Foodie for the Holidays

Whenever we get closer to the holidays my taste buds heighten, I start shopping at all these gourmet high end stores. Went to 4 between yesterday and today. Needless to say this afternoons Sunday lunch was lit. Braised beef with onions and basmati rice topped off with bold red wine. Lit!! 🍷 

There's this sauce at the grocery store - chicken with yoghurt and garlic (onions and corn bits). The grocery chick always recommends it to me and I always choose the safe option. The red sauce that looks like tomato, onions and green pepper. Well, this Sunday I caved... Needless to say it is horrible...😝😝😝 How is yoghurt a spice base for chicken? Like when? Why? How horrid? And this grocery chick is Nigerian...don't know why she thought this was a good idea for a fellow Nigerian. Don't know why I'm complaining. Generally, don't order any continental dish based on a Nigerian's recommendation. 

Remember visiting Indian restaurants and asking the Nigerian server for recommends, they always suggest the one dish that tastes like stew. Or try going to a Chinese/Thai restaurant and asking for suggestions. They'd say, "Oh, Madam you won't like it," to those popular dishes that you eat abroad like larb or masala. "Like how do you know I won't like it, do you think I haven't eaten it before?" To think the chicken mixed with red sauce this deli lady said the same thing: "oh you won't like it." but I insisted because I couldn't quite grasp the idea of Yoghurt and garlic as a base for chicken. I still don't. Is this a #Mediterranean delicacy? Seen this a lot in Lagos lately at a lot of the Lebanese delis. 

Morale of this #foodie inspired thread. 

1. When ordering in a continental restaurant or grocery store in Nigeria, please do not ask for recommends from the Nigerian staff. 
2. Ask what's in the dish that will help you determine if it's worth a try or not.

As the holidays wind down, which is undoubtedly my favorite time of year, decided to take some time off for myself. I reflect on the year and all the hustle that I've been through. Each day I ask for time to myself everyone wants to offer me unsolicited advice no less as to what to do: Go out meet new people, go on dates, etc. 

Every day I offer me advice: Do you, and only you, everything else is secondary. 

the root of it all

When they said Money is...
The Root of All Evil.
Some of us believed.
But here we are.
And Evil is Winning.
We're like Outsiders looking in.
Looking in as Evil Wins.
Do We Join in?
Or Still hold on to the belief that:
Money is the Root of All Evil.

Thanksgiving 2019

Yesterday.

On the eve of Thanksgiving 2019, the last Thanksgiving of this Decade, I found myself attending one of the few interviews I was invited to in some god awful location. I knew this location was godawful when I attempted to go to it. When I received the invite to the interview I knew darn good and well that even if I got the job (which was a slim chance in and of itself) that that location could not reasonably constitute my daily commute. But I went anyway. Since I haven't really been feeling like writing much. I am still so numbed by the events, I tweeted about the stupidity of it all. That's what I term almost everything in Nigeria these days, as "STUPIDITY'. My vocabulary is considerably limited and cannot accommodate events or acts of the human condition that flummox me, so instead I term them simply as, "stupidity".  Below is the Twitter thread. I am providing this just so I can chronicle this time and look back at them - hopefully in better days when I can put all this nonsense behind me.

Thanksgiving 2019. Where was I on Thanksgiving eve? Now I know.

10:45 am:

I'm at one of those interviews where they invite about 30 of us and make us all arrive at the same time and keep us in one room and make us wait for hours on end just to ask us insipid questions. Oh joy!

10:54am:

Just sitting here thinking about my life. Weighing my life choices. Could I have made better choices? Is it my bad choices that led me to this? How did I end up here at Thanksgiving, FFS?

(side note - Oh I know, cos I some French man I got as my manager didn't have the balls to stand up for me. I hope to God he isn't gay, if not that's a waste of balls)

10:59am:

Really didn't think this through when I decided to attend. But I didn't want to shun an invitation to interview since I rarely get callbacks.

The location is closer to Ibadan! One of the candidates actually does live in Ibadan. It'll be a great commute for her!! For me it's like moving to a different city.

4:32pm: (ordeal and excruciatingly long drive back home over)

In the end there weren't 30 of us. They were aiming for about 35 and instead about 25 showed up. The absentee 10 were on to something. They made us complete a written exam, timed and everything. So archaic. Reminds me of Jamb/WAEC.

(Side note - and that's the thing with Nigerians and the relative stupidity - am I supposed to cram the knowledge or am I supposed to have the opportunity to do some research, ruminate, brainstorm and ponder before I provide my opinion. They just want you to cram the knowledge and regurgitate it to them as and when needed with no appreciation of the theoretical study behind making an informed decision.)

4:32pm:

Enjoyed it cos it gave me an opportunity to exercise my brain cells a little bit in an academic setting. Plus, when I thought I had stooped low, I saw my senior in law school a few rows from me and she felt like she was kicked in the nuts too by having to take a written exam.

So, yeah...the job hunt continues.

It has gone international now. Remember writing into this same blog about my harrowing discouraging job search experience in Atlanta, so many years ago. Then I felt they were affected by cultural differences and having to interpret my Nigerian law degree and assimilate who this being is that is so in your face and asking for recognition. I assumed with those issues that there would be an element of comprehension of my skill set when I return to Nigeria (where the degrees were obtained). However, that is not the case. The skills they are familiar with I don't have and that keeps me constantly hitting my head against a wall. Hitting. 

Constant career frustration.

6 Days Later...

I needed a hug today.

And as my car pulled into the parking lot
My friend saw me staring out hopelessly,
He caught my attention and
Immediately spread arms wide demanding a hug,
A full enriching one.
It took everything in me not to cry.

 Oh, I needed a hug today.

The 20th Year...

As I celebrate my 20th year at the Bar this weekend, I recall one of the reasons why I became a lawyer and stayed a lawyer in the first place.

This scene from the 1993 movie Philadelphia. At that time, for me, it was inspiring, formidable, bold, poignant and cutting edge, even till now. Everything about it, particularly this scene gives me goosebumps.

