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Friday, March 31, 2017

The Men She Loved (2)

Would you like something to drink?”

He looked away from her.


“What would you like?”

“What do you have?” he was looking at her intently again. He had this way of looking at her, like he was trying to read her soul. She turned away from him

“Water, apple juice, cranberry juice, that’s it.”

“Water please,” she left him on the couch and went to get him the water; she returned with water and a bowl of milk for the puppies but they were still asleep. Lanre took a sip of his drink. “You seem a little sadder than usual,”

“Than usual?”

“You never really seem happy; it’s as though there is something sad that’s always at the back of your mind,”

“Perhaps, I was born a little sad,”

The doorbell rang, she sighed and excused herself. As soon as she opened the door, Ada burst through with her ever-evolving stomach leading the way.

“I have been calling your phone all freaking day. They call it a mobile phone for a reason,”

“I’m sorry; I must have dropped it somewhere. I haven’t seen it,”

“I bet you haven’t even looked,” Lola said nothing. She really hadn’t wanted to talk to anyone. Ada walked right through to the living room and practically stumbled over Lanre.

“Oh! I didn’t realise you had a guest!”

“Ada, Lanre; Lanre, Ada,” Lanre stood to shake Ada’s hand but her attention was already elsewhere

“Omolola! Are those dogs??? I leave you for one day and you get dogs!”

“Actually, I got them for her.”

Wednesday, March 29, 2017

The Men She loved (1)


Lola could hear it, but she had not spotted it yet and she would not be satisfied until its blood was on her hands.

 She leaned on the edge of her seat, poised and ready to attack. The mosquito flew into her line of vision and she clapped it between her palms. Temi looked at her, amused.

“Can we eat now?” he said. She smiled at his sarcastic tone and met his gaze with a bold one of her.

“Be my guest,” she said. 

He dug in, but she hesitated. It was the first time he was eating a meal of hers and he seemed such a traditional sort of guy. 

She suspected it would matter to him if she was not able to cook. Normally, she would not have cared what anyone thought of her cooking; after all, she fed herself and she had not died yet. But she wanted to please Tem
 “Do you like it?” He glanced up at her.

“You haven’t touched your food,” he said
“I wanted to know if you liked it.”
He smiled at her and his dimples lit up his face.

“I do.” She returned the smile.
 “Now will you eat?” he said.
She picked up her fork and scooped a few grains of rice and stew. She felt his eyes on her as she put it in her mouth.

 They ate in silence and her thoughts vibrated inside her head until she felt a headache coming. How she wished he would talk!

They sat on the porch of her home. A home given to her by her grandmother in her will. She had dragged the table to the porch with the help of Ada, to give it a romantic feel but Temi was yet to comment on it.

 He had not commented on the candle either, perhaps he suspected there was no light. He had told her she looked pretty; she had circled her eyes with kohl eyeliner and her lips were blood red, she wore the quintessential black mini dress and she knew ‘pretty’ didn’t begin to describe how she looked.

The wind blew her hair into her face. It was a lovely night, she couldn’t have hoped for a better one; and the estate was quiet as though there had been an estate meeting and they had conspired to stay out of her way. 

Temi leaned forward and brushed the strand from her face. She hoped he would kiss her.

“I’ve got to go. I have a meeting this evening,” he said. Her hope died. “Should I help you clear up?”

Sunday, March 26, 2017

The Love Affair (2)

The guys congratulated Samson for making an honest woman out of Bolanle. Everyone’s attention drifted to the newly engaged couple. Just when I thought I was let off the hook, Sade said:

“I’m so happy one of us is out of the market now oo, Lola you’re next.” She winked at me. I smiled back.

“Do you guys remember how they met?” Everyone except the victims nodded.

Samson answered, “This goat here was dating that other girl… what was her name again?”

“Vera… Cynthia… Charity or Chasity? Which one na?”

They all bust out laughing.

I noticed Dele hadn’t said a word since our friends started patronizing us. I feared he would think I put them up to this.

