two weeks. Then I didn't understand why coming from the village of Ohozara, she wouldn't be happy to be in Lagos where there was electricity, a real bed and 3 square meals. Now I understand.
Chibueze was the best big sister I never had. In my house the words 'house girl', 'maid', 'slave', 'omo-odo', 'ohu' were banned and non existen t in our vocabulary. I learnt that the hard way when I told my Uncle DCD from Sokoto that Chibueze was not my sister but a housegirl. KAI!!!! HE FLOGGED THE WORD OUT OF ME THAT DAY. I had to grow up weaving lies upon lies that Chibueze was my 'adopted' sister. I also had to weave a lie when my 'adopted' brother stopped coming to school. My dad had officially adopted my cousin as his son after his dad died, but trust sigbo women to twist the story that my mom was stealing the widow's son. Hmh let me not even start on the meetings that were called over this matter. Anyways that is how I lost my 'big-brother'. Sometimes thinking about that really hurts because I have big brother envy. Chibueze was also the kindest and most nuturing. She and my baby sister Nnenne were inseparable. Nnenne was just a strange baby, whenever she cried she wouldn't want her mother to carry her, she wanted Chibueze. When ever my mom and Chibueze were going to the market, Nnenne would be rolling on the ground for Chibueze and would run to Chibueze whenever she returned. Wierd baby Nnenne was. My love for Chibueze was not that deep. I loved her like a sister and all but in fact we were always bickering. My eyes opened quickly when I realized that Chibueze was always bossing me around. I started trying to assert my position as 'Oga Pikin' instead I got punished for being rude or talking back to an 'elder'. Can you imagine. Chibueze did everything besides eat and sleep for me. Unfortunately that ended when I became taller than her (she was rather short). My mother bought me my very own jerry-can to follow Chibuze and 'other house girls' to fetch water and it was RED too. Meeeeennnnnn... that ish was so not cool. We had the nicest land lady but her mean ass house girls were always turning off the water to the tenants. As in after hustling and attempting to climb social ladder in school, with all the bloody peer pressure, I lost every control at home because my mother had this brilliant idea to 'train' me. The worst part of it was that there was this FINE King's College Boy that lived on the next street. I had to come up with a plan to only fetch water at nightfall. Thinking about it, may be hanging out with all those house girls is where some of my razness came from.
The day Chibueze left, it was as if somebody died. Her father showed up with her Uncle and took her off to go get married to some old man. Sad story, she was only 17 and my parents tried to stop them by offering them money. This was in 1992 and since then we don't know what became of her. We were all sad and distraught that we didn't have dinner that night. Nnenne cried and cried and cried, by this time Chibuike, Onyi and Nnenne were the only ones calling her 'Aunty Chibueze'. That was Uncle DCD's and his bulala at work. Me I was trying to do big girl so I didn't cry, Ijust boned up and went to the bathroom and started washing the clothes in the tub. When I saw those I was like DAMN this is going to be a rough few weeks. I knew we were definitely going to get another housegirl because with the 5 of us and a mother who was not a housewife, someone had to be the home manager. We ende dup with two and that begins the story of AUgustina.
Augustina was my mother's cousin twice or thrise removed. This girl was yellow, freckled and butch (she also had nice hair.. why do house girls have better hair than me). Augustina was a mean ass biatch and a poser too. I guess I met my match. Where I could walk all over Chibueze, Augustina was not having that. She knew she was comingin to do a job and that is how she started. She set her own rules and was the boss. She would only was my parents, Onyenachi and Nnenne's clothes. EVery other person would have to pay or bribe her. Trade by batter. Many a lunch and pocket monied went to Augustina so that I coudl afford the luxury of clean clothes and socks. The girl was also a fighter. None of those randy mechanics could intimidate her, neither coudl a gang of house girls... and they were always ganging up on her because they said hse was very mean and wicked. One day the land lady's house girls turned the water off and Augustina went and turned it on. While she was fethcing water they four of them came to harrass her and stepped to her. Augustina beat the four of them that night all by her self. She tore their clothes and busted some noses. When the land lady heard that she brought the girls to our house and made them apologise to Augustina and my mom and then she stripped the girls naked, flogged them with pepper laced kobokos (whips) and told them to frog jumo round teh compound. We were just laughing hard in our house. Don't Mess with Augustina Chiatuogu (God of no fear) Chiaka. Then Patricia joined and basically the house girl thing was a bust. They were basically our cousins living with us because I gave up and started doing tnigs for my self. Except for cleaning up and cooking. And there in lies my problem.
