The Mrs Club

To colored girls who considered suicide (or murder) when marriage was not enough

2010-02-09T10:14:00.002-05:00

My people...Happy new year. Forgive me for being absent. Have a few new projects that are demanding my time. Have a new book coming out. Well two...First and please don't be too disappointed is a non fiction book of inspiration. What?!! I have received all of your emails about when is the next Mrs club coming out? I love you guys btw thanks for all the emails! It is coming O..."Watch this space for a preview..." in the meantime my new inspiration book is coming soon...so eat your vegetables while you wait for dessert!!!

I wrote this a while ago in response to the last post that was an email from a woman that her husband left for his mistress. Chai. I read that email and I was saddened. Not because he left her, because well, bad things happen but a man that leaves you...well let me keep my mouth shut, but it might be a blessing in disguise.

Anyway here is my response to her...

Maybe he hurt you
Maybe he left you
Maybe he disappointed you
Maybe he betrayed your trust
Maybe he broke your heart
Maybe he broke your spirit

May be you left him
May be you are still together
May be you are confused about what path to take
May be you are pressured into staying on one
One thing is for sure, no matter how you find yourself, in or out you can still be happy.

I got the saddest response to my note the other woman. From a woman who felt she lost her husband to one. It was filled with pain and bitterness. She felt victimized. She painted herself as less than and I know how that can feel when your self esteem is damaged.

I want to give her a hug and say this...

Perhaps you keep replaying the horrible things he said to you in your mind. Perhaps you look in the mirror and you no longer like what you see. Drown the noise out. Get a new soundtrack.

Just forgive and let go. Move on. You are not a victim.

Yes, he may have hurt your pride and shattered your heart, but you can still be happy. He was not courageous in leaving and your marriage was never a trap...He chose to walk out, ok, fine.

Truth be told, the demise of your relationship was not caused by him or you alone. Maybe there were things you both could have done better, maybe you could have both become better, because no woman can take a man permanently who wasn't already looking for a way out. So yes, this realization probably hurts and things may suck right now, but this is not the defining moment of your life.

This pain will pass, if you let it. What looks like an abandonment is actually a release. So you have downturned lips, get together with some girlfriends, have a glass of wine or two, put on some great music, allow yourself to cry it all out, then dance it all back, reclaim your sexy, reclaim your soul and open your eyes and live.

I know the other women may seem a person to envy right now, but I assure you the picture is not as rosy as you think it is. And anyway who cares. You have a brand new life ahead of you. A chance to do it all over. How many people get that?

You have your children, who no doubt are the most precious things in your life. Give them a kiss and hug and laugh with them. Shoot, if you can't call anyone, call me. Together we can cry and then dry our tears, we can pray and hear from God, then we can laugh and make merry, we can look at the life that is ahead of us, because I don't have any plans of dying and I will share with you the chapters that I have closed that were filled with pain and I will show you those that are not yet written that will be filled with joy. When something like this happens it is tempting to stay there but my darling turn the page. This is one chapter, it is not your whole story. Rewrite your poem.

I was the wife, in a past life
Now I look forward, now I look up
I have dried my tears, I have quelled my fears
I now know my worth, I know how to push forth.
I gave birth to children, I will birth myself.
Into a new place of healing and forgiveness, into a new place of possibilities and blessings.
Today I am rocking joy and I refuse to wear shame.
Today I will laugh
Today I will live
Today I will love
Watch this space...
because the best is yet to come.

A note from a wife ( A response to the other woman)

2009-12-29T20:13:00.003-05:00

I have received many responses to the other woman post...This was an interesting response. I resisted adding my own two cents to this rejoinder...I think it makes many assumptions but as the author says there are many sides...Please read and weigh in, especially men, what makes y'all tick, other that testosterone, :)...it is an interesting take.

FROM THE WIFE

I read a piece by Ekene Onu titled 'Are You the Other Woman. As the title suggests, it was talking about mistresses - the disadvantages of being one, the pitfalls etc...I agreed with a lot of the things she wrote about but I couldn't help feeling there was another side to it all; a side that most of us, especially women, tend to close our eyes to.

What sort of vacuum would a man experience that he would feel the need to fill it with another woman; not just for a short period but for a long time- almost like a parallel marriage? Yes, the argument against that would be but why would the other woman agree to remain 'outside'?

On the other hand, why would the woman 'inside', remain in a loveless marriage and waste 10, 20 years of her life in bitterness and unhappiness, waiting for the man to 'come back to her? When he eventually does, he's old, tired and decrepit and the marriage is just waiting for death to come and take it!

Anyway, I decided to write a rejoinder based on my own experience...there are so many sides to this thing, so many...this is not definitive...it's just another side to the whole story....

MY REJOINDER-

I am the wife...

I am the wife; the one who has his 'committment'.

She is the 'other woman'; the one who has his heart.

I am the wife; the one who has his children.

She is the other woman; the one who has his love.

I am the wife; the one he comes home to.

She is the other woman; the one he loves being with.

I am the wife; the one who fasts and prays for my 'marriage'.

She is the other woman; the one who pulls him to her without prayers.

I am the wife; the one that has pursed lips and a down-turned mouth.

She is the other woman; the one with a spring in her step and a twinkle in her eye.

I am the wife; the one who is fighting to 'keep her man'.

She is the other woman; the one who doesn't need to fight.

I am the wife; the one who knows we are just staying together for the children.

She is the other woman; the one that has the love child/children.

I am the wife; the one that doesn't want to face the reality of the situation.

He is the husband; the one that took courage and left because he wanted to live happily ever after.

I am the wife; the one who after months of tears and bitterness, is thankful that he was brave enough to walk away from the trap we found ourselves in.

I am the wife; the one who has learnt that marriage is hard enough without you entering into it with low expectations.

I was the wife and now I am not.

She was the other woman and now she is the wife

Are you the other woman?

2009-12-12T20:09:00.000-05:00

In light of the recent scandals…I wanted to repost this with a few extras. Please, I beg you if you know someone caught up in this, please forward. The saddest thing about all these women coming forward to kiss(lie) and tell, is their complete lack of understanding of what they are doing to themselves and how they are trying to glamorize their poor choices…So I dey ask?

Are you the other woman?

Before you all jump to shout loudly no, let’s be real, many of us are choosing this path, or at least find ourselves on it and at that moment are faced with whether to jump right off or continue along. Quite recently some notable women have admitted to being the other woman. Barbara Walters did, Oprah did and I know some of you did and are.

A while ago, a young woman sat in my living room and proceeded to tell me why she thought wives were the stupidest women. She said and I quote “Majority of the men I know don’t love their wives, they love their girlfriends. The wives are the fools because they clean up after them, take care of them and at the end of the day, he goes to have fun with his girlfriend”

I resisted the urge to slap the stupidity out of her brain. She was sitting in my house telling me, how she thought me and my kind were stupid. Ah…but I have come to learn that in order to gain wisdom, you have to listen to even to the most inane of conversations.

So I poured my drink as I listened to this otherwise educated and smart young woman, justify her choice in a roundabout fashion. The mind is amazing, you can justify anything if you really want to…I mean, Bush justified Iraq and I have just rationalized this chocolate chip cookie, well I am trying to justify it, but the truth us I really can’t justify it without lying to myself.

But I digress.

I think the key thing in her statement was that she was lying to herself. Affairs, adultery exist in a realm of lies. He lies to her, he lies to you, he lies to himself, you lie to the world, you lie to yourself and then you cry to yourself because there will be nobody left to lie to.

There was once a girl who once chased a married man. The wife found out and confronted her. The girl feeling like a hard babe pushed back. She basically told her that if she was handling hers, then he wouldn’t be with her. I expect she felt like she was too much, I expect he told her as much. But here’s the thing all he offered her was a few verbal sweet nothings, maybe a few dollars on top of that…what else…no commitment, no pride, no dignity? And I hate to break it to you, most of the time, cheating has nothing to do with the wife. With chronic cheats or sex addicts, you are nothing more than a fix. Would you reduce yourself to a baggie of cocaine?

I don’t know when we as women started to believe the lie that we have to settle for less!

Now here is my two kobo as far as being with a married man is concerned. Please know that this comes from a place of love and also I have a deep understanding of what I am saying, trust me.

1. If a man is married and has you on the side, then you are only a side piece. You are simply there because you agree to be there. Occasionally he may become so besotted that he will contemplate or maybe even leave his wife, but even in that circumstance, most of the time, it’s more about his needing to leave anyway and you providing a convenient safety net.
2. Men lie. Well, we all lie. We lie to get what we want. We lie to ourselves, so what makes you think that Mr. Man is not lying to you? He told you he doesn’t love her? What line do you think he used on his wife, when she found out about your last tryst? The same one. Verbatim.
3. The wives of men who cheat, have agendas. They stay for a myriad of reasons. Don’t assume stupidity is one of them.
4. Don’t believe the “it’s not where he is, it’s where he wants to be” myth. Where he is, is where he wants to be period. Trust me, don’t fall into that trap.

