Who am I?

I'm a Nubian queen, a paragon of black
beauty, the epitome of unbleached
elegance (she laughs!).

I am a black female.
A woman am I.”

Feeling horny in November.

It ain't fair! Mama never said there'll be days like this when your body literally screams to be touched, right here, right now in as many ways as can be fathomed by the human imagination. And, she particularly left out the part about the ache going on for days on end till your body becomes one single-minded pulsating organ.

For women, ovulation is a scary time of the month. It's the time when we are most fertile. It's when our bodies scream “Copulate! Copulate”! I've run out of distractions, meditation tricks, mental and emotional strength. I am very weary and right now all I want, is my very own exclusive dick!”

Nigerians in Brief.

Nigerians talk a LOT!

Is it because we celebrate everything & anything and are so damn expressive? Or is it because we're quite scattered in our thinking and our capacity for analytical, singular and focused thought is low? Is that why we ramble on so, like I'm doing now?”

Thinking about Kids.

Till date, I haven't figured out why people have children. I mean, the real reason.

On asking a cross section of people why they want kids, I got a variety of responses ranging from posterity to security to “blessing from the Lord”. The one I like best is: “Kids are just something you're supposed to have at 28, after you must have gotten married at 26. The key, my dear (read: uninitiated dimwit) is to have all your kids by 30”.

And so i write...

I wonder if I have a specific mission in life. A calling. A cause. If you had asked me a year ago, (heck! a month ago), I would have answered a resounding yes! But as I study life and its variable currents, as I marvel at the unfathomable depths of humankind's wickedness and misery, I realize that NOTHING, absolutely NOTHING is certain.

Things I swore I would never do, I have done (and possibly invented new variants). Things I despise, I'm confronted with each and every day.

We think like donkeys, work like horses and live like monkeys. And so I write. Not necessarily to impact anyone or do the world any significant good, but simply to escape.

Some Encouragement.

This year, make those decisions you've been meaning to make.

Give to charity. Help the oppressed. Speak out and speak up. Take that course. Visit that country. Move house. Change jobs. Marry that man or woman. Mend those fences. Say you're sorry. Stop ignoring that person.

Go on the offensive. Stop taking bullsh*t. Study harder. Sleep less. Eat less. Change your wardrobe. Spoil yourself. Whatever it is - stop waiting and planning. Just do it.

I'm a cold hard bitch!

I'm a cold, hard bitch

I’ve been told. I've been warned. I've been threatened and I've been scorned.

So now I ask: Is my bitchiness a function of my social dysfunction? A sort of facade to shield me from the cold, cold world? Or is it an external manifestation of an inner pride? A pride that will not allow me to subject myself to lesser mortals? I think perhaps I may just be afraid.