“Since Dele doesn’t want to man up and take you off the market, I will gladly accept you. You know I’ve always had a thing for—”

“Nah… shes fine.” Dele cut in. Shaking his head, he sipped from his glass of wine. Everyone’s attention fell on him.

“What do you mean nah? Oh na now you wan speak up?”

“Babe like I was saying,” Philip continued, “we could go on a date some time next week, what do you say?” Before I could respond, Dele spoke again. His voice this time held annoyance.

Saturday, March 25, 2017

The Love Affair (1)

Indecisive, that’s what he is. Patient, that’s what he has made me. We know what we are but we still doubt it when the issue comes up. He is the kind who is picky. That’s what he tells me, and I’m a girl who refuses to be an option in anyone’s list, I deserve to be a choice.

“Baby, you gotta chill. I’m just not ready yet, at least not now.” He is not ready for love and so we wait; no, I wait.

“Right now, I got plans, big big plans.” And I wonder each day where I fit in into any of these plans.

To our friends, I am just his best friend. Actually no. They think we’re doing something behind closed doors. One time when I arranged for a dinner get-together with some of our friends, we had managed to get the wrong impression across. 

He came before the rest of them. The way he was assisting me with setting up the table brought their curious eyes on me. When the bowl of food was too hot, he will take it from my hands and dump it on the hands of another girl there. His sweetness, they all took it as a clue.

Finally, the table was set and we all took our seats, ready to dig into our food. The fried rice which he helped make came out perfect. They all praised his skills, dropping hints that who ever he married would be a lucky girl. I joined in, adding my own two cents.

“So are you guys an item or what?” Sade asked out of the blue. The room became silent.

Wednesday, March 22, 2017

The New Wife (2)

She  first  began  to  notice  the  changes  in  him  after  he  told  her  to  prepare  for  JAMB.  ‘You’re  going  to  BUK,’  he  said.  ‘You  need  to  be  a  graduate.  You  need  to  upgrade.’  

There  was  a  patronizing  quality  to  his  voice,  a  quality  she  had  heard  before,  but  had  always  ignored.  She  said  yes,  that  she  would  prepare  for  JAMB.  

She  did  not  tell  him  that  she  could  not  start  reading  again  after  so  many  years.  She  did  not  tell  him  that  their  marriage  was  almost  a  year  old,  and  that  they  should  be  thinking  about  children  that  would  come,  and  not  about  university.  

She  did  not  even  tell  him  about  not  seeing  her  blood,  about  the  warmth  that  had  filled  her  as  she  stripped  in  the  bedroom  and  pressed  her  breasts  to  see  if  they  were  heavy.  Instead  she  smiled,  batted  he  eyelids  and  went  to  the  kitchen  to  cry.

Saturday, March 18, 2017

The New Wife (1)

Her  name  was  Nneoma, which means 'Good  Mother',  (in Igbo) but  Obinze  liked  to  call  her  Obim (my heart). She  was,  literally,  his  heart,  he  said.  She  liked  it,  the  way  his  voice  would  soften  whenever  he  called  her  that.  ‘Obim,  this  is  the  best  ukwa  I  have  ever  eaten,’  he  would  say,  and  she  would  smile  and  bat  her  eyelashes at  him. 

 At  night,  when  they  were  in  bed  together,  he  would  touch  her  in  places  that  made  her  giggle,  and  when  he  was  finally  in  her,  he  would  mutter: ‘Obim,  Obim,’  and  afterwards  he  would  ask  if  she  had  liked  it.  

She  would  smile  shyly  and  nod  her  head,  yes,  even  on  those  nights  when  he  got  there  before  she  did,  even  on  those  nights  when  she  pressed  her  legs  together  and  fought  desperately  not  to  touch  herself.