I know a woman, who was a man’s mistress for at least twenty years. She was and is a beautiful, elegant, educated woman. I don’t know what he told her to keep her hanging on in there for all those years, it must have been good. Long and short, this man had a heart attack and left everything to his wife and kids. His mistress and her child were left nothing. Their names weren’t even penciled into the will. She couldn’t see the body. She couldn’t mourn him publicly. She was a shadow widow, just like she was a shadow wife. She went to the memorial alone, her friends refused to go, and she sat at the back like a nobody. As she sat their crying about his death, she began to realize that in his real life, she was nobody to him. His friends that knew her, pretended otherwise. She was a strictly after midnight, no status. I think about her a lot. I wonder how a woman like that could have fallen prey.

I wrote the book, the Mrs club, because I wanted to talk about how people feel when pressured to marry, but there is a secondary pressure. The desire to find love. When time starts racing by, you start to become afraid. The question of whether you’ll ever find love begins to ring in your head, like and unwanted bell. You start to panic. You think deep inside even though you might proclaim otherwise that maybe you won’t find that perfect love. So sometimes when a counterfeit comes around, showing you all the romance you felt would come with that perfect love but none of the commitment, you think that you have to settle for less. Don’t feel bad, so many of us have fallen for their verse. It is practiced so it’s convincing, but it’s no more real than the world they are promising you. Any man that is serious will close one door before opening another. This is fact, simple and true.

Tell yourself what you like…but find a little time to tell yourself the truth. These so called hard babes and senior chicks that self medicate with gucci and prada are sometimes dying inside. They don’t tell you that sometimes, he doesn’t take their calls for days or weeks. They don’t tell you that they have to beg sometimes for the money that they flash around like lottery winners. They don’t tell you that sometimes, they get lonely. They don’t tell you that sometimes they hate who they have become.

I guess that is what gets to me the most. I told that girl in my living room and I am telling you. If you are on the verge of making this choice. Don’t choose him. Choose you. Don’t give up everything you believe for a person that has made no commitment to you. Don’t give up the right to dignity for a little bit of intimacy, don’t give up being alone and end up lonely. You are worth more. You deserve to live and walk in the light. You deserve to subsist on more than crumbs, you deserve the cake.
I understand that fear, believe me I do. I think that sometimes that books and movies set us up. They are about romance, not love. When the screen gets blurry and the music starts, what is happening is not love, its romance. Love is commitment, pure and simple. It is not necessarily sexy. It doesn’t necessarily come with perfect words. It simply is.

And if you stop looking for the lies, you will see the truth and say it.

Yes O! Anyone reading this, I am begging you…it is as the Bible says, God is not mocked. It is the principle of the world even, what you sow, you will reap. I tell you, any tears you cause any woman to shed over your affairs with her husband, you will weep double in your life.

I posted this here because so many “good” girls are falling for the lie and before you know it, they leave their morals and their faith behind because of shame.

My darlings, I don’t speak because I am perfect, I speak because I know all too well. No matter how lonely you are, no matter how fine he is, or how lonely he claims to be, you deserve more. You are worth more.

And if you have fallen, if you are there, maybe he is sleeping right beside you right now…it is not too late to get up and say no more. Never mind the lies that float around in your head saying you are ruined. Hmm, who is ruined, what was Mary Magdalene, what about Rahab, no one is ruined before God. He is watching you and wanting you to come back to Him. He will receive you with open arms.

You are loved. By the most High. Now tell me what man made from dust can compete with that?

Hawaii vs Alaska

2009-11-12T21:09:00.003-05:00

The other day I was speaking to a dear friend who is waiting for her life partner. She is of age and has everything going for her and she is currently single. I understand her angst, I know people may think yeah, yeah, you are already married how can you relate? Well while I may not fully grasp the depth of her concern, rest assured I myself felt it at times.

We had an interesting conversation the other day. She was telling me about a man who had come on the scene but he had a few hiccups or commas or red flags. She had asked me for advice about whether or not she should proceed with this man. He had many of the qualities that she wanted but he also had many of the flaws she desperately wanted to avoid. I listened to her, this brilliant, compassionate, solid woman, someone who I often turned to for counsel; tell me her reasons for considering this man. She kept talking and I kept asking questions and then she said something that I love her for. She broke it down honestly. “I am not getting any younger and it’s not like I have a lot of prospects, so maybe I should just take what is in front of me”. I was so glad when she put it plainly because here was something we could deal with.

I couldn’t tell her whether or not he would be a good man because only God knows a man’s heart…and even the bible tells us it can be desperately wicked.
I couldn’t tell her if she would be happy with him, even couples who profess undying love at the wedding day sometimes hate each other later.

I could tell her though that the smoke one sees when dating, typically becomes a well stoked fire in marriage.
I could tell her that those red flags usually become sirens later on.
I could tell her that I loved her enough not to want her to suffer unnecessarily.

I asked her to picture herself in an airport and her marriage a destination. Where would she like to go? Perhaps she thought of a picturesque place like Hawaii; a destination known for its beaches and tropical flavor. Perhaps she had packed a bikini and sunglasses for her trip.
Now I wanted her to picture the departure board. All the flights to Hawaii were delayed until further notice. None of the airline staff had any information, except that they knew that corporate planned to send the planes. People seemed to be boarding planes all around her, but when she looked the only available flight she could get on was headed directly to Alaska and it was leaving soon.

What to do? She is not packed for Alaska. She doesn’t even like snow. But it’s the only available flight. Maybe she could learn to like snow, maybe she could buy a parka over there. Don’t they have like a month of summer?
All these thoughts rush through her head.

I asked her, its there some apocalyptic event happening at the airport. If you don’t board the plane, is your life in danger?
Because there was one other thing I knew for sure. The plane to Alaska will never go to Hawaii.
As for her questions, well she could maybe buy a parka. I know many women (and men for that matter) who are in marriages that are difficult because the parties involved were prepared for different experiences and somehow found themselves on the wrong plane. She could learn to like snow, certainly probably after many cold nights, after all I also know marriages that seemed doomed from the start eventually after much heartache and God’s intervention become sweet and loving.

The point of all this is simply this. I love my friend and so I shared with her what I want to share with you. Marriage is not a simple, uncomplicated affair. Even when you are perfectly matched you may find challenges and when you are not if can be a Herculean task to make it work and it will not come without a great deal of heartache and pain. So I know the wait may seem endless and it seems like your partner isn’t out there. I want to encourage you to wait for what you know in your heart that you want and need, as long as those wants are not based on superficial nonsense but rooted in reality and come from true introspection, then wait.

I know the screen says delayed. I know you don’t have any information as to when it is coming. I know you have a wave of panic welling up inside of you.
But please know this, if you get on the plane bound for the wrong destination, that’s it. You are on the plane. The pilot will not stop and let you get off. And you may be thinking well I’ll just get divorced. Not as easy as folks make it look, like two pieces of paper that are stuck together can rarely be separated without one or both of them ripping, most people do not get out of divorces completely intact and without some serious and possibly life changing pain and consequences.

Please wait for what you want. Yes, I’m on the other side. So I should have credibility, I know exactly what shade of green the grass is here and I know just how many weeds there are too.
Wait, and while you are waiting, look around you…it’s a nice airport, state of the art, they have a lounge where you can get facials and massages, the best restaurants and the shopping is freaking awesome!

Love you. Be well.

Just say no....

2009-11-10T07:25:00.004-05:00

Whenever I see someone bleaching it blows my mind. Firstly because the end result is never better than the former and if they like what they see in the mirror then they better get their eyes and their mind checked by a good psychologist. It is amazing how many of us are colorstruck.
My younger sister is lightskinned as is my brother, I remember people used to say inane things to me about my skin color being too dark so I should improve upon my other aspects so as to snag a husband. Laughable if they weren't dead serious and I wasn't an impressionable child. Kudos to my mom, who always described us in varying degrees of chocolate, so we knew that we were all equally sweet. I was a dark, milk chocolate mix.

It is amazing how this darkskin phobia is present across all parts of the diaspora. Sammy Sosa is dominican but he could just as easily be from Iboland

I know its mostly due to postcolonial mentalities and the dominicans have an interesting history with their Haitian siblings see Edwidge Daniticat's Farming of the Bones for an stunning glimpse.

In Nigeria we have our fair share of skinhate, and there are even those that wish they were part white. We still use the term halfcaste. I said it the other in the presence of a white mom of a Nigerian son and she cringed and though she didn't take offense because she chose to see my heart, I made a note to self to be more sensitive.
I had a dear friend who used to have very strange ideas about beauty. I say had because she is still my friend but like all of us, she has grown past her past crazy ideologies. I remember once she couldn't believe that a guy had chosen me over her, some random dude now, but she couldn't believe he didn't gravitate to her light skin and long wavy hair or when she asked if my boyfriend at the time was half caste becasue he was too handsome to be otherwise...What, what now! But we remained friends because I know her heart and what a loyal, good one it is...and you know what even though my response was "Hey now, we brownskin peeps are beautiful too" it was so vehement I could see that deep down I had issues too.

Hopefully one day soon we will all come to terms with our beautiful selves no matter how white or brown we are!

Be well, my dears...with your fine selves.

2009-11-09T14:50:00.004-05:00

Since we are all friends here...I'd like to tell you about some interesting sites where you can get luxe items for less. First there is ideeli, but to be honest it's been sometime since I have done business with them but they did have great items, it was like going to the sale rack at off fifth you just never know what you are going to get.

