The Hague, et al

There are very few moments in my life that have left me speechless. Stunned. And thankful. So thankful that I've stopped to take it all in and my only response to how overwhelmingly grateful I am at the turn of events, how God has blessed me, my response to this astounding event, the awesomeness of it all is channeled via tears. Then, of course, laughter. Uncontrollable, pleasurable, ecstatic laughter. The kind that makes your face light from inside out. The kind that keeps you laughing even when dark days come. You just sit back and reminisce and thank God for that moment that made you smile.  

So I cried when my career long dream to take a course at The Hague, the center of all International law matters - treaties, directives, conventions, peace, justice, etc., was finally realized. The Hague. Just being on the same grounds as the International Court of Justice just left me speechless...what can I say? It feels awesome. 

God...He really does make dreams come true. 

Hair, There, Everywhere

Yesterday at our first social gathering commissioned by the mayor of The Hague, one of my Asian course mates asked about my waist length blonde braided hair. She said, "Oh, love your hair! Where did you get it from?"

Beat.

My Nigerian sisters, I'm just gonna let that sink in for a moment. Ok, has it sunk in. I'll continue.

At the time, I thought, should I tell this nice girl the synthetic hair actually has its roots from a place she knows too well, specifically Asia? Hmm...being all nice and we-are-the-world friendly I answered politely, "I got it from the store!"
She went on, "Like from the hairdresser?"
I exclaimed, "Exactly!" I give thanks to my hairdresser.
She went on, (yes, rather inquisitive, I know) "So, how do you wash it?" Probably thinking I belabor myself by having to wash these braids every morning just as she washes her own natural locks.

I obliged her by giving her the full rundown, washing process, braiding process, etc. I looked up when I was done, "You like?" 
Her face flushed from that enormous amount of detail. She responded, "Yes, I like very much."

The funny part of this story to me (which may not be for you) is, how deftly honest and innocent she was in her questioning, possibly pretending not to the know the true origins of my synthetic hair considering her country has made an enormous amount of money from sale of synthetic hair alone. Regardless of her prior knowledge, she still inquired as innocently as a girl, prying for more information, oblivious to the nuisance of her query. That innocence made an out of place conversation seem almost bearable.

More bearable than the other Asian girl who remarked that my braids made me bear a close resemblance to Rachel Dolezal.

That was so hmmm...

To that I responded, "The difference is...I'm not playing black. I am black. Like for real black, the authentic kind from Africa."

My Last Duchess

Coming back to the Western world I feel like a homecoming, a deeper connection to that which I know. The past year or so I've felt like a foreigner in my own country. I don't remember them, the people, the places, the streets, the language, and those I recall no longer exist. I started to think, while looking at the pictures of my life in Atlanta, that it was not me. That it probably happened to someone else, some other me, in another lifetime, a happier time, someone I don't know. 

But being back, it all started to come back. I started recognizing things, patterns, places, coffee shops, foods, how to do things, eat things, buy things, how to line up, say excuse me, cross the street at the designated crosswalk, swipe a credit card and expect it to work. How to call someone and leave them a message. How to go out without makeup and still feel like your life is not attached to painting your face. How to live life without feeling the stress or pressure that you need to one up your neighbor or this person or that person. 

Oh, my neighbor has a new car so I better buy a bigger one, or this girl has a designer bag, I need to buy a better, more expensive version. You turn around and the man you love actually PREFERS women that think like that. Before you know it, you start subscribing to that kind of lifestyle, dumbing yourself down just to fit in. I NEED to have bigger ambitions. I just felt immediately connected with this easy breezy simple lifestyle as if I never left. Felt more connected and remembered things more than I did with my own country. Here, I feel like a professional. A determined, ambitious young professional. My country (Lagos) didn't give me that. Here when I say I'm good, I'm REALLY good. Here there are women I aspire to be. My country (Lagos) didn't give me that. 

One is the Magic Number

When people travel alone or dine alone, do you see them, or are they immediately rendered invisible because they're alone?

I suppose I should offer some explanation. I have always thought this, some times more than others, but sometimes it comes right back.

On a certain Saturday afternoon so many moons ago, mid afternoon sometime around 4 pm, I was craving food of any kind, something spicy with onions (don't ask) and I also had to go grocery shopping, so I drive to my local large chain supermarket and there are a couple of restaurants beside it. A Mexican restaurant, some local eateries and a hot wings cafe. So I pick the hot wings place, good choice, you would think. I get there and it's rowdy, smoke all over the place (even though there is a no smoking ban in all eating places) and there's a big screen with a game showing, Georgia vs. Tennessee (I figured that from the uniforms).

I sit on a stool beside the bar, (the bar is packed full to the teeth, this was the best and only chair I could find for one person) and no one says a word to me. The waiters pass by and help people around me, but they don't in the least bit stop for a second to look at me. I mean it is obvious I have not been helped. The people around do not call their attention to me and I am too aggravated by the noise, the smoke and the general dysfunction of the place to care enough to ask them for assistance. I just grab my magazine and casually walk out of there. Just my luck that the Mexican restaurant was empty because the food was horrible. But that other place, just made me think, this is not working. I don't know if it's because I travel alone, or I look all quiet and shy, or I am just simply me. It just seems impossible to get people to stop and pay attention, especially when you're alone. It's like the fact that you're alone just renders you transparent, like a blank space, and no one sees, no one pays attention, and to a certain point you start to feel as if no one cares. 

Are we in a society that only recognizes people in pairs or groups? I would hate to think so. Like Jill Scott rightly said: There's just me. One is the Magic Number.

