Merry New Year

the other day while reading through some of my old work, I came across this piece of writing, well it wasn’t as much writing as a series of texts from me to Negro. As I read it, even years later, about 4 years later as a matter of fact since it was written about the same time 4 years ago, it almost brought tears to my eyes. 

I was amazed at how profound, intense, sincere and passionate the words seemed. 

I thought, I for one have never received something so heartfelt totally devoid of cheese, and, I considered that whoever was on the receiving end of this message must be very lucky to have experienced this amount of love and raw passion dropped on them. 

It amazed me (years later) that even with that much love and passion oozing from my pores, it wasn’t enough. It never was enough. how does one go from experiencing that much love, raw sensuality, sincerity and vulnerability to marrying a Barbie in less than 1 year. 

Tune in the next couple of years when God attempts to offer me an explanation. He has promised it would be a good one. In the meantime, below are my words, you be the judge. 

Happy New Year to you all! Please love deeply in 2019 and always, regardless.

I Apologise
31 Dec 2014 1:37 AM - Me: Okay. I apologize for checking your phone but your icy attitude towards me left me no choice.
31 Dec 2014 1:38 AM - Me: I also apologize for sharing our personal information with 3rd parties. I was mental and furious and I warned you about my rage.
31 Dec 2014 1:39 AM - Me: If you want to leave me, leave me for someone that makes sense...I'm competitive like that...she didn't make sense to me. Didn't then... still doesn't.
31 Dec 2014 1:40 AM - Me: I can't sleep with anyone but you. Do you know how that feels? I never cheated on you. NEVER. Then and now.
31 Dec 2014 1:41 AM - Me: But you should have told me when you weren't feeling me. I trusted you enough for that. YOU JUST CRUSHED THAT LIKE IT WAS NOTHING.
31 Dec 2014 1:42 AM - Me: So...I'm mental. I'm sorry cos you saw me mental and that's it.
31 Dec 2014 1:42 AM - Me: Happy New year...
31 Dec 2014 1:42 AM - Me: Negro...
31 Dec 2014 1:42 AM - Me: :-(
31 Dec 2014 1:43 AM - Me: P.S...I thought it would take our Lord and savior Jesus Christ whom I love dearly to convince me to apologize to you...but he sent Hennessy here instead.
31 Dec 2014 6: 34 AM - Negro: Happy new year to you too

Memorable Quotes...2018...part 2

This next quote is from a movie I just stumbled upon, didn't plan to watch, and might not have, but the opening lines where this quote is taken from grabbed my attention and it made me sit through what ended up being a rather introspective movie about youth, life choices. 

When you read the quote below...you realize that it is true somewhat in retrospect. In boarding school we always imagined that our future would be radiant, carefree and successful without having to work so hard. You graduate, start to job hunt, and work from one place to another, or what I term "shift seats in the Titanic" and wrestle with personal life choices that won't further mar the malignant future and you look back on the days of your youth as simple and carefree in comparison to the restrictive state of blinding adulthood. #Adulting

Maybe that's just me. Or so I thought, until this quote was said to me one lazy Sunday afternoon as I browsed channels. And the rest they say is history. 💚💜💜

The Sense of an Ending... 
In those days we imagined ourselves as being in a holding pen, waiting to be released into our lives. And when that moment would come, we would be at university. How were we to know that our lives had already begun, and our release would only be into a larger holding pen? And in time, a larger holding pen.

Memorable Quotes...2018...part 1

As the year closes out, this phenomenal travel year of 2018, I'd like to take a little trip down some of the most memorable quotes that I've come across this year. 

I'll start with the one below, which was taken from Joshua Jackson's @instagram right after the Colin Kaepernick @nike ad that caused so much public outcry and foolish controversy. In all the noise, nuisance and stupidity, I was browsing through Instagram one night when I randomly came across his post. In his post, he celebrated the purchase of a new pair of Nike's in obvious defiance to the jaded mob who felt the need to instead burn their Nike products in some sort of ritualistic protest. He ended the very poignant post by stating as follows:

"We hold these truths to be self-evident that all men are created equal; that they are endowed by their Creator with certain inalienable rights; that among these are life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness." 