For the past two weeks I have only been eating mcdonalds, baked beans and microwave dinner. My room is like a cuckoo's nest. The cooking and cleaning thing don't jive for me. Been there done that and it aint fun. I'ld rather be waited upon. I am not sure what role my parents have to play in this. They did not set out to have me turn out this way. All my uncles and auntys who lived with us share in the blame. They spoiled us with love and care, which is a good thing, and I am refering mostly to the ones from my mothers side. The ones on my dad's side were ok but some of them had issues they needed to deal with. My Uncle Sam was always there to bathe us, pick out our clothes, IRON and dress us up....men could Uncle Sam iron. He was such a pleasant fellow, singing songs and reciting the periodic table. He got a bit annoying as I ecame a teenger, as in dude allow someone to get some space. Then there was his brother Uncle Gody who was always teaching us how to draw and paint, carpentry, how to make catapults, bows and arrows, kites and telling us scary folktales whenever NEPA struck. We were always looking forward to his visits. Then there was Aunty P who was always buying us some fancy pastry or the other.
It is either laziness or some hormonal imbalance caused by PMT that is causing this... OK IT'S RELALY JUST LAZINESS. But is would be nice to have and afford a maid or a house keeper or better yet a lovingly, compassioante and aconsidrate 'NUBIAN KING' whose purpose is to satisfy his NUBIAN SERENGETI QUEEN'S every need and be at her beck and call ready to wait upon me hand, foot and stomach. AHHHH we must dream o... where exists a Naija man who fits that description. We need Mungo Park to go on another expedition to find that. Right Sistuhs?
Monday, June 05, 2006
If there was ever a time that I didn't need my ajebota (prissiness) genes to take over, Sunday just was not the day. Some people say I can be such a diva, primadonna, ditz or whatever and half the time I agree with them because there are some situations that amaze me so much so that I get overtly dramatic. It can be very amusing and I admit that most times it's a coy, avoidance mechanism in order not to deal with the problem at hand or mask my moods. One of such problems arose yesterday afternoon as I was driving from Oakland to San Francisco (Frisco for short).
I was meant to hang out with a friend at a family member's party, but that plan fell through. Luckily an absolutely pleasant and coincidental surprise came through that I quickly fashied being dramatic about the mileage and gas money incurred driving up to Frisco. But that short moment of happiness was not long lived. Tautology employed for emphasis. As I was driving to meet up with another acquintance, my front passenger side tire decided to blow out in the middle of Interstate 880 in Oakland after either hitting an unevenly paved corner of the road or a rock. Now why did it have to be in the town with the most black people. I refused to stop on the high way so I drive another mile to the next exit and got off near Jack London Square and parked my car. I came out and looked at the tire and just hissed and shook my head. What nonsense is this, I said to myself. It is the work of the Devil but that must have been my punishment for not going to church. I called everyone I knew asking for triple-A. I'm sure I had Geico Road side assistance but I could not find my insurance card. Meanwhile the tire was watching me and I was watching it. I went to my trunk to look for the jack and the spare tire. All three of us were moping at each other. It wasn't as if I knew how to change a flat or what to do with the Jack. Heck I don't even know how to remove the hub cap. And I was more concerned about getting my hands all dirty with that black eeky stuff (i should get some yellow rubber gloves in case of next time). I called all my friends oh but no one was able to find anyone with Triple A. Luckily a white tattooed free loving hippie looking couple that had passed by when I'd just gotten there came out again after like 30 minutes and saw me looking perplexed and jaded and asked me if i needed help. You can imagine how I played that hopeless and helpless puppy face. She and her husband joined in to change the tire. Me i was just there opening the owners manual because apparently my car, 'Ify' (Ifesinachi the Infiniti, which means all things come from God) was a bit too luxury for the tire to be just like that of a normal car. It took forever to get the jack out of the trunk, to find the kit and then to take the hub cap off the tire rim. Habayanatics!!!! even 'Mercy' can't be that hard.
