Guess who’s back? 

I was on a baecation with Anthony Joshua in the magnificent City of Dubia which explains my absence from this blog. I am sorry I couldn’t inform you all before leaving. I remember I was lying on my Mouka foam that Saturday morning when I got this text ‘peace baby, it must have been hard faring without me.  I’m sorry for all the times I neglected you and spent our hard earned money on other women. Truth is, without you, I cannot breathe,eat or even sleep. You are the bone of my bone and I’m sorry it took me this long to realize. Dear peace, I have made all this money for you. My ribs are incomplete without you. Come meet me at the airport in 10minutes. Don’t bother packing up anything , we’d shop for new things when we get to Dubai.  your missing rib, Anthony J.❤

I used 5minutes from my 10minutes deadline to wash my face over and over again so I could re-read the text. I mean, I knew my rib had been missing  all this while but how would I have known my local rib was so ambitious as to apply for visa, purchase ticket,  cross borders, lands and seas to finally land between Anthony Joshua’s huge six-packs?

 After using 2minutes from my remaining 5minutes to shower,  I thought of making a post  to share the good news, but what if Anthony Joshua had sent the text to a couple of peace on his contact b/cos he wasn’t sure which of the peace was my own peace, and had decided to go with the first peace who showed up at the airport? isn’t delay really dangerous? What would it profit me to gain your congratulatory feedbacks but lose my Anthony Joshua to one peace whose buttocks are as little as a mustard seed? After thoroughly thinking this through, I drafted my post,  shoved WordPress into my accommodating ass & hurriedly flew to the airport to posses my possession!

Dubai was fun! From the time Anthony Joshua told me he saw his future kids in my eyes, to the time  he asked me to marry him while we were jetting off to Los Angeles to get pizza. I would have shared countless loved up photos of us on here but Anthony Joshua is a very discreet person. Please don’t come here to say I am lying b/cos if you do,  I’l  forward your photo to Amadioha and you know what that means.  Anthony Joshua and I have been way back & I was with him before his abs, packs & muscles were born. I was literally with him when he had nothing and you don’t think it’s high time I reap my labour?

 Dear beloveth Anthony  Joshua, I want you to know that you are the man for me. You are undisputedly the best boo in the whole muscular world, and my greatest wish right now is to continue this dream about us tonight! 

               …….Now back to reality!!….. 

The past weeks I wasn’t here,  I was in my second country, Benin Republic. After visiting Benin Republic, and coming back to Nigeria, I’d like tell you Nigerians complaining about the Nigerian Sun to kindly shut up  b/cos apparently, y’all are inside a refrigerator compared to people in that country! 

Few days  I arrived Benin, I went to a saloon to braid my hair,  and when the saloonist was half way through, I heard,  ‘Aunty, hair e no dey for Middle o‘. I was shocked. Why won’t there be hair in the middle of my head?

 To attest, I ran my fingers on my scalp and  lo and behold, I was truly bald at the middle! Not even a single hair. The country’s volcanic sun had erupted on my head and savaged all the hair in the middle. Until now, I still wonder how a sun could be so carnivorous, conniving and cruel.

 If only i was fluent in French, I would have written a letter to the Beninese Government so they tackle this issue of intense sun b4 more people will go bald, and then blame their village people for their hairless destinies. 

The reason I went to Benin Republic was to have my clearance done and then, get my certificate, but little did I know that getting my certificate would be synonymous to getting American visa.  It was an unending process. The school authorities kept tossing me round, and when I couldn’t condole anymore tossing,  I came up with a story of how I had a 3month old baby in Nigeria and how my husband had been calling to tell me the baby was always crying for breast milk. My story went viral and touched hearts.  In  less than 24hrs I cooked up that story,  I got apologies in order & also got my certificate. 

I returned to Nigeria few days after and successfully registered for my nysc. If you follow my blog religiously,  you would have read a post I talked about Nysc and all its palava and the reason I dread the scheme so much. The story hasn’t changed. I got no love for the scheme. In fact, I shamelessly admit to getting engaged in it b/cos of the 19,800naira I would be paid monthly. Half bread they say is better than none. I rather collect 19,800naira than stay home and collect 19,800kg worth of undiluted calories. 

Related: Between me,  Nysc and all its palava.

