1. To Minneapolis to see my fellow Eckists. Hello peeps, it is the Year of Creativity, a new spiritual year and a time for us to shake up our lives with the gift of our creative minds...who's with me? I plan to enjoy this year as much as possible. In fact, I have officially declared Catwalq Dating Season open.
2. Moved away from my base temporarily and I am in the township that public transportation forgot. But that is only temporary because I will be back in my mojo as soon as possible. Things are already looking up.
3. Have a couple projects up my sleeve...can't wait.
4. Have to fix my template because in my quest for a new identity, me thinks I deleted some of the information and now i have to go input it once more...i don tire o
5. So what have you all been up to?
Saturday, October 31, 2009
Tuesday, October 06, 2009
Momentarily stunned, I just stood there caught between trying to revive my brain to action and fleeing the scene. You tell yourself over and over what you will do should you find yourself in the situation; how you would react or perhaps how not to but nothing at all prepares you for the site of your naked husband's limbs intertwined with those of someone whom you have for the past couple of years called friend. The air stank with the odor of their spent selves and their breathing was laboured. Had I been a few seconds earlier, I would have witnessed their joint release.
His face would have been contorted like with a pain and he would have clutched at her hair as his body jerked involuntarily. I don't know what she would have looked like and that was a blessing. I was sickened as it was. Somehow, I turned around slowly and made my way silently downstairs. They had not seen me. Their whispers and giggles echoed through the quiet house and through my already tired brain. I was immediately greatful that my mother had decided to take her grandsons with her for evening service. They adored her and she fawned over them. Her over indulgence had always irked me but at that moment, I was never more greatful for the fact that my son had not come home with me because had that been the case, I would have asked him to climb the stairs to get me my scarf.
I sank slowly into the couch and held my head in my hands. My marriage was over. I would never forgive this. I don't care what other people say. I was never built to share. What was more crippling was that I was not even angry that they were in bed together, just that I had seen them and that vision had put an end to my evening. I lay back and rested my head, wondering what to next.
Then , I remembered that I had brought in meat with me. I had a sudden craving for vegetable stew. So I went to the kitchen and began to cook. All the time, I washed the meat, they had no idea I was in the house. It was the sound of the blender that brought a screeching halt to their now very audible antics; the rhythm of the creaking bed frame drumming in the ceiling above my head.
When he walked into the kitchen, he had the sheets wrapped around his waist, his face a mixture of shock, fear and others I was not in the mood to decipher. He halted at the door, staring at me. I turned away to pour the pepper mixture on the fire, smiling when it hit the heated oil with a loud hiss. There was a sound from the corner of my eye. I knew it was Aliya. She must have come to see what was happening. Her small shriek made me burst out laughing. I heard her hurry away, most likely to gather her clothing and make her escape. The bitch was so stupid sometimes.
"Food will be ready in about forty five minutes. Do you want eba or semo?" I asked of the two without looking up, trying to control my laughter. The father of my children and husband of twelve years stared at me like I was crazy.
Maybe I was.
"Sola..."he began.
"If you are not hungry, " I cut him off, "I suggest you disappear with her because there won't be enough time for me to get rid of both your bodies before the kids get here. You know I have a gun in this house."
He stared. I returned to my frying pepper. It was beginning to splatter under the intense heat. I heard him move away. He was not going to fight me now but he would be back.
Till then I wondered if I should add locust beans or just go with stock fish only.
His face would have been contorted like with a pain and he would have clutched at her hair as his body jerked involuntarily. I don't know what she would have looked like and that was a blessing. I was sickened as it was. Somehow, I turned around slowly and made my way silently downstairs. They had not seen me. Their whispers and giggles echoed through the quiet house and through my already tired brain. I was immediately greatful that my mother had decided to take her grandsons with her for evening service. They adored her and she fawned over them. Her over indulgence had always irked me but at that moment, I was never more greatful for the fact that my son had not come home with me because had that been the case, I would have asked him to climb the stairs to get me my scarf.
I sank slowly into the couch and held my head in my hands. My marriage was over. I would never forgive this. I don't care what other people say. I was never built to share. What was more crippling was that I was not even angry that they were in bed together, just that I had seen them and that vision had put an end to my evening. I lay back and rested my head, wondering what to next.
Then , I remembered that I had brought in meat with me. I had a sudden craving for vegetable stew. So I went to the kitchen and began to cook. All the time, I washed the meat, they had no idea I was in the house. It was the sound of the blender that brought a screeching halt to their now very audible antics; the rhythm of the creaking bed frame drumming in the ceiling above my head.
