Valentine's Day in Lagos

A good week to everyone! The 14th of last month was Valentine’s day and thankfully, on that day, I happened to be working in the midst of a wide range of extremely beautiful ladies, from slight/slender to the outright BBW – big beautiful women – but sadly, like the proverbial man who, carrying watermelons under each arm, trudged to the watermelon market with the very intention of buying more, I simply resigned myself to admiring, or ignoring the fruit on display. I haven’t had a Valentine’s day date in Lagos in such a loooong time, and if I ever do, it will definitely take the planning of a wedding of feuding families to effect it. Why?

You and your significant other decide to give yourselves a full Valentine’s day treat by planning to see a long anticipated movie and then wine and dine at your favourite restaurant with a view to ending ‘tins’ with a bang, or maybe something slower with more emphasis on the romantic. You both kiss each other your goodbyes as each one, or one of you, goes off to work, with promises or assurances that you will meet at an agreed rendezvous from whence you’ll commence your amorous itinerary for the rest of the evening. Everything going on around you in the office, from the commencement of the business day to the pm still in its toddling stage, only serves to bespeak just how deeply the goblet of love will be drunk: the office secretary suddenly squealing in delight at a couriered package, the office aloof beauty whose desk paraphernalia, desktop computer inclusive, have to make way for the legion of love cards, love cakes and love wines to be displayed. Even the normally routinely dreary office lunch gets a love lift of its own with jollof rice on the menu being served with heart shaped dodo – fried ripe plantain slices -, softer cubes of beef and the sweating and unusually overly made up dinner lady serving up extra helpings of meats with coquettishly batting eyelashes, to the object of her affection, who’s studiously oblivious to her advances. Then the magic hour, 3pm, strikes, your cue to rush out to meet your object of desire.

You grab your presents, your laptop bag and oh, your car keys, start out, stop abruptly to cast a cursory glance at your desk to check that you haven’t forgotten anything and with a parting general farewell to any who cares to listen, you dash out to your waiting car, phone to your ear warning your sweetheart she’d better not be up to her usual tardiness. With ears pushed to the back of your head on account of a beaming neon smile, you generously tip the security guards, hop in your car and drive out into the largest car park in the world, Lagos traffic! Add to that the mobile phone network jam reminiscent of the wee hours of New Year’s Day and you can be sure whatever cracks existed in your relationship in the previous weeks will metamorphose into yawning craters. You try unsuccessfully to call her, your eyes still on the banner by the traffic lights you’ve been staring at for the past three hours of sweltering traffic and she, her frustration building, remembers that picture of you with the office beauty, her arms wrapped suggestively around your waist, your strident denials of unwholesome behind-the-door liaisons, and your delay and ‘switched off’ phone only serve to confirm her niggling doubts. You finally get to her office block and as you’re driving in you espy her chatting amiably with a small group of junior staff. You park nearby directly in line of her vision and call her cell phone and miraculously this time, it does go through. She doesn’t seem to hear her phone ring because she carries on her conversation regardless, her laughter ringing out louder and above everyone else’s. You finally get the hint after the third ring and humbly exit the car to walk to her. As you reach her she suddenly exclaims to the crew she has to go straight home on account of a blinding headache and swiftly turns around and sashays towards the car leaving you bemused with no choice but to give your onlookers a brave smile, grab whatever is left of your self control and apply a step after the other towards the car. In the course of the silent drive home, you seething with rage and she fixated on her phone and its incessant annoying message beeps, still have some presence of mind to stop over and grab a bottle or two of ‘bubbly’ or her favourite wine and…