Unlike him, I cannot say I am an excellent lawyer. I certainly don't know the law (in Nigeria, the law is evolving and doesn’t quite know itself) but have I been a part of justice being done? Well. I can only say that I’ve been a part of shaking some trees now and again. And truly, it IS quite a thrill when that happens (even though nobody likes you after that)

I want to thank everyone who's ever said Yes. Every recruiter, hiring manager, company who's looked twice at my resume, profile, every exam result that's made me think, oh wow, so we passed International Tax law, who knew? Every decision maker who's thought even for a millisecond, let's get to talk/meet this unconventional lawyer.

I want to say Thank You. meeting you, talking to you, and working with you has made my career so colourful, diverse, of a certain quality, raised my standards, blessed me with your knowledge. It only takes one person to say Yes.

Also, special thanks to the people who bother answering their emails. In Nigeria, that is so essential, response time here is non-existent. So thank you for responding to my email, even if it was to say No, that's still something, means you read my email. I appreciate you.

Bad Dreams

I always try to describe my dreams somewhat as soon as I can recall them. Because hours later, as much as 24 hours later, I’d probably forget.

The other night I dreamt about Don Draper. Not Jon Hamm, but Jon Hamm as his character Don Draper. I was recounting to Don Draper fond memories of our affair and he said he remembered too. All this while I was sitting on his lap. Found it rather absurd because I haven’t watched any Mad Men related shows in a long time.

Then. Last night. Keanu. Granted I looked at Keanu’s snaps from his recent trip to Japan just before bed. But the dream, see less than 5 hours later I am struggling to remember it. But this is what I can recollect. I woke up in a sweat like a bad dream sweat and I thought to pray since it was a bad dream that’s what you do when you awaken. Then, I recalled that this is a man I may never meet, so what am I really praying about. Then, I prayed that it wasn’t a premonition of other things in my life.

We were together. He was burning candles you know those lanterns that you burn to say a prayer and they fly away. He burnt 3. One for his mum, one for his sister and the other for someone initialed P.D. Obviously it wasn’t me. When I asked him who it was. He said he has never admitted this to anyone but she’s his girlfriend. Someone he’s been sorta seeing for a long time. He hasn’t always been a girlfriend type person but he wants to be one now. That hit me like a ton of bricks. I promised not to tell anyone, cos I don’t have that many friends to tell. He concurred that that was why he trusted me with the information, he had noticed that I concentrated on my work. As soon as we returned from wherever we were and she was there he like ghosted me, I’m assuming to be with her. Remember thinking what a hmmm guy, but then of course he is. You can’t be single at that age without having broken a lot of hearts along the way. My dream confirmed that he has a bad streak and that bad streak has to do with women and his commitment issues.

The 55th Year

Prior to my baby, Keanu's birthday I was portended with unease. Asides from the unnerving sadness I had been nursing which was unusual for someone who had started a new job, I was apprehensive. Will everything be okay? 

Usually when it's his birthday I'm always going through some type of crisis... relocation...no job...Naija returnee drama...changing apartments...you name it. 

I was holding my breath considerably on this one. 

Remember this one time he had a movie release sometime in February and I had just lost my job. Was watching him do the press for the movie and I just sat on my couch crying. Like why can't I enjoy my baby tell smarmy jokes on some late night talk show. 

Last year there was some type of drama (apartment drama, remember that?) but I shunned it choosing to take myself to a nice dinner instead. Got some nice pictures out of it too, made some indelible memories. I found myself glowing from the pseudo birthday celebration. 

So this year...the 55th time...so far...is this for real? Things are seemingly...okay...still waiting for the other shoe to drop. But this year is kind of a big deal, he's kind of a BIG DEAL all of a sudden. The whole world has suddenly realized what I have been saying all these years, about what a special human being this is

So I asked the Universe to please let me enjoy this birthday... at least more than I did my own...let me have this one year be special.

However, that was not to be. 

On the day of, woke up to what seemed like the onset of the flu. You know the scratchy throat, head cold, chills. I spent the entire day fighting it at work and in the evening, overdosed on cough medicine crawled up on my couch reading about his birthday trending on #Twitter. All I could do was retweet and send fond thoughts. 

So I lost.

Next day. I felt seemingly better. So I did a post birthday celebration. I even went to church. 

The evening's subdued celebration of my baby's birthday was... 

I thank God. For him. For my obsession. For him not disappointing my undying obsession. Also, thank God that I was well enough to even celebrate. 

For Love. Art. Passion. And all that is beautiful. Just like him. For all my love and more.

For Keanu. The 55th time...don't worry baby, I didn't forget. 

We Are Humbled

Working in a company where every lawyer who’s in a considerable senior position is your junior at the Bar is very limiting, it’s like a humbling experience everyday you go to work. That you, even with your external foreign experience, that is, actual work and hustle experience in a foreign country is significantly viewed as a junior associate compared to people who’ve been predominantly based in Nigeria for most of their careers. 

Today one of such people told me that to even assume my role I need to be taken abroad within the first 3 months to train and meet the international team. 

And I thought, "Didn't I just do that for the first 14 years of my career, what'd I miss?"

Fairweather Friends

Had one of those weekends where you have extra time to think. Don't you just hate those?

Sometimes this is good. Needed for better planning. Sometimes it just unearths hurt feelings.

I realized that since my return to Nigeria about 5 years ago, none of my friends, none has helped me in the job department. Most of them are lawyers too, former classmates, business owners, well established in the top 20% if I dare say so. But they never did. They listened to my woes and recited the usual, "Things are tough out here." and didn't extend a hand to easing the tough exterior.

Naturally, organically as I've grown to realize that I am in this world alone. I turned to God. Turned to God in prayer, fervent prayer, lots of prayer, lots of hoping. I prayed that I would be the first person to get a job in a country that values connections above merit, without said connection and more on merit. And I went from job to job.

