The End...

"...somebody almost run off wid alla my stuff!! & i waz standin there lookin at myself the whole time & it wasn't a spirit took my stuff waz a man whose ego walked round like Rodan’s shadowwaz a man faster than my innocence waz a lover i made too much room for almost run off wit alla my stuff & i didnt know i’d give it up so quik & the one runnin wit it don’t know he got it & i’m shoutin this is mine & he dont know he got it/ hey man! this is not your prerogative i gotta have me in my pocket to get round like a good woman should & make the poem in the pot or the chicken in the dance what i got to do i gotta get my stuff to do it too why dont ya find your own things & leave this package of me for my destiny

 ---------

“without any assistance or guidance from you i have loved you assiduously for 8 months 2 wks & a day i have been stood up four times i've left 7 packages on your doorstep forty poems 2 plants & amp; 3 handmade notecards i left town so i could send to you have been no help to me on my job you call at 3:00 in the mornin on week days so i could drive 27 1/2 miles cross the bay before i go to work charmin charmin but you are of no assistance i want you to know this waz an experiment to see how selfish i could be if i would really carry on to snare a possible lover if i waz capable of debasin my self for the love of another if i could stand not being wanted when i wanted to be wanted & i cannot―  Both Poems by Ntozake Shange, for colored girls who have considered suicide/when the rainbow is enuf

-----------

Dear God, we thank thee cos we r beautifully and wonderfully made.

We ask for strength and healing btw Negro and Anita. We ask that u help them figure out their separate and distinct paths, resolve all internal/external conflicts and that thru their faith and belief in You they can move fwd with healing/peace in their hearts.

We ask this thru Christ our Lord

Amen

―  Closure prayer by ANI 

-----------

Negro and Anita...

Fade to Black.

End Scene.

These Three Words

On my way back from my morning jog, I normally like to cool down with slow R&B songs to try to get my heart rate down. After completing a jog/walk listening to angst-fuelled rap songs by Kanye West or Eminem, what better way to ease into the day than to have John Legend or Asa serenade your heart pounding adrenalin.

On Friday morning, the classic song, These Three Words by Stevie Wonder came on and it caused me to stop and think.

When was the last time
That they heard you say
Mother or father, I love you
And when was the last time
That they heard you say
Daughter or son, I love you

Ones you say you cherish everyday
Can instantly be taken away
Then you'd say I know this can't be true
When you never took the time
To simply tell them "i love you"

When was the last time
That they heard you say
Sister or brother, I love you
And when was the last time
That they heard you say
Darling or best friend, I love you

That early in the morning all you have is your thoughts, so much clarity of mind and focus, so a single question, statement or remark just sinks in, because your thought space is bare and open to assimilate everything new about the day. The words I Love You resonated with me - when was the last time you told people in your life that you loved them? I asked myself truly when was the last time? I couldn't recall. Isn't that sad? Why so long ago? Simple, I'm African. I Love You are not 3 words that we say flippantly. We disclose them on occasion, at birthdays, Valentine's Day, Christmas Day, asides from those occasions, we don't ever have course to just blurt out I Love You. I decided then and there to send everyone I love a message simply saying, "I Love You and have a fabulous day." Hoping it would make their day and of cos, their weekend.

Because I don't say this very often, and knowing that most of my recipients are African, I just knew the reaction to my random texts would be...interesting to say the least. They'd probably stare at the text befuddled, like "Wetin dey do Anita?" Or call me to ask if everything is alright with my head. Africans rarely encounter those words. I'm sure we love somewhat, after all, we are our neighbors keepers, how else would you explain the fact that we get into our neighbors business whether or not he/she has asked for our help (it's also poke nosing but in this instance I'm going to assume it's done out of love). But we love, as crazy and as erratic as we can. I'm not talking about the local street toaster who feels the need to say, "Baby, you know I love you." Nope, not that kind.  A more resounding heartfelt kind.

When I first moved to America hearing those words constantly said to me always put me aback, made me feel somehow for lack of a better description. My sister in Atlanta, would end phone calls with "I love you," and I would shudder like, "What did she just say to me? She can't just throw that out there just like that." But with time I got used to it as a way of life, a way of congratulating the people in your life, a way of showing them how much they mean to you everyday. My Naija self soon learned so I tried to say those words as often as I could manage without cringing (granted, they are hard words to say).