Until those words are true, we should all take a knee.

I had yet to read truer words spoken in response to the unnecessary prejudicial protest, it felt like soft words spoken into the storm.

So it is...my first memorable quote of 2018.

Love Means Respecting The Process

“I wasn’t ready to do it, [but] Mara was,” said Salim. “I think part of the theme of ‘Love Is__’ is love realizing you can’t allow another person to do anything. If they respect you enough to ask your opinion, you can can give your opinion but she’s a grown woman independent of me. So as an artist, she should be able to do what she wants to do… but I wasn’t down with the s—.”

...Love Is...

I read the quote above sometime in November (from a news source I inadvertently forgot to save). In Nigeria we get these U.S. TV shows about an entire quarter after the season has ended and been made famous in the U.S. But since I follow the writer/producer Mara Akil on Instagram, I had heard about it, about her production process, the press and promotion for the series. However, as I flipped my channels, it was nowhere to be found. Until sometime in October/November when it premiered. 

After the first couple of episodes, I was intrigued so I re-read some of the press clippings on the production of the series. This particular interview spoke to me. I responded to Salim's take on the production of a series that was loosely based on their love story. Particularly as he described her as a "grown woman independent of me..." 

Most men, I daresay Nigerian men, fail to recognize this significant aspect of our being. I've fallen prey to that myself. Yes, I may be a woman. And culture has mandated that I listen to you (the Alpha Male) and follow your guidelines, but underneath my momentary lapse of submission, I am still, STILL a grown woman, and deserve to be treated and respected as such. Especially as an artist, you expect that your partner, or prospective partner shows some type of respect in your creative and inspirational process and if they happen to be the subject matter, then so be it. As artists we search and grasp for inspiration every chance we get, and if your love(r) happens to instill in you some words, why not nurture it instead of dimming their light?

It's a shame what the aftermath of the series turned out to be. There's still hope that Love will prevail. 

Love 2.0

I write these poems. Sometimes daily. Words. More Words. Sometimes good. Oft-times utter rubbish. Mostly. And I daresay. Unfortunately. They've been about this one person. One oft-repetitive lover. You know how it is. When this one love. Constantly. Regrettably. Repeats in your life. For no formidable reason. Just because you've given it permission. As I searched for words to write today. I scanned through my words. Words. Some of them 2 years old. In need of fresh inspiration. So I skimmed through the past. And those words. As fresh and intense as they may seem. Were no longer representative. Of the current state of my heart.

But I just thought I'd share.

There's a vision of you that I've met
This vision asks me to meet you at the point of your adventure
This version grunts, speaks very little but expresses their hurt and love in thrusts
This version asks to meet me
Causes me to tell anyone who comes after
I'm in love
With a version that I want to spend a lifetime trying to unravel
And I long to meet him at the point of our escape
Then we can both be free
Of prejudices and responsibilities
Then I can build an opportunity of forget
Of the memories
The previous carbon copies of me
Have imprinted on him
As I feed him the blueprint
 And when they ask..
"Anita...Who you been with?"
The source code
My Love 1.0

Move Day...Lagos 2018

Today. 

 Twas rough. 

....

But I. Me. Solo Me. 

As Usual. 

...Survived it. 

Run through the rain. 

 With a prayer and a song. 

Of Hope. 

...Come out. 

Slightly jaded. 

Still.

Still unscathed. 

Today. 

What I hope to be. 

The. Last. Move. 

...Unless it's to meet Eu.
The. Last. Move.

And to the Universe...

Please make.

Next Move.

So Effing.
Worth it. 

Lead with Love and Light

Breaking my Social Media silence for Will Smith's 50th birthday, today, September 25, which he ushered in with so much oomph, if you follow him on @instagram you'll know what I mean. 

Years ago...I watched an interview of his where he said: "...when you lead with love and light you should expect nothing but good results." He said his grandma taught him that. 

