My In-laws May Not Be Happy.

Dear Nigerian Husband,

It’s been many weeks since I last wrote you. A lot has gone on, but they may be inconsequential for now.

I’ll shoot straight.
I’m afraid your North Eastern Nigerian family members may be looking to come kick me out of my matrimonial home if

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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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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…


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

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


Quarter-life Crisis

photoYup, You read right! Quarter-life Crisis.
I watched a Youtube video yesterday that basically spelt out most of what’s going on in my life… Well, not really, but more like how my life has been in my thoughts.

Most of the points she brought up almost made me think she’s stalking my life. Mid 20’s crisis is real people.
Considering Superwoman and I are the same age, we have almost the same symptoms of quarter-life crisis.

Oh, before I go on, I’m 25 years old hence the quarter-life/ mid 20’s crisis… duhhh!
(Yes, I know… You can’t believe I’m 25. People hardly get my age right and I dont’ help them get it right either. Some people guess I’m wayyyyy older than 25 and some think I’m 19 or 20. Wait, did I just say my age? Well, this is it! I’m definitely going through some crisis. I never, and I mean never ever state my age… So here it is again; I’m 25. Let’s move on)

I woke up one Friday two weeks ago and all of a sudden, I wasn’t  24 again. And for some reason, I got uber paranoid, I immediately started viewing myself as I saw my aunties when I was a kid.
All of a sudden I realised, Oh crap, I’ve been living on my own for 6 years,trying to pay paying bills like old responsible people do, trying to sound intelligent when I interact with other older/responsible people (Whatever that means.) All of a sudden, I started seeing myself as one of those aunties who just live to wear asheobi for weddings and look pretty.

Look, being 25 is not easy. You have to start thinking seriously about the future. But then, there are those who think being my age means, you go out, have fun, stay out late, maybe even stay out all night, drink loads of alcohol and do risky things. I got bad news, since I turned 23, my desire to be out just hanging out, has gone down the drain. Fun for me now, simply involves leaving the office, heading to the gym, then home, shower…(that’s sort-of another story. Having a shower is a task I try to delay as long as possible) then laying in bed for hours watching movies, forgetting I have a phone, missing calls, eating, sleeping or maybe attempting to sleep (That’s because, my mind always finds a way of keeping me awake, thinking of how to be a better adult- which sucks!)

Being 25 apparently means, by Nigerian standards, I have to start getting serious about marriage. I have to start thinking hard about not letting my family down when it comes to finding a ‘good man’ from a ‘good family’ to relinquish my personal space to for the rest of my life. No, just kidding…( slap yourself if you actually thought I was kidding…sigh) But actually, as crazy as I may be most times, as unconventional as my thought process may be, there’s that part of me that has always remained traditional and so,  I’ve always respected marriages and will really soon like to have a family of my own. Yes, that means I want to get married. (I’m not looking forward to the whole drama of having a big ceremony, spending money that should be used in securing my husband and I our first plot of land. Well, I’m not that serious… No, I really am being serious there.)

Being 25 means, every other month, you look on Facebook and find one classmate or the other is engaged, is getting married or heck, having her second child. And you’re behind your computer trying hard not to think there’s something wrong with you! Heck, you may or may not even be in a relationship. having children??? Wait what? I just learnt the other day how to keep track of my period and what not to eat when I’m expecting my period and there you are having children.

Being 25 is almost awful. Don’t get me wrong, I wake up each morning and thank God for keeping me alive and each time anyone asks me how I’m doing, I tell them I’m blessed. I’m actually blessed. At 25, I have a job doing what I’ve always wanted to do since I was in JSS three/7th grade/ form three. I’m a reporter. I go around sticking tape recorders in people’s faces asking them questions that sometimes make them uncomfortable, taking pictures of people who are sometimes a bit narcissistic as I am. (Ha- I’m just being dramatic. Life is indeed great.)
The 14 year old me will be happy with me. I’ve fulfilled that dream. Now. It’s time to be an adult, maybe like go onto some career that fetches me money, so I can travel the world like adults do…

I could go on forever, but if the little I’ve typed above doesn’t spell out mid-20’s crisis then, I’m crazy.

Now, what’s really on my mind is: can it be 5 already? I want to go home and have some salad and some of the turkey I cooked on Sunday. I can’t be bothered with all these grown up thoughts! I’m only 25 for goodness’ sake!