We didn't show up in this world in pairs - not unless you're a twin, triplet, etc. But even that, you had to be pulled out one baby at a time. So why can't I enjoy my self, my own company and still be noticed, recognised, adored and respected? Why can't I, me, be the "magic number"?

Next time you see someone by sitting alone, stop look, pay attention...and if possible, strike up a conversation with that person.  That person is celebrating him/her self. Are you? Do you know how much gumption it takes to take on life solo, attend parties, travel, go to the movies, even dine publicly alone? So why would you bypass them as if they don't matter?

In the end, don't we all just want to be noticed?

Did you see me? Or where you lost wondering why I had succumbed to being a lost soul?
I was the one in the dress. The bright red one with the slits that reflected the sin so pale, so worn from the scales that you cannot imagine. And I walked with a certainty that is only known to the proud. But the wind blew me away, to a place far away. And I fell. And I hurt. And I cried. And I wondered:

Why, why can’t you see me? I had worn this dress for you. For you I said. This is the day that you see me. That I can tell you. This is me.

Did you see me? Or where you lost in the gaze that my determined face had put you? I wish you could see me. Because here I am.

And I see you.

Hindsight is 100/100

When God finally reveals to you why certain relationships or engagements didn't work out, it;s always so astonishing to me. I almost feel like going up to God to give Him a huge hug as whisper thank you in His ears. 

At the time you were so immersed in the relationship or engagement, wanting it so much - it seemed like the best thing ever. You planned and hoped it would work out, prayed, fasted, begged God in every way imaginable to make this see the light of day and it just couldn't happen. At that point it seemed like God was letting you down almost. And as the relationship crumbled, you slowly saw pieces of it just frazzle right in front of you, you didn't relent, you still kept on begging and pleading and trying to see the sense in the sand as to why "Oh gosh, why is this not making one lick of sense?" You've done everything. Things just don't seem to be falling in place. For me...at times, the prayer even makes stuff worse. "You wonder God what did I ever do to You to cause You to ignore me like this?" God is probably just sitting there smiling, thinking, "Honey chile...quit worrying...I got this."

Needless to say, Trouble is not doing too well. After listening to him talk for 3 hours straight about how "unwell" he's doing, I thought..."Wow so that's what that whole thing was all about? Thank you God."

At that time, he had clearly "won" as I like to put it. He was the definite leader, the cat who had found the milk and was enjoying licking himself in front of the other hungry cats. And there was me, the sad Nigerian girl...who had taken a chance on love once again just to have it disintegrate. I remember how that broke me into a thousand pieces that I struggled to find myself, who I am and what my belief meant to me and why had it disappointed me when I needed it the most. Even though I am not exactly winning on life right now...but I have one less problem to deal with, and one less out of a thousand makes all the difference. 

God, if you're listening...I now believe one day this will all make sense. Now, I'm just gonna stop. Wait. And let You do the rest. 

And thank you for saving me from that one. ;-)

Goodbye is the Loneliest Word

Little boys certainly grow up to be men. 

Little Nathan today, my lunchtime companion, that disrupted my quiet long lunch at his Dad's cantina. I let him play with my iPad. We took pictures, played games and talked. After about thirty minutes, it was time for me to leave, as I was walking away little Nathan walked to his dad, leaving me at the door. His dad said, "Nathan don't you want to say goodbye to the nice lady you've been sitting with?" Nathan didn't budge. He just had his back turned to me. His dad kept urging him to turn and look or at least wave goodbye, but Nathan, at 3 years old, could not do that. His dad said to me, "I can't understand it." I laughed and said, "I know why. He doesn't want to watch me leave."

Men always have a way of avoiding goodbyes. Sometimes they bring it on and it becomes inevitable in dealing with them. But when the time comes to say goodbye, close the lid on the relationship, they often have a hard time saying it. They know it's occurring but they cannot go through the formalities. It becomes that macabre dance that is suddenly the hardest thing for them to do. A goodbye in and of itself is sad because it represents a parting whether temporary or otherwise regardless it still has to be said. 

I hope I get to see Little Nathan again. 

#KidsAreTheLight  #NewBeginnings

To Tumblr We Go

For the past year or more I've accumulated quite a few somewhat R-rated type pieces -- poems, short stories, free verses -- like the Thickness poem I posted last month. Because they don't fit into the​ theme of this blog or any of my other blogs and I can't post them on Facebook cos' let's face it those folks are just some insane type of puritans, I've just had them stored on my computer waiting to be shared. But the material is so good, at least to me, and it deserves to be shared, as a release, a new beginning, just as an awakening. Love needs a release, an escape after all. It inspires us to feel, touch and create and when we do, we have to share it, release it and let it breathe so it can spread its love tentacles to the world.

So for the past 2 weeks, I decided to create a new blog - yes another one - to house these pieces. Also, I decided to share them somewhat anonymously without using my pictures like I do on this blog. I chose this artist, photographer based in Atlanta that does very provocative but yet artistic nude shots.

I went on to contact him seeking permission (for copyright reasons) to use his images in some of my pieces on the new blog. He asked me to pay a fee per image and to sign a license agreement, which he didn't have. So I quickly chimed in that I am a lawyer and can prepare an Artist License Agreement for him in exchange for use of his images on the new blog. Fair tradeoff. Possibly win me some new clients with his other artist friends.

I provided him with the agreement sometime last week but he never responded but I still went on to pull his images and finalize the template for the blog - which people don't realize takes a lot of work. I must have gone through about 4 or 5 templates on a trial run until I found the one that worked for me, tweaked the colors, settings, layout, all that HTML stuff. It's super intense. There were many a late nights and viewing on different platforms to ensure that it looked right. Considering this is just a pet project, you'd start wondering why am I taking it that seriously? I guess I'm a perfectionist with my blogs and I've been doing this online thing for awhile so I didn't want my blog to have a newbie unprofessional look. I see 18 year olds with superb looking blogs. Superb, layout, everything.