These days I'm all about Gilt Groupe. They have great finds for much less. Today until Wednesday they have Fendi bags much like this one

that would usually run you about $1100 or so for around $500. Alas I will not be pruchasing any of said bags this time around because of a self imposed embargo, but please you guys feel free to indulge.

You'll need an invite to peruse and shop so leave a comment with your email address and I'll send you an invite, or you can hit me up on facebook!

As always...live, love, and have faith. Be well.

The Land of Mad men and other Divas

2009-10-19T16:42:00.005-04:00

So I decided to come back here and separate church and state. Still blogging about faith and life at lifelovefaith.com but will also blog here about other stuff.

Anyway so I like to watch tv, always have. Folks used to call me square eyes. So one of the things I thought I'd talk about here was TV and popular culture.

So my favorite show this season was Mad Men and yes, Jon Hamm had everything to do with it. Daggone...Can I just say he is delicious. Now I don't even usually go for white men (no prejudice, I've just always liked chocolate) and the few that have caught my eye have turned out to be gay so there you have it, but Jon Hamm is ooohh...no words. (Still love you babe...but I'm married not dead!)

However here is the interesting dark secret about my fascination with him, I think I might just be into his character Don Draper and not just his good looks.
So for those of you who don't watch the show, Don Draper is an ad executive, (the whole show is set in the 60s) and he is married with kids, to a very beautiful if inaccessible princess called Betty, or bets. Anyway Don has a penchant for women, a philanderer of the highest order. Although the thing of it is, he doesn't seem to be overly enthused by them, just kind of drawn to them to fill some sort of void. I can't even begin to psychoanalyze him. I'll leave that to y'all. It's funny I have talked to a number of people about him and they all have different reactions. I have noticed that most Naija's will call him out as a cheat but attach no moral significance to that assessment, it simply is what it is...I guess we have really conditioned ourselves to accept infidelity as part of life.

Meanwhile...Are there any stylists in the house...Awon Ms Bluntremi and co can you guys please help this woman out?

I mean surely not everything in her closet is short and body hugging. Just once I'd like to see her in, oh say wide leg pants or a slouchy sweater? I mean she does have the curves but give us some variety! And the same goes for all of y'all who might be stuck in a rut. I think I am going to try on a red haired wig or something today...Yep, just call me candy...

Anyway chicas,
I'm just saying...Be well. God bless.

FYI...I have moved

2009-04-28T22:13:00.002-04:00

Hi, y'all.
I have moved.

You can find me now on www.lifelovefaith.com

Come visit!

Drop a line!

A status bag or the state of your mind

2008-12-21T19:44:00.000-05:00

Let me not lie, I have too have succumbed to the lure of the designer bag. The luxurious material, the stylish hardware and most of all, the strategic branding that has caused us to believe that when we carry a bag like that then suddenly we are somebody!

Now I don’t own that many of these bags and most that I own were picked up at outlets on sale or clearance, but a little while back I noticed that my mind had decided to upgrade without consulting me. All of the supple leather on the sale rack looked unappetizing but the new higher dollar ones in the store seemed to call my name. It found ways to justify it. After all, aren’t you supposedly successful, well this is what successful people wear or are you a really failure masquerading as a professional? The magazines and media seemed to say the same things. In my favorite magazines the bag du jour would be some thousand dollar item favored by Angelina Jolie or Halle berry, and the glossy pages would whet my appetite. I would look at these women in all their fabulousity and somehow I would think just for a moment that if I had that same bag, then even though my thighs weren’t slimmer and my bank account was leaner, I too would be somebody.

So finally I crossed over to the other side. Away from the sale rack, to lighted shelves and locked glass. “That one please” I steadied myself for sticker shock. “I deserve it” I said to myself “I too am fabulous”. I felt both excited and sick at the same time as I handed over my card. Bile rose up and my heart took the opportunity to speak “Who are you really? What does this say about you? Sure it’s a pretty piece of workmanship, but are you at the level when you truly afford it? The women who you see on the magazines make millions of dollars!” I caressed my brown bag and I willed it to shut up. I walked through the shiny store and looked women in the eye. Don’t get twisted, I am a shiny girl too.

Maybe it’s the Nigerian in me.

Nigerian women are among the most fashionable women in the world. The society women are constantly focusing on their wardrobe. Do you have the latest French lace, the new kind of aso-oke? Have you seen the new season of Chanel, or the hottest it bag?
The pressures some women face in today’s society, trying to fit in to this fashion oriented climate are enough to intimidate even the toughest of us; Simply put - in Nigeria, Fashion is war!
I’ll never forget an experience I had when I visited Lagos one Christmas period. I had decided to have my nails done at an upscale nail salon in Victoria Island. When I walked in, I was struck by how well put together the clientele were. In every seat, there was a very chic woman, whether she was tall or short, fat or thin, short do or unbeweaveable, they looked fabulous and then they had one other thing in common - The status handbag. Next to every woman, there in a chair, a purse that cost almost as much as one terms school fees at an expensive private school. They went by different names…Gucci, Vuitton, Prada and more. Each woman held it as proudly.
As I later learnt the status bag was used as an entrance to a certain level of society, at least on a superficial level. There were some people who before they dealt with you, they looked you up and down to determine if you were on their level. Shirt – Next? Hmm, jeans – true religion, check, Shoes – can’t tell, bag – Jimmy choo, ding, ding, ding we have a winner, cue automated voice, “you may now be admitted into the world of Nigerian VIPs”

Maybe it’s because I am now older.

Like most women, I have had my issues with self esteem. Still do, kind of. But as I get older I notice my focus has changed. I still love the luxe and sharpness of certain bags because after all, style is style and while I still rock my shiny purchases. I have pledged not to fall into the trap of consumerism again. I have style but I can express it for a reasonable price.

A bag no matter how fine and how coveted cannot take the place of self esteem. No matter how many people look at you when you walk by, what really matters is how you see yourself when you are stripped bare. No matter how many people compliment you and think that you are a baller because you can afford that level of bag, what really matters is where you truly are financially. No matter how many people think you are somebody when they see you expensive leather, what really matters is who you think you are. What would happen if suddenly you lost everything? Not so far fetched. Believe me, it has happened to many people just like you. In true fact, many of us are living financial lifestyles that place us on the edge. One strong wind and we may all fall like dominoes. What happens then? When you will not have all the trappings of wealth to self medicate. When you cannot wrap your anxiety up in a bloody bag and convince the world that you are someone…what happens when you are forced to give all that up? I know you might be thinking, that can never be me…perhaps…but many a person has compromised themselves trying to make sure that they never lose their money, so they don’t lose their status.

The question is this. Do you know that you are somebody already? I finally figured that out. I am not by any means a blueprint for perfection but I am somebody, and a beautiful correct one at that. Let me tell you about an experience I had. I was invited by a book club group in Lagos to come and do a reading of my book “The Mrs Club” so I went. Now I thought I was kind of prepared because I grew up in Lagos, I now what Lagos girls are like...fierce! Also take note that the book club met in a place called posh café…never a more apt name for this group of women. Fierce and fabulous I tell you. They were exquisitely coiffed and attired. The leader was a vision of fashion. Right down to her quirky eyeglasses. I on the other hand, was in a pair jeans and a shirt. I knew something had shifted in me during that experience. When I walked in, I saw one or two raised eyebrows among the mostly smiling faces. I imagined the inner dialogue “This can’t be her” and I smiled because finally my inner dialogue said simply and confidently “Yes it is me”.

I started to read and I did me. I enjoyed myself and the time spent with these young, fab chicks. Now needless to say, there were many status bags in that room. I mean I told you, we were at posh café. So the question I have for my young fashionistas, is the same as I have for myself and you. Do you own the bag, or does the bag own you?

I know, I know….Be fine or die!
Love you.
Be well. Be happy.

Redemption song

2008-12-17T05:35:00.000-05:00

I have been compelled to write this note for quite some time but I have been at a loss for words, something that is quite unusual for me. Tonight I woke up and here I am at 4am, knowing that I absolutely have to write this and post it today.

I know this is for someone. And whoever you are, know that God loves you so much that He has decided that I shall not have rest until I say these things.

Okay so a few days ago I had a dream. Well let me start from the beginning, last Sunday I was in church and I heard a phrase in my head. Redemption song. Now before you all go off on a Bob Marley tangent, let me tell you what it meant. The preacher had just called for people who had made mistakes they considered terrible and that had derailed their whole lives to come forward for prayer. Let me tell you, I was among the first up there. I have messed up in this my short life, if not for the Grace of God…well…anyway that is another gist for another day. But I noticed that the altar was filled with people.

I started thinking about women, as I often do, for this is my particular calling and I kept hearing the phrase “Redemption song” I started thinking that this might be the title of a play I would write for my church…anyway I tabled the thought for later.

Later on that week, a thought came to me, “write a facebook sermon!” Now mind you, I’m no preacher (Just a woman trying to figure this life out and by the grace of God willing to share as I go along) so I pushed it away. I mean come on, Facebook is so public and what would I say on this matter anyway?

Then I had a dream, where I saw a woman I cared about being accused and being held hostage because she was ashamed and hiding. I kept telling her, why are you hiding? This is why Jesus died! When I woke up, I wondered what it meant and I realized that the woman is a symbol of all of us.