Wednesday, March 15, 2017

Finding Hubby (16)

I shouted from inside my house “Femi, go away! I don’t ever want to see you again. And if you came back because you are feeling bad and want to apologize, it’s not needed. Just go!”
“Calm down Oyin!” Gloria shouted me down, and for some reason I cannot understand, I actually became quiet and dropped my tantrum. By then she was at the door and she unhooked it. In the doorway was Femi, looking huge but as unsure of himself as a toddler. He looked so vulnerable and something in my heart twitched. But my heart seems to have developed arthritis. These days, it doesn’t do so much gymnastics again.
“Femi, what is it? What do you want?” Toke queried.
I shot her a look that said “this is my matter and let me handle it,” and she jejelly backed down. “Oo…o…oo…oyin”, Femi stammered.

Sunday, March 12, 2017

Finding Hubby (15)

Almost as soon as Toke hung up, a text message came into my phone. I quickly opened it, thinking it was some follow up gist.

 I was pleasantly surprised when I saw a message from Hawt Pastor, asking that I ensure I did not miss church for any reason the next day, since it had been so long ago he had seen me in church.

The next day, I went to church again after a long time. After the wedding thing, in which I had deliberately chosen not to follow his (sound) advice, our relationship had been sort of frayed.

So I was surprised when I woke up that morning and saw his second sms. I really didn’t have much to do anyways, Gloria was going to see her mum and since Toke was still cooped up with Mr. Oga, I wasn’t expecting her back anytime soon.

So rather than stay at home and cradle a bottle of JC Leroux, I decided to go to church.

Wednesday, March 08, 2017

Finding Hubby (14)

The question that keeps running through my mind is this – which is better, the one that is married and is unhappy in the marriage or the one who is longing for marriage and hasn’t found hubby? That, people is the million dollar question. Internally, I thanked my stars.

 I could have been Mrs. Onisokame today, beaten, bruised and battered. All of this has made me rethink and redefine this my finding hubby quest. Why should I allow myself to be defined by my marital status, or Mrs. Who I am?

Toke tried to call Ossy’s phone with Gloria’s line but he kept cutting the call off. She tried with her own phone but got the same treatment. By the time we tried with mine, his phones were switched off. We sat there, as we waited for Dr. Phillips to come out of the emergency ward.

A little later, restless, Toke decided to ping Ossy impersonating Gloria. The BBM read
“Ossy, you have killed our baby, I’m in the hospital, and the doctor says I’ve had a miscarriage. And you aren’t taking my calls. What did I do to deserve this? Marrying you?”

The bbm didn’t get delivered to him immediately, as his phones were off. After what seemed like an eternity, the motherly figure of Dr. Philips came into the doorway and beckoned on us to come in to see Glo.

Sunday, March 05, 2017

Finding Hubby (13)

Let me explain. Gloria is one of those light complexioned Ibo girls that cannot enter a place without being noticed. It’s one of the reasons we call her Glo (apart from the other obvious one :D). 

If you hold her too much on one spot, the skin of that spot will become red, that’s how sensitive her skin is (in fact, on days she gets frisky with any guy, and she is with us after and undresses, the redness of her boobs gives her away). 

So when she took off the scarf and specs today, it revealed red blotches all over her face, two black eyes and deep red etches on her neck. Every vex inside me melted away right away and I was beside her as she broke down into tears.

“Did he do this to you?” I asked, voice shaking. She just continued crying, as Toke put her hands around her, sobbing along with her.

Nearly the whole café was looking our way now and so we decided to go to mine, away from the prying eyes. She rode with Toke, as they drove behind me. There was a bit of traffic at that blasted toll gate and it took us a whole forty five minutes to make a twenty minute journey. 

Friday, March 03, 2017

Finding Hubby (12)

I was confused. How could my admirer be a woman! Lord have mercy. I sat trance-like while she took a seat opposite me. 

“You look very puzzled”, she continued. “With your last experience, I can imagine you think I’m a lesbian. Don’t be afraid, I just pulled strings for a friend who couldn’t secure this place himself. I had to be around to ensure that he would gain access as  this place is very exclusive. I’ll leave you now.”

 She stood up, gave me a look over and then nodded slowly “I see what he sees in you”. She then went towards the door. My hand flew to my bbm and I sent an update to Toke. I was engrossed in sending the message I didn’t notice that someone had walked up to me. When I looked up, I almost let out a scream. It was Ossy.