Anyway, so late last night, the artist finally responded acknowledging receipt of the license agreement. He went on to take a quick look at the blog to get an assessment of how I would be using his images. His response almost immediately was:

Your site is curated beautifully.

That just made my night. When an artist tells you that your little pet project blog is beautiful, you feel a little sense of accomplishment with your non-artistic self. I'm sure he'd be wondering, this girl is a lawyer and an artist...oh well...we thank God.

Just thought I'd share this slight bit of good news as to what I've been working on. I will not share the site address on this blog. I've shared with a couple of my artist friends and they've shown me some love on it. But if you happen to bump into it courtesy of Google...that's your luck but I will deny all involvement.

I guess the morale of the story is...whatever you do, do it well. And for me, you never know where your clients will come from. I scored a client from an online query.

And I finally have somewhere to store my inspired pieces. All is well.

Audacity of the African Female

Whatever my husband says (even common pangolo boyfriend that doesn't know his left from right) I must agree. The moment we got together, I lost my sense of reasoning and purpose in life. His word, even if foolish, is law and I must die to please him and obey.

From a Facebook Post By Onuora Ikechukwu Onianwa

Reading that Facebook post above (which was utterly brilliant by the way. A total must read) reminded me of certain arguments, discussions, and talks if I can call them that, that I've had with the men in my life - my brother, men I've dated, colleagues, etc. It always puzzles them that I am this woman who, as my recent male friend termed it, is considerably "independent minded." That's a nice way of saying I am not pliable and gullible. Or I am not a pushover and I don't necessarily often agree with everything, every position that is presented to me. During the talks which occur during the few times my rejection of their position is not met with so much hostility, we sit down to analyze why I am so. Why, oh why, can't this woman agree with her man's point of view? Well let's see.

As a woman, you spend a great deal of time and money educating yourself. You form opinions, have experiences, make mistakes and grasp lessons from them, enough to define you, mold your character so to speak. And you not only educate yourself in school but at your job, on the job, learn your job, excel at your job (so as to compete against the males), finesse your interactions with co-workers, bosses, clients, customers, colleagues, friends, etc. You read books, poetry, articles, watch the news, self-help books, go to plays, concerts, sports events, meditate, pray (which in Nigeria we do a lot), practice yoga, exercise, self attainment, self awareness, oneness, balance, try to connect yourself to the society, culturally and spiritually in order to help you better understand who you are and what you want from life. Then, of course you move on from there towards learning and assimilating cultures and experiences from places you travel to, learning and assimilating cultures and experiences from people you meet when you travel that may be from other countries - countries that you may have never even been to.  In experiencing a sliver of life with these people you meet, you exchange stories and you are let into a part of their life, their upbringing, their culture that in turn helps you form opinions in yours and makes you gravitate towards an assertive, definitive, smart well rounded young lady.

All of these experiences, education, real world experiences, casual informative encounters, what have you, all unequivocally make you the you that you are now that you worked so hard to become. To expect someone to show up in her life - this well rounded educated woman's life that she has carefully formulated - and tell her that she should not go with plan A (her plan) but follow plan B (his plan - which may or may not be flawed); or to always agree with whatever his thought process is at that point in time just because that is what he thinks is best for her, and he expects her to automatically wipe the slate clean in all her leanings, to agree with him wholeheartedly, follow blindingly his plan or school of thought just because he happens to be the "man in her life" or  her "hubby", it's oh so very difficult for me to grasp or thoroughly appreciate the rationale/concept behind that. Why is she not supposed to have an opinion? Why is her opinion not even considered? Trying to come to terms with erasing this well grounded female opinion is to me by far one of the most difficult sacrifices I can make in being a woman that is now with a man.

I constantly battle with this by saying: I have a brain that I've spent a great deal of time, money, and energy educating. I would like to refer to that brain on occasion...is that okay?

Mis-appropriation of Black Culture

Earlier last week there was this whole brouhaha over Kendall Jenner braiding her hair in cornrows and how that signified "cultural appropriation". Amandla Sternberg asked, quite eloquently I might add, why she would appropriate a culture that white people constantly discriminate against. Thus started the whole #GrowingUpBlack vs #GrowingUpWhite Twitter war.

While I agree with Amandla wholeheartedly, and think discrimination is just silly and outdated. For me, I see us black people, especially Africans, appropriate the Western World culture a lot. What about weaves? I, for one, I am the Weave queen to the extent I hardly deal with my natural (nappy) hair. I can't help thinking, all those Brazilian and Peruvian women that we buy their hair, are we doing that because we are ashamed of our hair, or because we (like me) do not like to deal with our natural hair? What about our dressing here, how much of it is authentic native dressing, and how much of it shows a Western World influence?

I personally don't mind cultures appropriating one another as long as there's no hate. If you're born black and you identify more with White people culture, go right ahead. I have encountered some brothas that know absolutely nothing about being black. And vice versa, there are some white people that respond better to black culture, our music, our dressing, our lifestyle, even our women.

The thing that bothers me the most with African Americans is they want to assert their blackness so much but have no understanding, no appreciation and sometimes no knowledge of where their "blackness" came from. My first couple of years in America, I remember fielding so many ignorant questions from African Americans mostly who were supposedly the knowledgeable ones. I remember the first year, a black man asked me, "Where is South Africa?" Isn't it obvious where it is? I remember my black boss telling me that if they traced her ancestry, she doubts she really comes from Africa. Where else will a black person's ancestry come from? Australia. She clearly was not aboriginal. But the whites to me were mostly the ones that took their curiosity so far, far enough to even spend some part of their summer holidays in parts of Africa. How many times do we walk around in Lagos and you bump into an African American that asked for his company to transfer him to Lagos? But how many white people are here? Tons. Some of them even request for their assignments to be extended so they can continue to enjoy the lax atmosphere of living in Nigeria. But the blacks, even with all the blatant racism going on in America have never even thought of coming over here to live among their people where they would be celebrated and not denigrated.