 During my registration, I didn’t  know what possessed me into choosing 2 northern states from my 4 states option. please no one should come here to tell me to take heart or tell me everything happens for a reason. I remember the night before the Nysc portal opened, I had fantasized on how I would choose Lagos, Abuja, Lagos and Abuja again. On the deal day,  I forfeited breakfast, got to the cyber at 8.am to meet more than  a hundred prospective corpers already queued up.  I picked my  number & the wait began. Whenever I talked myself into going to look for snacks to eat, my subconscious told me not to go. It told  me to exercise little more patience so I don’t miss my turn. That was how I sat there like a widowed fowl for 7hrs b4 my name was called.  As at the time it got to my turn,  my eyes already turned quarter past 4  & hunger was ministering  to me in 77 dialects. I became confused and the next thing I remember was seeing myself in front of a puff puff vendor, telling her to give me extra 200naira puff puff. After getting all the puff puff safely buried in my stomach, I returned to the cyber to continue with my registration but The lady at the cyber told me I was already done with it. 

Really?  how could she say I had registered when I don’t have any memory of it? I didn’t believe her until I went on my whatsapp and realised I told a friend I was through with my registration and had also sent that friend the list of states I had chosen. 1eastern state, 1west and 2 northern states. Please you people should ask me if I have a family member in the north. Why did my village people send Hunger to me to get me confused? Why do they want me to serve in the north?  I didn’t even choose it once but twice. Oh Lord! 

If there’s anything I need right now, it would be your prayers. Blog people, I need you to pray for me. I don’t want to posted to Kafanchan.  I don’t  want to be posted to  a place where I have to climb trees &electric poles, satellite dishes just to check my phone balance. I’m counting on all of your prayers. Please, please and please, for the love of Christ, don’t abandon me in this my time of need!

Happy New month y’all❤❤

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Post birthday post

So it was my birthday yesterday, and in case you never heard,  it isn’t too much of a good feeling when you know you are drastically aging and there’s nothing you can do about it. pls don’t doubt me. I’m talking from experience! 

I feel so old that when younger people drag me  into their juvenile conversations, I’m tempted to start off with an advice, and then end with the popular proverb  ‘what an elder sees when sitting down, a child cannot see even if  he climbs the tallest tree’.

Writing this made me remember a time I so wanted to become an adult. I wanted to live like a grown up, do what grown ups did and have all that freedom, but now, I don’t think I want to age anymore. It came too early! For heaven’s sake, the year hasn’t even matured,  and I am already growing spiritual grey hair! 

Please, if there is any  9-year-old here whose best topic in social studies is trade by barter, pls come to my house let us exchange age. It comes with extra benefits of owning my adult wardrobe, my adult freedom,my adult life and of cos, my adult problems.

 I really want to be young again. Life was less problematic as a child. I want those years I would  watch cartoons all day and the worst challenge of the day would be choosing beween  Tom and Jerry on STV and  Pinky & the brain on LTV.  I want those days  I’d sleep and roll from my bed to the floor without having to wake up at night to think of my life and how much I have achieved and what next.  Those days  I’d buy my sanitary pad and hide it inside my shirt b/cos I was embarrassed and shy. I didn’t want people to know I used a pad or perhaps the fact that I had a vagina. I miss  also, the undiluted liberty of bathing in the rain.

You see,  when I was younger, I thought  at this age, I would own my estates, have the cars, have the booming businesses, and be on Forbes list as the Linda Ikeji or Chimamanda of our time but WordPress is where I am today, telling y’all that none of these happened. Not yet! the only  soothing thing about  old age for me right now, is how everyone calls me Aunty, and how they prostrate to greet me at all hrs of the day. 

Although, I didn’t throw  a birthday  bash, I had  amazing testimonies I’d like to see as God’s way of wishing me a Happy Birthday. One of our blog visitors, Mr N, flooded my bank account yesterday with  lots of money! Oh yes! He said he wanted us to move to a self hosted domain💃💃💃💃 This is not the first time Mr N has gone out of his way for me without me asking. God bless you abundantly Mr N. I can’t thank you enough. 

 Again, Another blog visitor gave me a pre-birthday job offer. I really cannot thank you people enough.  Thanks for thinking for me. I pray God will never stop thinking for you also. 

And yes! To all my amazing bloggers who had nominated me for various awards, I am totally grateful to you. Forgive that I have not found time to make a post on the awards. I am a very forgetful and lazy person you know.  Thanks to simcindy, George, treasure, girleccentric  (I guess that’s all) Pls guys, do check out these blogs. If you love me, you’d love them too. They all inspire me! 

I also want to  appreciate  my loyal Bvs for taking time to be here. I know i am neither the best writer nor blogger, but for some reason, majority of you keep coming back. Thank you all. It can only get better!

