Free Writing

Some Things Never Change

Some Things Never Change

It’s the start of a new year and change is in the air. Shingalinga (educate yourself here) is at an all time high and women like me who have never shot a hoop are hoping to be drafted into the NBA by the end of 2014. I mean, who wants the WNBA when the NBA is alive and paying millions. Aim high, aim impossible!

In the spirit of the New Year, I have been assessing the year(s) gone by and in the course of my assessment, I made a shocking discovery. Yes shocking because while it is widely agreed that the only constant in life is change, it is also true that some things never change.

Things like…

  • my mother being a women with skin heads activist

Since my mother was forced for medical reasons, to get rid of her hair twenty odd years ago, I have known no peace. The woman is hell bent on getting me to join the gorimapa (skin head) club. I was in Primary 6 (Year 6 to my fellow *cough couch* Brits) when she succeeded in temporarily converting me. I lived to regret it. Such was the horrendous teasing from my two evil brothers (they took to calling me Mike Tyson!) that I took to wearing a baseball cap everywhere. Everywhere of course included school, for which I got many a flogging. Is it any wonder that till this day I have an aversion to short hair?! *shudder*

  • being opinionated

You don’t want to ask my opinion on an issue if you really don’t want to know what I think because you will regret it. I have strong opinions on almost everything under the sun. It gets tiring being so passionate about so many things in this world. Can’t a girl just be blasé about life?!

  • losing umbrellas

Buying an umbrella is like ripping up a five pound note and chucking it in the bin. You’re a better person than I am if you have ever managed to hold on to an umbrella for more than 24hrs. Perhaps I am exaggerating but it’s not far from the truth. I have taken to helping myself to lost and found umbrellas, resting in the knowledge that someone somewhere is doing the same with the hundreds of brollies I have misplaced since I was born.

  • forks and teaspoons eloping

Where do all the forks and teaspoons go? To Vegas to get married, that’s where! I think. Today you have six of each, tomorrow, you have none. Please, if you know where they go, kindly inform me so I can head down there with a trailer to reclaim my lost property. My Yoruba Boy is prohibited from taking cutlery out of the house and worse still, from bringing home strange forks (that do not match our cutlery set) from his office. Let it never be said that I harbour fugitives.

Knives on the other hand, are friends that stick closer than brothers. When the rest of your cutleries do a runner, you can be sure your knives will stick around. The world would be a better place if one could use them to shovel mounds of rice into one’s mouths without stabbing one’s self.

  • hating my behind

I hate big butts and I cannot lie. This is why the likes of JLo and KimK never make my celebrity bodies to be envious of short list. This people, is a problem because I am one of those that the Lord has blessed with a derriere. No matter how slim I get, the bad boys stick out like a giraffe on an ant farm.

God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can, and wisdom to know the difference.

xXx

Waila

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Supernatural Things

Miracles-Happen

Supernatural things happen in this world; deaf people regain their hearing, the blind see, the lame walk, the dead are raised back to life, I am writing this post…and I cried watching a Nollywood movie. Not ‘a lone tear escaped my tear gland’ type of crying, proper crying, complete with sniffles and things. That I was not alone when it happened completed my shame. I blame that Mercy Johnson, her crying spirit leapt out of my laptop and entered me. Now I know that it is time to stop watching those movies, evil spirits abound therein.

The last few weeks I’ve been running into random people that read my blog and I tell you, I’m surprised that you people still bother to visit this site given how sporadic my posts have been. See what I was saying about supernatural things happening in this world? God bless you all and abundantly too!

It’s was my birthday last Saturday (this isn’t me begging for birthday greetings, walahi!) and for the first time in a very long time, I decided not to just sit at home, drink tea and estimate how many more years I have till I can no longer get away with wearing hot pants. Not that I wear hot pants, I don’t have the legs or courage for them but a girl is allowed to dream, no? I dragged a bunch of my friends to a private hip hop dance class and we left the studio with sweat, aching muscles and choreography to Usher’s Yeah.  Shame will not allow me post the videos on here.