Appropriation to me, is not a big deal it just means you are open to another culture...and hopefully in being open to it, you will eliminate all the hate in your heart, erase and preach against discrimination of that culture since you now have a better understanding and appreciation of it and get others to stand on your side of the line, knowing that we are the world...we all bleed the same.

#OneLove

White Boy Day

There's this scene in a movie penned by one of my all time favorite screenwriters, Mr. Quentin Tarantino that I love and I quote all the time. Of course you know Quentin, 2 time Oscar winner for Best Screenplay, genius, a man I see as a black man in a white man's body. I just love his brilliant mind. 

In this scene in the movie True Romance (which to me is a classic) Gary Oldman (in a very unassuming role) plays a white man who has appropriated a Jamaican Rastafari personality, growing dreads, talking/dressing like them, associating with black people. So when they come to rob him and fail, he beats Christian Slater's character (a white boy) to the ground and says:

"You must have thought it was white boy day. It ain't white boy day, is it?" He looks over at his big burly black bodyguards and they laugh in agreement. Meaning, this is not the day for white boys to be winning.

Sometimes when people try to mess with me or pull one over me or tell me an obvious lie. It could be anyone, my mechanic, my manager, taxi drivers, guy I'm dating, you name it, I switch up that line and think to myself:

"Hmm...you must have thought it was Negro day, or Swindle a Sister day...or Mess with Anita day." That is, your day to pull one over Anita. "Nah, today's not gonna be that day."

And then I unleash Mrs. Hyde.   

Just in case they misconstrue your niceness for timidity.

It always sort of confuses them because...they really and truly thought, it was their day. Hmm...

The Fine Art of Silence

The art of reading a message and not responding, either via email or text, that fine art of saliently ignoring a message that some folks have mastered with perfection, that delicately balanced fine art of ignoring people, you see an email or get a text, read it but just sit there and don't say a word, ignore it. The sender waits and waits for a response but you don't find it in you to respond to them. And you don't even feel the guilt, or feel like "hey, I'm missing something." What is that type of indifference called? What school of thought is responsible for this fine craft? I'm not too sure I want to learn it but I can see a lot of people, especially in Nigeria have developed mastery of this fine art of silence.

I think it's just rude and very poor manners. It's a different thing if you can't get to the response then or don't have an immediate response, you respond when you do...or you say, "Hey, I'll get back to you when I've sorted the details, or when I have a response." You just don't stay silent throughout. That just doesn't speak well of your manners. I know human error accounts for a lot of stuff but to some, it's just part of their nature. They just have this fine art down pat. They jump at exhibiting it the first chance they get. 

And that to me, is one of the things I just can't wrap my head around. With Nigerians and their lack of etiquette, and with a lot of other things. You start to wonder, where did they learn this stuff from and how fast can they unlearn it? Do they even want to unlearn it? I hope so. I most definitely hope so.

The Art of Negotiation

Had an interesting lighthearted conversation with a bunch of wealthy, upwardly mobile virile young men over the weekend. They talked about women (of course) and how women now expressly bring up a price, a sticker price, for an opportunity to spend an evening with them. They said most women they've encountered lately interject with this price even before they broach the subject of sex or otherwise. My lawyer self called it: the Negotiation.

They all had different stories of meeting various women, chatting them up and asking them to spend some time with them either for the evening or later on that week. But the women would say before they go any further into the evening or agree to meet with them, they would present their price. Some of them asked for the "going rate" while some presented their price as exorbitant as it needed to be. One even stripped to her bra and panties in order to ...ahem...drive up the bidding, let him see what he was bidding on. After she stated her price, he felt her "goods" were not worth the sticker shock she just gave him. I asked him why he didn't counter offer, bid lower, it was a negotiation after all. To that, he simply replied, "I never negotiate with women." It reminded me of the phrase often heard: The US Government does not negotiate with terrorists. So in turn, this guy does not negotiate with hustling women. Ha!!

It sounds funny now but at the time I heard this, it just seemed like women were being pushed to  providing their company for a price to make ends meet in this dwindling economy. Why bring up a price when it's not even in question? Get up and walk away. Guy is a douche so walk away. He doesn't deserve your time so walk away. Unless you want to get paid then maybe you should lead with that so he knows he's dealing with a "working girl" a la Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman. Tell him these are your rates for the evening. Simple. He can either Richard Gere it or he can get to stepping. 

One particular story stuck to my mind.

The guy said he went for a house party. A bunch of guys at the party. Drinking. Chilling. Having fun. Then, another new guy arrives with a bunch of "homely" looking girls. His words not mine. I guess homely is supposed to connote: they were not dressed like hookers and they looked like decent, reasonably timid girls. He cornered one of the girls and spent some time chatting with her. When the gig died down they all decided to move to a new location. He asked the girl to come with and she asked: If I come with, what's in it for me...as in how much will you give me?

He, put aback because this was coming from the seemingly decent "homely" girl, asked: Is there supposed to be an asking price?

She eventually stated what it was. And to me it was, oh so low and stupid. He concurred. He said, he might have given her more if only she had not expressly stated her price. So he chose not to negotiate with her just for the fact that she brought it up without him offering.