After I sent out the texts on Friday, of course I got heartfelt responses from my family in America, especially the women. The women, all responded in reciprocity: I Love You too, You stay fabulous sweetie, etc. Women, that's just us, we remain in our feelings. But the men, those that did respond, just came back with choice words such as: Got it and Thank you. You gotta love how men choose their words wisely. Some men didn't respond at all, like my 11 year old nephew - who I'm pretty sure loves his Madden video game but not sure if he loves auntie! Made me realize how hard the L word is especially on men. Even when you're not involved with them romantically, when they're your family, once the Love word is thrown out, it immediately just freaks them out. "I don't know what to do with these words right here." Don't do anything with it, the speaker just wants you to know.

Stevie Wonder had a point and I agree with him completely. I'm ashamed that it had to take hearing a song on a Friday morning for me to randomly tell my people how much I appreciate them. I hope it doesn't have to be that way for us all, especially my Nigerian folks. I think we should try it, for one day just randomly throw out the I Love You phrase to the ones that matter to us. I especially challenge the men reading to do this. Just as your mum (wife, babe, side chick) is brushing her hair just say, I love you, just to catch them unawares with it - or you can be all shy about it like me and send it via text. See how the people in your life respond. I know your mum in the village would probably be wondering if you're ill, but once you've reassured her that everything's fine, she'll appreciate it. If by chance they don't respond, meh, it doesn't matter. Message sent and received. All you really want from them is just so they can continue living everyday knowing that you did love them, and for one day you let them know it.

This is as close as I ever came to saying, I Love You!

Hold Me, Tell Me Everything Will Be Alright

Notes to a Negro - A Love Story

The saga of Negro and Anita continues...

It's time I hit the nail on that coffin and call it the end. It would be, if only we didn't live in the same estate and attend the same church and jog on the same connector bridge twice a week. Every time I see his black ass while I'm getting my Jesus on or getting my adrenalin going, I just gasp: There's that Bastard who ruined my Christmas. It instantly sets me off track. I hate to be enemies with someone, especially someone whom you once enjoyed (several) intense sexual experiences with but it is what is as Bastards go. Someone who practically used to be inside me almost every week. Pfftt...Now, we don't even speak when we jog past each other. Isn't it funny that the closer you are to someone the more extreme the fight would be?

I talked about this discomfort with a couple of my girlfriends and they felt, as a Christian, that I should be the bigger person and try to mend fences so we can at least be cordial. After much personal rummaging, I took their advice and thought about my man Jesus the way he loved his enemies even though they nailed him on the cross, so I extended an olive branch to say, hey. He immediately thought, this is classic Anita, she gets mad, says things, and then regrets it and wants to get back together. Nope Negro, I'm just trying to be civil so I don't feel like I strangled your puppy or something when we pass each other on the bridge. Then you'll go, "Oh yea, there she go, that broad who snuffled the life out of my puppy." Nah, it aint that deep. You crossed me. I showed you what happens when someone crosses me and now you know not to cross me again, or any sista for that matter. We demand respect. I demand respect. 

So far, based on the mending fences exchange with Negro, he appears to still be a bit miffed, a little twisted over the events, especially the part about my sharing our indiscretions with The M and the rest of the world. I'm amused by it now. I'm amused that I let my rage get the better of me. I'm amused he thought it would be any different when he decided to cross a writer.

I'm just a little disappointed in myself that I let myself go through all that drama just for good sex, and the chance to have someone hold me in bed. When you're going through a tough time like I am, having someone hold you in bed makes all the difference to comforting you. It gives you that feeling that everything's going to be fine at least for a little while, and that you have a friend who's shoulder you can rely. I used to hike almost 15 miles to his place just to have him hold me in bed, have our limbs intertwine, our naked asses kiss in bed as we slept. Sometimes I think, such a simple motive yet so flawed in execution. It's worse that the object of the plan doesn't want to cooperate - what stops him for being the shoulder for me to cry on, what stops him from being the man to my (temporarily) broken woman, what stops him from being a friend and a lover?

That's really why I continued with this whole charade this long,  just for that loving, comforting feeling. That's why I let myself be treated like something less than what I am for someone who clearly did not value who I am, who did not see me, for something so toxic. Was it all worth it? To go through such a toxic demeaning relationship hoping someday that person will turn around and see you for who you are, or appreciate your self worth. Was it worth the toxic remarks, knowing I was a booty call and ignoring the warning signs just because...I wanted that booty call to hold me and make me feel like everything was going to be alright?