Thanks to everyone and thanks to God for a blessed yesterday!!❤❤

My problem with men who can cook! 

Sometime back, a male friend of mine called  to say he was around my area, and would drop by my place to say hi to my plates and spoons. When guys start involving kitchen utensils in random conversations, it only means they are hungry. Having nothing but a pot of water in my kitchen, I hurriedly left for the market to buy ingredients for exquisite rice with pepper stew and pomo. 

After I had sweated the sweat of a thousand generations and had licked the cooking spoon countlessly like a dog, my friend tasted the food and remarked that my stew lacked humour.
Humour ke? 
If it was the same humour I knew that he talked about, what the heck would humour be doing inside stew  biko? of all places to be.

He was already giving me the ‘I am disappointed in you’ kind of look, and I knew I had to save my face. I didn’t want to be that twenty something year old woman who didn’t know how to cook with humour so I told him I had it in mind to put humour in the stew, but on getting to the market, the market women said it wasn’t in season.
He later explained that the humour he talked about wasn’t necessarily a physical item but an emotion I was supposed to throw in the stew while cooking.

There was no way to pretend I wasn’t upset. That was the best stew I had made that year, literally. My neighbour who had never  said hi to me, greeted me repeatedly because of the aroma from that stew. A stew that would make Dangote abandon all his earthly possessions, and return to his village. That was the same stew my friend looked me in the eyes to question its humour where about. -ok.

That humour finder friend of mine was one of the best cooks I had come across. 
All the times I had visited him,  I didn’t stop until I scraped the last burnt piece of anything he had in his pot. Most times, I would carry empty take away packs to his place, fill them up with food, and when I got back home, I Would say I dropped by yellow chilli restaurant to buy them lunch. Everyone is happy! Everyone thinks i can finally afford something!

Honestly, eating his delectable meals was the only soothing thing about keeping him as a friend. The thoughts of him criticising every thing I made was frustrating. The last time he ate eggs I had fried, and told me the egg white seemed to be at war with the egg yolk, I gave up on him and kept my culinary skills strictly to myself! There wasn’t  any hope of us having a lasting relationship. His Chevy character was probably the reason he had been on & off relationship market . I mean, which lady would want to live the rest of her life embracing remarks like;

  • the curry doesn’t seem happy in this  stew 
  • This soup looks like it fought the Biafran war
  •  this pap lacks chieftaincy title
  • bend the pot while cooking the beans so the beans will be excited.. Excited Kwa! ontop beans I bought with my own money.

Before you know it, he has taken the kitchen from you for reasons that you are not meeting to his taste. Morning, afternoon and night, your man is in the kitchen. Your pots haven’t had rest and gas is almost 4,000naira in the oil/gas market. He wakes you up at night to  tell you he wants to be a chef. You buy 6yards of Da viva material for you both to make matching outfits, but he uses his own to sow apron. 
As a good wife to be, you want to learn in order to take back responsibilities From him, but everything seems like home economics practical with a little Intro Tech projection in order not to miss the angle the spices should titrate, and that is the beginning of insanity for you. 


Get my point; Men who can cook are  hot deals yeah. They top the criteria of every girl’s Mr Right list, but coping with them especially on kitchen affairs can be tough and competitive. He cooks super well and your cooking is okay. Each time you cook, he is not totally wowed. If he loves you enough to marry you, one day your kids will say ‘
mummy, won’t you leave the kitchen for our daddy to cook’? 


I want to be with a man who knows what to do with pot, but no thanks to chevy men. I don’t want! The only thing my man is permitted to notice is when there is too much salt in the food not when it lacks humour. please allow me assume my full role as the woman in the house. 
 Men may not be easy to please  but a man with highly sensitive taste buds is insatiable. To these male chefs, food is not just food. Food is delicate,ethereal, like a girl they have been dating for 20years and don’t want to hurt  or cheat on with something less tasty and appealing.  Yes, it’s that serious! 

Anyways, for some reason our Nigerian ladies shouldn’t be agitated. 99.3% of our Nigerian men only know how to cook pot. Not so? 

PS: I wrote this article sometime ago for Jasmine spice magazine. I had no intentions of posting it here but bcoz I have a lot on my plate right now, and I don’t want to go MIA, I decided to make do with it.  For those of you who read it before, pls do read again. May God increase your eyes! ❤❤

This thing doesn’t want to come out! 