Notwithstanding, why is this even happening? Why are we letting men discuss us like this? If you don't want to go with him to the other location, you get your keys and leave. If you do, then you do. If you decide to sleep with him...well that's a whole different ball game and I must say the next very carefully so I don't sound preachy, cos, you know, I'm not perfect - I have kissed a few frogs in my day:

If you start putting a price on it, you'll always have to put a price on it. There is no price on it. Simple. You do it because you want to. That way you can look at yourself in the mirror the next day. That way, no one gets it twisted in your history that they got it from you at such and such price. Because you know, inflation happens. And money is so fleeting...you get it today, spend it in a second. I can spend a million Naira or Dollars in an hour. An hour! (Hello! That house in the Hamptons!!) That's why money is not really important to me. But I can never wash off what it felt like to give myself over for a price. So do it because you want to. Cos you were "feeling" him and he was "feeling" you. And if he gives you money as most (Nigerian) men do...then, it's great...you have money for a taxi fare, new weave, pedicure or something. So when the word gets out that you slept with such and such and your friends ask you, "Oh, I heard you slept with Mr. A. Is it true?" You can tell them straight, "Yes, I did. Because I was feeling him. At the time." NOT BECAUSE HE PAID ME. Because trust me, your asking price is going to spread as well and if inflation has affected it, it might start to sound pretty low. You never want that as your legacy. Money should NEVER be the motivation, unless you've decided to be a "working girl."

When this guy asked me what my price was...I laughed and tried to mask how insulted I felt so he doesn't see a Sistah throw things. I simply replied: "There is no price. Cos whatever money it is, I should be making it for myself. And if I am not and I have to sleep with someone like you for it...then we have a problem. Then, we have to go back to the drawing board so to speak."

There is no price tag on it. No bank can cover that amount. NONE. So when you sleep with him he feels like you're doing him a favor. 

I agree circumstances can push us all to the limit. I know. I had a good friend in Atlanta that had to resort to such for living expenses. It pained me so much. But in her case, she was strictly on one side of the fence (a professional working girl) and not sitting on the fence. You're either a full on working girl, or you're a full on professional woman. You can't be both. Be a professional woman and ask a price for it, open up bidding on you like you're a Monet. That just doesn't work for me. Sorry.

If I leave you all with one message...this should be one of them. 

Feeling of Otherness

Look at you, coming home with your American accent, with your loud laugh and your walk. That walk that does not bend. Look at you, questioning your old ways, wrapping your words with love for your land. Look at you, claiming your body belongs to you and never a man. Look at you, an isolated island with barely enough of home to keep you warm. Look at you struggling to not sink under the pressure of not belonging. You create another way. Look at you, coming to find yourself inside your home but being told you don’t belong. Look at you. Look at you.

You never realize how you do not seem to quite fit inside both worlds. You try to allow yourself remember that home must understand something: No matter how different your tongue carries words, you are still hers. However, we realize home isn’t all you might have romanticized her to be. You then slowly realize that you are always enough for yourself and maybe that is all you need. That is enough and that should be enough. The feeling of “otherness” in both places leaves one feeling a bit uncertain, a bit unsure and a bit perplexed. A bit hurt at times.

---via Ijeoma Umebinyuo, the diaspora ways and clinging to home to feel alive.

The first is her poem on how hard it is to fit in cross culturally, after living in one country and returning to your homeland. And then the 2nd part is her responding to one of her readers on her interpretation of it. I read it sometime last week and thought it really spoke to me, and when a whole bunch of her readers wrote in saying the same, I was glad I wasn't the only one who responded to the piece. Even though, as many people have pointed out that I shouldn't rightfully feel the otherness upon my return, there are certain times it just hits me. 

The other day a friend of mine caught me complaining about how I cannot get into Lagos. He said, Anita you said the same thing about our city. I caught myself and realized I may have said that too. But truly I can't get into Lagos. At all. The women are so vapid and materialistic, not very many of them read, expand their minds beyond the ordinary. Not sure how folks hold conversations with them, long, solid conversations with them via Whatsapp and whatnot. I can't say more than 2 words to them. And true some women in Atlanta are like that. But the difference between Atlanta women and Lagos women is...they take care of themselves. Completely. They are financially responsible for themselves so they have to read somewhat. Your hairdresser will know everything there is to know about hair, read every hair manual there is and she would pay her own bills etc. Lagos women, a majority of them are not self sufficient. There's that whole "let me see if someone will pay this bill or that," so it makes them have to dumb themselves down to this men just so they don't argue with the men and present a varying opinion that might make the men feel threatened, like she is a strong woman - one who has a brain. The men will only like them and support them if they are agreeable, pliable and supportive and their number 1 fans. Really not sure why someone will make it his part time job to date people that think that way. 

Anyway, I digress.

So that's why I nurse this feeling of otherness. I lean too much on this side and too much on the other side. Not enough on one side to feel whole,  like I belong, like it is my home. Or maybe I never gave the other home a shot. 

To The 41st Time

Each year as you all know I write a little mini tribute to my dear love Keanu on this blog on his birthday. It can be as poetic or as brief as I feel about him that year.

Today is Negro's birthday. I had promised myself I wouldn't acknowledge his birthday even if we were talking. Cruel and childish I admit, but hear me out. He shit all over mine and that is something that just sticks in my craw. The morning of, he sent me this cold, weak ass Happy Birthday text at the crack of dawn, and that just hurt but I had to shake off that negativity so I could bask in my day. I keep thinking, "Why could you not file away whatever anger you were feeling for that one day?" And then, if you want to send a cold ass Happy Birthday, why not sometime in the day not at crack of dawn and set the tone of my day. Then if it's first thing in the morning at least make it a warm fuzzy greeting, like you know me, like it's from the heart.

