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“I will Never Pound Yam For Any Man.”

Dear Unborn Children,

Your father’s favorite swallow is pounded yam and vegetable soup. But I’ve never prepared it for him.
Hear me out.

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During those days when we were still painting the best parts of ourselves for the other to see – learning about our likes and dislikes and whatnot – I learned he Continue reading

My Village People Almost Got Me.

Dear Nigerian Husband,

I’ve got good news and bad news. Which do you want first?

Let’s start with the bad news.

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See, my Nigerian Husband is a lucky man! See this beauty he gets to call his wife! To God be the glory.

So remember sometime at the beginning of 2019 when I attempted to make Masa. What a disaster that was. I almost put my good

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How We Met (I Got Tired of Church.)

Dear Unborn Children,

A few days ago on the 1095th day of your father and I knowing each other, I began telling you the story of how it all started. I had to make it short as I didn’t want to bore you with all those tiny details. Apparently, your curiosity has gotten the best of you as well as other aunties and uncles who have read my letters to you behind your back. (Adults these days, I tell ya!)
I digress.
See, when your father and I met, I didn’t think we would go beyond being friends. On the surface, he fit the perfect picture of a player. I wasn’t about to get my heart played and dumped like used diaper. I had to thread carefully.

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This card was among surprise gifts he gave me on our first Valentine’s Day together. Inside, he referred to me as his Future Mrs. Man, dude was seeing way into the future already.

Even as I moved with caution, your father was so intriguing: our conversations were really good. We could go for hours just chatting about nothing and anything. Hardly an hour went by without some kind of communication. (I’m sure he’ll remember when

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I Wrote About My Husband Before We Met.

I’ve not written for a while and needless to say, I’ve felt off balanced to a degree. So I want to change that with what I hope would become series of letters to my unborn children. And I hope to tie these series to the series I wrote about their dad.

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See, if you’ve been a follower, or occasional visitor to my writing ramblings, you should be familiar with Continue reading

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.
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“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.”
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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 Continue reading

To Myself, With Love.

In your face Santa!

In your face Santa!

Dear Nigerian Husband,
Firstly, I’ll like to apologize for not writing you for so long. In the second week of December, something seemingly bad (well, a blessing in disguise really) happened and I found myself emotionally incapable of writing you any letter. I’m doing better now, so I’m writing you sort of like an update.

By the way, happy new year. I had an uneventful New Year celebration, but hey… it’s 2015 and I’m happy, healthy and grateful to God.

Back to the matter.

After whatever occurred in the beginning of December happened, I thought Christmas was going to be a sad one like Christmas had been for the past four years. I just couldn’t imagine that happening, so I took things into my own hands,

And to heck with Santa Claus, I was not about to leave my Christmas excitement up to him. I live in the Caribbean, there’s no snow and as such he can’t possibly make his way down here.

For Christmas to be different, I needed to do things I had never done at Christmas time before. My apartment needed a face-lift, I’ve never had a Christmas tree in my apartment, I’ve never hosted Christmas lunch at my home and such.
Christmas had to be fun this year. For a change, I decided to get me a Christmas present first, then other things would follow.  It so happened I had to cover a street fair on VIrgin Gorda. that weekend. While taking pictures, I saw an item I thought would make a great present to myself. I knew you- my Nigerian Husband- weren’t going to be sending me any Christmas presents, so I had to do it myself.
I bought that item and wrapped it up a few days before Christmas and placed it under the tree I had already bought and decorated.

Before Christmas, I had invited a few friends to come over for lunch at my house. On the menu, i had baked ham, baked turkey, chin chin, salad, Jollof rice, corn and plantains. There was a lot for folks to drink. I ended up Christmas day with so much love and a few other presents under the tree for me.
All these preparations and celebrations aside, I was particularly glad for the reason of the season- the birth of Christ. I think Christmas should be a time to share and show love, so I decided to make my apartment a home and also share love with friends.

But that aside though, this Christmas for me, was a way of marking new beginnings, the start of happier times and the beginning of me loving myself more.

Dear Nigerian Husband, you can stay wherever you are if you want. You can also show up if you want to, but till then, I’ll continue doing things that make me happy. I’ve come to realize that if I can’t make myself happy, there’s nothing you can do to make me happy.