People!!! For sometime now, I haven’t been able to successfully poop! If you think you’ve seen the worst cases of bow legs, then you need to see me now!  I literally walk like a woman who is in labour through her anus. The baby’s big head is stuck and cannot completely come out or go back in. You think you are indecisive? then you haven’t met my poop. Bitch wouldn’t come out or go back in completely!

I first had the urge to poo this poop on Friday, but you see, baby girl was too busy to sit down &wait in the toilet for logs of shit to drop. Instead, I went  to buy  ijebu garri. I bought 4 groundnuts, sugar, milk &eja dindin(fried fish). I poured everything inside a bowl and felt victorious. I mixed with cold-water, and as I drank, I saw heaven. I saw the Angels singing Hosanna. I saw myself with my bowl of garri in heaven. Heaven is such a beautiful place! I saw mother Mary preaching &telling some chubby children that man must not live by bread alone. 

Of cos kids! man must also try to live by ijebu Garri’.  i said as i strolled past them. 

I saw one of my Aunts, Aunty Agnes in heaven. She had died in her sleep in 1998 and  a lot of us had wished her hell after we heard the good news. You see, that woman always made fun of me and my siblings, especially my brother. Every time she saw him, she’d mockingly say ‘Eche! Eche! rain is falling, and I don’t  have umbrella. pls can i hide under your nose’?  Yes! Eche had a big nose so what? 

I saw our very own Bobrisky get rejected at heaven’s gate b/cos the Angel at the gate said the photo they had of him was very different from What he now looked like. Even though Bobrisky never gave me a dime of his money on earth , I thought I could plead on his behalf, but before I could bark the usual osshey baddest, I was deported back to reality to an empty bowl of garri. I vaguely raised one side of my buttocks, released fart, and then went to sleep without drinking water. 

 Saturday, i ate lots of things I cannot remember. The urge to poop  came again, and I said ‘shit pls! let a Bby girl be. Why didn’t you come before I had my bath? now that I’m clean, you want to soil my anus abi? pls enter inside, and sleep!

Sunday, i was dressing to church and it came again. I used the next  5minutes to speak in tongues. I held my buttocks and said ‘devil is trying to use you. dear shit, it is obvious you are not a child of God but believe me, i must take you to church & You must repent before I shit you’!

 Sunday afternoon, i ate rice with stew, chewed bones, swallowed, and then took my phone with my earpiece to the toilet. I was Jamming songs & chatting  when i gave the first push but no show. I pushed 10times and the 11th time,   One choco Milo sized one dropped. I knew that wasn’t the entire package as I still felt very full down there. I dropped my phone, pulled my blouse as I was sweating profusely. I pushed again, yet nothing dropped! I thought to stand up and go drink some water, but I couldn’t stand up. The shit didn’t want to enter inside. You don’t want to get out, you don’t want to get in. What do you really want? I tried to push it in, and after 20mins of its refusal, i came out from the toilet like that with legs acutely bowed as that was the position I had found a little comfort. My sister who was within eyeshot saw me and exclaimed.

Sis: Jesus! …did you bathe inside the toilet? 

Me: it is sweat! My shit didn’t come out. 

Sis: hahaha..is that why you now opened your legs like express road? Ehya and I heard that thing use to kill ppl o. 

Really? Of all the things to tell me in this condition? 

I followed a friend’s advice, and drank over 100litres of water this morning. I jogged round my compound like someone preparing for the Olympics. I ran and covered more distance than Usain Bolt. I  took oranges. I  prayed. I made promises to God. I told him i was always gon’ drink enough water every morning and after every meal, I told him I would never store and save shit in my shit bank. I said all these things, and I’m coming from the toilet now, sweating like a she-goat,yet  nothing came out! 

 Pls, if you are the one doing this to me, just stop already! I want to have decent conversations with people on my social media without talking about shit and anus. People be telling me how a mysterious snake swallowed 36million naira,and il be busy telling them how I feel  majority of us won’t make heaven b/cos we don’t  use our anus constantly as God wants. Bro Boniface on my whatsapp be telling me how he wants to propose to his girlfriend and il be like ‘bro boni, you and every part of you including your anus belongs to God! pls don’t forget to confess this  everyday. don’t forget to drink water before and after meal.It is well with your anus’!

Dear Brethren, pls pray for me. my anus is tired. Right now I don’t even know if it’s mine anymore. I’m typing with the last strength I can muster as I exhausted myself while pushing. what do you suggest I do?what do you suggest I eat. Do you think I should pray? If so,  how many days fasting and prayer?  pls help me! This thing doesn’t want to come out!