And that kinda stayed with me over the years, imminent in my actions, foreshadowing my thoughts.. And in this Lagos society riddled with hustle bustle, money-hungry, narcissistic, cutthroat scoundrels disguised as countrymen, I've tried to stay above water and respect that and resisted the urge to succumb to their debased tactics. Even at times (more times than I care to remember) when I've lost (personally and professionally) I've fought back tears and thought: I did lead with love and light, so why did I lose? Failure wasn't the expected outcome. It never is. But that's the way of the world, I suppose.

I keep to it to this day and I'm hoping my life will be just as exemplary, fun and fulfilled as his some day. 

What else is there? 💝💝

...with love and light #AnitaWrites

Dear Lawyer...

As a lawyer, you curse.

You deal with situations and people and have conversations that 

Cause you to curse.

You deal with a system 

As despicable as Nigeria 

With no accountability

That fails to hold its people to ransom

Political, and regular citizens.

Where so-called CEOs can owe you money  

Run off to hide from their debt in the US.

If you were faced with that type of scenario.

It's like being face to face with an accuser or accused.

In that scene, what do you say?

Do you play nice? Act formal. Pretend. Pay Lip Service. Ask him kindly.

You curse.

You tell the MF owing you money that this is no longer acceptable.

That the system may have let you off.

Let you run and hide in the US with my money.

But I reserve the right to use whatever language

Suits the despicability of your actions.

And Senile. MF. A$$hole. Piss off.

All and more.

Immediately, come to mind.

Does it make a difference?

To the recalcitrant Nigerian

In their unwavering offensive behavior.

Not much.

But it lets you blow off steam.

It lets them know.

As a lawyer. You curse.

I curse.

Does that make me less of lawyer?

Can We Pretend

There's an age you get to where everything hurts.

Things that normally roll off your back just seem to pause for a little while longer than they should. Going through a bank holiday and not have one, not even a single solitary one, of your friends call to ask you how you are. That stings! Coming back to Lagos and forgetting how cruel, cold, calculating and insincere this city is, and people keep reminding you, "But you wanted to come back to Lagos, you wanted to come back." Yes. But I think we are missing the point. It was between living in a city that was worse than a Bayou in the summertime and a city that's a mix of NY city and LA (for the beach and the superficiality) if you were me, which would you choose.

Exactly.

In the end, I just realized that every part of Nigeria is dirty. The People. The Space. And I don't quite appreciate the living space I'm in. Can I just live in it and not be constantly reminded of the dirt and grime?

Today I saw one of my neighbors lift up a trash lid with his bare hands and toss his trash in it. Then, as he walked by me, he started to scratch his nose WITH THE SAME HANDS. Is there something wrong with me? Have I been watching too many talk show segments on "hidden dirt" like The Doctors, etc.

Everything just hurts and everything and everyone feels dirty to me. I saw a post on Instagram that read: The older you get the more you realize why Britney shaved her head. Ha! I realized and did almost the same a year later. Remember "attorney guy" Summer of 2008? The hurt I feel now, none of my usual "feel good" remedies can soothe me:

Done fixed my hair, done shopped up a storm, done drank all the drink, done seen all the movies, done stayed prayed up and asked the Lord Jesus to help this sista out, done sought the Holy Spirit's intervention to help get these folks acting right. Done did e v e r y t h i n g.

I still sting. It still stings. And I don't know what to do about it.

There's an age you get to where everything hurts. So much. Who knew coming back to Lagos would hurt this much. Not I?

Pain of Renting in Nigeria

Don't know what this says of me that this is the most recent picture in my phone gallery. 

Saw it on #twitter and it summarized how I feel. Tired. Miserable. Disgusted. 

Paid a good chunk of my money to a dishonest broke-ass landlord and he spent before I could even move in, now he has refused to refund my money when I canceled the deal a fucking DAY LATER!!! 

Now he's off to America, with his family and screens my calls. Feel like I need to #nameandshame that Nigger. 

Nigerians looove to tell you what you want to hear. Don't ever believe them for a second. If they say Sky's blue that shit is fucking black as night. That's how opposite their word is. They are not worth your dime. It's taken me being duped one million times by their words to know that, sadly, my people are dubious and dishonest individuals. 