Ergo, I promised I wouldn't acknowledge his at all. Then, I came across this dedication I wrote for Keanu on his 43rd and thought it would be so appropriate for him on his 41st. So here it is edited accordingly.

I've been wanting to write. But I don't know what to say. It's not like I don't feel anything, or I have stopped thinking about him. I have not.  

Even in my quiet today I have wondered, what is he doing, is he having fun, dining alone (not likely) with loved ones, having sex (very likely) laughing his head off, or just sitting wondering, smoking taking in the day, and thinking softly, "What do I do, what can I do?" Who knows...So whatever you may be doing, underneath some broad(s), or just sitting alone in a restaurant sipping wine (Hennessy) and wondering why you are 41 and look great, or if you're happy with how your life turned out, or proposing to your new girl just before she gives you that birthday fuck we all know you enjoy. Whatever you are doing I hope this reaches you:

"Hey you, if you love when you love, hope she is something like me, even if it's just a little. It will make me feel better about this unrequited love that has stayed with me longer than I've known, it's made me compare the real ones to you and how they fail to come close. Hope she comes close. And if you stop to wonder today, who am I and if anyone ever really remembers that it's my birthday today, or what is my mission, or all those useless things that our minds cause us to wonder on our birthday, just stop and think, there's someone out of your reach, thinking simply, just thinking, wondering, why for the 43rd 41st year she just can't seem to quit you." 

Anita's Sane

When you get involved with someone, and you internalize and analyze and try to understand their ticks, words, mannerisms, unspoken words, etc., like I often do, sometimes words don't come out right in speech. So I try to say them through other means - poetry, emails, love letters, raunchy texts, etc. Since it's been a year, you can imagine I've accumulated about a whole year's worth of material. Some I still have. Some were displayed on this blog for everyone to feed on. And some were just deleted, and I so wish I could find them. Sent to the Sender and Sender probably doesn't have them either. But the sweet ones, the truly memorable ones deserved to be savored. 

I've taken some time to think a lot over the past what 10 days. And after a lot of hibernation and self examination, I've decided to delete as much as possible all the Negro updates on this blog. There might still exist some Negro references here and there (I understand I cannot delete him entirely, he occupied me for 12 months straight). I also am aware I can't completely hit a button and delete the entire experience (or ordeal, depending on how you look at it). However, the posts that primarily deal with him and our crazy "involvement" will have to be taken down, I'm afraid. 

I just want this space to be a happy space, a positive space, filled with growth, little display of anger and resentment but at least show some growth. That includes sanitizing it, clearing the aura, starting afresh. This is the first step towards that. 

So yes, Anita's Sane.

Dear Relationship, How Do We Get Out of You?

Every now and again, as a single person you dabble in a relationship. I use the term dabble, because after a while of living the single life and totally loving how much the single life rocks, you get so used to your own space. And you also enjoy the freedom of dating everyone. Not fully committing to that one person, but enjoying a little lunch date here and a dinner date there...you know - the nothing serious love bite. But then there comes that love bug that sticks. You get that one that seems like a good idea at first. I say this with cynicism because tried and true the best out of people is often encountered at that stage when we first meet them. They haven't quite shown us their "true colors" and they actually look forward to spending time with us, and vice versa. So this particular date/person sticks. You quickly discard the others and keep him/her.

What happens when the "honeymoon phase" is over? You start to hear him/her scream or whine or nag all too often. You start to have your texts or Whatsapp messages ignored or not read at all. They used to respond to you so swiftly, now they don't. They stop asking to see you, slow to fix a next date. They mumble some excuse, they yell, "Why are you always whining/complaining." They are no longer fun. You earnestly start to miss your single days when you could be flirty and fun with ZERO drama.

How do we get out of this type of icky relationship situation.

1. Admit that you are no longer having fun. Have a frank talk and say, we can either get back to having fun or we can go our separate ways. Make this a fun conversation too, not a "We need to talk" type of scenario. This is about reinstating fun after all. Choose a fun activity you guys used to do in the early relationship days.
2. This next one goes to the men - Yes Men, I said you. Don't just jump in and start seeing someone new. That never looks good on your dating resume. Also, don't use the new person as an excuse to get rid of the old person. Like you're looking for a way out. I address this to the men because I've seen it happen one too often. Initially, I would have said Naija men, but I've seen the brothas from the US do the same. Not A Good Look.
3. Also, don't find fault in everything he/she does just so you can frustrate the person to break up with you, or get out of your life. That's just juvenile. Don't burn that bridge because you might have to go through it again someday.
4. Don't do the slow dance into "break up hell" - you know the one where you ignore the person long enough and hope with time they'll get the message. Personally, I never get the message. I always think that person is having a bad day, or week. And then, I internalize and think, is it me? Is their bad day or week linked to me? Then, the millions of thoughts just overwhelm to the extent you start to be a pest. Or as us writers do e.g. me, we write the person long emails explaining why we're not happy or why they are making us upset (like it changes anything). I know, I need help. Just don't do that "let me ignore you long enough or say No to your request long enough so you'll go away." It is mean and cruel and belittles every precious moment both of you once shared. You were both happy once upon a time.

So with all these DONT'S, dear relationship, how ever are we to get out of you?

Simple. Just break up. Don't sugarcoat it. Don't avoid the talk. Just do it. And I say Talk. In person. No Whatsapp, No Texts, No Facebook Messenger. Don't hide behind a screen. Talk in person, look the person in the eye and say goodbye. Like adults that did adult things, that respect each other, that cared about each other. Just tell that person in person that things are not working out and it's time you both went your separate ways.

