Being the Weaker Sex
Working woman with her baby.Image: Your Life Hack. I know this very beautiful lady whose spirit is equally beautiful. She is the type of lady that brings about a sense of calmness when you speak to her. Her humility is so inspiring and the light in her eyes tell of a spirit that is happy, carefree and blessed. Then she got married. Barely three months into the marriage, I noticed a marked change in her demeanor; the light in her eyes had dimmed considerably, there was an air of sadness about her and what used to be graceful slimness began to look more gaunt than slim. When I perceive such sadness, I don on Agatha Christie’s Monsieur Poirot’s persona. I went about investigating the cause of her sadness and what I found was deliberately annoying! Her husband works in a multinational oil company while she works in bank. They both have to leave the house before 7am and both return home quite late. You corporate workers know the drill! It was a power marriage…but only for the husband. I found out that the husband demanded she cooked fresh breakfast, lunch and dinner every day. This lady would wake up at about 3:30am to prepare breakfast and lunch and to clean their house. She would package his lunch in a flask and help him prepare for work. After a long day at the office, she would rush home to cook his dinner and probably wait for him to fuck have sex with her at night. What was most annoying was that the husband demanded she washes his clothes too. He used to take his clothes to the dry cleaners before he married her but he was quoted as saying, ‘I cannot be wasting money now that I have a wife’. So this lady had to wash his suits, shirts and kaftans and iron them for her ‘darling husband’. After three months, she was bone-tired from balancing slavery house work and a hectic bank schedule. Truth is, she was tired of the marriage. She wanted out but being a ‘devout Christian’, she felt she had no options. You can imagine how angry I got when I heard all these. I was so mad I almost walked up to man to slap him! I know you would think it is not my business but truth is, it is! Here is why I got so riled up. Time and time again, we have been told that women are the weaker sex. Most religions of the world preach that women are weaker and it seems to be one of the few points that the religions of the world agree. In Islam, the Qur’an the Hadith says a woman has a ‘weaker mind’ (Qur’an 2:228 and Bukhari 6:301 respectively), the Bible in 1 Peter 3:7 calls the woman the ‘weaker vessel’, early Judaism saw the woman as ‘weak minded’ and even my grandfather drummed it in so well into his children that my father believes we are weaker. What of our cultures? They lend their weight to the notion that women are weaker. And not just that, they put up cultural markers in place to remind us that we are the weaker gender. So…if we are the weaker sex, why the bloody hell do we do most of the work?! There are many women like the woman I mentioned above; women who have to get it right at the home front and get it right at work. Some women are lucky and are allowed to have maids. Some are not. They have to do everything themselves! The argument has always been that men need to ‘focus on work and provide the bread’ so women have to ensure the home is properly catered to. I used to understand the logic. But now, more and more women are in the work place as their husbands are. Some women even do morein the office than their husbands. Is it then fair to continue to hold that ‘logic’ and to make such women do all the work at home? Let me shade my dad and brother a bit. My sister and I don’t live at home because of work so they probably see us twice a year. My other sister is in school and is home about four times a year. When we are away, my father and brother do all the household chores and maintain the house. My dad fixes his breakfast – a cup of tea – daily and sets off for work. Fast forward to whenever I come home. Soon as they see I am home, they take their hands off the household chores. My dad would even ask that I fix his breakfast. I want to assume that he misses me and would prefer to have that special bonding moment but eh ehn! I no gree! See, my father is set in his ways and one of his beliefs is that chores are for women. Simple and short! He raised us like that and even when my mother insisted that my brother does chores, my father relegated him to sweeping duty. Even that became a problem for him as we grew up. I knew he wouldn’t do it so I just took his portion. I spoke to my sisters and they said when they also come home, they experience same. My brother is especially worse. If I don’t wake up on time, my dad may still fix his breakfast but my brother? Total hands-off from chores! It wasn’t until I fell a bit ill that they both miraculously found the ability to take care of themselves (and the house) again. They wanted me to feel that if I wasn’t home, they would die but seeing how fresh they both looked, I begin to wonder. Done shading! Okay popsi, no vex abeg! You see, many men in the country are like that. They feel a woman can and shoulddo any and every household chore. A woman is supposed to maintain a house and maintain her husband and