So this frail looking disgusted old lady is how I look at every #Nigerian with #cynicism hoping their lies won't make me shrivel up like this. Praying that the DISHONEST NO SHIT LANDLORD has the integrity to know that a man is not supposed to owe a woman money. In what world does a man, a real man owe a woman money? I guess in Nigeria that is the deal. He oughta be ashamed of himself.

In general, Nigerians need to do better. Simple. Enough of that "I'm on my way" shit when you know darn well you're fucking twenty miles away. You find corporations being run by children. Or multinationals being run by Nigerians, dragging the reputation of the multinational company with them. 

 #SpeaktheTruth... 

If you have Foreign Investment. Run. Don't Walk. Run. These folks are not worth investing in. Sorry to say this but this one hurt a #sista and I'm bleeding from the hurt. Profusely. How does a Nigger spend a sista's money and think it's cool? It's shameful. You oughta be ashamed, Sir! You should be ashamed of your damn self, that you spent my money before I could even move in. 

Sadly, there will now be #socialmedia silence except to #nameandshame that asshole. But I'm not speaking until I heal. And I find some love for my country because I've kinda lost all of it. Y'all are evil folks...fr fr.

Conscious Coupling Terms and Conditions

This was one of the most profound responses I received to a recent online "Ted Talk" I gave on the advantages of a Cougar relationship:

Do you have to teach him basic hygiene, social etiquette and boundaries though or is he functional all by himself? 

Even back then, someone had identified issues such as, boundaries, social etiquette and basic hygiene as being central handicaps of the man-child relationship. The scales on my eyes were screwed on tightly then I suppose because clearly these issues had raised their ugly heads and I just chose to ignore them. I was trying to be open, fluid, less judgmental and more attuned to the love energy that I thought I was experiencing! Now, I sit here and wonder how women suppress men's faults and still carry on with them.

I presume, faults is a strong word, but more general hiccups, bad habits, male species living conditions.  Varying from the leaving the clothes laying around, the toilet seat that never goes down, the never making the bed when they get up, the total complete surrender of the remote control. These are not deal breakers, I know, but you get the picture.  

To put them in legalese they can be considered breaches, of the man-woman space construct. If I choose to be in a relationship and occasionally co-habit with you, these are my terms and conditions which you agree to abide by in order for us to co-habit. Any MATERIAL breach of these terms will result in an automatic termination of the relationship. Several breaches will result in a warning which you must cure within (standard 30 days but for relationship sake) 10 days or at least until we can co-habit again. If it is not cured, the relationship will be automatically terminated and you must return all things provided to you up till and including the date of termination. Oh of course, the confidentiality terms of this relationship mandate that upon termination, you do not disclose anything that may have been shared with you during the course of the relationship, at least for another 5 years. Terms of dispute resolution should be specific, in the event that there's a dispute between us, it will not be arbitrated by any of our friends or family. We would choose independent parties to act as our arbitrators. 

It all fits in so nicely. I wonder why people don't sign these before they consciously couple up. Or maybe these terms are more suitable for a pre-nup situation? But that's for marriage, what happens in a "let's try and date exclusively" type of relationship? I used the words, "let's try" and "exclusively" because we all know exclusivity is a struggle for relationships these days, and of course, getting into the relationship is a contention too, every one wants to try and wrangle into some form of "situationship" or fluid asymmetrical coupling detached from society's interpretation of what couples should be. 

I used to believe in all of these until one day I didn't. I got so overwhelmed with all the information and the different configurations that I realised something else was more important to me. Asides from me, obviously, and my sanity, I needed to have sole control of my remote control. In the home that I built with my bare hands without any help from any male, I needed to have sole control and ownership of my remote control. I think I earned it, don't you?  

She a Gold-Digger

Today. 

Woman. 

It’s very rare that men woo women these days. They’ll much gladly show up empty-handed and expect you to receive them with open arms wide smile zero attitude meanwhile they brought nothing for you.

Every time I mention this to my lover he thinks I’m some type of gold-digger. A gold-digger I assume wants something more much more. I just don’t expect you to show up and take my love for free. I do believe that’s why our forefathers invented dowry. If you show up and take my love, my affection, my sexing, my space, my food, my drinks, my juice, my wining and dining, my smile, then what am I getting from this loving. I’d seriously like to know. Comes a time when you realize this loving is not enough and I’ll need it to be a whole lot more. Buy me groceries, flowers, chocolates, anything. Woo me. Make it seem like this love is worth something, worth trying to get, worth trying to keep.