I know what it feels like to be accused. I know what it feels like to hear a voice in your head telling you how because of what you have done in your life, you are messed up.

Sometimes the very places we are supposed to be able to go to get comfort and direction are the very places where we are accused the most. I know so many people who have gone to church to receive redemption and then they get accused by the holy holy brethren.

I know of women who have become sexually promiscuous yet they hate the act itself. In fact afterwards they hate themselves. They act out of a self destructive compulsion. They may self medicate with various forms of material items but inside they feel damaged and broken.

Now here’s the thing. Perhaps that’s you. Somehow deep inside you feel that you can never hope for better than where you are now. Maybe a man has called you a slut and told you that you could never do better than him. Maybe someone has demeaned you for something that happened to you. Maybe you were raped or abused and your abusers have convinced you that you asked for it and you deserved it. Maybe you chose this life at one point but now you wish you could erase the past and start again.

Maybe you are a woman that hides from God because of past sin. The kind of sin someone told you could never be forgiven. Maybe you were told your actions were an abomination before God. Perhaps you had an abortion. Perhaps you have done something else.

What I want to tell you is this? You don’t have to hide and feel ashamed. True, maybe you didn’t make the best choices. Believe me, I have more than been there. And maybe the people in your life (perhaps professed Christians) spend their time spouting off judgmental statements…I know all about this too, I used to be one of those people, until I saw that I wasn’t anything special, that I could be just as messed up as the next person, and if not for grace! I would fall even deeper into that dark place.

I have this to tell you, Jesus has redeemed you. One day, I will tell you my story about how He redeemed me, but today I have to tell you He came to redeem you. Redeem means to liberate, to release, to rescue…it also means to make amends for, to compensate for, to exchange, and trade in.

Look at your Bible and see how many times Jesus showed mercy and love to women. I think that there is something to be said for that. I am speaking to women today even though the message is the same for men, but I believe we as women we have a way of self flagellating and punishing ourselves. A man can compartmentalize and move forward and still retain his self worth even after he messes up, meanwhile a woman holds onto the shame and guilt even when things are not her fault. Consider the relationship between a cheater and a cheatee…

Jesus wants to offer you hope. A way out. Even as I write this I know that different people of different faiths will read this. But what I want you to know most of all is that you don’t have to stay in a place that makes you unhappy because you believe you are worthless and ruined. You don’t have to feel trapped and you don’t have to keep making choices that are hurtful to you because you want to atone for your choices. Jesus has redeemed you. You are not worthless but priceless. Not ruined but renewed. If you felt trapped, know that He has set you free and He has already atoned for your sins.

If I found a great shoe store, I would tell you.

If I found a great hair stylist, I would share.

How can I not tell you when I have found something that makes me feel whole again?

This holiday, my dearest wish for us all, is that we sing that redemption song…and I’ll even set it to Bob Marley’s melody!

Be well, be happy

To the Mountain - Part deux

2008-08-22T07:51:00.001-04:00

To the Mountain – part 2.

So I went up the mountain again and this time I was paying attention to how to get up the mountain. Someone sent me a note saying they didn’t know how to get up so I decided to share my strategy.

When going up the mountain, you have to do a few things first.

Be aware of whether or not the atmosphere is conducive. Let me explain – you certainly don’t want to be hiking up a mountain when it is 100 degrees outside, it will be too hot. That being said though you must consider the urgency of your need to climb said mountain. If every thing is going okay on the ground then prepare for your journey and watch for an opportune time. So for example if you want to buy a house, but the interest rates are too high and your money is just a little funny, but you are in a decent place you can rent well then maybe you should keep doing your prework, while you save a little more and then when the sun goes down, or the weather gets cooler then you can climb. However if you need to make a move by say starting a business because opportunity has come knocking and while you know that the sun is hot and everything may not be perfect but there is a once in a lifetime opportunity waiting for you on the top of that mountain, then my friend, start moving. Don’t worry about the sun, just make sure you carry some water.
Have the right equipment. Put on the right shoes, get some loose comfortable clothing. This is not the time to focus on being cute. Let me translate. So if you want to climb the mountain to buy a house or start a business, then for you this is not the time to focus on being cute. When you are walking up, you will invariably sweat, so you may want to forego makeup unless of course you want your foundation running down your face. Now is the time to go barefaced. The time to delay personal gratification, so that new speedy bag that you have had your eye on, this may not be the time to get it. Or this is not the time to insist on upgrading your shoes from aldos to louboutin. There is a time for everything under the sun and good things are not running away. My dear if you insist on wearing stilettos to the mountain, well, don’t call me if you sprain your ankle.
Get a soundtrack. I always have my mp3 player with some inspirational music. Yesterday I rocked out to Kirk Franklin and Mary J and before you know it I was at the top. There were moments went I got tired but then that Mary would tell me how I am just fine, fine, fine and I would shout Hooh! And keep on moving. So I believe a soundtrack is crucial to the mountain and to life. Get a soundtrack in your head. Be careful of what you allow in it. There are a few scripture that speak about renewing your mind daily and focusing solely on good things. Consider this, you know how a song gets stuck in your head. So imagine a woman is trying to climb a mountain of trust with her man. Said man hasn’t really given her any reasons to be concerned of his fidelity, its just that she has so much baggage that she finds it difficult to trust. She allows her soundtrack to me, Beyonce’s irreplaceable, rihannas take a bow, etc. Before you know it, oga is out because of some supposed slight. Be careful of what you allow in your head because those things transform your thoughts and your thoughts transform your life.
The other thing about a soundtrack is that that it drowns out the naysayers and believe me there will be naysayers. Most of the people you will meet on the mountain are people who are making their own journey so they tend to be happy fulfilled folks who will offer you a smile, a word of encouragement even a hand up if you get to an unstable point. This is because they’ve been through and someone helped them to. For me, when I decided to go up the mountain to write my book people started coming out of the woodwork to help. All you wonderful people who have given me free but invaluable publicity, peeps like Bobby Taylor who promotes the book in her sleep, for free sef! My girl. Once you start to climb, there will be people who will help. Believe. Now on this same mountain there will also be a few naysayers. Those folks who have decided to sit down at some point and go no further and have become embittered because everyone and their mama is passing them by. So they sit there and shout out how you can’t make it, how its dangerous, how it’s the stupidest decision you have made. You stumble a little and they are right there saying ehen, shebi I told you. When I put my book out for the public. Someone close to me basically told me, that the book was crap. This person said they didn’t think it would do well. For a minute it threw me, but I turned my soundtrack up and kept moving. Later this same person after seeing it on TV and in mags etc came back and said well that they had taken a second look and it wasn’t so bad. I laughed and I was glad that I didn’t need his affirmation. There will be people who will tell you that if you want to buy a house that you are stupid to take a risk on a neighborhood in transition. There will be those that will say you are crazy for opening a business. My husband is an entrepreneur with big dreams and occasionally people in his life don’t always get it. Sometimes he stumbles, (to be expected, it is after all a mountain) and those people say ehen, who told you to dream big. Me, I won’t lie sometimes fear wants to rise up, but again I turn my soundtrack up and I remind myself and him, that making money is not the hard part, building something that will last past the next contract is and we will continue walking until we get to the top because we will get there and you know he does the same for me – which brings me to the last part.
Take a partner – A husband, a friend, a mother, a sister, a stranger who has the same goals and visions as you. It is easier when you take a partner. You encourage each other, you support each other on the way. You overcome your fears together, you push through together. You share tissues to wipe off the sweat or the tears. You get to the top and celebrate together. So take a partner or three!

So I hope this helps.

See you at the top, my darlings!

To the Mountain...and beyond.

2008-08-12T12:07:00.002-04:00

Today I climbed a mountain.

Literally.

Near where I live there is a mountain...a 2 mile hike up that can be grueling in places. I have climbed it quite a few times before, it never is easy but it gets easier each time.

The first time I started to climb this piece of imposing rock, I got winded a quarter of the way and decided that it would be detrimental to my life to continue.
The second time I got about halfway and decided to celebrate my wins and save some climbing for next time.
The third time I was determined to reach the top.
There is a part that is so steep they have provided handrails. While climbing that part my heart threatened to jump out of my chest and sit down. I had to call on Jesus more than a few times, startling the oyibo lady next to me, I mention the fact that she was oyibo because African Americans tend to be very used to random shouts of Jesus, in fact had she been black she might have said, "amen sister, amen".
But I digress.
After I got through the steep part. I had to rest. Many people walked by me, an old wiry man with a walking stick, a toddler skipped along with her teddy. A pregnant lady who didn't look it, a heavy set women who did. Two teenage boys with a ?boombox - they apparently just came from the 80's. None of them were breathing as heavily as I.
"Come on sister, you can do it" I looked up to see two black sistah's in their pink and green workout ensembles... I smiled. Well skeewee doggone it I CAN do it! So I continued and huffed and puffed my way to the top and when I finally got there I fell on my knees and thanked God for not letting me die on the way.

I sat there reflecting on how much life is like this mountain.
It is hard work. Maybe there is something you know you need to do. Some dream you want to accomplish but it sits in front of you like an imposing stone. You can't go around it. Got to hike it. You've got to push through the tough parts and you have to pace yourself when it seems easy. Either way you have got to keep moving.