When he walked into the kitchen, he had the sheets wrapped around his waist, his face a mixture of shock, fear and others I was not in the mood to decipher. He halted at the door, staring at me. I turned away to pour the pepper mixture on the fire, smiling when it hit the heated oil with a loud hiss. There was a sound from the corner of my eye. I knew it was Aliya. She must have come to see what was happening. Her small shriek made me burst out laughing. I heard her hurry away, most likely to gather her clothing and make her escape. The bitch was so stupid sometimes.
"Food will be ready in about forty five minutes. Do you want eba or semo?" I asked of the two without looking up, trying to control my laughter. The father of my children and husband of twelve years stared at me like I was crazy.
Maybe I was.
"Sola..."he began.
"If you are not hungry, " I cut him off, "I suggest you disappear with her because there won't be enough time for me to get rid of both your bodies before the kids get here. You know I have a gun in this house."
He stared. I returned to my frying pepper. It was beginning to splatter under the intense heat. I heard him move away. He was not going to fight me now but he would be back.
Till then I wondered if I should add locust beans or just go with stock fish only.
Sunday, October 04, 2009
Tuesday, September 29, 2009
Once and Always...or just that once
One of the greatest gifts I have ever considered myself fortunate to have been given is that of books. From when I was little, I was surrounded by them and encouraged to expand my knowledge beyond that which my parents could afford to give me by reading that which others had put down on paper. I was also encouraged to write and for the most part, alot of what I had to put down was greatly influenced by what I had read.
I read them all, from Chinua Achebe to authors whose names I cannot remember but whose stories stuck with me. Through books, I could leave any problems I had behind and move on to another world. As a child, I devoured Enid Blyton books with such speed that I am sure my parents were a little bit stumped because that meant that they had to go buy me new books. And books were not cheap. At least, not alot of them.
As a pre-teen, I gravitated to romance novels with much gusto. This was partly because I was forbidden to read them and partly because I had out grown my childhood novels and wanted more. It was not enough for me to read about a wishing chair or a tree with a spinning top that took you to faraway lands, or a boy called Eze who was apparently always going to school. I needed more, and then walked into my life the works of many faceless writes under the Mills & Boon banner and Harlequinn Romances. I also discovered historical romances and learned alot about a part of British history through the lives of its royalty and its aspiring ton.
It was around that time that I discovered Judith Mcnaught and Sandra Brown. One of
my favourite novels of the former is Once and Always. I heard about the book before I read it. In a class with avid readers by myself, this novel must have regretted being carried through the classroom door. By the time I booked a turn and it got round to me, the book had been split into six parts so that one could read the portions at different times. This was necessary because some girls, bless their hearts, were so slow, there was the temptation to deliver a well placed blow to the side of their heads with the hopes that their eyes and brain would spring to action and expedite their reading. But they were not to be rushed and so the only thing to do was rip the book apart and read that way.
When I moved to the US, I thought I had died and gone to heaven the first time I walked into a Barnes & Noble. My solitude being a secret answer to the fact that even though I socialise well within crowds, I don't like to seek gatherings out or be sought out by them either. So, I read and Barnes & Nobles was an addiction. You could sit in it and read the book without buying though I would not try that now, with the recession and all.
Anyways, I found a brand new copy of Once and Always and rushed to buy it. After having been responsible for the murder of one copy whilst in school, I thought it only fitting that I purchase a copy in honour of the wonderful story that it was and as a form of atonement. The novel was about two young people who have been through so much hurt and pain, come together through coercion to find that they could help each other experience the beauty of love for the rest of their experiences. It was beautiful when I read it and my friends and I memorised some of the scenes to renact and retell to those amongst us who appeared to be allergic to anything that was not made a compulsory read by the curriculum.
I ran home that day, excited out of my mind. Oh, if only my girls were here to see what I had in my hand. To reminisce on those days when we were girls with what we thought were deep issues but what seemed trivial now that we were all in the struggle to build our futures. I hurriedly changed, made a plate of snacks, a drink and settled beneath my cocoon of duvets to read.
It's hard for me to describe what happened next. First, I finished the book in less than three hours, trudging through the plot. It was as if I had to slow my thoughts down to read it. The book was well, cute. It was no longer inspiring. It was no longer breathtaking. Infact, some scenes were now too incredible. I just wanted to grab the heads of some of the characters and smash them together, the way parents sometimes do when siblings are fighting. Long and short, I was bored. I was bored because I was no longer wide eyed and innocent. The realisation was both interesting and melancholy.