Goodbye Yola! Thanks for the Hard Knocks
The first time I visited Yola, Adamawa state, was when I went for my National Youth Service Corps (NYSC) in October, 2012. It was the first time in my life that I went far from home…and for me, it was my final escape from all I knew. I was crowned the #MissNYSC for my batch even though I protested my involvement in the beauty pageant. In camp, I met my homie of life, Dr. Hameed Olawale, who is such a good man and an awesome friend! Yola is a simple town in comparison to towns like Kaduna, Kano and Abuja; the only other towns I had been to at that time. Though simple, I fell in love with the town. I had so many activities that defined my stay; I was teaching at Government Girls Secondary School, Yola, I attended almost every House of Refuge church activity and I spent time playing basketball. Don’t hate! I know I suck at it. On the 7th day of February, 2013, my Head of Department in church, Frama Ambrose, told me to get dressed as he was coming to pick me up. He told me I was to be on radio and though I was nervous, I hurriedly dressed up. That was the day I started #Campus360 (airing on FM GOTEL, 91.1). I met the man behind the #Campus360 idea – Stanley Innocent – and I grew to respect him and jump on many other projects with him. Few weeks later, the state coordinator of NYSC sent word to me that I would be crowning the Batch ‘A’ #MissNYSC. I went to the NYSC variety night and that was where I met my bestie and darling, Oluwashadeayo Opeyemi. As fate would have it, she was posted to the same school where I served and our friendship stuck! Shade is the reason I learned to bake cakes and till tomorrow, she is one of my best friends! Soon enough, we were both hosting #Campus360. In March of 2013, Frama married his heartthrob, Aesha Yanuti and he couldn’t have married a better woman! She became our mama and she loved us like we were her family; which we are! Together, they showed us that marriage can be awesome and beautiful and fulfilling; in spite of its many challenges. In May, the supervisor of the FM unit, Madam Chika Ngalome, called me and Shade and asked us to start a program on fashion and lifestyle. We started #Standout in the third week of May. From that moment, Madam Chika fought for me like I was her daughter. Many people thought I was; her daughter. And just as she would fight for me, she would chastise me from here to England if I did wrong. She is a true definition of a mother! By September, Peter Cheman Koti or the #RadioCaptain as he is fondly referred to, asked me to join the #Lunchbox team. He gave me a day and I made it fun! LOL! After some time again, Peter asked me to join the #MorningSplash team and I jumped at the opportunity. Madam Chika got us to do something centered on women and children and YOU KNOW I WILL LITERALLY GIVE MYSELF FOR THAT! That was how the ladies edition of #MorningSplash was born. I met Charles Emuze or as many call him, DaVinci. We actually became friends after Charles gave me an IQ test and the result was above average. LOL! Many would think that is condescending but for me, it was thrilling! I loved that he was confident enough to surround himself with people who shared his intelligence and while many men walked on egg shells around me, he was cocky and confident! If you still feel some type of way, I am sure you wouldn’t understand why I love Sheldon Cooper. And if you don’t know who Sheldon is, then I cannot help you. Charles was the one who urged me to start my blog and aspire for more with my writing. Now to my darling Abdullahi Ahmed! What started out as us being colleagues became the creation of a friendship that will stand the test of time! We were a dynamic team because we truly enjoyed each other’s company and listened to each other about improving our craft. Stanley told me once that I was beginning to sound like Abdul and I laughed! Of course! Abdul is one of the finest presenters I know! He is witty, intelligent, well-spoken and a master of his craft! If you know me, you know that I am sapiosexual and a person’s IQ is my biggest attraction! Abdul would force me to read articles out loud to help with my breathing and news presentation skills and for that, I would always remain grateful. Plus, I saw a side to him most people