I still have my Christmas present under the tree. I’m still anxious to see what I bought myself for Christmas. lol

Live, love, laugh, fart out loud and be silly, life is too short.

Vou

The Contender.

Girls and gentlemen and ladies,

So, after my two or so letters to the Nigerian Husband, I’ve had folks ask me if I’m not sure my letters are scaring the Nigerian Husband and most people just plain out want to know who the Nigerian Husband is….hahahha.. Keep asking…

There’s no Nigerian Husband really, but there is a Contender for the title (and he faces no competition)… I’ve always been under the impression that he doesn’t pay this blog any attention. ( I still think so. He only makes random appearance, or visits mostly when I send him a link and tell him he’s going to be drilled on what he reads.)

So yesterday, I felt like being a nag for no clear reason.. (You believe that??? Of course there was a reason… very insignificant issue- he always says.. I digress)
In an effort to shut me up, he asked “So when next are you going to write about the Nigerian Husband?” (The good man knows how to get me to calm down.

Can you believe The Contender and his guts? Haha… How dare he ask when I’m going to be writing my dear Nigerian Husband? Our correspondence is purely between the both of us and the frequency of such messages don’t depend or bow to outside pressure!

So, you Contender, keep reading and you’re sure not to miss any letters…

Amebo!

We Need to Talk.

Dear Nigerian Husband,

We need to talk.

In my last letter to you, I expressed my disappointment at the fact that you’ve decided to just lurk around while some boys who should be men disrespect your future Nigerian Wife.

I really thought you’d have a change of mind and finally show your face. How wrong was I.

This your unfair tactic is becoming somewhat bothersome.

I’m sure this isn’t news to you. But your behaviour on Monday at the Grantley Adams International Airport in Barbados has to be the worst!

You my Dear Nigerian Husband just stayed there hiding your face as I sat down to have lunch all my self. Listen, that’s not even what’s making me spit fire at you. You this well-mannered son of Nigerian soil hid as I had nothing but an up side down smile close to the departure gate, looking as one couple after another hugged and kissed each other.

The thing pain me no be small. That’s supposed to be us. I mean, I understand a lot of other Nigerian Husbands may not want to do such a thing. But I sat there loosing my appetite for the not-so-tasty pasta and chicken that laid in front of me, hoping you’ll just magically show up and kiss me goodbye as I went through the departure gate… But no, you well brought up gentleman decided to stay in hiding. (I wasn’t even being over ambitious in thinking both of us should be traveling together, so when those pilots decide to shake away their boredom in the cockpit by enjoying the turbulence, I’ll just feel myself in your embrace.)

Look my Dear Nigeria Husband, Let this be the last time you’ll do such a thing. Make yourself known. We’ve established all your good qualities, abilities and personality, allow me now to officially tell the world who you are!

This is your last warning.

Yours in marriage (eventually)

Your Nigerian Wife

The ‘Crushee.’

My dear Nigerian Husband,

I really don’t know if you already read this blog of mine. But just in case you’re a reader already, I want you to know that you have nothing to worry about over this post. This is just an innocent childhood rant, just me wishing a good old friend the best!

regards,
your Nigerian wife ( Goodness, this sounds cheesy on all levels… but who cares? hehehe)

So girls and boys, gentlemen and ladies, lets get back to our regularly scheduled programme, shall well?

Rewind 10-15 years ago. Maybe even more…Way back to Sunday School days at ECWA Gospel II.

I wasn’t even a teenager then. Maybe I was.
I loved Sunday sunday for many reasons. The lively teachers we had, (The likes of Uncle Billy and Uncle Rodgard -Not sure I spelt that correctly though) the fun songs Uncle Billy formulated and the friends I had.

But you see, at one stage in my sunday school days, there were a few boys I liked more than others. Yep, I wasn’t entirely the most behaved kid in that regard. But then, who’s to say other little girls didn’t like other boys as well.

At some point I liked this boy called Terna,  (Terna if you’re reading this, Yes, I had a crush on you…lol)  but that crush was short-lived when he became too popular and wouldn’t even notice I existed. You can image how crushed I was.