It’s very rare that men woo women these days. They want to take take take everything from us, suck the very nectar of our beings our succulence to enrich their marrows with our feminine aura and hypersensitivity. The second, the very second, just as you are bled dry you ask for something in return, Oh, she a gold digger. Shows how dwindled our society’s appreciation for woman has become that a queen can’t even make some demands on the type of love she wants without being called a name. In this phase it’s gold digger. I’m a grown woman gold digger.

I’m not a gold digger. I’m a woman who knows her worth. And her worth would like to be wooed every now and again, if that’s okay with you?

Where We Are

This is how it looked on my umpteenth birthday. 

As I sat in a Lagos restaurant by myself, sipping on exotic 'sparkling wine' (that was thankfully not South African!) that I couldn't afford and celebrated a birthday that came too soon, sooner than I had something to celebrate. I had quit my job a month prior to this and completed my notice period a mere 6 days before my birthday. And the eternal optimist inside of me had assumed that in the 30 days since I turned in my notice I would have scored a new job. However, that optimist forgot that this is Nigeria and this is me, with no family connections, no daddy or rich uncle to call in a favor, no friends, and no lovers to hook me up with the intricate network that one needs to score a job in this city. 

So there I was, nursing so much doubt mixed with hope as I sat in that restaurant that afternoon right before they closed their lunch service, forcing a smile for the 'Gram and the record books (how would it be if there are no pictures ever to commemorate the day). By the time they handed me the check, and the exorbitant trumped up charge of the fancied sparkling wine that was still NOT Champagne, I just muttered to myself, "I am so screwed." It had been forever since I vacationed on a budget. More so with so much uncertainty ahead of me, what was life serving me? Challenges with my faux Champagne? Can I turn it back along with the check?

Where we are is NOT Who we are....one can only hope

Why Do We Run

Don't feel like you're the first to run in the race
The race to be Number One
We've all run this race
With equal measure of hurt and anguish
Peppered with doubt and belief
that the God who got us in this race
Would hopefully get us out
We run. Steadfast
Soaked in blood sweat tears and sex
As we toil and gasp
We pause to question our existence
Our choice and participation in this race
We clasp our hearts
Frayed by the competition
And with our eyes to the sky
We gasp to ask God:
"Dear God, Why make us run? Why make us run?"
Don't feel like you're the first
The first to run in the race
The race to be number one
His Number One

Let's Take A Long Walk

I’ve walked around the block solo in many cities. 

Many metropolis cities. As I walk I muse, admire the scenery, talk to myself, admire the people that live in that city, sometimes wish I were them. I get lost, ask for directions, most times stop for a ‘cool off drink’ to try and work through my thoughts with some alcohol, nothing gets you more in touch with your feelings better than a shot of something strong. It's slowly becoming one of the best parts of traveling - the opportunity to meander through a city block, feel through their energy and connect with the people.

However, walking in the streets of Ada George, Port Harcourt while trying to find a "keke napep" that would take me to the end of the block to have dinner in a cheesy fast food joint, before I take another "keke napep" home, that, that alone, stuck in my craw. It was simply said…not a good look.

It hurt my soul, a lot. I can take walking in New York, walking in San Fran or Seattle and feeling swallowed by these metropolitan cities (all these white people walking around, tew much), I can take Paris, and feeling overwhelmed by the language barrier, I can even take walking in The Hague and really being stared at as the only black person for miles. But I cannot take Ada George or any road in Port Harcourt or non-metropolitan city in Nigeria. I just can’t.

Don’t know why God does this to me. Is it a sin to be addicted or dare I say more comfortable in metropolitan cities? I don’t sleep with people’s husbands, I don’t snatch people’s boyfriends, I also do not post pictures of my shoes and bags or any worldly possession on Instagram to tell people how much I’ve “made it”. I actually hate folks who do that last part. I love and serve the Lord and try to do my best to remain in touch with my spiritual side and share love and light the best way I can. 