didn’t know! LOL. I got to meet other really great people like my baby Ololade Hassanat Abdul Kareem who had been my partner on #Lunchbox and #Standout for almost two years, the most elegantly dressed lawyer North of the Niger, Barrister Tochukwu Eziukwu, who is about to launch his book, Ibrahim Gwalem who is my ever pragmatic friend and Kaliat Innocent, my darling of life! By February 2015, I was invited by the Head of Programmes, TV GOTEL, Mr. Victor, to a meeting. In that meeting, Yetunde Oshunbiyi (Aunty Yetty) and Aaron Isaac (Uncle Aaron) were in attendance and the agenda? They wanted me on #Safiya #BreakfastShow. I was flattered but worried as hell! I knew I had the talent but I get VERY worried when people look at me. Abdul convinced me to do it and I did! I guess I was good at it, if the viewers’ comments were anything to go by. And because I ain’t no backside kisser, one particular episode got the Governor of Adamawa state so mad, I got kicked off the show. LOL! That is a story for another day! I ran a cake business and
Calling the Kettle Black
Blacked pot and kettle.Image: In-Sights A while back, I spent some time with some missionaries in Zaria. The house was a warm and loving environment where one couldn’t help but feel at home. It was a family of 5, with the only female in the house being the mum. The boys are between the ages of 7 and 13. Though they were 5, you would never find just 5 people in the house. There is always any number of people at any given time in that house, whether they are living there or just passing by like I was. What should have been a two day visit ended up being a four day visit. It was on one of those days that something remarkable happened. The kids were having their breakfast while their mother studied in the living room. I was doing some chores inside when I heard the boys arguing. They were, like most boys that age, putting down their female classmates. The conversation went thus; ‘Mummy, the girls in our class as SOOOO dirty!’ the second son said. ‘And very annoying!’, the third son punctuated. Their mother looked up from her books and asked why they said so. Since I was out of view of the boys, I stopped what I was doing to hear the argument. And no, it was not because they were bashing girls….or maybe it was. The boys described situations where the girls would sit together at lunch break, all eating from each student’s food warmers until they were all done. They went further to say the girls ate with their hands like ‘local people’ and that they didn’t even bother to wash their hands before doing so. The breaking point for the boys was that the girls would leave the place they ate messy and disgusting. I held back a chuckle as their mother chided them. She told them they were no different from the girls in their class. She reminded them that she had to pick up after them whenever they came home, ate or studied. The boys were not pleased with their mother’s stand and said she always supports women. Their mother said she only spoke the truth. The back and forth made between mother and sons got me thinking. We (generally) judge people harsher than we do ourselves. Let me use a relationship to make my point. When couples fight, it is always about what the other person did and never about what you did. Adam blamed Eve who in turn blamed the snake. President Buhari and the ruling government blame the previous administration for everything wrong with the country. Husbands blame their wives if their children turn out poorly and mothers blame society for corrupting their children. Why do we judge people harsher than we do ourselves? Why don’t we take the blame for our contributing actions to problems? Why couldn’t Adam say, ‘Father, I did wrong. I am sorry.’ Why couldn’t Eve say, ‘Father, I convinced my husband to go against your word. Forgive me’. Why can’t Buhari say that Nigeria has problems but he came in ill-prepared for them? Shouldn’t a father say, ‘I play a role in ensuring my children turn out well and if they don’t I take some blame?’ I want to assume that we were created with an innate desire to blame ourselves less but that will scratch out my entire ‘choice’ ideology. However, I do believe we view the world through clear glasses and ourselves through jaded ones. And it is not just with bad things. We always see the grass as being greener on the other side. The question is, why? As I pondered on these things, I finished my chores and went in to rest. I was brought out of my reverie when I heard the mother shouting at the boys. Turned out, the boys left their plates where they ate, with pieces of food strewn about and the entire living room in disarray. It was a classic case of the pot calling the kettle black. Who would have thought yeah?