So be it that the first job I got on merit I was hired by an expat – who obviously saw through the connections B.S. that is prevalent in this country. Being a position of power, I had the wherewithal to subcontract some legal jobs to external counsel. And who did I pick? The same friends who never thought I’d make it. As I did that, it wasn’t necessarily for the side money (which I heard is usually the motivation for subcontracting), it was more shall I say, to show off, to tell them, look Ma, I made it, and your sorry ass needs to be ashamed for discrediting me. As I moved from job to job, atimes even unemployed for a very lengthy period, they still STILL never helped, even after seeing what I was capable of. I say all this because, yesterday I was hanging out with one of such friends, and he started bragging to his friends about me. Bragging about where I now work and that I make a whole lotta money (which I don’t by the way – besides even if I did I would be the last, the very last person to brag about me). I considered it an affront. Nigerians will not help you in any way but they want to brag about your achievements, brag about what God has blessed you with and some of them even tell you, take us out to celebrate your victory. I just think, I would, if you were part of my victory, but you didn’t help, remember, you just slid to the side while I wallowed in pain.

When you think of all these things, it’s hard not to be consumed with disdain and resentment for these people and that is what I struggle with every day – Pretending to still be friends with people who haven’t helped in my ascension but who want to revel in my victory. I look at them and think, "You could have helped if you wanted to, but you just chose not to, who does that to a friend?"

a month in july

As the last weekend of my month long vacation approached, I couldn't help feeling a little nostalgic. 

I mean I love vacationing. I also love living as if I'm some independently wealthy wife of an oil magnate or a grown ass IG influencer. Unfortunately, I'm none of these things. I'm not that person, I crave to feed my intellect. Wouldn't life be easier if I was? Alas, things are not that easy. There's a need to get back into the swing of things so my brain doesn't turn to mush, and most importantly, so I can recoup all the money that I've lavished on good food - extra long boozy lunches - home renovations, and personal look upgrade.  

When they said Anita you'll have to vacation the entire month of July in Lagos I thought oh why, July is such a long month, all 31 days of it, what would I do with myself, what is there to do? But God and the cherubic celestial forces found some way to keep me busy. There was an entire week all I did was fix technical issues in my flat from plumbing to air-conditioning (which found the opportune time to develop an unknown fault) to painting. I had planned on going to the beach that week but my technical issues said, no can do, young lady, we needa fixin'.

Then, I turned around and the month was done. It was over. I was on the last leg and I had to wrap up - all my dry-cleaning, my house chores, everything - to get back into the hustle and bustle.

As I sit at work, fighting the weight gain, I chuckle to myself with the realization that it was a good time. It felt good to take that time to myself. The food, the GLORIOUS exotic lavish food, so good. Would it have felt better if I had traveled? I don't know. I would think so. But for now. Attending to some matters at home felt good, felt very adulting, as opposed to pushing them aside for the next couple of months and the next couple of months, you know. It felt very mature. It also felt wickedly awesome to just be. Be. For once.

To some of my most blissful afternoons spent doing nothing...

The Year of Keanu

Photos courtesy of Esquire

Lately there's been this Renaissance or "Keanussance" as they've termed it of Keanu.

He's just been getting a lot of press, and good press for his body of work, his humanity and some of the new projects that he's released back to back this year - From John Wick (FINALLY!!!) to Always be My Maybe then, to unbelievably a voiceover character on a Toy Story movie. Recently remember waking up to see him trending on Twitter for nothing spectacular but the simple rhyming pattern of his last name. He's not even on Twitter!

It's been overwhelming for me who's been a long time fan and always regarded him as an "unproblematic fave" so I can't imagine how he's taking it. In some way I am glad that what attracted me to him all these years is finally getting some exposure and in some ways, I don't want it to go to his head, I don't want him to be stalked and I also don't want some story to break and burst his bubble. You know Hollywood can be loving and cruel all in the same breath. Either way, it's a refreshing respite from the usual cats who get all the press for the wrong reasons. Now we get press of him doing even the most mundane things - Keanu riding his bike in Malibu (14 photos) didn't know pictures like that existed. Tune in tomorrow, it'll probably be Keanu buying and somewhat drinking espresso (18 photos). 

Also, with this aroused popularity come the Keanu fan sites who would resuscitate their Keanu writings, fan pages, feeds, think pieces, trying to sound all philosophical and knowledgeable of him (of someone they don't know), and then those annoyingly concocted theoretical stories that they write would start to make the rounds again. It had considerably died down even with the release of the first John Wick which only the fan boys appreciated and demanded a sequel. But now that he's gone full-blown commercial and become the "Internet's new boyfriend", the fandom is no longer underground, it'll be and is commercialized and hopefully not over-exposed. 

I remember asking myself through several of his indie films, one too many, some I am still yet to see, and some the critics panned mercilessly, I remember wondering, "Do you still like this man?"

My response: Always. 

Stunned by Time

When actors that you've known and loved since your youth start aging right in front of your eyes it reminds you that maybe you're aging and in constant denial of the absence of your youth and that maybe, just maybe, you probably don't look quite as spiffy as you used to, that maybe in fact if one were to do a compare of your features, your more prominent facial features against what you were when you started watching those actors to present day, there would also be a great somewhat noticeable change, if possible a demise in youthful radiance.

Every time I see a recent photo of Keanu Reeves I recall his look in a movie I just watched again recently - Point Break. He looked so... young. So precocious. I was so young and precocious when I first saw it. But alas, here we are both NOT so young or precocious - far from it actually.

Then, I also remember one of my other faves #RDJ - Robert Downey, Jr in movies like Chaplin and he was so young and brilliant (acting master class) and so was I when I saw it. I thought he was the most engaging charismatic actor of our time. He still is, but then, age.

The Rock aka Dwayne Johnson during his WWE days with that arched eyebrow and invigorating catchphrases prancing with such agility on the ring ropes with his clarion call of: "Can you smell what The Rock is cooking?"

Again here we are.

Gerard Butler in 300...

This list could go on.

What does this mean?

Age. How do we fight the effects of time? How do we win? Such an unmatched duel. So not fair.

Aging is inevitable. It's disconcerting and overall quite troubling. 

Certain Sundays!!!

Today.

Sunday!

Had the most amazing fulfilling foodie experience.

Right after Mass I stopped over for some Special Fried Rice. For me and me only.  

The sun had finally come out after about 3 consecutive days of horrendous rain so it felt rather soothing to exhale, take in some rays and do something else asides from drive straight to a home that had instilled in me some cabin fever. So off to indulge I did. Ordered a big bowl of Special Fried Rice, brushed off all the offers of an accompanying sauce, and insisted on my choice of Special Fried Rice, you know the kind that comes with all the filings, beef, chicken, shrimp, and this one even had bits of prawn plus a nice cold beer to enjoy the warm Sunday with.