Far be it from me to go delving in other people’s private lives, so, on that note I will have to end here. But, would it be so bad if, even if the wine is not drunk and you both cart your icy weather to bed with you, she unusually clothed and facing the other way, you surreptitiously sidle up to her to gently spoon her, your free arm creeps around her hips and navel, and upwards to the soft globules you know so well until she deftly but gently moves it away. You, feigning resignation, sigh, kiss her left shoulder and relax in the first throes of slumber. A moment of silence, an imperceptible shift of her rump into your groin and a slow smile spreads across your face. As the ice thaws and the hands fumble, the tent is raised and the stone is rolled from the well’s entrance. As you begin to draw water from the well, you begin to verbalise your indignation at being so poorly treated in the presence of outsiders. She screams out her accusations of putting another before her on such a special day, and it’s not clear what passion she’s (s)creaming) from but you know it prompts you to draw water faster and faster as you both argue back and forth until she vents her frustration in one long final shuddering scream as she clasps you tightly to herself. An hour later, or considerably less, depending on the ardour expressed and the self control applied, two of you polish off the hitherto ignored bubbly and reminisce on the day while cooking up what excuse to give for not being able to turn up for work the next day. Valentine’s Day in Lagos might not be such a bad idea after all. Have a great week everyone

Binniversary

Hello guys! A great week or weekend to everyone! Would you believe it?!! It is two years last week that my blog started! I don’t know what to say. What I can say though is that I find it hard to believe that I have actually had a thing or two to write about in that space of time. What this means is that I may actually have something to write about or I may at the end of the day be a closet chatterbox. Seriously, if I had known that I would have had to come up with something almost every week of the year, I’d have chickened out of the project. This is where I offer my very hearty thanks to my beloved manager Nkem who trusted her instincts from the very first email I sent her. Even now I’m in her black books for not striking the hot iron to herald my binniversary(?) – I knew the computer would have a problem with this word – it already has that ugly red error line underneath it. Fine, my blog’s second anniversary.

The events in the past week have reminded me of a proverb my late dad told me once. I’ll write it in Igbo first. O bu mgba mgba, ka o bu okpo okpo? O bu ya ka nwanyi ji ukwu dimkpa gbaa n’ala! Don’t you just love my language? Okay, it translates thus: should I wrestle her or should I punch her? That’s how the woman hurled the great man to the ground! I can almost see the dazed expression on your faces, especially Nkem’s. I’ll explain.

A renowned wrestler in a community once had a sore disagreement in the marketplace with a woman who was so furious with him she challenged him to a fight. Incredulous, he stared at her and scornfully accepted the challenge. As she circled him in the centre of the spectators that were quickly gathering around them, he stood arrogantly declaiming his dilemma to everyone. How was he to deal with this upstart? He had broken the backs of renowned wrestlers from other villagers and here was this mere woman come to challenge him. How was he to deal with this situation? What tactic was he to use? If he boxed her, she’d probably expire from just a blow to the head! If wrestling, he could turn her into a paraplegic just by hurling her to the ground. As he stood there pondering aloud his dilemma to everyone with an ear, the woman rushed at him , grabbed him by the ankles, pulled with all her might and sent him crashing to the ground! In the Igbo culture, if during a fight one’s back is thrown to the ground, that one is vanquished regardless of how badly beaten the opponent may be. Suffice it to say the woman carried the day. A lesson in indecision.

You guys should by now know I love my culture dearly; it’s also one of the reasons I still mourn my dad’s passing till today; I missed out on a lot of things I could have learnt from him before he left – stuff I would have shoved down your throats and everyone else’s who’d give me a listening ear. Frieda calls me a dinosaur because I use proverbs that 'make' no sense whatsoever when I use them to summarise a point I’m making. You see, proverbs are the spice with which we season words. Like stew to white or even jollof rice, or gravy to mashed potatoes and steak, or afang soup to pounded yam are proverbs to speech.

All this rigmarole is just to tell you that I had so much to write about in the past weeks I couldn’t make my mind up on what to write about as it’s always rewarding to get feedback from you guys.- yes, we crave love too. O bu mgba mgba ka o bu okpo, is what has put me in trouble with Nkem for not hammering out the maiden post of my blog’s second anniversary last week. I will be decisive and choose okpo for my next post. For my punishment I’ve been compelled, against my better judgement, to put out a post everyday for the next four days. I am being pushed to the edge, of the stream, here. Let’s see who will drink that murky water! Have a great week everyone!