Someone Always Has It Worse Than You
A little child looking at his mother.Image: Tolu Bamwo for nappy.com I returned to Yola, Adamawa State, at the end of May 2016 after being away for five months. I came in at night and didn’t notice all the changes in my house; and there were many. I, however, saw that the security man’s house was filled with people; a woman, her children and a young man. I ignored them and went into my house. The next day, I woke up to the sound of a crying baby. I got up, looked out of the window and saw that the compound was littered with bits and pieces of household materials. The woman I had seen the night before was right in the middle of the mess preparing their breakfast while calming the wailing baby. I went out to my neighbor and asked who they were. He told me they were renting the place. I was shocked! How could they be renting the security man’s cubicle? He told me that the place was even going for ₦40,000 and I balked further. I went back to my room and from the window, watched the family. The husband – the young man I saw when I came in – was a laundry man in a hotel close to my house. Without even asking, one could tell that he was not formally educated. Seeing this, I knew the wife would be uneducated too. I continued watching. Front View of the Security Man’s Cubicle They have five children; two girls and three boys. The boys were the middle children. The first girl looked like a teenager but it was very hard to determine the ages of the boys because they were smallish, thin and had an air of malnutrition about them. After a while, I made my decision and left the window. Since I was away for such a long time, you can imagine how dusty my house was. I started cleaning. Soon enough, I had three piles; what I wanted to take back to Kaduna, what I wanted to give away and what I wanted to destroy because they could not be used by anyone. When I had the clearly defined piles, I went to my neighbor and asked if the woman would feel some type of way if I gave her the pile I wanted to give away. He said she would appreciate it; very much. I decided that I would go to her at night with the things to spare her any embarrassment…or spare me any. I went back in and pulled the things I wanted to destroy out of my room and towards the refuse bin. After that, I went back into my room to continue working. Side view of the security man’s cubicle. I was interrupted by gleeful shouts in Hausa. I went back to my window and saw the kids jumping and shouting. ‘Mama, look what I got!’ ‘Mine is better!’ ‘No! Mama look! See what I found again’. They were rummaging through my trash and rejoicing at their ‘finds’. A veil of shame came over me. I had been in a dump for months because I felt like my life was at a plateau. I was unhappy about my finances and wondering whether my career would ever pick up. I was depressed about everything and every situation in my life. I stopped smiling genuinely and literally became a recluse. And before me were children whom, going through my trash, were happy at what they ‘found’! Their mother collected their finds and kept them in her room. When I saw that, I was even more ashamed. Why did I make a choice to be gloomy? To be sad? To be unhappy? I lived alone in my house and seven of them shared a cubicle that was about a third of my apartment. Yet, they maintained their joy and happiness. I was ashamed that I had become ungrateful for the many simple pleasures in my life. I had become a serial complainer who spent most of her time whining about the things I lacked. For days, I watched this family and learned that the children did not go to school; the first girl was a maid somewhere; the mother used traditional medicine methods when the toddler was sick; and the father beat the kids so bad that it bordered on abuse. In all, I never saw them without a smile on their faces and though they look gaunt, they look happy. This family gave me a reality check. Yes things are bad. Yes things are not going the way I planned. But I control the way I react to the lemonades life is throwing at me. I can decide to be gloomy and sad or I can choose to maintain a bright demeanor in spite of it all. This family reminded me to enjoy the simple things of life. It is never as bad as we think. I hope we can all remember to smile through whatever we are going through at the moment. My prayer is that we remember to be grateful for the ‘little things’ in our lives. Know this; someone has it worse than you! Someone always has it worse than you! This doesn’t negate your emotions when you are faced with tough choices or a tough life. I am just saying that it works to walk through your process with a positive outlook to life. If you can, do something for someone who has it worse than you do. It doesn’t matter what you choose to do; just do something!
Happy Birthday T.S. Ralph!