Is it too much to ask that I don’t get that one job that has me living in a village? Walking on streets like Ada George and entering taxis that run worse than the car I left in Lagos, just so I won’t have to stand or walk on streets like Ada George. There’s a lesson in here somewhere but I am choosing to ignore it and insist on what I want - 

Relocation Meets Returnee

Every time I've moved in my life I've had to do it on my own.

There are people that exist in my life before the move but they conveniently find a way to not "exist" at the time of the move. But they do conveniently show up after the move to give their unsolicited advice about the move, the choice of apartment, the new space, the feng-shui of the new space, and just overall comments that you don't need to hear after going through a tumultuous move by your lonesome self. 

And it's sad because moving is one of those few times, I wish I had a man in my life. Men are so much better at that type of bullshit. Dealing with artisans - movers, electricians, AC installer, cable installer, blinds person, etc. You know, A R T I S A N S. In Nigeria, there are even more artisans as there are Landlords that don't fix shit. They own the land, build on the land, create apartment space and that's it. Tenants do the rest! They expect the tenants to do the rest. As a tenant, you have to install Air-conditioners, thoroughly fix the bathrooms, (because God knows they don't know how to build bathrooms in this country), you have to reinstall the fittings, because you know those landlords will install the cheapest of fittings. Then, there's even simple things, such as cleaning the space, they don't even bother to sweep the apartment after the previous tenant moves out. They leave it for the new tenant to handle. Also remember to call an electrician to connect your generator because you know we don't have up to 6 hours of electricity in Nigeria, and finally, the biggie, SECURITY. You have to ensure that the place is secure. Even if there are locks, you have to change the locks, buy new keys, ensure that the place is Fort Knox secure especially for a single woman. Never take it for granted. I have once and I paid for it, dearly. It's an endless wheel of hurt moving into a new space. The most painful, and foremost process to be tackled are blind (or curtain) installation and air conditioners. The 2 most essential parts of a move in Nigeria that never, NEVER, existed in America. In Nigeria, the windows are bare, wide open, sometimes even broken with torn mosquito nets and the air is tight so you need some serious ventilation and some privacy. 

So here I am, about to embark on a move in Nigeria for the umpteenth time and those 2 are yet to be installed. 

The funny thing is, I could go through moves, back to back in America. There was a certain period I was moving every year and I would go through the stress of moving and eventually feel fine, and exactly about a month later I would recover. I would even loose some LBs in the process and the end result would be a brand spanking new space in a new neighborhood waiting to be explored. 

In Nigeria, I have had to go through moves back to back and sometimes against my will, and I have to say, it is the absolute worst debilitating stress. Literally the worst. Even worse because God keeps moving me back to this crummy ass city - Port Harcourt. From the moment I came back to Nigeria, 4 days later, I had to come to Port Harcourt. It was one of the worst times of my life. I felt like I was trapped. In Hell. There was no moment of escape, pretense, acceptance of my new reality. It was like, "Welcome to Nigeria" with a high aplomb! 

I thought I would be content enough in myself and in my environment. I would make my space my Anita space but this country is so frigging screwed it's not even possible. The people here don't want anyone else to succeed. They spend a lot of time conspiring against another person. It's all so Macbeth. 

In moving, and self-discovery, you realize the folks that are your friends. You also realize so much about your tolerance. And so much about your life choices. The grass is not always greener on the other side. Your country does not really hold the sincerest of people. Even the best of jobs. You should really work with and try to perfect what you got!

On Moving and Relocation...another opportunity of self-discovery for a returnee. 

A Tale of One City - Port Harcourt, Nigeria

Quality of living in #PortHarcourt is extraordinarily poor.