It felt good. I had the same meal on my birthday but it didn't feel quite as refreshing on that day. I was in a hurry, felt the meal was not celebratory enough. I was salivating for another fancier styled restaurant to ring in the day and I didn't want to believe this could be it, the place I ring in my birthday, this seedy 24 hour Chinese restaurant that rarely has customers with a wait staff that looks bored out of their minds. In the end that was it. That turned out to be the best meal I had that day and it was so good that I thought about reliving it today - this Sunday instead of going to brunch in some fancy schmancy restaurant.

What we do on Sundays (on a budget!).

Simple Kind of Life

life can be simpler.
easier. more pleasant.
atimes. even soothing.
we should aim to make it simpler.
and easier.
by any means necessary.
but instead.
we choose to complicate.
and frustrate.
and most importantly,
inhibit.
then.
oppress. suppress.
even the most simplest of tasks.
that's what frustrates me.
suppose.
hope. does so to.
everyone. 

The Year of Keanu

Photos courtesy of Esquire

Lately there's been this Renaissance or "Keanussance" as they've termed it of Keanu. He's just been getting a lot of press, and good press for his work, his humanity and some of the new projects that he's released back to back this year - From John Wick (FINALLY!!!) to unbelievably a voiceover character on Toy Story 4. Recently remember waking up to see him trending on Twitter for nothing spectacular but the simple rhyming pattern of his last name. He's not even on Twitter!

It's been overwhelming for me who's been a long time fan and always regarded him as an "unproblematic fave" so I can't imagine how he's taking it. In some way I am glad that what attracted me to him all these years is finally getting some exposure and in some ways, I don't want it to go to his head, I don't want him to be stalked and I also don't want some story to break and burst his bubble. You know Hollywood can be loving and cruel all in the same breath. Either way, it's a refreshing respite from the usual cats who get all the press for the wrong reasons. Now we get press of him doing even the most mundane things - Keanu riding his bike in Malibu (14 photos) didn't know pictures like that existed. Tune in tomorrow, it'll probably be Keanu buying and somewhat drinking espresso (18 photos). 

Also, with this aroused popularity comes the Keanu fan sites who would resuscitate their Keanu writings, think pieces, fan pages, feeds, trying to sound all philosophical and knowledgeable of him (of someone they don't know), and then those annoyingly concocted theoretical stories that they write would start to make the rounds again. It had considerably died down even with the release of the first John Wick which only the fan boys appreciated and demanded a sequel. But now that he's gone full-blown commercial and become the "Internet's new boyfriend", the fandom is no longer underground, it'll be and is commercialized and hopefully not over-exposed. 

I remember asking myself through several of his indie films, one too many, some I am still yet to see, and some the critics panned mercilessly, I remember wondering, "Do you still like this man?"

My response: Always. 

That's the thing about my love for Keanu it just lurks, it waits for me to have love affairs with men in my head and then, it comes back to claim me. He has this genuine character that just astounds me. It's like I can almost predict that if there's a story of kindness, it has him written all over it. It's not the same with the others.

Post-Birthday Update

You know how your birthday rolls around and nothing really exciting happens. You just sit and wait and wait and nothing really memorable occurs even down to the last hour. And it's not cos you're by yourself, or you have no friends or cos you chose to spend it alone. Even though all these situations exist but still. It's just one of those birthdays that nothing has chosen to happen and that's unfortunately how the stars aligned for this particular birthday. Somehow, in some minuscule way, I have to accept that that's okay. 

But in arriving to that conclusion I had to do some serious soul-searching as to what went wrong.

I recalled all the birthdays in America. Most of them from my 30's. When I had the freedom to travel, explore and just be and bump into strangers and hold some type of fun friendly intellectual conversation that caused me to get out of my head for at least a little bit. Then, there were no cakes, no pressure to buy any, throw a birthday shindig or some type of celebration for your friends. You were free to be selfish and selfishly spend that day on yourself - shopping, indulging and my personal favorite drinking, then, of course, dinner. I remember telling every bar I visited that it was my birthday and getting something on the house - a shot, a beer, a piece of pie, some dessert. It was wonderful. An all about me day. A 24 hour day dedicated to me about me starring me and produced by me, guest stars and locations may vary. I loved it. 

I want to go to there. These Naija birthdays are driving me nuts. 

That is my birthday update. Happy Belated Birthday to me. 

Of Friendships and Sexes

When I was in school...(this is a long story so you all better grab a drink/snacks or something) we were asked to do our law school internship at a law firm (surprising right?). We weren't too thrilled about this additional step to graduation particularly as we weren't permitted to be assigned to a law firm of our choice with our friends. The school handled the assignments at random. You could work your way through this assignment but I tried and failed and just succumbed to random nothingness hoping the chips would fall where they will. And did they?! 

Upon my assignment after the initial awkwardness of being the new girl who just got her assignment a few weeks after the rest of the class, I eventually became good friends with this guy and girl because we found ourselves always sitting at the same table together everyday. What's so ironic about this discovery is that in school we could hardly stand each other. The guy had a girlfriend who wasn't assigned to our law firm (duh!), and the lady, of course, had a boyfriend who also wasn’t with us and there was little ole' me - who happened to be in love with a guy who just happened to be the guy's roommate back in school. We were just 3 people picked at random and plucked into this law firm for 3 months of internship. 

Everyday we came together and talked, chatted about everything, about our love lives (or lack thereof), our families, what we would do upon graduation, everything. We got so close that when it was weekend time we wanted to keep up the tempo so we would agree to meet up somewhere to have drinks together, mostly this lovely exquisite over-priced restaurant with a water view. We wouldn't have any money but of course, the guy (the gentleman) would pay for us girls. We would as much as dress up to make it seem like a dinner arrangement. It was a nice sight at those get-togethers to see two gorgeous (ahem) women with this guy, he felt so honored. He got to share our exact tastes in music, (we used to go to jazz clubs and listen to afro-jazz) movies, and then, fine wine and cuisine. We would go to choice places that served peculiar food just for the fun of the adventure. The funny thing is that his girlfriend never knew, at least he never told her about us and our escapades and then he never knew I had a crush (feel free to insert "obsession" here) with his roommate back in school but I think he guessed at some point. he knew his girlfriend wouldn't understand that all this hanging out was simply platonic that's why he didn't tell her. It was conveniently planned and working too.