Eventually they succeeded in changing the tire. Meanwhile one of my friends, let's call that one Hunter, found a nearby Walmart for me to go fix the tire at. I was eventually able to get a hold of River,who had triple A. River had to add me to his account as per that was the only way they would come out to help me. Hmh. I am sure if Triple A types my name, I could get arrested for polygamy because I am on some people's account as their wife, sister, girlfriend etc etc. I think this is a hint to go and get my own darn account at Triple A and quit being a darned free-loader. This scenario basically reminds me of a scene from Desperate Housewives, when Eddy Brit was in bed all bee stung telling Susan that her helplessness cherade was getting tired and everybody on the block was not always coming to her aid becaus ethey like her, but because she was so desperately helpless. It also reminded me about Unilag Club Boys/Big Boys (especially of the RHO and ABC persuation) that cannot be seen changing tires that they have to call the pledges to drop what ever it is an come and change it for them. They even get their pledges to change tires for their girlfriends/ club girls. Like my sister would say 'Pekelepekele'..only in an ajebota world can that fly. That's the moment of epiphany that I had. Yes playing dumb, naive and clueless can be cute to some people, but sooner or later it'll get tired. It is when you really really need the most help that everyone wil be like 'Oops, sorry honey you've played out all your cards.' It can even be detrimental to building relationships because you'll just be looked upon as being needy. Something I need to chew the cod on as I grow daily in life. I also need to find out why my own ajebotaness get K-leg...personality crisis basically. Ever heard of 'ajebo aguru n'agu' ...ajebota wey hunger dey catch..lol.
Anyways I made my way to Walmart where I had to spend an unbudgeted $100 to replace my tire. I was shortly on my way to meet up with my other friend and then STRUGGLED to drive back home. Oh My Goodness was I in some serious punishment mode. I was just slapping myself, screaming the song that was blarring from the speakers and freezing myself by rolling the windows down so that I could keep my self awake. My eyes were literarily shutting down on me as I was driving and I could feel my self drifting in and out and my car swerving from side to side. The worst part of it was that all the minimarts at gas stations were cloes and I could not get my dose of Red Bull. BUt we thank God that I got home safely last night. I didn't even take my clothes off. I just plunked into my bed. Meeen!!! London Bridge is Falling down cannot even rival the way I fell into that bed and crashed. Sadly I woke up 4 hours later to go to work.
Speaking of which , I am just dreading tomorrow, Tuesday, because it is the election primaries. This for me is the worst part of being a journalist. Outside of the presidential election, I cannot stand any of these local nonsense news. I mean who cares about the local city council race when there's World Peace to seek and AIDS AND MALARIA to combat, not to mention poverty and lack of housing for all by the year 2000. I am all for civic duty and all but why do I have to be dragged into it. Urgh!! somebody bite me....and it better not end up in no darn run off.
Thursday, June 01, 2006
I was so excited to be be going back 'home' to North Carolina to visit my friends and family. I didn't realize how miserable I have been all this while in California until I actually got on the plane and didn't remember to pray when the plane was taking off. I drove to LA on Wednesday in that horrific traffic. That was my first time experiencing the so called 'LA Traffic'. A journey that would normally take me abbout two and half hours took me four. I got to my friend's house and parked my car, ate, hung out for a little bit and then went to the airport. I had on me just my all travel weather red bag with one pair of jeans, my dress for Mo's gig, my toiletries and two pairs of shoes. Continue reading to hear what I returned with.
I got on the plane and slept through out the entire flight. These airlines need to do something about their leg room beacuse I am sure I had DVT or athrithis just sitting on that long ass flight. 5 whole hours. That is like going half way to Africa. As soon as I got to the airport andwalked through the shops, I was just seeing t-shirst that read 'Welcome to NC'. CHAI!!! MY HEART WAS DOING POKOM-POKOM and just jubilating. I was finally in NC. Then I saw one fat college looking guy in a Carolina Blue Tarheel tee sitting and waiting for his luggage. I walked up and sat next to him and said , ' I havve never been so excited to see that tee shirt, in fact I almost feel like hugging you.' Lol. The guy laughed like as if I was giving him a compliment.
I didn't wait too long for Uncle John. He was actually on time even though he was like 15 minutes late. I had to take him to work once we got to the house and he let me borrow his car for the day. Kai.... my uncle must have missed me oh. He has not always been generous with letting me use his car in the past but this time he did not even hesitate.
So I took the car went to get my hair done. One of my aunties who is a deeper lifer was supposed to do it but the babe flaked on me. Apparently Deeper Lifers believe that sewing hair weave is 'ke ndi no n'uwa' meaning it is for 'people who are still in the world' and as such they do not promote it. The only style she can do are braided styles. Bros and Sisters what is the difference between braided hair and weave. Are they all not 'Mammy Wata' hair. Abegi make I hear jare. I ended up paying $100 for the weave at Aabies Hair Brading Parlor on North Tryon Rd just before Old Concorde (shameless plug but ask for Ify if you need to get braide) as opposed to $180 in Durham. Then I had to get it cut and styled and ended up ad some crazy woman's salon. I told this lady to 'feather' the bangs and when I asked her if she knew waht 'feather' means she was like 'Uh Hmh Gurl I know I know.' But what did she do? Freaking took some paper scissors looking pair of scissors and just chopped the weave of. At that point my heart just sank and it was down hil from there. Anyways I'll let you be the judge. And speaking of the weave, why the hell is this thing itching so badly. I had to wake up in the middle of the night to put olive oil on my scalp. And that Sulfur 8 nonsense does not work. That stuff is just water and inly makes it worse.