But my people, this post isn’t about Terna. It’s about the main guy I had a crush on. But even worse than Terna, I don’t think I ever showed up on his radar. His name? Henry!

Henry was quiet, he was smart, he was neat, he read well and he always appeared a bit shy.
One other problem was, Henry always hung around the older Sunday School kids. Those kids who wouldn’t let you hang in their circle… those kids who knew way more Bible verses than we the younger kids.

I remember one time Henry and Queen- a girl I secretly envied because she got to hang around Henry more than me- were assigned the roles of reading the ‘news’ during Sunday School Day (On Sunday School Days, the kids took over the service. we led praise and worship, performed skits and dances).

I can’t even begin to tell you guys how grieved I felt when I wasn’t chosen to read the news along side Henry. I mean, I thought I could read, articulate and appeared just as bold as Henry and Queen. Why wasn’t I chosen? Heck, It was that Aunty Vou. I never believed she liked me much… she was among the mean Sunday School teachers…. (Goodness, this sounds like I had a very disturbed childhood huh? hehehe- If you take this too serious, then my dear, you need to see a shrink!)

Anyways, while I crushed hard on Henry, (And at that stage, crushing on someone simply meant you longed to sit next to them all the time and have the run after you on the playground.) he paid me no mind.

Needless to say, that crush eventually died down, but I never lost respect for the fine-looking Henry.

So Henry Khantiok, now that I have your attention on this blog. From a former ‘Crusher’ to her ‘Crushee,’ I want to wish you a happy birthday!

May this new year bring you closer to being the Man God has ordained you to be. May this new year be filled with blessings, joy, laughter, love and happiness!

People, join me in wishing my Sunday School crush HAPPY BIRTHDAY.

 

Live, laugh, love, smile, sleep and fart; life is too short!

Vou

Weekend Away

Boys and girls, ladies and gentlemen,

Remember during the Christmas holidays I attempted to make chin chin and failed miserably? Without any question, I was certain no Nigerian man would marry me. My already limited and struggling wife material just reduced by 50 yards.

I knocked myself hard for weeks over that failed mission. To compensate though, I tried to cook pounded yam and vegetable soup. Apparently I did well on that. I must add though, those compliments came from folks who aren’t from Nigeria. Hence, not knowing much about Nigerian food, they had nothing to compare my meal with. However, I think I hit the spot.

But ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, there’s hope for me.

I spent my weekend with a Nigerian friend of mine. This girl loves to cook and lovessssss to feed people.
I looked forward to spending time with her family and enjoying some Nigerian meals. Secretly though, I dreaded all the feeding, considering the fact that over the last two weeks, I had  people pelting at me their opinions on my weight. ( On one of such days, this lady I used to attend morning aerobics classes with told me  I put on so much weight and I’m now fat. Less than 24 hours later, this other lady saw me and asked why I had lost so much weight. The following morning, this other lady saw me and asked “how’s the baby?” She thought I was pregnant. A few days later, another one told me to tell her the secret to putting on weight.)

Before I got to her house on Saturday, I made sure I worked out extra hard at the gym that morning. I knew there’ll be no escape routes when it came to food at that house. During my previous visit to her house, she blatantly told me “Nne, biko eat some food, see as you’re skinny.”

Anyways, at my friend’s house over the weekend, I learnt to  make egusi soup, I fed the baby, I observed as she made okra soup (calm down, I can cook okra soup. It’s just that she made hers differently)

And the best part of this weekend sleep over was the chin chin. On Sunday after church, laundry, a plate of garri and okra soup, we made chin chin.

As I type, I have a 978 gram/2 lbs peanut butter jar filled with chin chin being displayed on my desk. I plan on taking some to another Nigerian girl who hasn’t had chin chin in ages.

I can almost boast among my peers again. I think with my chin chin game getting back on track, I can look forward to being a good Nigerian wife.
Dear future husband, I’m really doing my best to make sure when your friends come visit you, they’ll have lots of food to eat!

Boys and girls, this has been yet another senseless post. (I know, this post made no sense at all, but I had to post something… It’s been more than a month I actually posted anything here.

Smile, laugh, love, fart and be silly; life is too short

Vou