Sex, Lies and Vodka Pt. 1

(Excerpt from a story)
10.30pm and I'm stuck in traffic! I shouldn't be where I am! I should be rounding up my 8pm date with my boyfriend and maybe getting a little brown sugar for dessert. But no...I'm stuck behind a belching cancer box that V. O. I hasn't seen and worse of all my cellphone's died on me, so I'm unable to call to cancel our date. My boss decides, at the last minute...as usual...on a friday (lousy day for traffic) to send me off to see a client in Eleme of all places. I estimate another 2 hours of limited movement and turn off the radio and select 'The Man That Can't Be Moved' by The Script to listen to, and cue 'Dark Horse' by Nickelback to follow, the beats keep me company and match my mood.
Fast forward 3hrs, I finally drive into my compound, the yard appears empty...seems my neighbors took advantage of the weekend and went to the club. Musa, the security guard, gives me a note. Michael, my very ticked off boyfriend of 5 years, apparantly spent an hour waiting for me at home after an hour long wait for me when I didn't show at the restaurant. It's seems my cell packin up was a mixed blessing. At least that way I didn't have to hear him bitch about me being late for the duration of the date. Well thank God for small mercies.
The whole relationship was starting to get a little bit stifling...what with his everyday complaints about my job, my career drive, my time and my friends. I don't know what he wants really, if I were a woman who sat on my bootylicious booty all day and waited for him to come buy me sanitary pads he'd be on my case 24/7 that is if he hadn't left me already. Unfortunately or fortunately i ain't that kinda chick. I like my great job, great car, apartment, wardrobe and generally my great life.
Anyway I open the door, kick off my shoes and head for the kitchen. A half bottle of chilled red wine beckons me. Glass filled and bottle in hand I head to the bedroom sipping as I go. The lights are dimmed and Freddy Jackson serenading me in the background, i slowly start undressing, divesting myself of my suit jacket, rumpled white shirt and kicking off my short skirt. Sitting on the bed I slide off my sheer stockings one leg at a time. I head to the bathroom and start the process of filling the tub as I seriously need the soothing heat of a bubble bath. As the tub fills at an agonizingly slow rate I head back to the room dancing to the slow beats. I've just taken off my barely there silk and lace contraption that Victoria's Secrets called a bra when the doorbell buzzes. I pray wistfully that whoever it is will just go away, but the buzzing continues. Grabbing a robe off the hanger on the back of the door I head for the front door angrily...ready to rip the person a new one...! I mean who the HELL is that at 2AM? Through the peep hole I see Jamie my friend suitcase in hand.
"J! What the hell are you doing here at this time...with a suitcase no less". She looks at me and starts sobbing. "Mel...Justin hit me again," eyes bloodshot and swollen "he accused me of flirting with a guy at the club and when we got home he hit me! I left...I can't take his insecurity and jealousy anymore!" By now we'd gotten to the parlour and she collapses on the sofa weeping uncontrollably. Now although I make all the right noises and say all the right things I have no sympathy for Jamie whatsoever. Justin and I are like 1 and 10 or better yet parallel lines. He's an ass! This wouldn't be the first and not likely be the last time he'd hit her and she left. At least once in three months my pad becomes a shelter for battered women thanks to the two Js. I've told her to leave him for good but she always goes back. Always justifying his action and layin the blame for his latest beating on his job, his mother, her...anything but him! According to her 'he loves me, he really does...it's just that he's stressed'. Huh! Some kinda loving! The last time she lost a 4 month pregnancy, the next time the bastard might kill her! The irony of it is they're not even married yet, 7 years of togetherness and she's been his punching bag for 3 of these 'blissful' years. Well bye bye bubble bath! Sayonara blissful sleep!
Inwardly pissed I lug her case into the bedroom and usher her towards the bathroom to clean up and hand her one of my nightgowns. Now Jazz is a beautiful girl with a great body and even greater job but Justin has made her a shadow of the bubbly and vivacious imp I met in college. Jazz was once the heart and soul of every party, the IT girl that everybody wanted to be friends with. People would go out of their way just to see her smile, and do anything to hear her laugh. Jazz and I had also for a brief while been lovers! It wasn't anything serious...more curiosity than lifestyle. We were younger then and wanted to know what it felt like to be loved by a woman, we loved each other as friends and were close enough not to worry about exposure. So I had vested interests in my former lover's happiness. Watching Jazz soaking in the tub brought back forbidden memories of long repressed embraces. Helping her scrub her back my hand lingered ever so briefly on the base of her neck...her sensitive spot and I feel her shudder...it seems she remembers too. She turns her head to look at me...like a puppy left out in the cold and I bend my head and kiss her. Not a deep or passionate kiss...just a light friendly reassuring touch on the lips with mine. Her mouth opens, inviting my tongue in. Instead I nibble on her bottom lip. She moans softly and shivers. My hand moves to her right breast, as I get down on my knees, gently tweaking on her nipple. She opens her legs and guides my hand to her parted legs...
(T. B. C)