Anyways after getting my hair done, I took a nap and then had lunch with a friend and Cheesecake Factory. Then I went to meet up with my old co-worker Akira so we could catch up on the gist from our old station. Then I had to go pick my uncle up. How about he tried to curfew me when I told him I was heading back out to meet up with another friend. He was like ' At this time of the night, I do not approve of that'. I am thinking to myself awww hell no there is no way that I am going to give in to that attempt at scolding me. For goodness sakes I am 26 years old for crying out loud. Despite the quivering of my lips and the shakiness of my voice I was like 'Unlce John I'm off ok, I won't be long'. Lol. I had to dip men and I was just laughing when I got into the car. That's the very first time he'd outrightly expressed discontent at my late night marauding. Usually he'll just be like 'Hmh' and not say anything. But this time he was like 'Why can't he come and pick you up.' Good question, but why do yo think it is a he? And secondly If it were a he I am not that dumb to have a man come and knock on your door at 11.30pm to pick me up... is it Jerusalem that we are going ehn. Lol. Biko.. I know how that story will get twisted and reach my father's ears in another manner.
The next day I had to go buy some three suitcase to pack up some of my stuff. Dear Father God, please forgive mr for indulging in the vanities of this world. Why did my shoes fill up nearly 2 entire suitcases. And as I was loading them in I could feel the adrenaline rush like I was on some cheap drug (not that I know what that feels like). And to think that there are people who do not have one single shoe to wear. It is unfortunate and because of that I wont buy any new pair of shoes for the next few months by God's grace.
By the Time I finished packing Kwame, my friend's boyfriend was in the drive way to pick me up to head to Greensboro to see my girls Desmina, Singto and Ndidi. Meeeen I had not seen Singto in a whole year. The last time I saw her I was weeping because she was going away to New Haven. Boy how time flies. I had been gone only but 5 months and I couldn't wait to get back. I can imagine how Singto was feeling. As she put it, truly both of us have just been miserable.
On the drive to Greens we stopped by Bojangles to get me some good ol'country fried chicken and biscuit. Yummy Yum Yum. That was the best fried chicken I have ever had. It was like being in cloud nine. That stuff was sooo goood. Speaking of food. I didn't have much time to eat or even sleep because I was just going up and down and running my mouth. In fact I talked too much that food was falling out of my mouth because I was just talking and talking andtalking like a parrot. I mean it is allowed beacuse all this while I had no body to talk to and all of a sudden I had 6 people, willing and participating audience members to entertain.
I met the girls at the nail shop from where we went to go find a dress for Ndidi to waer to the wedding. As usual the person who didn't want to shop was the one who ended up buying stuff. No not me this time, it was Singto. We then went to some restaurant that had the worst service and then Des went to pick up Ostranda aka Osty, OC or Osita from the airport. We were just having ablast with each other that we decided to go to the house, Des's house and watch 'Jubileewood' movies 'Going up to High Place' and 'Stand Up, Stand Out'. They are Nollywood type movies made by the OGBONGE drama department of Jubilee Christian Church International Durham NC, starring NdidiOkeke, Mighty Ogbokiri, Rodger Gilbert and Udoka Uzoka among other very very talented nigerian aktos and aktresses wey dey Durham. Grab your NOOOOOWWWWW!!!! GBISSSHHHH!!!!!!
To cut the long story short...... Sunday we went to church, saw a few face, picked Mayowa from the airportb and then went to Hickory for Maureen's wedding engagement. Oyinkan and her family hijacked the ceremony and made it a yourba traditional wedding complete with bride price haggling. It was funny. Below is a link o some of the pictures courtesy of Oyinkan. Check out the gele I tied for Mo so if you need my serviced for your special occasion holla at your sista. I'll post the pictures I took later, once I can get my roomate to do it for me. By the way you have to congratulate me for making this marital match. I should say God used me to make this match because I dragged Mo to Oyinkan's big sister and big brother's graduation party , which is where the love connection was made. Wish I could go to Jamaica to see it all the way through. Meanwhile I think my dress made me look pudgy and pregnant and Oyinkan captured me in some very unsavory poses so please take some of these at face value. Especially the first picture...I was not that hungry. Lol. Anyways enjoy the view as me and my peeps keep it real in the N-Cizzle
Oyinkan's Pix from Mo's Wedding Engagement