In summary, there was this one day we went to see this mutual friend of ours (also in Law school) and when he saw how close we had all become, (two girls and a guy) he was forced to ask the inevitable question: 

"Can a man and a woman be close friends without that element of sex?"

I immediately answered, "Yes", because look at us. We're good. We don't even discuss sex. 

But it got me thinking, that maybe. 

The guy classmate responded emphatically with a resounding, "NO,"...

Okay, but who asked you. 

He continued, "Because at some point the man may be in love with the girl or at some point the girl may be in love with the guy and try to hide it under the guise of friendship..."

That is true, but look at us. We made it. 

But it still got me thinking, and that’s why I started fantasizing about perfect friendships somewhat like we had that summer. It was one of the most memorable friendship experiences of my life. I still look back on it with nostalgia. Obviously! 

When we graduated we went our separate ways. The lady is married now (and is in government and has a proverbial schtick up her arse but let's not go there) and the guy is supposedly working abroad (his father was an ambassador to Nigeria so it's understandable).

Basically all I wanted to illustrate was that platonic friendships between opposite sexes do happen, and sometimes they work and sometimes they don't...but I hope when they do happen and work out, you would learn to treasure and savor those times, because indeed they would undoubtedly be the most memorable, fun filled times of your life. 

Overall.

An Anita Writes Birthday

The Obligatory Birthday Post. 

This year was tough. I didn't have to work. I actually took a vacation so I could just, be, for myself and my birthday. The entire scene was set but yet I wasn't looking forward to it. All that I had anticipated fell through about 2 weeks prior and it left me with a ho-hum feeling in my chest, still hoping with the slightest dimmest flicker that something out of the ordinary would take over.

Yet...it didn't.

It reminded me of one of my favorite episodes of "Sex and the City" (Season 4, episode 1 to be exact), it was Carrie's 35th birthday and she had nurtured an uncertain unhappiness at adding another year to her already burdened lonesome life, and after all the efforts to make her transition easier and less painful, it didn't work out that well. In fact she ended up having a thoroughly shitty day, where everything and anything went wrong and it caused her to re-evaluate her life. Where had her past 35 years taken her thus far?

Instead of boring you with my nothingness birthday celebration - I'm certain we all have those from time to time - below is an extract of one of my first birthday posts. Those were good times, weren't they? I would work on my birthday knowing that my birthday would be celebrated at work (not at my expense but at my friends, colleagues, families expense) and I would come home to a small birthday cake gathering and of course, being the summer, there would be a new movie being released to usher in the evening after all the cake and wine. Go to bed rested, warm and fuzzy from all the love and light shed my way. 

To better birthdays.

June 6, 2003 - 

I am not drunk and, strangely enough, I didn't drink that much and what's so fascinating is that I actually had fun. Still, you know I couldn't let such a memorable day like this go by without putting in an update on the days' events and just saying thank you to God for His wonderful mercies and for His unique way of answering my prayer and letting me know He's got my back.

I went to work feeling a little weird. I was just hoping no one would make a fuss about me, and thankfully they didn't. It was my birthday right? What do I do? How can I get any work done at all? But I did just a little bit but to me I wasn't the only one not really ready to work, my co-workers were ready to leave that place and head to the restaurant faster than I was. 

We went to a fancy restaurant downtown. For once we mingled with the rich and the spoiled. Then, they handed me my present a gift card, which I didn't want to open because I really do not open my presents in front of people. However, it was fun, I am feeling rather worn out now and sluggish, comes with turning an age, so I don't really have the energy to type out the play by play of today's events. All I know is, I had fun, the gifts from my co-workers were touching, and the love around me is really what I needed. I thank God for it, and I rejoice for it.

Happy Birthday to Me!

Life Gets in the Way

I used to write a lot. 

About anything and everything. 

About my life. My personal journey of dating, love, loss, stupidity, struggles of accepting my new environment, frustration with certain paths my life is taking. My adventures. My travels. The adventures in getting lost I would experience during my trips. The conversations. With people I would never meet again. The joys of being part of something new. 

Name it I would write. Sometimes meaningful, oft poetic. Occasionally rambling. And then fawning over someone, some place or some thing. Inasmuch as it seemed pointless at some time, because no one was reading, I wasn't writing them to any one or for any one, it was mainly for me. For my thoughts. A moment to clear my head of all the randomness that had accumulated in it since the last time I released them through words. They were merely words. More Words. And Words all the same. 

These days. I do not write. I cannot write. I try to write but I can't. Asides from a fruitless nonsensical treatise to my ex-lover about something that has escaped my mind right now, I do not write. In hindsight maybe it was my thirst for finding a vehicle to write about that caused me to inundate him with words, endless, pointless, stupid words. 

Really wish I could write regardless. Not necessarily due to him. But cause of my thoughts, about my life. It's been sapped of creativity. The fight to stay afloat in Nigeria, the endless thirst-quenching run leads you to obsessing about what you need to do differently to make ends, no matter how far apart they may seem, meet. More often, I'm always running, always competing with no one against the attainment of my dreams and unflinching need to be happy. Every quest is a chance to ask myself: Does this align with our quest for happiness? Is this introducing negativity or positivity into my life? Such an endless hapless thrill ride that has nothing, absolutely nothing to do, with creativity.  

It's that quest, the endless run that crushes whatever zest to create that I have left.

....Continuation of my "Why Do We Run?" series...

When The Class Bully Comes to Church

The other day after my regular Saturday reflective Mass someone, an elderly gentleman, fellow Parishioner verbally assaulted me for obstructing his car in the parking lot. I'm sure you're thinking:

"It's no big deal. This is Lagos, everyone verbally assaults, berates and curses the ever living shit out of everyone - man, woman, child, no one is spared. It's a MF jungle." 