The same thing happened yesterday when I bought a combined book of three of Sandra Brown's early works. My first book of hers was about this woman whose identity was mistaken after a fatal plane crash. I almost came to blows over that book--story for another day--and Sandra was cemented in my heart from that day onwards.
I am almost through with the first story---Thank God---and the only reason I am reading it is because the money I bought it with was not stolen, it was earned. So, by all things I hold dear, I will labour through and finish it. I am at the point where I am almost tempted to write to the author and ask her if she is aware that her leading male is borderline on sexual harassment. And the fool has a moustache. Sacrilege! Facial hair on a fantasy male is a no-no....sigh, I guess I should be glad that I am older now.
Cos Once & Always is no longer so.
I read them all, from Chinua Achebe to authors whose names I cannot remember but whose stories stuck with me. Through books, I could leave any problems I had behind and move on to another world. As a child, I devoured Enid Blyton books with such speed that I am sure my parents were a little bit stumped because that meant that they had to go buy me new books. And books were not cheap. At least, not alot of them.
As a pre-teen, I gravitated to romance novels with much gusto. This was partly because I was forbidden to read them and partly because I had out grown my childhood novels and wanted more. It was not enough for me to read about a wishing chair or a tree with a spinning top that took you to faraway lands, or a boy called Eze who was apparently always going to school. I needed more, and then walked into my life the works of many faceless writes under the Mills & Boon banner and Harlequinn Romances. I also discovered historical romances and learned alot about a part of British history through the lives of its royalty and its aspiring ton.
It was around that time that I discovered Judith Mcnaught and Sandra Brown. One of
my favourite novels of the former is Once and Always. I heard about the book before I read it. In a class with avid readers by myself, this novel must have regretted being carried through the classroom door. By the time I booked a turn and it got round to me, the book had been split into six parts so that one could read the portions at different times. This was necessary because some girls, bless their hearts, were so slow, there was the temptation to deliver a well placed blow to the side of their heads with the hopes that their eyes and brain would spring to action and expedite their reading. But they were not to be rushed and so the only thing to do was rip the book apart and read that way.When I moved to the US, I thought I had died and gone to heaven the first time I walked into a Barnes & Noble. My solitude being a secret answer to the fact that even though I socialise well within crowds, I don't like to seek gatherings out or be sought out by them either. So, I read and Barnes & Nobles was an addiction. You could sit in it and read the book without buying though I would not try that now, with the recession and all.
Anyways, I found a brand new copy of Once and Always and rushed to buy it. After having been responsible for the murder of one copy whilst in school, I thought it only fitting that I purchase a copy in honour of the wonderful story that it was and as a form of atonement. The novel was about two young people who have been through so much hurt and pain, come together through coercion to find that they could help each other experience the beauty of love for the rest of their experiences. It was beautiful when I read it and my friends and I memorised some of the scenes to renact and retell to those amongst us who appeared to be allergic to anything that was not made a compulsory read by the curriculum.
I ran home that day, excited out of my mind. Oh, if only my girls were here to see what I had in my hand. To reminisce on those days when we were girls with what we thought were deep issues but what seemed trivial now that we were all in the struggle to build our futures. I hurriedly changed, made a plate of snacks, a drink and settled beneath my cocoon of duvets to read.
It's hard for me to describe what happened next. First, I finished the book in less than three hours, trudging through the plot. It was as if I had to slow my thoughts down to read it. The book was well, cute. It was no longer inspiring. It was no longer breathtaking. Infact, some scenes were now too incredible. I just wanted to grab the heads of some of the characters and smash them together, the way parents sometimes do when siblings are fighting. Long and short, I was bored. I was bored because I was no longer wide eyed and innocent. The realisation was both interesting and melancholy.
The same thing happened yesterday when I bought a combined book of three of Sandra Brown's early works. My first book of hers was about this woman whose identity was mistaken after a fatal plane crash. I almost came to blows over that book--story for another day--and Sandra was cemented in my heart from that day onwards.
I am almost through with the first story---Thank God---and the only reason I am reading it is because the money I bought it with was not stolen, it was earned. So, by all things I hold dear, I will labour through and finish it. I am at the point where I am almost tempted to write to the author and ask her if she is aware that her leading male is borderline on sexual harassment. And the fool has a moustache. Sacrilege! Facial hair on a fantasy male is a no-no....sigh, I guess I should be glad that I am older now.
Cos Once & Always is no longer so.
Thursday, September 24, 2009
Pregnant with ideas
This blog needs a rebirth....whatever that means. I am getting increasingly bored with it and the Nigerian blogosphere. Maybe I need to branch out beyond Nigerians and go courting other people because it is not like I am not aware of the world outside my circle....