You,

* have power for only 60 mins in a day;

* can't drive your vehicle due to bad state of the roads;

* can't own a newer model vehicle out of fear of it being snatched;

* can't even tell folks where you work for privacy reasons;

* contemplate with fewer ATM machines and even at that, you can't take too much cash out of fear of being robbed;

* struggle with air quality that is filled with soot from emissions emanating from unknown "gas pipelines" so of course, respiratory issues are a definite probability;

* are deathly afraid of youth unrest, cultists, civil unrest, impromptu killings, kidnappings; and

* most definitely cannot go outside, or even take a walk, after 7pm

I made the conscious decision to move here for work at the start of this year, after hating living here for work 2 years ago. As I left to take on a job in Lagos I swore I would never come back to this city. So when an exciting opportunity presented itself in a company and a field that I'd been targeting since my return I couldn't pass it up due to the location. In my defense, I also really fought hard to have the job/position moved to Lagos but that was to no avail, the rest of the team was in Port Harcourt so I had to be there too. In the end I just sounded like some type of diva, "Wait, you think you're too cool for our city?"

At the start of the year, I moved with stoic determination, ready to be objective shirking myself of all my "diva" ways. In less than a week I had moved into my apartment and started work. Then, it began. No electricity since I moved into my apartment. I get awakened by street preachers, honking horns and of course, loud generators. I fall asleep to loud generators and I'm soon awakened by them. This cacophony of sounds seems familiar to Lagos or at least, most metropolitan cities, I admit. Nevertheless, I fall asleep in a pitch black state as most generators are swiftly switched off at midnight. In a city with such a high crime rate, everything needs to be brought to the light, so to speak, to rid out the darkness. Then, there's the fact that I didn't bother installing my air-conditioners - what's the point if there's never electricity? My windows have to stay open so I am constantly inhaling the soot-filled air, not to mention the mosquitoes who are quickly becoming my fast friends at 4am. I also haven't been able to shower with hot water. Asides from its unavailability due to the lack of power, it just makes you sleep better when your body temperature has been cooled off by cold water. My fans are running non-stop, from the second I come home from work till I leave. And let's not forget that petrol is now priced at a premium in the entire country.

I mentioned this on Twitter and the PH Twitterati came at me. Some folks were understandably defensive of their beloved city, some acknowledged that these issues were prevalent and they've learned to live with them, and the rest just silently retweeted, which I can only interpret to mean they want to silently agree with me. I can understand why they would defend their city. They understand this city and its shortcomings and its sedative commercial quality yet tumultuous reckless behavior. They understand why the conditions here are so and have remained so for awhile. When you've experienced better quality of living, you would identify when that quality is considerably stepped down and you are operating at a disadvantage. I see that now and wish I hadn't settled for this. It's not a bad thing to want more out of the life you've been dealt. If I can't live rich I can at least be comfortable, have my basic needs met, have the opportunity to come home, have power in my home, heat up my food in the microwave, turn on my air-conditioner and eat my food in front of the TV. Is that too much to ask, Port Harcourt?

60% of this problem can be ascribed to the poor quality of the power distribution company that operates in this state. PHED has done the folks here a great injustice and they deserve better.

Be that as it may, the truth hurts. Truth from an objective 3rd party - hurts even more. Whether personally, professionally or socially. Hearing the truth hurts. To those defending my review of their dearly beloved city, #PH, you understand your city, and have come to accept her. I don't. I also will not accept it. That's the Truth. Starting from PHED to the government who has left your airport in that disaster-zone state, to the oil companies polluting your air, the city owes you an apology, and a significant improvement to your standard of living.

It's my choice and I suppose I have to live with this choice until I can change it. So if you want to tell me, "if you don't like it move out," I'd like to see you make a drastic change in your life situation.

I'd like to close this missive with a tale.

When I mentioned to a former business colleague of mine that I was moving back to PH, he told me this wonderful tale. He started by saying, "Anita, you're a better person than me." When this was his intro, I knew a tale was coming. He said a colleague of his was recently posted to PH. This colleague had, in the past, traveled as a volunteer to many interior parts of the world, other 3rd world countries, you know places that have been ravaged by hunger, famine and war so when he was posted to PH, they assumed he would be "up to the task" of handling this excursion. However, upon his return, he kept repeating to my colleague, "What happened to that place?" He said this in a loop as if in a daze from the utter shock of the betrayal of potential. He said his other excursions into other parts of Africa had not prepared him for Port Harcourt. Nothing does. 

So as you can see, I did not tell a lie.