When I started the New Year in January, I prayed to GOD to help me increase my sphere of influence by expanding my reach. I made a pledge to start a podcast and vlog, which would be an audio and visual representation of blog. It was easy to start the podcast but the vlog kept giving me problems! I didn’t know it was GOD’s way of making me wait for better. I met Tunde Raphael when I went to Royal Arts Academy. Tunde is a nice, awesome, superb and wonderful person. He puts the needs of others before his own. That is his personality! His work ethics is just brilliant! He expects the best, so HE GIVES HIS BEST! Even though he was already a good cinematographer, he knew there was always room to learn and improve himself. We would pore over movies and documentaries to improve our technical know-how about film/documentary making! He was, and is always ready to learn! In time, we became fast friends. I told him about my dreams and before you could say ‘Episode 1’, Tunde was in! He told me to pick a day so we can shoot the episodes of my vlog. In that moment, I knew my dreams were finally coming closer to reality! Since that time, we have struck a partnership that, I know, will take us great places! Tuned also taught me how to edit videos and I feel like I am now a well-rounded media person! If you know me, you know I can be a lot of trouble to work with. When I sit to edit my videos, I am reminded of how troublesome I was during shoots but Tunde never once lost his cool! He always maintained a calm that was impressive and of which I want to emulate. He has taught me to be a better presenter by simply being calm. For that, I cannot help but say I LOVE THIS DUDE! Tunde, as you mark another birthday anniversary, I pray that you are blessed indeed, that your territory will be increased beyond your best imagination, that wisdom will spring forth from you and understanding shall be your mark. I pray that you become excellent and reaching there, strive for better excellence! I pray that your voice will be heard in this generation and in generations to come! My desire is that, after a long, purpose-driven life, you will leave your legacy in the hearts of men and in the sands of time. As you believed in me and gave your time, energy, finances and knowledge to my dream, may GOD send helpers your way who would replicate what you have done to me a thousand folds! Know that you are loved my friend and partner! HAPPY BIRTHDAY TUNDE! PS: No even play with me! Better keep my cake oh! I no dey laugh! Ehen, bribe me oh…if not…I go expose your age! LOL!
Malformed and Rejected!
Picture: ROSA VERLOOP I sat in my room and remembered a young boy I once knew. I will call him Junior. Junior was the first son of his parents. They had been blessed with four girls before Junior was born. Being African, his father didn’t feel like a man until he had his son. I don’t know what it was like at his birth because I met Junior when he was about 4. Junior was malformed. His head seemed too heavy for his tiny body, resulting in a permanent slouch when he sat; which was all he could do. His arms and legs were tiny and never seemed to catch up with the rest of his body as he grew. His eyes were bulgy and he had a drool most of the time. That was all most people saw. As a result, he was always on a chair or propped with pillows. I saw a side to Junior that astounded me. He was veryintelligent! He could hold brilliant conversations, with only slight slurring of his words. He was like Stephen Hawking…without the futuristic wheelchair. He was also very respectful and courteous; a trait that gets me every time. One day I stumbled upon his report cards and found he was the best student in his class. I expressed my amazement and his mum, full of pride and joy, told me that he had always been the top student in his class; excelling way above other regular students. This was my confirmation that Junior had the mind of a genius trapped in a malformed body. Somehow, I didn’t feel bad for him. I believed that his mind was the most important thing about him and I was proud to know him. Soon enough, his mother was pregnant again. When she gave birth to a healthy baby boy, Junior’s father was more than elated. He threw the biggest naming ceremony for his son and was merry for days. When it was his 1st birthday, oh my! You should have seen the fanfare! When Junior was about 8 and his brother 3, I was witness to something that shocked the socks off me. Junior’s dad returned from work that day and his second son ran to him with the enthusiasm that defined his childhood, screaming ‘Daddy Welcome!’ As soon he flew in the air for a hug, Junior’s father lifted him above his head and said, ‘Thank you my only son’. I balked! Only son?! Only son?! It was at that moment that I saw Junior crawling to welcome his father. He was within hearing distance of his father when those words were uttered. He froze where he was, child as he was, but understanding the full impact of those words. And like a child, he still said his welcomes…wishing….hoping….for that toss into the air and that acknowledgement. Junior’s father mumbled a response and went into his room. My heart broke…just as I am sure Junior’s did. He was malformed from birth, which was no fault of his. And that malformation led his father to reject him in the most hurtful of ways. For his father, his beautiful mind was not enough to overlook his mangled body. I left the house. That was the last day I saw Junior. The next time I heard of him, it was about his burial. He had been 13 when he died. I remember being sad and depressed at his painful life. I remembered his courtesy and his brilliance. I remembered how he always tried to help himself, in spite of his malformed body. I remembered his crooked smile that makes me think of the song by J.Cole. Best of all, I remembered his spirit. I heard his father cried at the funeral. I heard the tears wouldn’t stop. But I couldn’t help but wonder; did he cry in sorrow because he had lost a son or did he cry in joy because he now, truly, had one son?