DISCLAIMER: All thoughts and opinions expressed here are all mine (crazy as they might seem). All works here are my original work (unless otherwise stated)

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Climbing on My Soapbox...Again!!!

Today I climb back on my little soapbox and prepare to tutor to our collective psyche! Today...I did my part in creating a change. I didn't march on the senate, neither did I barricade an oil company. I didn't kidnap an expatriate, or a 2 year old child. I didn't even blow up an oil pipeline (and contribute my part to further environmental degradation and what not).

No...I did none of the things my people (Niger Deltans) and generation (Gen X, abi na Gen Y or Z) have become famous for. I simply encouraged a young man. A young man who decided not to be one of the crowd, but to be a standard. He decided not to wait for government to improve society or his lot, nor did he wait for you or I, but in his own way and with his own voice decided to make his own path. I am a youth (though I think I saw a grey hair or two a couple of days ago) and am also a product of the Niger Delta! Before people start talking about my foreign education and all that, I might have spent the formative years in another man's land, but my life experiences and my understanding of life began here...in the Niger Delta.

I too have watched the land of my birth move from one low to the next seemingly impossible low, I too...have watched young girls, future wives and mothers, sell themselves to the highest bidder because that seems to be the only way left to make ends meet. I too...have seen the promising young man turn to crime, and be cut down by a policeman's bullet. I too...have looked down the barrel of a gun...while watching all I have worked for carted off by the 'original' owners. I too...have been wrongfully arrested and suffered police exploitation and oppression. I too...have struggled certificate in hand, under the boiling sun and downcast skies, looking for my daily bread. But I have chosen to make my own way, with no allegiance to any man, only God!

As is the recurrent theme in all my 'soapbox' confessionals (or rants as some have deemed fit to call them) I say 'ask not what your nation should be doing for you, but what you can do to turn things around'. I ask you not to put the blame for your stagnation on anyone's shoulders but your own. I ask you to take RESPONSIBILITY! Our government is useless...agreed, but isn't the government made up of people like you and I, two legs, two hands, and a head and eyes.

Not everyone we revere today had a godfather, not every face you see in our social events magazines was born with a silver (gold or platinum as the case maybe) spoon stuck firmly in their gobs. Some had no mother, no father, no joy, but lots of pride. Pride and faith...in themselves, in their abilities, in their ideas and dreams.

I seriously believe the Niger Delta is marginalised...but not by the fat cats in agbada in Aso, nor by the political class, but by the people themselves. Development can never come in the midst of war. And never to a people divided amongst themselves.
It isn't the agbada cartel eating our money, hoarding fuel to sell on the black market, or spending money for roads, hospitals and schools on foreign trips, mistresses and cars...it is our governors, and contractors who'd rather ride that new jeep, than build the good road he was paid to build. It is our very own people. As T. I said in his song 'Live Your Life' we are 'piss poor morally', so morally bankrupt and so wrapped up in self interest, that even with millions we willingly die for N1 (one naira).

The true meaning of militant and militancy has been hijacked by armed robbers, hostage takers and now murderers. The murderers of the 11 year old girl in Port Harcourt or the 23 year old undergraduate in Akwa Ibom (after collecting the 10 million naira ransom no less) should not claim to be fighting for any rights of yours and mine!

Are we like the foolish servant who buried his talents instead of multiplying them, because he did not want his master to profit? The Niger Delta is not just the engine room of the nation's foreign earning machine, but has a far greater source of income that is so highly under utilized...its human capital. Nigeria's got talent...Niger Delta's got talent! We have our Timi Dakolos and Timayas. Our Dokubos, Benemisias and Henshaws. Our Okaras and Amadis. We have our business leaders, our young entrepreneurs busy counting paper without government assistance. We have our talented inventors, our poets, our artists. So much potential...so grossly overlooked.