Ossy took a seat opposite me as a waiter followed him closely with an exquisite bottle of white wine, the type that I liked. “Is this a joke or something? Or are you on a date with Gloria here?” I asked, confused.

 Someone had been sending me romantic notes and gifts for the past few days and Ossy turned up on my date. “Please listen”, he responded trying to calm me down, because I was raising my voice already.

Wednesday, March 01, 2017

Finding Hubby (11)

The tabloids were merciless. For weeks after the botched wedding, there was one story or the other about me, Gloria, Ossy and Yomi in every print and online tabloid and blog possible.

 Comedians used us as skits for their event promos. It was real bad. And trust Nollywood, within two weeks of the event, there was a movie out, complete with a poster of a reenactment of my scream on my knees at the church.

 They titled it “Love Scream”. Someone needs to do something about Nollywood. Really.

I had to pretend to the world I had known absolutely nothing about Yomi’s sexuality. That was the only way I salvaged my respectability.

 In fact, some people actually came to console me and tell me sorry. See en, when people are going through stuff, just leave them alone sometimes. Sorry my Yoruba ass.

Yomi left the country and no one could reach him. Not that I tried, but his family kept asking if I had heard from him or could reach him. They were genuinely afraid and were indeed nice people.

 They didn’t know I knew about him, so they kept trying to be good to me, trying to compensate me for the way their son had deceived me. I played along. Better that way than the other way I guess.

Gloria and Ossy have been asking for forgiveness. Again it’s that heart thing. They keep saying they were trying to make up for their previous mistake, trying to make sure they didn’t keep silent again while I walked into a trap.

 I could see their intentions were genuine and all, but couldn’t they have chosen a less disastrous way to “save” me? Gloria is a woman like me, and has been one of my closest friends for years.

 Even if Ossy didn’t understand how disastrous their actions would be to a fellow woman, how could Gloria not understand? 

So my head keeps telling me to forgive them, but my heart bluntly refuses to do anything of that nature (influenced by the fact that they are happily married and I’m still carrying my father’s surname plus Glo is preggy for Ossy now).

 Abi if you were in my shoes, would you?

Since I had taken a long leave for the wedding, I didn’t have to go to work immediately and so had time to just be by myself in my house. 

Thankfully, I didn’t resign at Yomi’s prompting based on his promise of endless money. I would have felt worse if I didn’t have my job to look forward to going back to. Toke was my friend through the time and she made sure amongst other things that I was eating, didn’t strangle or drug myself to death, burn down my house or call assassins to go after Glo and Ossy. 

The funny thing is, now that this Yomi wedding brouhaha was over, I felt more at peace than I’d been in a long time. In retrospect, I would really have been miserable in that marriage. 

Truth is, I’m still a romantic at heart, and could never really be happy in those circumstances.

I went through the whole “I’m so done with men” cycle, to the “I’ll just have a kid for some random man” phase and then back to the “when will my own come” phase. 

By the time I was at this phase, Toke and my mum were satisfied that I wasn’t suicidal and would get over the disappointment and still marry. Prior to that, I had been closely monitored and kept away from sharp objects and medicine bottles.

One of the ways I deal with disappointment is to get something new as if to tell myself I deserve good stuff even if life was trying to say otherwise. I acquired a tear rubber Honda CRV in this period. Big girl, big toy, I can’t shout. (and if you don’t think a CRV is big enough, snap and send your car pix #yimu)

My leave and the commensurate insulation from the world soon ended and resumption day at work came. I had dreaded this moment for so long and had rehearsed it in my mind severally until I had each detail planned out. Determined to look every inch unfazed, I poured all my energies into looking good. And I looked good. 

I did not fail to notice that a few heads turned when I parked my sleek toy and stepped out. I made up my mind to enjoy life everyday and not kill myself about marrying, quoting Sefi Attah’s book title, Everything good will come.

So I was pleasantly surprised when I got back from lunch that day and met a bouquet of flowers with a note on my table. Here’s what it said

“You’re a masterpiece, the epitome of beauty”.