On Human Life, Destiny and the Place of Free Will
Rob Wanders: Puppet on a String I had a discussion with a woman recently that got me thinking. The discussion revolved around marriage and having children. I was (and still am) of the opinion that marriage and childbirth is a part of a woman’s life and not the entire reason for her existence. I believe that I am complete whether I decide to marry and have children or not. The woman however was of the opinion that we are destined to be wives and mothers (or husbands and fathers). In her view, God may want to teach us patience and understanding via a mate and children. I said patience and understanding can easily be learned at the work place as it could at home. The argument went back and forth until I said that patience and understanding can also be learned from adopted children. She went into a fit at that point. She made a bold proclamation that adopted children can never be the same as biological children; that one could never love an adopted child as much as they loved a biological child. I was shocked at the statement. I know families where, unless you are told, you wouldn’t know that there is an adopted child in the house. But I digress. When she made the statement, I shut down my mind to her. She went on talking for a bit and it wasn’t until she made one statement that I returned to the present. ‘God may have, for example, destined you to have two children, who may in turn have three children each. If you refuse to do your bit, what do you think will happen?’ The word ‘destined’ stayed with me even after I left the woman. It is that word that set me mulling over some things I will like to share with you now. First off, a quick look at the meaning of the word. Destiny (noun); “the things that will happen in the future.” The destiny of our nation depends on this vote; “the force that some people think controls what happens in the future, and is outside human control.” You cannot fight destiny Culled from Cambridge Dictionary. I believe the woman was referring to the second definition above. So here is why I got rattled. Most religions preach of a deity who created and rules the world. They preach of a God or a couple of gods who created the universe and control all life on it. This is such that universally, being good means your God rewards you and being bad means you are punished. Religion has thus, kept man in check with the promises of an afterlife that is a consequence of our present lives. Some religions even preach that God controls everything that happens to each individual; from the time of our birth until we are returned to the ground. So the question is, ‘Are our lives pre-destined by God’? If yes, I have some follow up questions. If our lives are pre-destined by God, why does He hold us accountable for our actions? Has He predestined those who will get to heaven/paradise (depending on what you believe)? Does that also mean that He has destined those who would go to hell/lake of fire? If He plans our lives, why do I have to be faithful or moral or right? Why shouldn’t we be allowed to roam and kill and pillage? What will be the point of toeing the straight and narrow if there is no guarantee where we will end? Or if we have no choice in the matter? The next question is, ‘If our lives are pre-destined, why are we given the ability to make choices?’ Why do we have freewill? Shouldn’t we just be programmed to function a certain way and be placed on the earth to do just that? Can we refuse our destinies? If that is the case, is our refusal then our destiny? This is what I mean; If God ‘pre-destined’ me to be a doctor and I chose to be a media person, does that mean that I was really destined to be a media person after all? That my refusal was part of my destiny? That I really was acting out a script? Does God pre-destine that the African people be poor and others races rich? If so, when certain Africans break that jinx, does that mean they are refusing their destiny? Or does that mean that they are acceptingtheir destiny? Hmm……this destiny thing is becoming more confusing the more I ponder on it. Are you equally confused? Does God pre-destine that a 10 year old girl be married? That a woman is raped? That a boy is shot? Does God destine that people have and die of cancer? Of the common cold? Of Malaria? Of extreme poverty and hunger? Does God destine that some people are given birth to malformed children and others ‘normal’? Does God destine that a woman be in an abusive marriage? Does God destine that teen or that old man to commit suicide? Does God destine the murderer to kill, the rapist to