Sunday, September 20, 2009
Eki's Famous
"When I make my jewelry, I'm motivated by friends and family, who tell me their stories, and what happened to them throughout the day," says Eki. "I love to create unique pieces that identify with people's individuality."
Nigeria and the Dominican Republic New York
Eki's pieces are created from alterations of other pieces. The fabrics used include lace, denim, brocade, beads of all kinds, leather, linen and vintage clothing patterns. Her style can be defined as Street yet Urban Couture.
With Eki's Famous Jewelry, anyone can find a piece they like-----one that fits their famous style!
Eki's pieces are created from alterations of other pieces. The fabrics used include lace, denim, brocade, beads of all kinds, leather, linen and vintage clothing patterns. Her style can be defined as Street yet Urban Couture.
With Eki's Famous Jewelry, anyone can find a piece they like-----one that fits their famous style!
Aya Morisson
Aya Morrison is an upscale, women’s purse, swimwear, and seasonal apparel line that simply yearns to allow all women express their inner style through their use of her chic products, which is incorporated with assorted, vibrant and trendy African fabrics. Aya Morrison’s purse selections and exclusive “personalize-your-fashion-sense” style services ensure that her customers are well accessorized and love each product. Her enchanting swimwear will flatter the figure and increase confidence and self-esteem. And her seasonal apparel will not only give you comfort and increase your self esteem but also keep you looking forward to the next collection!
All items are uniquely designed by
Blueprint by Ronke
Blueprint by Ronke Event Services is an event planning company that offers a range of services to the extent of the client's needs in putting together an event that is tasteful, elegant and entertaining. We go beyond just planning, we create an experience that everyone will remember and enjoy while not loosing the purpose and objective of the event. At every of our events, we add a touch of class that makes each occasion unique and memorable. We incorporate your ideas with our skills to ensure that the result is picture perfect.
Thursday, September 17, 2009
Simple morning brew
picture from here
The highlight of my morning is when I get to sit and watch him. He comes on board three stops after mine, is heart stoppingly handsome, smells great and is always impeccably dressed. The first time I saw him, I stared so hard, that I missed my stop. The plus side, I found out where he gets off. We don't always end up in the same car but most of the time, we are on the same train. I know because I make sure I get in the driver's car, so that as we enter the station, I get a chance to scan the platform, to know if he is there. If it is not crowded, on that rare occassion, I will change cars to be in his. Such is my morning's entertainment and secret pleasure.
I know what I do will be considered weird and should he be told, he would definitely run screaming for the hills but I can't seem to help myself. I am inexplicably drawn to him and there is nothing I can do about it. Too shy to approach him and too afraid of a public rejection, I simply sit and watch him; stealing glances at his superbly constructed Asian features.
He is Korean. Enough time spent glaring at his reading material was enough for me to fihgure that out. The text was clearly neither chinese nor japanese and with too few consonants to be Malay or Indonesian. How I know these things is amazing to me too but such is the sort of information I have been able to amass over the years. I just do.
When I can't stare directly at him because he has either chosen a seat facing me directly or I am in another car, I comfort myself with the fantasy, with my eyes closed, of what I wished our relationship would be. So many times in my mind, we have bumped into each other outside of the station and he surprises me by remembering my face. Other times, we end up seated by each other and the metro operator helps us out by stalling the train. He will smile at me in greeting and I would give him what I imagine to be a shy response. Because I am listening to my Ipod, I would hum softly a tune which I hope he knows because it is the only Korean song I have. I have Chinese, Indian, Japanese and even some Thai but only one Korean song and that will be the one Korean pop song out of all the millions that exist that he would just happen to know. He will steal glances at me in surprise and one way or the other, we will begin conversating. By the time, the train restarts, we should have covered the basics....
Someone stepped on my foot as the last batch of commuters boarded the train.
"Excuse me, I am sorry," someone said
I opened my eyes and nearky screamed. It was him.
He motioned to the empty seat beside me and I was able to snap my brain into function and move my huge bag off so he could sit.
He smelled like heaven and yet all I could do was hold my breath.
Why today of all days when my hair is a hot mess, would he sit next to me?
The gods are always having a laugh at my expense
...........................................................................................................................................................................
Aaaah, my wierd African friend. Her hair's interesting today.
Always sitting with her eyes closed. The music she listens to must be calming because her face is always peaceful.
She smells nice too.
God give me the strength to ask her name.
She would probably scream if I told her that I take a later train every morning because I hope she will be on it.
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