There was a time when my life seemed like it was refusing direction. I would make this plan, it would make its own. My husband and I would plan for such and such on this date and then things would not work out. Some days I would wake up and like many of my sisters and brothers when the day dealt with me, I would say Na wa O, anyway I thank God.
People would ask me, "How far now? What's up with this or that? When are you going to do x,y or z?" I had no answers. At some point I started to get frustrated.

There is a point at the mountain when you can feel trapped if you allow it. To go up, problem, to go down, problem. Some people just sit there and sigh.
Today I know of brilliant people who are sitting there. They can't see their way forward and they can't see where they came from. Forget the rock, they have become one with the rock.
When I look at these women I want to cry with them, I want to shake them, I want to shout Oya! We can't sit here forever, we have got to make a move! The mountain is not going to get any smaller and the path won't get any easier. Oya, ngwa! kunye! Get up!

Wikpedia says Inertia means a body in motion tends to stay in motion and a body at rest tends to stay at rest. So the question is which one are you?
My friend tells me she has lost her passion, she doesn't know what to do? My dearest. This is for you. Put one foot in front of the other. I know you don't think you can go the distance but this you can do. I know you don't think you know where you are going but all you have to do is put one foot in front of the other. Get in motion. Make a move.

Trust me. I speak from experience. When you don't know what to do, don't lay down in despair. No O! Get up, face the day and deal with the basics, get in motion and before you know it, your life will be spinning on its axis, creating its own gravity, drawing your dreams to you. Filling your life with passion, making room for possibility.

Na so I come reach the top of this mountain and I took in the view and I thanked God for getting me through. I looked down at the path I had come up and I was amazed. I had come that far?
Yes! and all I did was put one foot in front of the other!

Be well, be blessed.

Girl on a swing

2008-07-25T00:35:00.002-04:00

Girl on a swing.

Sometimes I look at the image of the woman swinging on my site. I wonder about her. Swinging through life in her underwear. I wonder how she feels about herself. I wonder if she thinks she is solely defined by her body and her sexuality. I wonder if she feels trapped, I wonder if she feels cold.
I often wonder about other women too. Mostly because I know that what you see on the surface often is very different from what lies underneath. I know this because I know how to hide and how we hide. How to hide behind fancy clothes and expensive handbags, behind unnecessary layers of flesh, how we hide behind meaningless sexual encounters, behind the supposed honor of a husband, behind ivy league degrees and corporate positions known by their initials, behind other women’s hair sewn onto ours, behind layers of minerals or chemicals that brighten eyes that are otherwise dull with pain, redden cheeks that are pale with anxiety and gloss lips that are bitten with frustration. Looking at our reflections on the society pages and hoping that every one falls for the sparkling image looking ultra chic in the latest True Love magazine because we think if they saw who we really are they would turn away in disgust.

I know a woman who was trapped by her promiscuity. She bought into the idea that she wasn’t much more than her tits and ass when she was younger and by the time she knew better, she had been through so many men, she felt she was so used that she could no longer live any other life.

As for me, there are things I struggle with as with all of us and sometimes the greatest barrier to overcoming is not the issue itself but seeing myself as someone without that issue. I’ve been carrying it around so long; it threatens to become part of my persona.

Do you have something you have been carrying around?

Perhaps it is something that you feel would bring shame?

First of all, know this. There is nothing you could do that would separate you from the love of God. Nothing. Even if your father can turn his back on you, your Creator will not.

My daughter and I are potty training. I say the both of us because she is learning how to do number 1 and number 2 like an adult and I am learning how not to go over the edge during the process. Now she has finally gotten to the point where she pretty much gets it and has very few accidents. Hallelujah! Now sometimes when she has an accident, she feels really bad and looks at me like Mummy, I messed up. Now there are times when for whatever reason, it doesn’t seem like an accident, she just chose to go on and mess up. Either way whether na accident or not, I still clean her up. Sometimes it’s after giving her a pep talk, sometimes it after telling her I am not happy with choosing not to go, in a my friend somewhat threatening tone. (Sue me, all you positive reinforcement only people, my child na naija!) But after it all, I always clean her up and I always love her. Never stop. No matter how bad it stinks!

That’s how God is with us.

We don’t have to get stuck in a place that we know we don’t want to be in, simply because we messed up by choice or by accident. We don’t have to carry around a shitty load just because we feel bad. He will clean us up. Believe. He may have a few words for us, but he’s always there with the redemption handiwipe.

You may think my mess is beyond handiwipe level. I want you to know that our God is well prepared. He also has industrial strength wipes. And He’ll use as many as it takes.

You are redeemed. Beloved. Period.

Once you recognize that the path you are on is detrimental to your physical, spiritual, emotional wellbeing and indeed your soul. Get off it. Once you realize you are literally sitting in a mess. Don’t concern yourself with the fact that the other kids will laugh or point when you walk by on your way to tell Him that you messed up. Trust they have all shat at one time or another. I don’t know why I feel that I have to write this, but it’s real. I don’t care who you are. I don’t care what your past has been like. The minute you decide to leave that mess behind, know that He will no longer judge you. He loves you. He loves me and every day I am awed when I contemplate just how much.

Sometimes I feel like the most disgusting, flawed person. Sometimes I feel like I have made so many mistakes how can I ever face God again. Then he folds me into his love and tells me I am redeemed by his word. He gets out the industrial wipes and goes to town till I am clean again and He doesn’t even wrinkle his nose from the stink.

So if you are swinging through life in your underwear, cold, because you feel like you have been painted (or drawn) into a corner and can’t see a way out of it. Stop shivering in shame. Get off and go and talk to your Creator, our God, and call me because I have a sweater and some pants for you!

2008-07-22T06:36:00.002-04:00

Oya.
Get up.
New Day...new opportunity.
New chance to change your life...or someone else's.

Today I will make things happen for myself.
Small things like change the filters in my central air unit
Big things like finally figure out my life plan
and all the rest that falls in between

Today I will beat back the voices that whisper nonsense
and negativity
even if they like they can shout
My determination will drown them out.

Today I will sing a new song
Maybe gospel...
Maybe Mary J...Yeah, Mary...because I do plan to work what I've got!

Today I will sweat out the toxins
Inhale the fresh air
And laugh from way down deep.

Today I will love like I can't get hurt
Today I will believe in miracles
Today I will believe in me
Today I will look at my face and smile
knowing that I am beautiful
knowing that I rock

Today O!
Today O!

Oya...
What are you going to do today...?

On Father's day...A love letter

2008-06-15T23:11:00.001-04:00

I believe children are a gift.

My daughter is a gift. It’s like God saw inside my soul and sent me exactly what I needed to heal it. What am I saying? Of course He did. She is the best possible permutation of me and my husband at that particular moment, and when we have more children, should we be so blessed then they will be just as perfect…for…us.

How can I explain how my heart fills up, when she tells me “Mummy I love you” or pulls my hands saying, “come, dance like me”. This child filled with passion and who throws herself at life whether it be the pure joy of watching the white flakes of powder fall around the room as she shakes the container wildly or the simple pleasure of running in the grass in our backyard as she chases down a butterfly.

This child of mine

I could never have known that at two, she would mother me. Dry my tears, pick out my shoes and kiss my cheeks. She teaches me how to live, I summon up the courage to follow her. To demand simply and plaintively what I want and need. “Carry me like a baby please, I want to go to sleep”, “I need juice now…pleezeeee!”
To have and celebrate the ability to love without reservation or fear; I learn from her.

She doesn’t care that my blouse is streaked with stew, but she will often proffer fashion advice. Wear this one mummy, it’s Amarillo! Her favorite color, yellow, though she prefers the way it sounds in Spanish. Must be the way it feels in her mouth as she says it. Filling up every possible space and pushing out into the world.

This child of mine

This bridge between people; She reminds us of the best in ourselves. She has my husband’s laugh and my smile. I recognize the sparkle in her eye and though the way she frames it with a coy flutter of her lashes is hers alone, it’s familiar. I fell in love with her father when he looked at me that way. The way she reaches for me, unafraid of rejection. The way she walks into a room. Bold, sure, confident. The girl get liver. The way she can sense people’s needs and without hesitation meets them. “Aunty, hug me” then just as simply “you feeling better?” She has made me cry while laughing, she is so beautiful.

I long to see the world through her filter. Everything is brand new. Every question has an answer. A schoolbus is more special than a Mercedes. Filet Mignon ain’t got nothing on Mac and cheese and Okro soup is the truth. Singing is the new golfing and shaking your bombom beats shopping. Every morning brings unending possibilities “Come on, Mummy get up. Let’s go out!”

All children are a gift.
Let’s all find the grace to unwrap them.

This is for me. now. then. and for you incase you were wondering....

2008-06-10T02:47:00.002-04:00

I wrote this in 2004...
I needed to read this today...
I am prone to this, seeking affirmation from others. Recently I have been in a position to receive wonderful words from people about my book, but juxtaposed against that is the fact that some things in my life just haven't been going as I would like. There are some voices I haven't heard positive things from and I won't lie ...sometimes its hard for me when that happens...hey I am a sensitive soul. This is very true...but I pulled this out from my archives to remind myself that I am a strong soul...and I recognize that not everyone who reads this may subscribe to my faith...but the principles are true for everyone.In any event I share this with you and as with everything I write...It is from my heart to yours.