The anger he feels now is just a fraction, a minuscule portion of the pain he caused me, that he inflicted with such precision and astute accuracy, methodically plotting out how he would use me and keep me around as long as he wanted while he cherished The M et al. My self-esteem, pride and self worth were all crushed in the course of his flings, and most importantly, my Christmas was ruined! It just hurts because every one feels like I should extend the olive branch like I killed his pet or something, everyone forgets that this pain, verbal abuse was inflicted repeatedly with no remorse. I respect everyone's opinion because I agree I shouldn't have let my anger get the better of me, I shouldn't have said those things about The M, disrespect her as I did, but in light of the events that transpired viewing it from an objective standpoint, what's really a Sista to do except get mad, get even, and I did that the best way I know how - I wrote and published our tales TO EVERYONE. HA!

---

An extract from the book, Notes to a Negro, available on Amazon, Kobo and Selar. 

A Girl Walks Into a Bar

Nigeria, a Girl walks into a bar alone, what do they men at the bar think?

I tried to poll this on Facebook but did not get as many responses as I thought I would, so instead I experimented with it using myself as a guinea pig.

On Saturday, in my new living quarters in Lagos, Nigeria, I woke up without electricity. In the heat that just gives you an instant headache. So I went out for a couple of appointments and delayed having to go home back to the heat of my flat. Then, I recalled my life in Atlanta. What would I normally do in Atlanta on a Saturday? I would take myself out to lunch/dinner after the gym. So why should Nigeria be any different? After my last appointment on Saturday, I grabbed a taxi and headed to a "bar". Yes, pause for reaction.

Let me clarify...this was not a bar per se, it was an old hotel in my estate that cooks delightful made to order meals. It mainly serves the hotel patrons but they do have a few stragglers like me who pop in to eat the delicately made to order food. I got introduced to it by a friend of mine and since then it's been my hideaway. Why a hideaway? Well, Nigeria is not like the western world, it is no Atlanta. They may try to dress and look like the western world but their myopic sense of thinking and viewing women is still very archaic, very petty, very prejudicial. The men here view women as belonging in the kitchen (still) or in their workplace and going straight home to cook for the kids, so what is a woman doing at a bar unaccompanied if she's not doing any of these things. She must be a lady of the night then.

When I first returned to Nigeria, I tried to do the "let's go grab a quick drink at a bar" thing that I was used to in Atlanta (and beyond) but a guy friend quickly told me to get off that bar stool and keep it moving if I didn't want to be viewed as a "floozy." I did, almost immediately. And it's been killing me since then that I can't let off steam in this way in Lagos, metropolitan city of all places. It's just astounding that men still think this way. 

Nevertheless, on Saturday I decided to try again. I was just desperate and needed to not be in my no electricity home. As I walked in there were a whole bunch of men sitting around eating "nkwobi," peppered chicken and drinking beer and ogling me from head to toe. I ignored them. Why? Because as Atlanta folks say: "Ain't nobody got time for that." They had just returned from a football game across the street and were feeding their adrenalin egos, while their women were probably at home slaving away cooking. I went straight ahead and ordered the made to order food that I had been dying for, giving them specifications as to how I wanted it. I curled up on the couch and started to indulge in some soccer (Barclays Premier League, fun!). I even directed them to turn on all the ACs so I could cool off (I did say there was no NEPA in my house, abi?). The day was looking up for me.

The men were flabbergasted as they came in one after the other to use the restroom. They saw me cuddled up on the sofa yelling at the screen while I watched the captivating game. One who had the nerve to speak interrupted me while I ate, "Hey." I turned around startled causing him to apologize. "So what are you doing here?" Is that a trick question? You see me eating, abi? Is there any other thing to do here? Then, he tried his worst pick up line on me. I can't even remember it as my brain does not store nonsense. I told him for the sake of ending this uncomfortable conversation, I would give him my card. He looked at it stunned. This was the 2nd guy I gave my card to that afternoon. The first one had already called inquiring if I was really a lawyer. Hmmm...why would I say I am if I'm not. He's asking because, what would a lawyer be doing eating at a "bar", our Saturday boys hangout bar, alone?

In summary, my deductions led me to believe those men actually thought I was a "floozy". I gathered as much from my conversation with one of them later that afternoon. Why am I a floozy though? Because I chose to eat alone in an establishment where men overindulge in guy talk and consume copious amounts of beer, and once a woman steps into the place, alone, (how dare she?) she's at once labeled a call girl or an easy lay.