I appreciated the gesture (yes, everyone likes to feel like the epitome of beauty even if you know it’s awash), but really didn’t take it seriously. Over dramatics of any kind were not in my agenda at the moment. 

I didn’t even bother to mention it to Toke when she came around. It was that insignificant to me. We watched old episodes of Ally Macbeal and she crashed at mine.

Next day, I unconsciously expected to see flowers and co on my table when I got back from lunch. Nothing! Looooooong hiss, see me already anticipating. It was on the second day I inquired about Ossy, as I hadn’t seen him since resumption. I was told he had left the company for banking. 

Whatever, it was better not to have to deal with him. The moment I entered the car park, I noticed a bright red gift bag on top of my car. I was already internally abusing the person that used my new car as a table when I saw it had my name on it. 

Forgetting that Boko Haram is threatening everyone, I quickly looked into the bag. In it were the loveliest pair of silver Louboutin shoes I’ve ever seen. This person must know I love shoes. Kai! When I brought the shoes out of the bag, a note fell out of them. It had another message on it

“You are my centerpiece, I’ll build my world around you”.

This guy knows Oyin is a poet o, what kind of attack is this now? It’s as if the guy had taken time to study me and was hitting at my weak spots. I didn’t want to open up to anyone so soon after my last saga, the tabloids and blogs would have a field day. Plus I’m not a fan of stealth tactics. If you like me,oju l’oro wa.

These days, I can’t wait to go home after work, so I headed straight home. When I got home, I quickly took pictures and sent to Toke, giving her the meat of the gist. 

Trust the nonsense girl, she came up with all manner of conspiracy theories. I really think she should begin to write for some TV series, cos the girl’s imagination is on fertility drugs. She can know how to think up scenarios that all you will say is Tokeeeeeeeeeeeee!

 In the end, we had a good laugh and agreed I shouldn’t take the fellow seriously until he showed his face.


Next day, nothing at lunch, nothing at my car when I was leaving. I thought this guy had run out of ideas. Then I got to my gate and guess what I saw… a mannequin fully dressed, from sunshades to scarf to belt and even shoes beside it.

 Omo, this person knew my house. That was beginning to sound like a stalker, but do we have those in Naija? Or was it Yomi playing games ni? I quickly took pictures (making sure my gate and house number showed) and sent it to Toke.

 Seemed she was busy, no response, because normal her would have called for the gist if she had seen the pix. This person was doing things that would definitely get my attention in a way that would trip me. 

I wanted to find out which one line poetry he had written this time and I moved the mannequin in and frisked it. Nothing. I couldn’t believe how disappointed I was. Why prince charming fall my hand now? mtchew.

 I decided to undress the mannequin and keep the clothes in the car for the drycleaner, while the mannequin stayed outside (I’m definitely not wearing them, would give them to charity. The note was handwritten across its chest –

“My cornerpiece, you bring it all together”.

Thursday, and I was up bright and early. My BB was blinking and Toke must have pinged me like hundred times for the gist. I filled her in on my drive to work. 

We both agreed our guy who we shall label Mr. Poet was getting more interesting. I spent a bit of the workday wondering what he would come up with today. He didn’t disappoint. 

When I got back from lunch, there was a gift card on my table for a pampering session at an exclusive Spa on Ligali Ayorinde. 

Accompanying it were two notes. One teased me about going straight home everyday and asked me to go to the spa for a change. The one I really wanted to see, the poem read

“My choicepiece, I chose you”.

Men, this guy was good. It wasn’t the gifts that got me, it’s the poetry. Together, they read like this

“You’re a masterpiece, the epitome of beauty

You’re my centerpiece, I’ll build my world around you

My cornerpiece, you bring it all together

My choicepiece, I chose you”

Kilode! I was more than curious to know who this mystery guy was.


Let me tell you, if you haven’t taken time to go get yourself pampered at a spa, and you are making above fifty thousand monthly, you better indulge yourself.

You can feel the stress ease out of you as those people handle you. And some of the spa attendants en, they can make you feel like you don’t live in this same Nigeria.