On the topic of things one should or shouldn’t wear, my poor Pastor suffered from a severe case of melancholy when his eyes beheld some of the latest fashions at my wedding. So much so that it found its way into the sermon he preached at church the following day…not that I was there to hear it. I was holed up in a hotel room staring at my band clad finger and trying to understand how I ended up married to a man I always thought would make a great husband for some girl, that girl not being me of course! See what I was saying about supernatural things happening?!

Lest I digress, most of the people who were at the wedding and heard the sermon were surprised by it and when I looked through my wedding pictures, though I did spot a couple of sexy dresses, I couldn’t find any that I deemed scandalous. It got me thinking about the times and how we change with them, sometimes rightly and sometimes to our detriment.

There are some clothes sitting in my wardrobe now that I would never have bought, let alone worn, a few years ago. My lover girl MrsOhgee (see how I’ve upgraded you!) found an old picture of herself wearing jeans under a dress that stopped just above her knees and though we laughed at how ridiculous she looked, it symbolised the point we were discussing. In those days, she considered a dress that stopped just above her knees too short but today, she would wear that same dress, legs commando, and not think twice about it. A demonstration of how we relax our standards over time. Sigh.

Speaking of relaxer, the other day I ventured into Toni & Guy to find out how much it would cost to relax and trim my hair. I showered the receptionist with saliva when she gave me a quote of £130. The shock was that shocking.  I blamed the splutter on ‘that blasted hay fever’ and apologised profusely. I guess I’m not a big enough girl yet to be venturing into such establishments. I shall respect myself and my pocket and nosey on down to Upton Park or Burnt Oak. Better still I might just invest in a second mirror so I can see the back of my head and do the thing myself. One day, I will be great.

On a final supernatural note, and people, it’s a big one, my consumption of Indomie has fallen by 80% in the last six months!!! Somebody needs to get on up out of their chair, throw their hands up in the air and wave ‘em like they just don’t care!!! This is a serious miracle, more miraculous than me collecting aso-ebi for your wedding. Don’t get me wrong, I still LOVE Indomie and that ain’t ever gonna change (Lawdy, my hubby has infected me with his American spirit!) but the desire to consume the stuff all day everyday has faded into nothingness.

If I didn’t know my husband was a praying man before, now I know!!!

XxX

Waila

Free Writing: Write About Your Feet

feet

You don’t want to see what my feet look like at the moment. All I can say is thank heaven it’s winter! Every day I tell myself I need to get rid of the chipped beyond chipped red nail varnish and trim my claws but do I do it? No. Action Waila, action!

On a good day I have quite pretty feet if I say so myself. I reckon I could be a shoe model, well if not for the corns on my two little toes; my reward for stuffing my feet in undersized shoes. It’s not my fault most stores in Blighty don’t do half sizes for those of us with abnormally sized feet. That aside, my feet look nice in shoes. I can pretty much wear anything and they’re guaranteed to look hot. I can think of other gifts I’d have preferred (long full hair, longer leaner legs…) but hey, beggars can’t be choosers.

Trips to Nigeria are my saving grace because they’re the only times I get pedicures. Those Nigerian nail salons sure know how to transform crusty feet. Call me stingy but I can think of better ways to spend £30. A bowl of designer stew from Lekki Kitchen, those animal print sandals on sale in Zara that I can’t seem to find anywhere, new nighties so my hubby to be never finds out he’s marrying a tramp…the list is endless.

Have I mentioned that the nails on my little toes are abnormal? They look nothing like nails. I inherited the strange looking things from my darling mother. Many years ago I thought it would be a good idea to rip out the entire nail on my little left toe. I was convinced it would grow back looking the way a nail should, just like some girls whose parents are thoroughbred Africans go natural thinking their hair will grow out looking like Corrine Bailey Rae’s.  Now now, I’m not hating on natural haired girls, I’d quite like to go natural myself. I’m just saying be under no illusions that your hair will grow out looking like your father married a white woman…or vice versa. The same way that relaxing your hair won’t make it look like Giselle Bundchen’s. How crazy is that woman’s body?!

I digress.

Yes, foolish me ripped off my little toe thinking it would grow back looking normal. The pain was out of this world and I bled like a ram at slaughter. Surprise surprise, the nail grew back looking exactly how it did before I yanked it off.

Lesson learned? If you want perfect lookingtoe nails, tell your father not to marry my mother.

Love,

Waila