Nothing in life is easy, only dying...and we have no say with regard that, but regarding our life and how we live it...we have choices. Taking the path of least resistance and wasting your God given ability and potential is a sin! As someone remarked today 'anyone who says he's jobless has no vision'. We have all been endowed with gifts, but are too damn lazy to grow them. As it goes 'gold is tested by fire!'. The only true form of marginalization is self imposed. They may frustrate you, they may ridicule you, they may hate, but once you know your potential, you...like a rock...will not be moved!

So...to Vincent Nwilo (an intellectual militant)...author of Stories from Bori, I doff my hat, you are an inspiration to myself and others who strive to make a change.

Originally Posted:02 May 09

DISCLAIMER: All thoughts and opinions expressed here are all mine (crazy as they might seem). All works here are my original work (unless otherwise stated)

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Home Sweet Home!!

Well my vacation is well and truly over! Glad to be back home? Yes and no! I'm an Omo Port Harcourt, born, not exactly bred, but very much buttered in this town; and wherever i go PHC and Naija always beckon me back. But as much as I'm a green white green lover I can't stomach a lot about my country. I've been away a month and a fraction and as my return loomed closer I shed a tear or two. Not just because I was saying goodbye to my new found family but because of what I knew was waiting for me on my return.

I knew I was back in Nigeria the minute I disembarked the plane. The escalator wasn't working... international airport o no be local o!...neither was the airconditioning. We were herded through Immigration like cattle in the sweltering heat, a 15min process, for 1 1/2 hours and then another hour was spent waiting for baggage to appear. The nearly 3hrs spent trying to get out of the airport would've gotten me a third of the way to Dubai! That notwithstanding since i arrived Port Harcourt I've had about 2hrs of power. Not new you might say...but I've been in a country where the fact that light went for 2 minutes is an abomination and blood is being called for!

Now...what baffled me about the Philippines was how they did all the things they did with no money other than that that is accrued through taxing OSWs (overseas workers), exporting rice and tourism! 90% of the roads I travelled were tarred, all villages and hamlets (or barrios) had electricity and water as well as their own standard elementary and high schools. One of the schools I visited looked like a park with flowers, a mini stream and cafeteria; and please note this is a public, provincial (equivalent to Local Government) school, not a high brow private city-based school.

Everyone knew what to do, drivers didn't need to be told to obey street signs, pedestrians were always given right of way, citizens were respected by all. The governor of the province came to see the family after Mama's passing. The strange thing was he came without flashing sirens, heavily armed guards or a tv crew to witness his arrival. No children lining the streets pretending to enjoy standing for hours under the baking sun. No police flogging drivers and pedestrians off the road to make way for the Governor. No! He came like the ordinary man he is and people didn't even bat an eyelid at his presence.

Here we pay for what we don't see. Light, water, sanitation, you name it we pay for it, but we never see it. Every month billions enter the bottomless pit called federal account but we see nothing in terms of social amenities and the likes. Even if government does nothing other than adequately provide the basic social infrastructure, I believe the average Nigerian will be content and most agitation will end.

Accommodation is paid monthly unless you want a long lease, and the accommodation usual comes furnished. A self contained (furnished) apartment goes for about N80000 - N100000 per annum. I pay N120,000 for a 12*12 unfurnished self contained, where I'm responsible for everything from plumbing to leaking roofs and my rent gets jacked at will.
We 'hala' left right and center Giant of Africa (person wey get mouth fit use am talk anything abi?) but we only seem to be making giant strides internationally in the arena of advanced fee fraud, trafficking women to Italy, pushing cocaine and embezellment! Isn't it time we had a reality check and did a real audit of the state of the federation. Oil hasn't improved our lot as a nation, we are instead held hostage by OPEC producers, marketers and government alike what with ever fluctuating prices at the pumps. Maybe we should reevaluate our income sources and diversify just the way businesses do when a product is getting old.

I met a lot of Nigerians coming home from jaunts all over the world at the airport and to a one, all were busy bitching about how lousy our country is but no-one saw fit to offer a solution to improve the downright dismal situation. They blamed every Muyiwa, Danjuma and Chukudi for our collective problems but not once did they put the blame on them. As I always say...let's take a little responsibility for God's sake! We are all to blame! A man who sees a murder taking place and stands watching is just as guilty as the murderer. So as we sit watching the murder of our beloved motherland aren't WE culpable?

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