Archive | September 2012

Whoooosh!

Just one of those days. One of those posts that make no sense at all.
One of those “I-woke-up-on-the-wrong-side-of-the-pillow-after-my-afternoon-nap” days.

Darn it! I need to get off this blog before I vent about things that will hurt more than heal me…

Yup sue me! this has been yet another senseless emotionally fueled post!

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Super Woman

She’s got her nails done
her hair is on point
don’t talk about the make up, it’s flawless

That dress just compliments the curves she flaunts
she walks gracefully and confidently
stress and worry free she appears

She’s got that smile that would cure a cancer
she’s got the very word to mend a broken soul
her touch caresses away every fear and sorrow

But…

you’ve got no idea how hard she tries
how hard she works on that “perfect-girl,” look 
you’ve got not the slightest clue how weak she is

forget the smiles you see
she’s got nothing but tears when she closes those doors
Forget the perfect body
ignore the all-put-together-sister
just a front she claims
a show she puts on while her heart crumbles to pieces right in front of her

forget the words she utters to those hurting
those are the very same she wishes she could hear from someone
ignore the smiles,
that’s exactly what she longs for genuinely

Inside is that weakling
forget it! Yes forget it!
The pretty outfits she struts, but stands naked deep within
Forget the “independent-sister-I-can’t get hurt,” look she portrays
at the back lays that vulnerable, hopeless romantic waiting to be truly lovely

Forget the outward looks, let’s focus on mending this broken heart ……

Ngovou

 

Work Out!

My legs are sore. My arms are beyond sore. I can barely feel my lower abdomen. (Well, I don’t really feel significant pains.)Why? Your girl has joined a gym!

Now, I joined a gym for many reasons. To lose few pounds (duhhhhh). We all need to be physically active in our lives. So going to the gym is my own exercise. Going to the gym also helps me start my day early and gives me some energy I never had. (Even though it’s a bit insane that I wake up at 4: 3- a.m. and I don’t eat after 7 p.m)

And did I mention I joined the gym because Fareeza kind-of forced me into coming along with her? (Oh well, good thing I didn’t mention it before she bullies me)

Now for the very honest reason why I joined the gym. (No! it’s not because all the cute guys tend to go to the gym)

I Joined the gym to work on my Christmas body. (Yea, I know that sounds silly) but yea… I joined the gym to work on a Christmas body. People work really hard for a summer body, I work for a Christmas body. I don’t wear two-piece swimsuits and the sun is extra hot in the summer so it makes absolutely no sense to have a summer body. I don’t like being sun-burnt. (Note- I’m already seeing some results for example, a couple inches off my waist 🙂 )

That’s not to say I plan to show some skin this Christmas either (It’s going to be cold!)

No, I plan to have a healthy Christmas body so I won’t have to worry about over eating and not being able to fit into my clothes. Plus, I plan to get myself a dress as a Christmas present (Shhhhh don’t tell me…It’s a surprise)

With that out of the way, I thought it was going to be easy just going to aerobics classes, using the treadmill and that’s it.

Well, my first day at the gym gave me a harsh reality check. I left the gym with my abdomen hurting me, my arms hurting and my legs seemed to have lost the ability to feel.

I endured all the pain and after a week, I lost 2 lbs. (Yay me.) My goal is to lose at least 15 lbs in three months. (A bit extreme you think?)

I’m going to have fun losing the pounds while working on being healthy. And speaking of fun, I have lots of fun looking at some of the ladies in the aerobics class who unfortunately, are not on the well co-ordinated side of life. Well, I must give them some credit, they really do try to keep their body moving even if it means going in the opposite direction from the class or moving with no timing at all. If I mention their names, I’m sure one of them will bully me till the end of time (See my post for August 1)

But most importantly, I’m going to be working on my spiritual fitness as well. Going to the gym each morning, I turn on some music, take my time and walk down the hill as I have a one-on-one with God and myself. Nothing beats that type of fitness. The result of that… Heaven body!

Naturalistas Unite!

Yes I know, Naturalista isn’t a word. I just had to get that out the way before you all crucify me. It’s a term commonly used among the natural hair sisterhood. (Learnt of this word when I visited the all-natural hair products store- Sageroots)

For those of you who I interact with regularly, my recent natural hair obsession won’t be new. For a few of you, it’s so bad that I’m beginning to be annoying.

A few months ago, I decided to grow my hair completely natural. I made that decision with the assumption that it’s easy and hassle-free. Thought that would be the best thing for a young lady who loves to just get up, do nothing to her hair and just leave. Oh how wrong was I.

I was under the impression that all I had to do was wash my hair, put some grease on it and I’m good to go. It didn’t take me long to realise that natural hair is probably a lot harder to handle than chemically processed hair.

When I relaxer in my hair, I washed it once a week, used a blow dryer to dry it, and after then used some oil, used a band to hold it together and I was good to go.

But my dears, I do a lot more now with this natural hair. I remember my Bee Wax experience (For those who didn’t/ haven’t read it, check the archives ). That was one rude awakening I got!

For the past eight months, I’ve been going from one hair product to another, one Youtube video to another. There’s a whole world of information about natural hair on the Internet. It’s too much information that may even end up confusing the lye out of any chemically treated hair.

However, in the past month, I think I’ve done a good job at not watching much natural hair videos. I’ve been a lot more mentally sane since I made that decision.

Thanks to a new product I got from the ladies at Sageroots, I can be calm and grow my hair. From the knowledge I gathered from Youtube videos, I learnt to mix my own organic moisturizers. I learnt which natural oils are good or bad for my hair. I learnt to walk with a spray bottle to spray some of my tea tree-extra virgin olive-castor-argan oil on my hair  every couple hours in the hot sun.