But this was different. It was not only at church. It was IN church. I had just concluded confession and was walking to a pew to pray/meditate on my penance when he accosted me mid-kneel spewing his negativity in my face. I was utterly perplexed. In Church! Inside Church!! Is this acceptable? This type of behavior belongs outside on the street. So I can r equally espond. And bring my brand of crazy to the party!

As I left, befuddled, embarrassed and thoroughly shook, I wrote the Parish priest, Assistant Parish Priest, everyone - Y'all need to call your Parishioner to order. I needed that man to apologize for bringing his ghetto to church, a sanctuary, a place of peace for some of us who thirst for peace in this rambunctious hell-hole of a city. If there's one place people can act with some form of decorum, civility, like they got some sense, surely it is Church. I was so wrong.

After many talks, I soon realized that my need for a soothing apology, however flippant, was not to come from this man. It didn't help that this man is one of the elite 1% of the Parish society, and in a church that is predominantly comprised of the 1% folk, I fall into the minority. So really, why would he apologize to me? I should be happy him and his kin folk even let us come to worship there blocking their Benz's and G-Wagons with our ancient jalopies.

When it was clear to me that an apology or even a mediation talk was not imminent I soon lost interest in organized religion, of which the Catholic Church wears the crown. Some of that crown is worn for certain bad acts which I won't bother to get into right now. But still...I just froze...out of betrayal for every thing I held dear.

Not that I won't attend Mass anymore. It's the urge to sit there, meditate, pray, be and especially observe the sacrament of confession there, has disappeared specifically in that community. And before you think it was brought on by this one incident, it's an accumulation of events that were toppled over by this incident. It was a verbal acknowledgment of the reality that this church is made up of the 1% and I am not one of them. Even though Jesus represented the views of the poor, in this Church, not so much. Almost like a celebration of the ill-gotten wealth that is constantly paraded on display in this country. This got me thinking, if these folks are the Churches' key demographic, what room do they have to accommodate someone who is not affluent?

We live in a society that worships wealth. The 1% continually tower over the rest, creating situations of injustice and oppression. And the one place, you don't expect the 1% to win...is Church. But yet it does, so much so that it is flaunted, and by their failure to reprimand, even caution this rude act, it seemed as if it was lauded. Sometimes I just sit there watching them and think this must be intoxicating to them, do they not realize this is a place of worship not a get-together hall.

In the end, who won. The Battle of the Egos. They did. The 1%. The patriarchy. The misogynistic society. The Class Bully. They. Take your pick.

Build an Opportunity of Forget

Of Negroes and Barbies...We Build an Opportunity of Forget

When I wrote that phrase about 2 years ago, I had no idea that I would actually want to dedicate an entire post to it, or even contemplate a prayer circle, where the intention is simply to "build an opportunity of forget."

Here we are.

Used to suppressing the traumatic events in my life. Suppress so much that you pretend that these are not your events or circumstances. Project them as someone else's. But for some events, some inexplicable events you have to build a brick wall against otherwise the smog and filth of their triggers would saliently trickle in...

On a seemingly harmless Monday as I was running late for work, I checked my phone hoping no one from the office had called for me. There it was, an email from a notorious ex-lover - Negro. Since Negro had been recently told to steer the course of his path seemingly away from mine, I assumed that that email meant he was in trouble and needed someone to bail him out. It was not. Instead, he had had a dream (I'm assuming while laying in bed with his new wife) that I was in distress because he was getting married and my "unhappiness bothered him." At first I wasn't offended. Why? Cos I encourage self-expression of any kind. Whatever it is, "Say it, speak your words and thoughts to me, lover!" Negro was gravely misconstrued.

There is no unhappiness here. No more than the average person. You want certain things you don't get them, unhappiness visits. I want a million dollars, pay raise, heck, even an improved lover, it doesn't seem to be showing up, so I am unhappy but I move on. What I am, I daresay is angry. And I know I've detailed that several times on this blog...a certain post from September 2008 and December 2015 come to mind. There's a certain anger and repression that builds from fighting the same fight over and over in this life that atimes intoxicates, almost chokes. But we power through it. In my response I averted his mind to the singular acts from him and our 20 year love affair that have incited my anger of which, the subject email was soon to join their ranks.

1. On one hand of the spectrum, there's me. Having spent all my money moving into my new flat in October, I didn't have any money left for an Air-conditioner. I had to sleep in the scorching heat of my apartment while I waited for money (from my family) to buy an Air-conditioner.

2. On the other hand, there's Negro. Completely aware of this situation, but oblivious to its resolution. Instead, this brotha jaunted off to London on a week vacay with his new wife.

Tell me, would it have killed a brotha to give his ex-lover N100K to buy an AC. He clearly could have afforded it. But no, he didn't. Cut to 4 months later, all of a sudden, on a gloomy Monday in February, my unhappiness suddenly concerns this Nigga. How quickly we forget the times we've been 'purposeful assholes.'

What do we do about the people that hurt us, continually? That continually show up in our faces and taunt us with their 'gram worthy union?

We Build an Opportunity of Forget. Day by day, brick by brick, we mold it with dried tears, cuts and scrapes and brief memories of the hurts that they've caused. And one day soon enough, the wall will be completed so a newness can revisit. And this ex will forever remain estranged. 

I close this very lengthy breathy post or treatise (as he calls them) with words from what has slowly become one of my favorite songs...this last line holds so much weight. 

All the Stars...*

Love, let's talk about love
Is it anything and everything you hoped for?
Or do the feeling haunt you? I know the feeling haunt you
Tell me what you gon' do to me
Confrontation ain't nothin' new to me
You can bring a bullet, bring a sword
Bring a morgue, but you can't bring the truth to me
Fuck you and all your expectations
I don't even want your congratulations
I recognize your false confidence and calculated promises all in your conversation
I hate people that feel entitled
Look at me crazy 'cause I ain't invite you
Oh, you important?
You the moral to the story, you endorsing?
Motherfucker, I don't even like you


*Songwriters: Alexander William Shuckburgh / Kendrick Lamar / Mark Anthony Spears / Solana I. Rowe / Anthony Tiffith All The Stars lyrics © Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC, Universal Music Publishing Group, Kobalt Music Publishing Ltd

Of Negros, Boujees and Assholes

Used to have this ex from many moons ago in the US who was fascinated with Latina chicks. Last year, he married the blackest most woke sista I know in DC and they attend marches and black awareness ish together. 