rape, the abuser to hit and hit until the shattering of bones brings him back to his senses? Is it destiny that some women are prostitutes and some are forced into bestiality? Is it destiny for a person to have Down syndrome, dyslexia, attention deficit disorder, lunacy and whatever other ailment there is? And finally, does God destine some to be heterosexuals and others homosexuals yet…condemning homosexuality? If that then is the case, is God fair? This is the biggest question of them all. Personally, I don’t believe each life is destined as the second definition says. I believe that destiny is the sum total of all our choices made before death. I believe we are a product of the choices we make and not some grand script written about us. I believe that doing good may not always bode me well and doing bad
Fuel Subsidy Removal: Worsening Nigerian Lives?
Photo Credit: INVESTORS KING(www.investorsking.com) For a while now, I have deliberately ignored commenting on the happenings in our country because one cannot speak against this government without being labelled ‘pro-Jonathan’, ‘pro-PDP’ or ‘anti-Buhari’. I know that this government needs time to get her foot firmly planted but refusing to see anything wrong with some of her policies – or the lack of it – is just wrong. Today however, it is important that I break my silence. The Minister of Petroleum (State), Ibe Kachikwu, announced that fuel subsidy had been removed and the new pump price of petrol would now range from ₦135 to ₦145; with ₦145 as the price cap/ceiling. This is, by simple calculation, a 67% increase from the official pre-fuel-subsidy-removal price of ₦86.50. In the last 2 to 4 months leading to this removal, Nigerians had to battle fuel scarcity and annoyingly long queues at filling stations. As anyone who has had to endure such queues, you know that the wait was dreary, stifling and a complete waste of time. Even at that, there was no guarantee that we would get fuel at the stipulated price. I remember being on a queue for 4 hours as my friend tried to get fuel. After the long hours of wait, my friend got the fuel and had to sneak ₦500 to the fuel pump attendant so she could get fuel for her generator. Even more than the long queues were the consequent effect of the fuel scarcity; THE PRICE OF EVERYTHING WENT UP! The price of food, clothes, fees and taxes, and transportation went up. The things one could spend ₦1000 on gradually became fewer and fewer. I felt the pinch more with transportation. I do not drive so I have to use public transport to get me where I want to go. The transport fares in Lagos that were already too high, got higher still. My daily transport of ₦700 went up to about ₦1200; more than 71% increase. This may be comfortable for a person with a steady, high income but as I didn’t have a job or business at the time, it was a big bite on me. Even among friends who had what I would deem ‘plush’ jobs, the complaint about the increased cost of transportation was bitter. With this fuel subsidy removal, thus increase in fuel price, I believe that life will get progressively harder. Oh! The logic behind the removal is stellar as explained below; · Nigeria CANNOT afford to pay fuel subsidies now; · Competition would probably bring the price of fuel down; · More people will be able to get into the business of refined oil, thus removing the case of the cabals; · Channeling the money that would have been used for subsidy into renovating our refineries and producing our own oil needs; · Improving other sectors of the economy with the subsidy money and; · Eventually cutting down on fuel imports when we have our refineries up and running. But the timing is poor! Many Nigerians are literally groaning under the current hardship we are facing. Just as Nigeria cannot afford to continue to pay these subsidies, Nigerians CANNOT afford this current policy! Already, fuel stations are beginning to hoard the product with the prospect of selling at higher prices. This means that transportation fares WILL go up again! Food prices will follow suit and soon enough, EVERYTHING will be more expensive. If this fuel subsidy removal came at a time when basic salaries were manageable, many Nigerians would not grunt under the burden that is about to get heavier. But no; salaries are poor! How will Nigerians survive this? And for those of us who have no viable jobs…do I even need to ask? One doesn’t need to be ‘pro-Jonathan’ or ‘pro-PDP’ to see and SAY that though the long term effects of this removal would probably be great, the current effects will be damning on most Nigerians. What then are we to do?