I’ll keep you guys posted on my natural hair journey. The goal is to grow a very huge afro and hopefully bring back the 70’s.

If I keep up with the tedious routines of natural hair, I can assure you all that, in about four months, you’ll begin to see the sister with the fro, the afro pick on the hair and all the other stuff that come along with natural hair…. That’s only if I don’t cut the hair.

Guilty!

Less than a minute after I walked into the office, I was getting my desk prepared for the day when I looked through the window and saw an elderly man  downstairs.

He’s someone I sort-of know. He always has a smile on his face. This morning was no different. When I saw him through the window, I had to greet him. And of course, I couldn’t just stay upstairs and talk to him through the window. So I walked down.

By the time I reached downstairs, he was already close to the door waiting to give me a hug. He embraced me and wrapped me in this hug for about 30 seconds.

I was beginning to feel a bit uncomfortable and wanted to let myself loose. I didn’t though. I’ve known this elderly, well respected and respectful old man for a long time and so, I didn’t think he meant any harm by giving me a 30-second hug.

After I came back to my desk, that long hug got me thinking. “What’s actually wrong with a long hug?”

We’ve grown so busy in our day-to-day lives that we sometimes forget that the little things such as a 30-second hug actually do make a difference. Mind you, I was in such a foul mood this morning (Well, maybe I’m still in sort- of a bad mood)

Unfortunately these days, we no longer take the time out to hug people as well as we should. Almost everything is done superficially. We no longer mean peace or well for each other when we give a handshake.

We no longer take the time out to greet people. I’m guilty of that. Most times we ask people “How are you,” and don’t even wait to hear the response. And the other way around too. We’re asked how we are doing and we give the very vague “I’m fine.”

Lately, I’ve been doing way too much thinking about the programmed response “I am fine.” And sometimes, we respond “I am fine,” without asking how the other person is. I think we need to do better. Let loose sometimes and greet each other properly. That greeting might make someone else’s day. Sincerely, as much as I felt a bit uncomfortable about the long hug, I felt better when I came back to my desk.

From today, I’m challenging myself to make time to greet people.

“Yoooow African/Nigerian.”

The next time anyone yells “Yoooow African/Nigerian,” at me again… uhmmmmm. (I won’t say what I will do or say.)

I’m fed up of folks just yelling at me when they see me on the road and for whatever reason need to get my attention. Whatever happened to the good old “excuse me miss/ma’am.” Don’t get me wrong, I’m proud of being Nigerian/African but for goodness’ sake I have a name.

Yes, you can come up with the very true excuse that most Africans have names that you may think are difficult to pronounce but face it, most of us have shorter versions to out names. Heck, most Africans now have English names  (Even though I don’t totally agree with that concept. An english person who is visiting an African country wouldn’t change his name because most folks don’t know how to pronounce his name.)

I wonder how those same folks will feel if I just randomly yell “Tolian,” or “Vincy,” or “Dominican,” or whatever at them.

One more thing that grinds my gear is, dudes who think it’s okay to “Pssssst” at ladies on the street. And then there are those who think every woman must respond to their rude call of “hey sexy.”

No fellas, that’s unacceptable. Call me old school or whatever but there’s nothing wrong with you walking up to me and after saying your “Good Morning/Afternoon,” you tell me how beautiful or whatever you think I am.

I’m mentally working on good comebacks for guys who think it’s okay to just yell rude words at ladies. Some might think I should ignore them. But someone has got to set some of this primitive guys right.

I’m clearly annoyed. Don’t know if I’m even making sense in this post. I think it’s best I take a break a bit because, I have a lot to vent about.

 

Rich/Poor Food.

When I was in Nigeria and still a kid, I used to think my mom was not being nice by always having us eat traditional African/Nigerian meals like tuwo, garri, okra soup, egusi soup and all the “nasty” tasting stuff.

Rice and stew, jollof rice and spaghetti were “rich” folks’ food, or so I thought. I always felt like I was in heaven when we had those. I couldn’t understand why rice and stew was eaten mostly on Sunday afternoons.

One other meal I had no option but to eat was “gote,” a traditional berom meal. However, before I left Nigeria, it somehow became my favorite meal. I still didn’t like the the soups, and the tuwos and all that stuff.

It didn’t take three months after I left Nigeria to begin to miss all the “nasty” tasting stuff. Jollof rice became the only Nigerian meal I could have. My aunty used to make some delicious jollof rice. It felt like heaven whenever we had jollof rice.

Sometimes, my aunty would use the very few ingredients that sort of tasted like Nigerian ingredients and make us okra soup or peanut soup.

Some Nigerians had links to getting ingredients from wherever they got them. so, I only got to eat all the real Nigerian meal at Nigerian parties. But even then, all the men would have the best of the meal, then the women would have the best of what the men left behind, then the teenagers and children would have the rest… that thing used to get me really annoyed.

Things got better when a Nigerian friend of mine here would invite me to her house and cook me some eba and egusi soup and stock me up with some garri when I was leaving.

Things just got even better! My Ghanaian colleague went over the the United States Virgin Islands for a wedding, where she met a Nigerian lady who sells ingredients for Nigerian meals…. Bliss!

I’m typing this post with a bag of garri, pounded yam flour, egusi, crayfish, fufu powder and stock fish sitting on my desk. So tonight, I’m going to be getting my self some really good Nigerian meal. I can’t decide if I should even soak some garri at my desk for lunch or if I should just wait and have some egba tonight.

Life is good again. Goodbye rice, goodbye spaghetti, goodbye bye “rich man’s food.” I have me some “poor man’s food,” and I shall be alright.

No, you’re not welcome to my house for dinner!