MORE DON'TS 

Don't wish them well. I actually hate that. Goodbyes are goodbyes, wishing them well always sounds like you feel sorry for them and hope they recover from the crushing blow of you leaving their life - very conceited. Also, don't say, "We can still be friends." That's even worse. Sounds like a consolation prize. You didn't win first place so let's give you one of the parting gifts to thank you for playing the game. Just break up. And then change the topic to something you both enjoyed - movies, books, politics, music, for e.g., "So what did you think of the [insert trending topic here]." This helps diffuse the intensity of the conversation just so you don't keep analyzing where things went wrong. There is no point. 

After that, you just make like the song, "Kiss and Say Goodbye."

And if you happen to be on the receiving end of one of these type breakups, do not despair...there are tons of tips on this blog on how you can reclaim that awesome, reasonably drama-free single life and bounce back. But remember, people come into your life for a reason and when that reason is over, God takes them out so you can continue on your journey. Believe something better lies ahead. 

What are the other ways to get out of a relationship and ways NOT to get out a relationship.

Life of a Poet/Artist

When I read this on Tumblr, I just thought it was so spot on, especially No. 7. Even though I am not that great of a poet, I think this speaks true for most artists. There's a certain nerve ending in us that helps us to feel that we continually want to feed and it's by feeding it that we produce the best type of art, be it poetry, prose, songs, whatever. Every time I try to describe why I get into warped relationships or go into things that are not good for me, knowing that they are not good for me, or when I try to explain to my exes why I over analyse their gestures, words, loud silences, they don't really grasp what it means when I say I do these things because I'm a writer. They see the lawyer and that denotes pragmatism and not visionary or idealistic. I guess, we just feel differently. 

7 Reasons Why It’s Hard Being a Poet
1. We are critical.
We find flaws in everything we see because nobody wants to write about perfection. 

2. We are never satisfied.
We live our lives upon ideas we gave up trying to express. 

3. We never forget.
We write words about eye contact made three months ago that we replay over and over in our minds even though it stopped being relevant. 

4. We are fickle.
Our emotions flash from one to the other like strobe lighting that disorientates us until we feel as if the world will never be still. 

5. We are exposed.
We don’t know how to keep our feelings to ourselves so we’ll write them down for you to find 'accidentally’. 

6. We are vulnerable.
We wear our hearts on our sleeves and won’t lift a muscle to fight back if somebody tries to break it because we thrive from the pain. 

7. We will never stop.
We will never stop feeling and we will never stop hurting,
we will never stop breaking and bleeding and loving, even though the cycle is endless and we know what’s coming next.
We are addicted to agony, but we agonise for the art. 

Taken from LeatherBoundDiaries

Let's Talk About Sex

I'm going to do something I haven't done here on the blog in a while. I'm going to talk about my country Nigeria and their, ahem, dating practices so to speak. 

But first, I must warn you, somewhat explicit (totally gross) content below.

In Nigeria, when you ask a guy, co-worker or whatnot how was his weekend? He casually responds: "Oh, it was fine. Had some friends over. Ended up having a 3some." He would drop that so casually like he went to rotate his tires or something. That's how flippant they are about sex. For such a religiously veiled society you wonder why would that even be the order of the day. Who does that?

The other guy I know, he meets a girl, starts dating the girl. Meets her friend and then switches from the girl to her girlfriend and starts sleeping with her girlfriend, and he expects the girl to be A-Ok with it. Like it is okay? And he says, "Well, I never promised the girl anything." I see. But you could curtail your longing (or attraction and subsequent sexing) for her friend at least until you had ended things respectfully with the girl. That's what intelligent, respectful people do. 

I went on to complain to a relative about the frequency of the 3somes, he remarked that this was minor. Really? In comparison to what, I squealed. He had co-workers who used to put contributions together to organize weekly orgies just to "liven" things up. They would ask each other casually on Friday if they had any plans, and if no concrete plans emerged they would put their money together and set up an orgy. The money would pay for the venue (someone's guest house probably), the booze, food and the girls. This is how they spend their weekend, almost every weekend. How is this fun?

But this is sadly the face of Nigeria now. It's either explicit sexual practices or they engage in indiscriminate sex where they switch sexual partners so easily without consideration for emotions, respect, marital status, anything at all. No promises are made so no hearts should be broken in the course of their conquest. 

In what culture is this acceptable? The only time I heard such stuff in America was from a certain culture, a culture of the "Honey Boo Boo" kind. I didn't even hear this mentioned so casually in Vegas or Miami. I'm sure even in Amsterdam, this is not the order of the day. You also don't expect to hear it from the educated, middle class culture. There are certain ways of doing things.

I just find myself so alienated. On one hand, they want to be "private" and "coded" - and now I know why, gosh, the stuff they do will make your ears bleed. But on the other hand, they shriek every time you mention anything about sex. I've been announcing on Facebook how I want to see Magic Mike XXL when it premieres. And I have only 3 ladies, yes 3, who've agreed to go with me. Can you imagine? These are the same people who engage in 3somes like it's a yoga class. "Oh, Anita what did you do over the weekend?" "I went to a hot yoga class. Then, went to see Magic Mike XXL. Not a 3some! A hot yoga class." That's what people should be doing. Or cycling! Or prepping for a marathon!! Or trying out a new restaurant's cuisine!!! You know, A HOBBY!!!!  I'm just appalled. I bet you if I open a hot yoga studio here no one would come. Why? Cos they'd prefer 3somes instead. It's more fun, and works up more sweat. Pitiful.