Feigning Innocence
Lost Innocence.Image: Monster’s Closet Adakole looked at that body and he felt she was begging him to come to bed. He had always considered her a tease; especially because she was constantly hugging him, sitting on his thighs, or on the floor with her legs wide open and feigning innocence like she wasn’t deliberately arousing him. Well, it ends here. He is going to have her today! He began to take off her clothes. Where she should have been afraid, she laughed! He felt a twinge of anger. Was she laughing at him? He got angrier and slapped her. Today, he was going to show her who the boss was. He began to touch her and she didn’t respond. If anything, she stiffened. That got him worked up and he used his knee to forcefully spread her legs apart. She started to whimper and soon enough, she was crying; loudly. Adakole took a pillow and pressed down on her face as he continued touching her. ‘Now you want to act like this isn’t what you always wanted?’ he kept thinking to himself. Well, she shouldn’t have thought she could tease him and go scot free. He felt searing anger pass through him, doing the only thing he could to break her spirit. He whipped out his penis and forced himself into her. He kept ramming until she stopped moving; she stopped resisting. When he was done, he asked her to get up. No response. He shook her. No response. He shook her harder. She didn’t move. She was dead. Adakole panicked. He knew what would happen to him when her parents found out about what he had done. He also knew he had no other option but to run for his life. *** Senator Ibikunle held his crying wife as they addressed the press. ‘Our driver went to pick our daughter from school yesterday and has since not returned. We urge you to please help us with whatever information you have. Her name is Bolanle and our driver is Adakole Emmanuel. Please help us find our little girl. She is just three years old.’
Changing Stereotypes: Meet the Girl Behind Larney’s Make-Overs
Rachel Eugene Michael.CEO, Larney’s Make-Overs.Image: ProShot. When I posted my vlog – There Are Many Hardworking Black Women….And They Are Not Runs Girls – I knew I touched some nerves. It was my first vlog to get hit with the ‘unlike’ button and trust me, it stung a little more than I would admit. I knew the blog, podcast and vlog would strike major nerves because it is about changing stereotypes that currently define women. I was still brooding about the poor feedback when I got a message from @dat_bajju_bae on Instagram. We got talking and she shared her story, challenges, hopes and aspirations with me and I was glad that she connected. This is what I learned about her. Her name is Rachael Eugene Michael and she is a student of Ahmadu Bello University. Like most of us, Rachael made some mistakes trying to find her foot in this world. Unlike most people though, Rachael realized she was wrong and needed to change her path and rewrite her story going forward. As a result, Rachael started her own beauty business specializing in make-up artistry, and it is called LARNEY’S MAKE-OVERS. I must say I believe Rachael is good at what she does! Her make-up for dark-skinned beauties is lit! Below are examples of what she has done. I would be grateful if we all support this young woman who has decided to work hard at being independent and professional. Contact her for your beauty makeover via the following platforms: FACEBOOK: RACHAEL ELSIE MICHAELS; INSTAGRAM: @dat_bajju_bae ADDRESS: AHMADU BELLO UNIVERSITY, KONGO, ZARIA. PHONE NUMBER: 08094757586 She is also available to travel if and when contacted. She told me that my vlog had inspired her to be more hard working and to strive for better. I was more than elated that she contacted me. It is for this reason that I do what I do. This here is another hardworking woman! It si about time we realize that the stereotypes about women are played out! So Whatchu waiting fo? Girl is waiting fo yo call y’all! Check out more photos after the cut. PHOTOCREDIT: PROSHOT
