Merry Christmas.

I’ve been enjoying life and so grateful for the blessing of doing so.

Merry Christmas.

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The Nigerian Husband.

I got married to a handsome man today. (Before we adopted western culture, all we needed to testify a marriage was the paying of the bride price/dowry. Mine was paid today, so I’m married)

A few years ago when I began writing about The Nigerian Husband, I wasn’t dating anyone at the time, not to talk of that person being Nigerian. I simply just had fun with the idea of dating a typical Nigerian man, or rather the idea of creating the ideal man in my mind.

Mostly, I created this character of a man who was somewhat traditional yet open minded among others attributes.

After writing about that character for at least four years and laughing at myself along with others, this handsome man who fit allllllll of the characteristics I had written about showed up.
After dating long distance for, say, a year or so, and dating in person for another year, or so, today, December 1, we got married traditionally.

My heart is filled with so much joy and happiness, I’m excited to see all the good things God has planned for the future of the Nigerian Husband and me.

“Are You Into Modelling?”

Dear Nigerian Husband,

I’ve been working out almost consistently for the past three weeks, I can see the difference in my clothes here and there.
(I won’t give audience here to the neighbour who saw me about to leave the street this morning for my jog and decided it was appropriate to stop me and tell me how fat I’ve been getting these days)

This is an old image, I miss my apartment, my smoothie and being crazy alone!

I’ve enjoyed most of the workouts with the group at the state stadium. For the most part, the people are friendly, but some may need a bit of manners: they come late and still see it their right to stand right in front, edging out those who are early. I digress, that’s just me being petty.

But this vent it’s about any of them.

I left the group early today as I planned on getting home in time to prepare for a funeral. As I walked back home, I noticed a mini-van pull up in front of me. I mean, I didn’t think the driver was pulling over for me, so I walked by without saying a word. He called my attention, I stopped because thought he needed directions. ( I’m sorry for anyone who would follow my directions to anywhere in this Jos. You’ll end up in Bauchi State. LOL)

Anyway, this man went on a mini attack of questions.

“Are you into

Award-winning Ogbono Soup.

This soup won awards, I’m in my house, come and beat me.

Dear Nigerian Husband,

I’m beginning to feel sorry for you.

See while you’re still stacking and working hard to come pay bride price, it appears the stakes may be getting higher; you may need to work a tad bit harder. I’m this close to being worried that by the time you bring your people to meet my people, you may not be able to afford my bride price.

“If You No get Change, No Enter.”

Dear Nigerian Husband,

I know you’re a man of class. I’ve kept this away from you, kind of. But I was once a Danfo bus conductor. For a day.

Hang on, don’t crash the plane. Let me explain.

“If you no get change, no enter.”

If you’ve been to Lagos or have lived in Lagos and haven’t heard that sentence, your time in Lagos has been a waste.
When I “permanently” moved to Lagos on January 2, the thought of hopping into one of those

Somewhere In The Middle. (A Year Back to Nigeria)

It’s exactly 366 days since I returned to Nigeria.

A few days ago, the Nigerian Husband and I laid on a blanket on the bare living room floor relaxing and he goes, “ So when was the last time you blogged?”
That got me thinking and hit me that I had actually let go of my love for writing. That question asked tactfully, birthed this blog post. You guys have this good man to thank.

Three hundred and ninety three days ago, my life changed.

See, before Hurricane Irma, my life in the Virgin Islands was pretty simple and chill: I woke up at about 7:30 a.m. to prepare for work and then leave for town with my

730 Days.

Dear Nigerian Husband,
It’s been so many moons since I wrote you any letters.
Happy day 730.
There’ve been some tears, lots of laughter, farts, silly jokes and a couple of fights that don’t last hours, these seven hundred and thirty days have been amazing. We technically didn’t choose each other, but take me back to the first day and I’ll choose you.
Here’s to many more days of smelling your farts.