When I asked him what changed, he said:

Cos a Latina would never understand the struggle of being a black man, no matter how hard you explain it, she'll never know what it feels like to be black, to be a black person in America dealing with your hustles. 

You think? Needless to say, he did it "for the culture."

If you wanna be woke and socially conscious and anti boujee...be that way...but to sell out cos you tasted the other side...that's just wrong, yo! So effing wrong. I see this betrayal displayed with all my friends from the old school, with certain Nigerians (lest I be accused of a generalization). There's always the mentality of "Let's see you made smaller so our light can shine a little bit brighter". At first, I thought I assumed it was my unrelenting overactive imagination, until I noticed similarities and one of my homegirls noticed the same, then, THEN I knew it wasn't a fluke.

Some of them started that way when I just returned, they seemed so anti boujee (if there is such a thing) so woke, so representing for the culture ✊..."oh Anita why you wanna live in Ikoyi...Surulere  no longer good enough for you." Cut to 2018, and their wife decides to build this massive grotesque mansion on Queens Drive, Ikoyi (similar to Ocean Drive Miami) putting them into debt because according to him, she's "always wanted a big house." And they are still married, and the kids are grown but yet the expansive house is still being built. Y'all know if that were my spouse now...we'd be getting a divorce DIVORCE. 

Then there's "Oh Anita why do you insist that you must travel every year...is Nigeria not good enough for you? Haven't you traveled enough?" Cut to 2017 and beyond, they travel at the drop of a hat, even for a week with their shiny new wives...bungee jump...sky dive...swim with the fishes...and speak of how Nigeria needs to get its act together. I'm reading these texts and instagram posts and wondering: "But brotha man...I thought that's what you're here for...to build this country ..strive with us...hustle with us...not run off in private jets with Barbie and pretend you didn't sign up for this hustle...how utterly...what's the word...boujee...and asshole of you!" 

There are more examples of these instances, of these pretentious sell-out black (Nigerian) folk in my life and probably in all of yours. People that, you know, once they taste the sweet nectar of good living turn into different people. Or people who pretend that they're "down" woke, culturally and socially aware and shun all forms of societal peer pressure and vanity and are present for the culture...but deep down they just lavish in the lifestyle of boujee culture with its entrapment and will spare no expense in rubbing your nose in it. 

So I'm saying it now...what does it feel like when all your friends - your supposed woke friends sell out...are they still your friends? Do you pretend to still be friends? Do you call them out on it? Do you cut off that Tr*mp sized sell-out? I do and I have. In fact, I'm slowly running out of friends actually because they are all this way. But oh well... 

For me, it's simple.

I'm Anita and I am bourgeoisie (I actually used to call it this before boujee became a thing with black culture in Atlanta). I like nice, cultured type things...in fact I thrive on them...I am culturally aware and I represent for the culture, for the African in me, but I also believe in nice things, things you can't afford just because they're nice, traveling at the drop of a hat, getting cultured from all your spontaneous trips, and I try to bring that culture, that boujee ish down with me, but that doesn't mean I cannot be down if I need to. So if you hear I'm living in a home I can't afford, don't be shocked...because that is so me...Is there any other type of home? But I will be the last person to rub your nose in it. 

I am Anita and I am boujee and I'm not afraid to say it. You wanna be my friend?

Hustle and Flow

This time last year I was the sole tenant in a building block of four flats located in a very rural, decrepit part of Port Harcourt. 

The building was so desolate that the gate man used to sleep on the stairs in front of my flat because they hadn't constructed a gateman post for him. I would wake up in the morning (after having slept very little) and on my way to work, open the door to find him still asleep at my door step or sometimes, on the bare floor in front of the gate. The flat in question was upstairs with a bedroom window that faced the street, and the street as untarred as it was, was quite busy specifically with keke vehicles and their blaring nauseating horns. This incessant horn blaring would start from about 6am when I wake up to go to work and continue until the wee hours, probably about 2 am, then, resume at 6am start. Yes, most definitely not a chance to sleep in later in this flat. 

This wasn't the worst take of this place. The real kick in the nuts was, there was no electricity. None. There was never electricity. It was connected to the grid from NEPA/PHED but they never provided electricity to this part of town. They must have considered them not worthy enough. They would provide electricity between the hours of midnight to 2am, and that was it, sometimes not even at all. It was really that bad. I used all the connections I had at PHED to try to stir those MFs into providing at least 6 hours of electricity to this area (because it was my new home) but all to no avail. To make matters worse, at this time of year Nigeria was witnessing some inconsequential fuel scarcity so fuel was priced at a premium so running my generator for continuous periods cost a good chunk of change. If that wasn't bad enough my gate man who got to spend all day in the empty building would fiddle with my generator doing God knows what with it all day, so by the time I got home, he would mumble something, "Oh fuel don finish oh" even though there was fuel before I left, or, "Oh your plugs don spoil for gen" even though they were fine before I left. 

All this drama and self-imposed torture lasted about a month, until I couldn't take it any more. I up and left for another apartment, in another side of town where we were promised steady electricity (even though we were not connected to the grid at the time and it took another 2 months to actually get connected), the roads were better, it was a lot closer to work, with a lot more tenants so I wouldn't be the sole tenant with a leering gate man at my doorstep. Some issues with the first place immediately stopped, however they were quickly superimposed with a new set of issues in the new place. But that's a whole other post.

This year, being in Lagos, my living situation is a lot better. So much better. For one, I am not inundated with the incessant blaring of horns from kekes that speed past my window all frigging day. I am in the CITY. Most importantly, I don't have a creepy gate man that sleeps on my doorstep. That was, as I termed it, "a ticking time bomb" that I'm glad did not detonate. 

However, that is not to say that my current living situation is perfect. Those previous issues have as usual been swiftly replaced with a brand new set of issues. I live in a serviced flat that costs more than I can afford apparently all this so I don't have to deal with the persistent faulty generator issues from last year. But this serviced flat despite, and asides from the high sticker price, still poses a great challenge. The generator rarely works. The property management deals with the generator issues and in turn, they blowback on the tenant. Somehow I don't know how this electricity or lack thereof can ever be resolved in Nigeria. It follows me around no matter what part of Nigeria I live in. Sitting here with a freezer filled with food and no electricity, wondering how I'm going to have to go home to face decomposed food. 