I am an intellectual, a forward thinking liberated woman that can (at the moment) pay her own bills and take herself out to lunch. I also encourage other professional women like me to do the same. Let's not let these men monopolize these establishments. If I have a bad day at the office, I should be able to go sit at a bar some place and cool off before heading home. Men do it, so why can't I? Because I'm a woman I have to immediately drive straight home and deal with my family with all that pent up angst from the office. I should and deserve to have my moment of peace, and if it's a bar, please let me have it. And keep your judgments or preconceived notions as to who or what I may be to yourself. As long as the establishment does not say "No Women Allowed," I have a right to kick off my high heels, imbibe, exhale and indulge just as much as you men do. 

So Nigerian men, if a Girl walks into a bar alone, what should you think about her from now on? Nothing. Just drink your beer, scratch your balls and keep it moving. Sista wants to chill.

A Chaka Experience

Imagine this!

You're in love. You think you're in love. You're most definitely in lust. And your partner, lover indulges your cravings. Some of the time. And then the other part of the time. He leaves you guessing. Your head starts spinning. Your heart. Your imagination. The same. You fill in the blanks. How? With words. Words to your lover. Words to speak the thoughts you imagine he is thinking. You may be right. You may be wrong. You may amuse. You most certainly will arouse. The words. Nevertheless. Are beautiful words. Poetic words. They are your words. They are your notes. The Notes to a Negro. 

To celebrate the release of my new book, Notes to a Negro, I've put together a Video Montage of my favorite pieces from #NotestoaNegro...just so you can get a feel of the kind of writing featured in the book. 

Book is available on Amazon on Kindle and Paperback. 

This is a labor of love for me so support black artists, female authors. Support Anita Writes. 

#blackauthors #femaleauthors #africanauthors #blacklove 🥰🌻😘

Islands in the Sun

I've been away. 

After the Negro nightmare that ruined my Christmas how could I not. I managed it through Christmas with the aid of YouTube and the very nice people who had the time and the decency to upload some action movies for my viewing pleasure. I don't know if they thought of this lonely gal out here in Nigeria without a TV but I thank them because they saved my psyche over the Christmas holidays.

On the 28th I asked a friend of mine if I could pop over to his beachside resort for a little R &R for New Years. I had spent all day looking through all the celeb Instagram pics, inundated with how happy their lives are especially as they get to ring in the New Year at the Beach (in Thailand, Miami, St. Barts, etc, you name it). It just made me think, "The Beach would be nice. Yes…let's go to the beach." 

So I did.

I tried not to think of so many things while I was out there. I just wanted to give myself a chance to relax, breathe and do yoga while watching the waves. This broken hearted gal needed to exhale, damnit! When I got there on Tuesday there was an end of year party for the hotel staff so this was their chance to chop and party the night away. Seeing some old faces with lots of food and free booze offered me the opportunity that I had been waiting on all Christmas to let my hair down. We stayed up until 3 am talking for 3 nights straight - 30th, 31st, and of course, 1st. I didn't want to come home but I had to. I didn't want to overstay my welcome. Everything was complimentary, the food, the copious amounts of booze, the accommodation. It was all on the house as I was termed, a "friend of the family." I just felt like some royalty but I still didn't want to milk that shit.

Highlights of my 3 day stay in beachside heaven: The party on the 30th of course, seeing all my old friends from my 20's, chatting with some musicians about their travel around Africa, the little nuances they encountered (I heard Kenya is the place to be), walking on the beach every morning, yoga on the morning of New Years Eve on the penthouse lounge overlooking the ocean, sun salutations up there never felt better, watching the fireworks display from the penthouse, seeing how simple the villagers ring in the New Year - giddy, simple and hopeful - inadvertently splitting a bottle of Vodka with my new friends on New Years Day that had us talking (and sharing gossip) until 2AM, and then, sharing a 2 bottles of red wine on the 2nd as I tore myself from their presence. 

I needed that time alone with myself and I got it. I needed time to retreat into myself so I could talk myself out of making bad decisions. I needed time to calm the fuck down. I needed time to see the humor in letting my emotions get the better of me. I needed time to hear myself breathe while the ocean attempted to answer my questions. I had a little moment of weakness on the 30th when it seemed as if the negativity from the mainland had followed me to my Beach getaway. But then my friends were there, there was love, chatter, laughter and fun, all that's needed to destroy negativity and stop it dead in its tracks. 