They are so totally fine and near flawless. Haba! There are some men I saw there, coming to get massages, and in my inner mind, I knew they were there for the girls.

Anyway, the owners of the business know this, hence the girls. It reminded me of those fine guys that served ice cream at Ice Cream Factory. You don’t need to wonder why all the island girls have suddenly made it their one stop shop and fashied Chocolate Royale.

To get up was war after the whole massage. Whenever you are getting something osho-free, even when you can afford it, it always feels sweeter. I managed to drive myself home, and had the most peaceful sleep I’d had since the whole wedding saga.

Friday morning, I woke up and hit my left leg on the bed as I was getting down. Then I hit it on the bathroom door too. Now, forget poshness, there are some things you grow up with and no matter how educated you are, you still unconsciously remember them.

My mama is a typical Yoruba woman, and she drummed it into our heads growing up that if you strike your left leg against something, it was a bad omen. She even had the one where she would ask a guy to meet her first as she was going out of the house on something important.

She said meeting the opposite sex first was a good omen, and hence she made sure of that. And with all my UK masters and my Island big girl-ism, that was what came to my mind this morning. You can imagine.

I packed myself out of the house, thanking God it was Friday. Work went by and I was wondering what Mr. Poet would come up with today. I didn’t have to wait for long. An sms came into my phone around lunch hour.

“We should meet. Private dinner at the Palm View Manor off Ajose Adeogun. Let’s do 8pm. Ask after Chris”. Notice he said “ask after” not “ask for”. The guy can speak proper English. I smiled.

 I forwarded the text to Toke sharply and she agreed to be my “backup”, with the addition “Mr. Poet now has a name o”. At my age, I am not foolish. I don’t go and meet strange men in places they chose without having someone around the corner that can make sure I’m safe.

 I have watched too many C & I things to make such silly mistakes. So Toke was gonna be around and in touch, to avoid stories that touch. We can say serial killers are not in Naija yet, but there was a time when people also said Nigerians could never be suicide bombers.

Anyway, the day raced past after that, and then I waited for Toke to meet me up at work. Since I close at five, I had about two hours to burn before my date. We spent it imagining who this secret admirer could be.

Toke said she had some other gist for me, but that would be after my date, since she said it was not so great gist. I made up my mind to just have fun and enjoy the moment, no serious anything. In no time, we headed out, with Toke driving behind me.

I found Palm View Manor easily. It’s one of those exclusive places in Victoria Island that the people who are old money meet to talk about how all the brash new money people are invading their moneyed space and how to create newer exclusive circles available only to old money.

Toke stayed at one café on the road; there are many of those in that area. Seems like a nice business to do on the island, I should begin to consider opening one.

Seven on the dot, I drove into the compound and walked to the reception. A small Asian lady was behind the counter and I smiled sweetly and asked after Chris.

She returned a smile just as sweet as mine and said in the gesture-full way Asians do. “Chris is already waiting; you’ll be shown to the table right away”.

Another guy came out of the staff only door behind her to lead me to Chris. I liked the treatment and all. I so couldn’t wait to see this mystery man. Second by second updates were flying to Toke via BBM. Thankfully the network wasn’t falling hand and she was getting my messages realtime.

We went through a beautiful corridor, with old pictures of Lagos Island when things were sane and orderly hanging on the walls.

We turned a corner and came into a very well furnished restaurant. They seemed to have a thing for red velvet and combined with the lighting, it had a cool comfortable look.

 I was ushered into a secluded seat in a corner, with candles and all set up on the table. Chris wasn’t there. Very quietly, my guide disappeared and I was alone. I discreetly took a picture of the table and sent to Toke. I was engrossed in my chat with her but all of a sudden, I felt there was someone else with me.

I braced up to meet him for the first time. A very pretty, I’ll repeat, extremely pretty lady smiled down at me. I assumed she was looking for someone and smiled at her too, waiting for her to ask me a question. She said with a tilt of her head, “Oyin Clegg?” I was surprised but answered that I was the one. She stretched her hand towards me and said: “Chris.”

 To be continued
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