My living space is important to me. It's my big splurge. Some girls spend money on clothes, shoes, perfume, etc. But I like to live well, eat well, and travel. So far I've not been able to accomplish either of these things in Nigeria. Formerly, I would spend much more than 50% of my salary to find the perfect most luxurious stress-free living space. I've always been like that. I consider my living space my oasis, where I get to hide from the world, hibernate and vegetate. We deal with a lot of stressful negative inconveniences and unwanted interactions in this world, the outside world is filled with hate and vileness but my living space is sheltered from all that, it's my cocoon, a space I can control. 

I may not be able to control the reckless stupidity of the outside world but I can handle my living space. So far in Nigeria, I have not been able to find that living space that applies to me and my lifestyle. And for me, with my high threshold for a living space, that represents a huge problem. Very few living spaces in Nigeria measure up and if they do, their sticker prices can only be afforded by corporate tenants with their huge wallets. I find it so sad that there isn't affordable manageable decent living conditions for the middle class, not even upper middle-class, just middle-class working professionals. It has to be all or nothing, and the rest of us, who like to live well, are subjected to the inbetweens - subpar managed properties by people who have no idea what they're doing.

It's like the hustle in this country never ends. It's on a constant loop. Move from one part of PH to another, and there are still problems. Move from one part of Nigeria to another and there are still problems. It's just on an endless loop.

That's it.

End of piece. End of rant. 

Trajectory 2019

By this time last year I was the sole tenant in a building block of four flats located in a very remote, decrepit rural part of Port Harcourt. 

The building was so empty that the gate man used to sleep on the stairs in front of my flat because they hadn't constructed a gateman post for him. I would wake up in the morning (after having slept very little) and on my way to work, open the door and find him still asleep at my door step or sometimes on the bare floor in front of the gate. The flat in question was upstairs with a bedroom window that faced the street, and the street as untarred as it was was quite busy specifically with keke vehicles and their blaring nauseating horns. This incessant horn blaring would start from about 6am when I wake up to go to work and until the wee hours, probably about 2 am, then at 6am start all over again, yes, most definitely not a chance to sleep in later in this flat. 

This wasn't the worst take of this place, the real kick in the nuts was, there was no electricity. None. There was never electricity. It was connected to the grid from NEPA/PHED but they never provided electricity to this part of town. They would provide electricity between the hours of midnight to 2am, and that was it, sometimes not even at all. It was really that bad. I used all the connections I had at PHED to try to stir those MFs into providing at least 6 hours of electricity to this area (because it was my new home) but all to no avail. To make matters worse, at this time of year Nigeria was witnessing some inconsequential fuel scarcity so fuel was priced at a premium so running my generator for continuous periods cost a good chunk of money. If that wasn't bad enough my gate man who got to spend all day in the empty building would fiddle with my generator doing God knows what with it and by the time I would get home, he would mumble something, "Oh fuel don finish oh" even though there was fuel before I left, or, "Oh your plugs don spoil for gen" even though they were fine before I left. 

All this drama and self-imposed torture lasted about a month, until I couldn't take it any more. I up and left for another apartment, in another side of town where we were promised steady electricity (even though we were not connected to the grid at the time and it took another 2 months to actually get connected), where the roads were better, a lot closer to work, with a lot more tenants so I wouldn't be the sole tenant with a leering gate man at my doorstep. 

Some issues with the first place immediately stopped, however they were quickly superimposed with a new set of issues in the new place. But that's a whole other post. This year, being in Lagos, my living situation is a lot better. So much better. For one, I am not inundated with the incessant blaring of horns from kekes that speed past my window all frigging day. I am in the CITY. Most importantly, I don't have a creepy gate man that sleeps on my doorstep. That was, as I termed it, "a ticking time bomb" that I'm glad did not detonate.  

However, that is not to say that my current living situation is perfect. Those previous issues have as usual been swiftly replaced with a brand new set of issues. I live in a serviced flat that costs more than I can afford apparently all this so I don't have to deal with the persistent faulty generator issues from last year. But this serviced flat despite, and asides from the high sticker price, still poses a great challenge. The generator rarely works. The property management deals with the generator issues and in turn, they blowback on the tenant. Somehow I don't know how this electricity or lack thereof can ever be resolved in Nigeria. It follows me around no matter what part of Nigeria I live in. Sitting here with a freezer filled with food and no electricity, wondering how I'm going to have to go home to face decomposed food. 

My living space is important to me. It's my big splurge. Some girls spend money on clothes, shoes, perfume, etc. But I like to live well, eat well, and travel. So far I've not been able to accomplish either of these things in Nigeria. Formerly, I would spend much more than 50% of my salary to find the perfect most luxurious stress-free living space. I've always been like that. I consider my living space my oasis, where I get to hide from the world, hibernate and vegetate. We deal with a lot of stressful negative inconveniences and unwanted interactions in this world, the outside world is filled with hate and vileness but my living space is sheltered from all that, it's my cocoon, a space I can control. 

I may not be able to control the reckless stupidity of the outside world but I can handle my living space. So far in Nigeria, I have not been able to find that living space that applies to me and my lifestyle. And for me, with my high threshold for a living space, that represents a huge problem. Very few living spaces in Nigeria measure up and if they do, their sticker prices can only be afforded by corporate tenants with their huge wallets. I find it so sad that there isn't affordable manageable decent living conditions for the middle class, not even upper middle-class, just middle-class working professionals. It has to be all or nothing, and the rest of us, who like to live well, are subjected to the inbetweens - subpar managed properties by people who have no idea what they're doing.

It's like the hustle in this country is never ending. It's on a loop. Move from one part of PH to another, and there are still problems, move from one part of Nigeria to another and there are still problems. It's just on an endless loop. And the folks who make the money or have a means to make the money don't seem to want to help anyone else except themselves, they're just content with gloating and showing off their spoils of war from their trips to Europe for a weekly trip in an effort to make you feel bad about yourself. (More on that piece later)

That's it.

End of piece. End of rant.