I'll just like to contrast this with my experience with a nice couple in America. I had met this couple at one of my apartment shindigs. Young, white professional couple. We instantly made friends because they thought I was funny and good company. As the lady showed me her apartment, she said she was excited for the weekend. Hmmm...why? Well, they would be doing something different, something adventurous. I see, and what can that be? They would both be participating in a PUB CRAWL. She said she hoped her boyfriend would not wimp out on her and change his mind as she was really looking forward to it. That's how exciting people get over there. No invitations to participate in a 3some, no lewd requests from me, nothing. They just wanted to drink loads of beer on a Saturday.

Sadly, the above represents Africa now. Forget everything else you hear in the news. This is who we are. We don't have hobbies and we (casually) engage in sex as a pastime. We work real hard to make money and then, we use sex as our hobby. Other hobbies may exist, but sex takes preference.

In this kind of society I would say, it is advisable to be single, don't you think?

--Anita Writes​ steps off soap box.

Embrace Your Being

Photo Credit to Owner. Model and Photographer Unknown. All rights reserved

When I came back, a couple of people trying to hook me up with like minded folks had suggested this one girlfriend from high school, who was surprisingly still single. Yes, in the majority of all my classmates, from high school to college, there are only a handful of them that are still single, and this girl and I are actually it within a 10 mile radius. So they gave me her number and I tried to reach out to her single sista to single sista to see what trouble we could get into, so to speak. But sadly, she was not having it. She would make plans and not fulfill them and mumble some excuse about working late, etc. Or she would say she would call back to "gossip" aka girly chat and of course, she wouldn't. Even on Sunday, so I know it had nothing to do with work. With time, I stopped calling and did my own solo thing as y'all have known me to do.

So when I mentioned it to one of the girlfriends who had furnished me with her number in the first place, I said, "Home girl is not having it. She's not returning my calls. She's just not in the mood."

My girlfriend said, "Do you think everyone is fully embracing the 'I'm single and I'm loving it status like you.' Maybe she's single and she is not loving it. She just wants to stay home and sulk, or put her face in her work and not be 'single and proud' with her single status.

Maybe she has a point. I just never thought someone would exist at my age, who is still single and hasn't realized, this is no time to cry over spilled milk. So we're single and we're 30, 35 and now 40. So what are we going to do? Sulk, really? It is not a sin to be single. It is also not a burden to be single. It is just a status. A status I am hoping one day will have more rights just like the gays do now. But for now, it's a status that is not permanent. It's a burden to be unemployed or sick. But to be single. I just don't see it as a status I have to whine about. It is what it is. And this is how it is. I don't have to worry about another person just me. I don't have to cook for another person, or even cook at all. It's just me. I don't have to ask any other person if I can go on vacation to Milan or Tuscany, just me (and my bank account). My mum always used to say whenever I would whine about having to wash up after working late, "You're single, you don't have to clean up if you don't want to. You leave dishes in the sink, so you leave them on the sink. No one is there to complain about them." And slowly, I realized that was true.

There are advantages to it. There are also disadvantages to it too. But I don't want to sit and whine about it as if it's an extra burden on my shoulder. It is a state of being. You could be in a multiple unworthy unsatisfactory abusive relationships, but you're not. You're in the most rewarding one yet - the one with yourself and until you can fight with yourself (which I haven't seen happen yet) this is the most peaceful sublime one yet. Forgive me if I don't want to whine about it...but I choose to embrace it. I will embrace it until that status changes.

I don't know what's up with my one single girlfriend. I haven't asked her. But I have a feeling by the time she hears how much fun my single self is having in this town, she'll come around.

So I Keep Hitting Back

I'd like to pay tribute to my idol, Mr. Sylvester Stallone. When Sly wrote Rocky, he was living in a rat infested home, with no electricity, no job, he wrote it by candlelight fighting off the rats, after working every shitty job in LA. And of course, you know he won the Oscar for Best Screenplay for a script he wrote when he was dirt poor and Best Picture to celebrate his American triumph of the underdog story. After some success his career experienced a lull about 10 years ago. He was living off his wife's earnings. He said it himself, that he went through a period where his phone did not ring. I remember that TO THIS DAY. And his wife said, THE RIGHT PERSON WOULD CALL. Then, he shopped the script for Rocky 6 and there were ZERO takers. Until one person, that one crucial person in life that is really all we need, that person said, YES. I'll produce it. And that produced the script below. Based on its success he made The Expendables, and y'all know how that turned out. Huge hit. And then he became a household name again. I was so touched by it, so moved by him that I went to Philly for my birthday oh so many years ago. It's not scripture but it's pretty close...for me. It's what inspires me to this day. It's what I have always been about, what I've believed in and what has kept me believing till this day. There may be movies of underdogs and there may be actual underdog stories about your life. To the underdogs...

...But it ain't about how hard you hit.
It's about how hard you can get hit...
...and keep moving forward.
How much you can take
and keep moving forward.
That's how winning is done!

----From Rocky 6.

Eye of the Tigress

Every time I see fierce Serena I keep thinking, this girl is probably not bothering herself with such vapid thoughts such as:

Will he call? Will he not call? What do you think he meant by that text? He hasn't called in 3 days?

All that male bullshit drama. None of that.

Instead, she's probably saying:

Dude, call, don't call. That's your wahala. I don't have time for that. I have a Grand Slam to win.

That's determination and focus on your goals. Don't let all these foolish real world drama distract you.
Have your eye on the prize, focus and work to get to it.

I need to remember that. I think single women especially should remember that. Sometimes we let these men slink into our lives and before you know it we loose focus on the big prize, on our goals, we're grasping to get a grip on reality, meanwhile they've smoothly moved on to their next dalliance after wrecking havoc on our lives.

I just need to remember that and keep that affixed to my brain somewhere that this is no time to be messing about, stay focused and keep your eyes on the ball.