The need for Affirmation

Recently I have begun to think about our need for affirmation; Affirmation
being defined as a positive declaration of truth, encouragement, terms of
endearment. Psychological experts tell us that whatever is wrong with us
today is as a result of something that was lacking or present in our
childhood. We were not hugged enough, or kissed enough or told I love you
enough. Surely there is some truth to the fact of a promiscuous daughter
being the result of an emotionally unavailable father, but I have to wonder
if that putting entirely too much focus on fellow human beings as affirmers
of our beings.

It is very important that a good parent affirm their child, using words of
encouragement and love. It builds up the child and bolsters the parent to
child relationship. It is also incredibly important that spouses affirm one
another, by doing this we can build loving and stable relationships. We are
here to help one another, love one another and affirmation is an outward
expression of love.

A lack of affirmation leads to wounded people walking around looking for
affirmation in the wrong places. Eating a whole tub of ice cream to feel better, turning to indiscriminate sex, consider Halle berry’s character in Monster’s ball when she implored, “Make me feel good”. When you don’t feel affirmed, you can
find yourself in some strange places, maybe sitting in the Oprah audience
just praying for her benign smile to fall on you, somehow feeling like that
will impact your life positively. I myself used to have fantasies of sitting
next to her on stage while she asked me how I became so fabulous. Then one
day, I started thinking, or should I say God started me thinking, whose
affirmation is more important? Is it that of my mom or dad, who while being
wonderful people are simply humans like me, prone to imperfection and
frailty as we, all are? Or my husband, who I adore but again is also human
and could fall prey to some common human tactlessness, or is it even Oprah,
who is wealthier than I can fathom, successful in the general term of the
word, seemingly generous and benevolent, with a Midas touch, and seemingly
spiritual, so therefore safe but whose heart and spiritual beliefs I truly
know nothing about.
The question remains, just whom should I be looking to for affirmation?

I once saw a book in the bookstore with a title that caught my eye, and it
was “Everything I need to know I learned in kindergarten”, well I never read
the book, but as I thought about this issue of affirmation, I realized that
everything I need to know I learned in Sunday school.

Who I am and who should affirm me is very simple. I may be a wife, a
daughter, a writer, a friend, I may even find success in many arenas of
life, but who I am is very simple. I am a child of the Most High God.
Nothing I am can compare to that. I am a daughter of THE KING.

Furthermore while I love it when my husband reaches out to me and says I
love you, you are beautiful and you make a slamming goat meat stew! While I
love hearing his words of affirmation, it may not always be enough. My
mother may touch my heart when she affirms me, and my father may bring tears
to my ears with a card that tells me I am good daughter but if I don’t get
that, or if it doesn’t feel like enough, I need not go from pillar to post
seeking affirmation.
I am already affirmed.

I learnt that in Sunday school, somehow I had forgotten this, but what we
must know, that is no matter who forsakes us, if your mother turns around
and hates you tomorrow, or your husband leaves you, or your friends turn against you or some other situation that I pray does not befall you or I by the grace of God, no matter what and no matter who doesn’t encourage us or even maligns us, we must remember, we are affirmed by God and that is simply amazing. Do not be fooled by the claims of the world that there is no God, or those claims that you alone can affirm you. It’s not enough for you to look in the mirror and say I am somebody.
Self-esteem is important but the ultimate self-esteem comes from knowing who
you are and who affirms you. If have difficulty remembering just how God has
affirmed you, just think about that song you sang as a kid in Sunday school.
“ Jesus loves me this I know, for the Bible tells me so…

My darlings, do not seek out affirmation in the world. It cannot affirm you.
Recognize affirmation from your loved ones as what it is, outward
expressions of their love and it is sweet and wonderful, but a lack of it
cannot break you. It is sweet, to know you are loved by fellow human beings,
but how much sweeter is it to know that you are loved by Christ Jesus. Who
loved you so much He died for your sins. What greater love is there than
this? How He adores us. He may not comment on my jollof rice, but His love
for me is unconditional, I feel it when I pray and I know it as surely as a
six year old knows that song! You are loved and affirmed by the One who
created the heavens and the earth.
God bless you.

Ekene

I'm in love...with a girl named Bassey...

2008-06-07T21:27:00.002-04:00

I first heard of Bassey Ikpi about 8 years ago and I fell in love from the first moment I saw her hands move to the rhythm of her words. She spoke the words that my soul longed to say, but my heart was too unsure.
She stood on that stage, a petite amazon. Starting fires of passion, slicing through clouds to create clarity; Her armor gleamed. I wanted to fight on her side. I knew they would win.

Here is one of her pieces that I just love...I dedicate it to all of you. I've had a trying day and these words made me cry...like she said...There is no shame in tears...But I felt better and stronger afterwards...So Miss Bassey...It does help!

When you think it will help

Testify

2008-06-05T00:45:00.001-04:00

A little over 3 years ago, I stood in front of my bathroom mirror, looked down at my hand and promised myself and God that I would testify.

Since then, I have…several times and each time it touches someone, tonight for some reason, I feel called upon to share this story, one more time.

When my husband and I knew that we wanted to spend the rest of our lives together, the only thing we wanted as much as being together was the gift of a child.

When I got pregnant, shortly after we were married, we were happy, well he was happy, I was ecstatic. I immediately called the doctor. I was a little exasperated when the receptionist told me very matter-of-factly that it would be six weeks before she could fit me in. I stared at the phone, perhaps she had not heard me right. I was with child. Surely I was more important than all those pap smears and whatever else. Nonetheless I was to wait six weeks.

The day of my appointment, my husband was very busy with a project. “I can stop and come with you” he offered but I could see he was at a fever pitch. “No need, I said, they said it’s just a routine confirmation, you can come when I go to see the heartbeat” I knew what to expect thanks to Google. Satisfied, he turned back to his computer.

At the office, it was all routine. Pee here, arm here, feet in these stirrups. The doctor hemmed and hawed, her bedside manner left much to be desired. Finally she asked me to get dressed and come into her office.

She had some concerns. My Hcg level wasn’t where it should have been. She wanted me to do an ultrasound right away. I called my husband while I waited. As I waited. I felt something. They called me for the ultrasound; more hemming and hawing. My husband decided to come anyway. While I waited, I started to bleed. The doctor said the baby was gone. Just like that. By the time my husband arrived I was a mess, literally and emotionally. He took me home.

I blamed the doctor. “She must have done something wrong I said, but deep down inside I blamed myself.

I conceived again less than a year later. I looked at the test blankly. My husband looked at it, it had two lines. “You are pregnant” he said. I said nothing. He took me in his arms. What if it happens again. He held me tight. It won’t.
I insisted on seeing the doctor immediately. A new doctor. Drove an hour out of my way. They said she was the best.
“Well, Congratulations” she said, smiling. I wasn’t. “Aren’t you happy?” She asked. “Cautiously optimistic” I replied. “Don’t worry” she patted my hand. Women miscarry all the time and go on to have perfectly healthy babies. I knew that already. I read it on Google. Everything looks good.
A month passed, then two weeks more. 7 weeks. “Don’t tell anyone” I told my husband. He did anyway. “It’ll be fine, don’t worry”.
4 more weeks. Almost 3 months. Another scheduled ultrasound. My husband missed the first, he was out of town I think. This time, he got ready and we drove together, he stroked my hand as he maneuvered in and out of traffic.

I put my feet up, this time I had done my nails. It would be like the movies. I was excited to show him the heartbeat. I had seen it the first time. The tech was very chatty.
She came in again, smiled and joked. “Now, this will be a little cold” she said. Pish, posh, I thought, bring it on!

Then she turned the screen away and got very silent. “Can we see” I asked. She said it wasn’t hospital policy. She would get a doctor for us. She left the room. My heart fluttered, I wished I could hold it still. My husband held my hand but his face was a mask. “Something is wrong” I said. “Don’t worry” He responded.

She still didn’t come.

“Something is wrong” I said again, my stomach had started lurching to join my heart.
“Don’t worry” He said. “Stop it. You always worry.” He was a little sharp.
“I am not worrying, I know”.

My doctor called us to her office.

“I’m sorry” She said. I didn’t hear anything else.
These things happen. There isn’t a heartbeat anymore. I can schedule a D&C when you’re ready.
I thought I was being very stoic. I only realized I was weeping when my husband wiped my tears. He held me close for a while. The doctor left the room, “Stay as long as you need” she said. We walked out through the waiting room. A woman smiled at me uncomfortably as she shifted in her chair to accommodate her very obvious pregnancy. I put on my sunglasses.

The whole ride home. I cried. Then I decided not to do a D&C. Maybe the doctor was wrong I thought. I prayed. She was not, I had to leave work early the day it happened. I could barely drive home because of the pain.