As I came home, seemingly refreshed and on my island/vacation high, I realized soon enough that you cannot run away from your problems. You can take a break (quick gasp) from them but they still exist somewhere, tugging at you. Sometimes I think, "Will there ever come a time Negro will no longer have that effect on me?" I don't know. I think, "Will there be a time I will be strong enough to be silent and maintain the silence, not ask any questions of him (of which there are never any answers) not pry or poke?" or "Will there ever come a time I shall stop asking myself, why? Why him? Why now? Why did it happen?" Will I ever figure that out?

I couldn't leave all my problems on the Island or in 2014, but I came darn well close. The good news is, I now have my own personal beach photos to share on Instagram!

Sunset on the 30th from the Gazebo

Me thinking: Am I really here?

View from Penthouse suite

New Years Day Sunset - 2015

Next time, we'll do things different. We'll live more, We'll laugh more, we'll see the world. Just don't be so afraid ~~~~~

I plan to do just that....

Happy New Year

Love Out Loud in 2015

I’ve been away. 

After an emotionally charged solo Christmas how could I not be. You learn so much about yourself when you’re allowed to sit with your emotionally charged thoughts alone at Christmas. You learn to accept the fact that your single and not only single but single and alone. No friends inviting you to come visit and share Christmas bread with them, no family within a 100 mile radius, no loved one sitting and exchanging presents with you. It’s just you in the emotional hyperactive state you’ve been put in (due to recent events) and it’s not always a good thing. You learn to go from tears to laughter, from hibernation to sudden exuberance, from starvation to over-consumption, from alcohol abstention to alcohol binges (or alcohol dosing as I chose to call it). I was just teetering on extremes. The first day I don’t even remember showering, I had to be talked into it via a whatsapp conversation with my only good friend who happened to be conveniently several miles away urging me to stay strong. 

Knowing that I can show weakness singletons, that I am not the superwoman I claimed to be, how can I preach to you all about how awesome the single life is? Well, I am strong. However, every once in awhile I lay down my guard and let someone in - big mistake. As the same friend eloquently stated (via whatsapp no less) don’t let yourself fall in love, not at 40. You can at 20 (or 30) but not at 40, because it hurts more. It hurts more when the bloke even though he’s your age is still an asshole, one would think the asshole reins would have been retired at a certain age, don’t you? Nevertheless, this will not happen to me again. I will learn to play the game just as well as the men do. I will learn to give in and accept less and to protect and shield more of myself. If I had thought of myself more I wouldn’t have been left in the deplorable state I was in. My idea was to subject myself and this 100% exterior I have so carefully built for a man. I chipped away at it ever so slightly just enough to let someone else build on it. Like they say, men don’t love super human women, they prefer you to show a little sign of weakness, give them something to do. So I did. Never again. It left me scrambling and bopping around for hope, for food, for sanity, for liquor, for divine intervention over Christmas....and that my friends is not a good place to be when the entire world is celebrating the birth of our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ. Folks are opening presents and hugging and kissing and caroling and excited to see their family and loved ones, I was sitting in a dark room afraid to face the day just because I laid down my guard.

But this is not a pity party post. It’s a self help post. It’s an acknowledgment of victory. Yes, I fell, yes I hurt too, I’m not super human, yes, I had a resounding weak moment. But I learned from it. With the dawn of the New Year, or maybe sometime before that (trust me, my pity party didn’t last that long once I realized Jesus was the reason for the season) I picked myself up, cooked myself a fabulous Christmas dinner, aided by lots of Mimosas, and I decided to start again. With an awakening this time to rebuild, with love and self-assurance, whatever that was broken from my 100% exterior and to retain it as mine, after the rebuilding effort is completed. No disguised love will tear this gals exterior again. And if they attempt to, I will replay my decrepit state every time I find myself giving in. In other words, I would say “Do you want to go back to that Anita? Christmas 2014, remember?” And once the image of my pitiable self comes to mind I would immediately take up my self-esteem self-protection shield and continue with the boldness that has been awarded to me.

That is my message of hope. Build that protective shield Singletons for there are many that will try to pry it from your hands offering nothing, not even love, just a waste of space, a handful of thrusts and a few laughs, but we are built for something more, we deserve something more. In the course of finding that, let us give ourselves the more that we deserve - US - until someone more deserving of us comes along.

I apologize for the silence over the holidays. Now you know why.

Happy New Year all, here’s to living and loving out loud in 2015!