I thought I couldn’t go through it again. In fact I didn’t want to go through it again, but after a while the pain dulled and I became ready to try again. Nothing happened. For a year. Nothing. Finally I made an appointment with yet another doctor.
She was a sistah doctor…She made me feel at ease with her girlfriend! manner. I told her nothing was happening. She looked at my chart and then she looked at me. Are you having sex? She asked. Uh yeah, which is why I would have expectations, I responded. She laughed, “believe me it is not a strange question”. I laughed. “Look, it will happen and it’s too soon to worry anyway, let’s give it another six months ok” I nodded. Girlfriend! I trusted her.
My period was due two days later. It never came. Two weeks later, I still hadn’t checked. I wasn’t sure if I was ready to get my hopes up. I bought a test. It showed up immediately. I was pregnant.
The fears and doubts came flooding in. I held up my hand. No! not this time.
I walked to my bed and I knelt down and I told God, that this time I would testify, I would tell people how He had given me a gift. I would pray this baby through if I had to. I spent the next hour praising God and thanking Him. I would testify, I determined. Then I called my husband.
I gave birth to Sina in 2005. She is a perfect child and I testify as often as I have an audience.

I write this not to expose myself but to tell you to hold on. Hold on to your faith, hold on to your hope. Hold on. Even in the midst of what seems like the end, hold on. Know that what seems impossible can be possible. Know that there is a God. You may or may not believe this. Maybe you think religion is the opium of the masses, well be that as it may. I know that I have been blessed and that the well has not run dry. He who blessed me can bless you.

I don’t know what you are weeping for. I don’t know what you are longing for. I just know this, keep holding on…and when it comes. Testify.

Of course...The SATC post

2008-06-04T12:27:00.000-04:00

Ok so I was desperate to watch Sex and the City and by and large it didn’t disappoint.
There were some things I took issue with but the stellar moments made up for them.

Never underestimate the power of connection. Yes, the critics have had a field day discussing how shallow the characters are and how unbelievable their world is juxtaposed against rising gas prices and the mortgage crisis. Nonetheless women all over the US turned out for sex and the city and cheered when the theme music came on. Why? No, it’s not because women are fundamentally shallow, but because for all the in your face fashion and over the top love stories, SATC is a story about girlfriends and how your connection to other human beings keeps you sane.
Women connect to SATC for a myriad of reasons. I connect to it because they are so human, it is even a little annoying. Carrie with her drawn out, almost high schoolish relationship with the resident bad boy, Big. In truth, he will probably hurt her in big and little ways throughout the course of their relationship and she has decided to take it, not just because she believes he loves her, but because she knows she loves him and is prepared to take him as he is, the good with the bad.
If I may digress her for just a minute. I just read an interesting post on facebook that of course essentially begged the question, why do women stay when their man strayed? It was a hot topic. Many women responded, well I would kick him to the curb, others well…you know the children…and still others gave economic reasons etc. I think part of the truth is that some women simply stay because they love him and they hope for and maybe work towards a change. Somehow when a woman says I love him, it is perceived as weak and sniveling somehow, when like it or not, she is exercising her right to make a choice. So when I watched SATC, the shows as well as the movie, I found myself smiling and giving Carrie props for at least owning her choice. No need to justify it, no need to apologize for it. I love the big old selfish man just as he is.
Miranda irritates me with her difficult self and I used to think Charlotte was too marshmallowy to be real, all fluff and no substance but I think the movie gives her slightly more dimension and watching her I finally had insight to a woman I know in real life, who I used to think was very marshmallowy as well.
Samantha, what can I say, well Samantha’s story arc was the only one I wasn’t really feeling…because it didn’t ring true to me. Very few women feel fabulous a hundred and one percent of the time and at that, she clocked 50 and looked old on screen so I felt even momentary angst about eye sag or the odd wrinkle would have been more real, instead the producers botoxed up her emotions, leaving very little evidence of a real 50 year old’s emotions.

All in all. I love SATC. Always have, always will, have the box set, won’t mind getting another one. Maybe one day, we can have a Mrs Club movie and it will be just as visually appealing if slightly more in depth!

Hair - a love/hate affair

2008-05-30T00:17:00.001-04:00

Aunty come make I fix you.
Aunty come make I fix you.
I can hear them calling from Tejuosho Market

Correct Chinese
Expensive Brazilian
Virgin Indian
No one sells African hair.

I have always had a love hate relationship with my hair. More hate than love. From the time I was young, the mamas who used to braid hair would argue over who would be forced to do my hair. Isi mpulu ose, our househelp used to call me. Little balls of pepper. My hair broke many a comb. My parents bought a metal comb; Bright imposing little thing. Sparks flew when they used it. I cried because I thought my hair would catch fire.

Whenever my mother traveled my father who had long since given up on taming my hair would herd my sister and I to the barbershop and tell the man to cut it. “Gorimapa!” He would say. The barber looking at our sad faces would beg for him to change his mind. “My friend, I said shave it” he said. Resolute. So began the first of many schoolyard taunts. Other girls had ribbons and hair clips. I had only Vaseline.

I can laugh now but it devastated me then, because even at that young age, we were told that our appearance was important. Fine girl. Fine girl! Ye pa, why you allow your papa shave your head like that. See as your head just dey shine. Gori Gori!

My hair has been tortured, never loved. Always looked upon with derision. My mothers taught me how. From Dark and lovely relaxers to too hot straightening irons. It has been burnt in more ways than one. Damaged. Each cuticle cries out for affection. But like me it is resilient. Takes a liking and keeps on ticking. Never a bald spot, chopped but grows back. It keeps coming back for more, hoping that one day I’ll do it right.

When I discovered weave, it was like my crack. Take it down, put it back in. I was always surprised to see my tight curly pattern underneath my long silky weave, “it is growing” I would announce with glee....as if this should surprise me. I wore a weave when I took the pregnancy test that announced my Sina’s impending arrival. Did I wear a weave at her birth? From the moment I learned she was a girl, I prayed for her to be well, I prayed for her to be perfect, I prayed for her to have my husband’s hair. Of course he has softer hair that grows quickly. I envisioned pigtails that hung down and ribbons. God is on the throne and he smiled as he created her hair. As she grew from a practically bald baby to a toddler with finally growing in hair, I became aware of one fact. You can run but you cannot hide. You must deal with your issues one way or another.

My daughter has hair just like mine.

I look at it and I see it for the first time. Your hair is beautiful. Your hair is beautiful. I tell her as I struggle to plait it into presentable braids. It’s beautiful, she’s beautiful, I tell her teacher when she asks if my daughter has had a haircut every time I wash her hair.
I love her hair, it’s beautiful, I growl to my sister when she makes a seemingly innocuous remark about whether or not to buy Sina ribbons.

I shout it to the rooftops. To anyone who will hear. My Sina is beautiful with her kinky kinky hair.
But for all my yelling, all the noise I make. I fear my wise and perceptive Sina hears my true message loud and clear.

The other day she brought me a hair piece, a long silky affair. She smiled as she said “I gave mummy her hair” She watched as I covered up most of my own kinky hair. I wondered what impact this was having on her. Her two year old mind trying to process this fact. That mummy has hair that grows out of her head. But somehow she also has this hair. Wouldn’t it be easier for her to get hair too, instead of being forced to endure the pain of braiding or combing.

Finally I am forced to deal with this, because I won’t have her harmed. I won’t have her thinking that she is anything less than perfect. I won’t have her damaged, not in body or soul. How do I teach her to love herself when I struggle with this myself….How do I teach her to love her hair, when I never let mine see the sun?

Oya O. The clock is ticking. I have got to get it together!

The Mrs Club
Available at amazon.com
Get your copy now
It's the juiciest read of the summer.

A short excerpt from my next book....a work in progress

2008-05-28T23:57:00.002-04:00

I can’t stand nights like this. My mind races and I can’t rest. Never mind that I have already taken 2 sleeping pills. Maybe it’s time for an upgrade. Lara says I should try valium. She swears by it. “Take two darling and you’ll drift deliciously”, my dear Lara, ever the pragmatist, she self medicates for everything, black coffee for the morning, a cocktail for the afternoon and valium for the nights like this, when she looks over at her husband and tries to hold off from killing him.
Mine is snoring up a storm next to me. When we first got married, he was so concerned, he offered to have surgery. Then I was foolishly in love and I lied to him and myself about the severity of the situation. “It’s not so bad” I said. Now I wish he would go into surgery and perhaps not wake up from the anesthesia.
Well, I don’t really wish him dead, it’s just that I am so mad at him. I know he is cheating, again. I know it with every fiber of my being but I don’t have any proof. Something inside of me is just preparing me for the inevitable. I hate him because I think of my children, I so desperately wanted them to have a happy stable two parent family. I am a product of bitter divorced parents and I don’t want any child of mine to experience that hell, so I am angry at my husband for putting me and my kids in this position.
Crap, is that a spider? There you go. Serves you right for crawling around in my bedroom. Yuck, it’s a big one and it’s so disgusting. I wonder. I should just drop this insect carcass in my husband’s open mouth. I mean, with all the shit lies he’s been telling me lately, a spider carcass should fit right into the atmosphere in his mouth. Oh don’t look at me like that. You don’t know what this man has put me through. At least I am not talking about running him over. This won’t do him any harm. It’s just disgusting. Like him.
I don’t really hate him you know. I loved him deeply, but he has become such a joke. He thinks he is so smart, with his lies and his affairs. He thinks I stay with him because he’s an expert at dodging bullets. Shoot, I am just biding my time. Soon, my plan with be complete and he will truly understand that statement…Hell hath no fury, but for now, just a little spider in his mouth.

“Are you okay” I say to him, when he starts coughing. Rubbing his mouth and looking bewildered. I look at him innocently. He asks for water. I get up and pour a little from the pitcher we keep by the bed. He swallows quickly. I raise an eyebrow.
There was an old woman who swallowed a spider. I don’t know why she swallowed a spider, perhaps she’ll die.
“Do you feel better sweetie?” I ask. He nods and settles back into the bed, handing me the glass. “Thanks baby” he says. I nod in response. Foolish man. I could kill him just like that.

What do y'all think? I am still in the really early days...but so many people have sent me emails...asking when the next book is coming out? I tell them, I'm still hustling for the first one, so go and tell your friends to buy the book, the mrs club. Available on amazon.com
But let me know your thoughts on the teaser. Like I said, it's really early days...so this might end up on the cutting room floor!

Book Club Interview

2008-05-28T17:55:00.003-04:00

I have been invited to speak about the Mrs Club at a book club here in Atlanta. I am really psyched because it is an African American group and I really want to know if the book has crossover appeal. They take their book club pretty seriously, they have a newsletter and everything. So they sent me some interview questions for their newsletter and I thought I'd share with you.

Interview
1. Tell us your latest news.

Well I am living, laughing and loving my life! I am presently preparing to go to London to do some promotion for the book and discuss some logistical issues. After that I will be back in the states to continue the hustle. Also I am psyched to tell you that Upscale magazine just featured my book in the May edition!

2. What inspired you to write this novel?

I guess the book came out of conversations I was having and stories I was hearing about women who felt pressured to be married by thirty and as a result were doing different crazy things.

3. Is there a message you want your readers to grasp?

Yes, it’s the same message I plan to give my daughter. It is simply this “You are enough”. You don’t need a man to complete you, define you and certainly not oppress you. I think a man is what we in Nigeria call “jara” which translates to icing on the cake. When I told my father I had met my husband and we wanted to get married, he asked me if I was sure. When I said yes, he said “well I haven’t met him yet, but regardless of how wonderful he may be, I hope you know that you like all my children are completely complete just the way you are”. Till today, that singular statement fills me with joy and it actually freed me to love my husband freely and truly.

4. Which of the characters is most like you?

Everyone asks that! Well there will be some obvious similarities between me and Amaka, who is a pharmacist, voluptuous and sweet. However her story isn’t mine and I feel a similar kinship with the other girls. I connect with Titi for her tell it like it is nature and with Mina for her tough girl exterior.

5. What have been your greatest successes in your life?

My greatest successes are yet to come. I have many things I am proud of and many that I am not. I think completing this book and presenting it to the world is a success and teaching my daughter to love and be happy is another success. Being a wife to my husband is yet another success, because regardless of how much you love each other, marriage is hard work!

What do you feel the causes are for them?

Simply put, I will succeed because I believe I can and I will act upon that belief. One of my family’s favorite quotes is by Anatole France and it states “To accomplish great things, we must not only act, but also dream; not only plan, but also believe.”

6. What advice do you have for aspiring writers?

Start writing and read like it is going out of style. Also write for yourself first. A few people I knew were somewhat disappointed that I wrote a chick lit book, because some people don’t consider chick lit real literature, but I love what I wrote and judging from the emails I have received so many others do too. So be true to yourself no matter what.

7. What kind of books do you read?

It runs the gamut, my library features everyone from Toni Morrison and Richard Wright to Sophie Kinsella and Helen Fielding.

8. What have been the greatest lessons you've learned?

1. The truly successful in life are not the most exceptional people, they are simply those who dare to believe that they can be successful.
2. You can’t love too hard, laugh too loud and dream too big. Life is limitless.

9. What have been the greatest surprises in your life?

That after almost six years of marriage, some of those years being really hard that I would fall for my husband all over again. That my two year old would teach me how to be audacious. That I can love what I do and do what I love at the same time.

10. What book has made the greatest impact on your life?

As trite as it sounds…The Bible. My favorite book is Proverbs. It is like a blueprint for successful living.

THE MRS CLUB
AVAILABLE AT AMAZON.COM
GET YOUR COPY TODAY!

Would you be the other woman?

2008-05-23T13:14:00.002-04:00

The characters in my book are all confronted with real life situations and one of them is dealing with this particular question.

Well would you?

Before you all jump to answer no, let's be real. Many of us are choosing this path, or at least find ourselves on it and at that moment are faced with whether to jump right off or continue along. Quite recently some notable women have admitted to being the other woman. Barbara Walters did, Oprah did and I am sure some of y'all did and are.

A while ago, a young woman sat in my living room and proceeded to tell me why she thought wives were the stupidest women. She said and I quote "Majority of the men, I know, don't love their wives, they love their girlfriends. The wives are the fools because they clean up after them, take care of them and at the end of the day, he goes to have fun with his girlfriend"

I resisted the urge to slap the stupidity out of her brain. She was sitting in a married woman's house telling me, how she thought me and my kind were stupid. Ah...but I have come to learn that in order to gain wisdom, you have to listen to even to the most inane of conversations.

So I poured my drink as I listened to this otherwise educated and smart young woman, justify her choice in a roundabout fashion. The mind is amazing, you can justify anything if you really want to...I mean, Bush justified Iraq and I have just rationalized this chocolate chip cookie, well I am still justifying it, crap I really can't justify it without lying to myself, darn! Must put it down! Aargh

But I digress.

I think the key thing in her statement was that she was lying to herself. Affairs, adultery exist in a realm of lies. He lies to her, he lies to you, he lies to himself, you lie to the world, you lie to yourself and then you cry to yourself because there will be nobody left to lie to.

There was once a girl who told a married man, that she missed him and wanted to see him soon. The wife found out and confronted her. The girl feeling like a hard chick, told the wife, that if she were her, she wouldn't be making such a big deal, after all, all she did was flirt with the man.

I don't know when we as women started to believe the lie that we have to settle for this s**t! First of all, if you don't know it, let me help you aspe big sister concerned, anyways, here goes.

1.If a man is married and stays married and has you on the side, then you are only a side piece. You are simply there because you agree to be there. Occasionally he may become so besotted that he will contemplate or maybe even leave his wife, but even in that circumstance, most of the time, it's more about his needing to leave anyway and you providing a convenient safety net.
2. Men lie, shoot we all lie. We lie to get what we want. We lie to ourselves, so what makes you think that Mr. Man is not lying to you? He told you he doesn't love her? What line do you think he used on his wife, when she found out about your last tryst? The same one. Verbatim.
3. The wives of men who cheat, have agendas. They stay for a myriad of reasons, don't assume stupidity is one of them.
4. Don't believe the it's not where he is, it's where he wants to be myth. Where he is, is where he wants to be period. Trust me, don't fall into the trap.

I know a woman, who was a man's mistress for at least twenty years. She was and is a beautiful, elegant, educated woman. I don't know what he told her to keep her hanging on in there for all those years, must have been good. Long and short, dude had a heart attack. Left everything to his wife and kids. His mistress and other child, were left nothing. Nada. Zilch. Their names weren't even penciled into the will. She couldn't see the body. She couldn't mourn him publicly. She was a shadow widow, just like she was a shadow wife. She went to the memorial alone, her friends refused to go, and she sat at the back like a nobody. Because in his real life, she was nobody to him. His friends that knew her, pretended otherwise. She was a strictly after midnight, no status. I think about her a lot. I wonder how a woman like that could have fallen prey.

I wrote the book, the Mrs club, because I wanted to talk about how people feel when pressured to marry, but there is a secondary pressure. The desire to find love. When time starts passing, you start to fear. Hey this is real life right,so let's be real. You start to fear that maybe you won't find that perfect love. So sometimes when a counterfeit comes around, showing you all the romance you felt would come with that perfect love but none of the commitment, you think that you have to settle for less. Their verse is practiced so its convincing, but it's no more real than the world they are promising you. Any man that is serious will close one door before opening another. This is fact, simple and true.

Tell yourself what you like...but find a little time to tell yourself the truth. These so called hard babes and senior chicks, that self medicate with gucci and prada are sometimes, dying inside. They don't tell you that sometimes, he doesn't take their calls for days or weeks. They don't tell you that they have to beg sometimes for the money that they flash around like lottery winners. They don't tell you that sometimes, they get lonely. They don't tell you that sometimes they hate who they have become.

I guess that is what gets to me the most. I told that girl in my living room and I am telling you. If you are on the verge of making this choice. Don't choose him. Choose you. Don't give up everything you believe for a person that has made no commitment to you. Don't give up the right to dignity for a little bit of intimacy, don't give up being alone and end up lonely. You are worth more. You deserve to live and walk in the light. You deserve to subsist on more than crumbs, you deserve the cake.
I understand that fear, believe me I do. I think that sometimes that books and movies set us up. They are about romance, not love. When the screen gets blurry and the music starts, what is happening is not love, it's romance. Love is commitment, pure and simple. It is not necessarily sexy. It doesn't necessarily come with perfect words. It simply is.

And if you stop looking for the lies, you will see the truth and say it.

I have told you O. You know yourself. Don't say you haven't been told the truth. Plus, I think his wife is an MFMer. Heeh!!! Don't let her holy fire deal with you O!!! My hand no dey!

As always my people
Be well, be loved, be happy

P.S
The Mrs Club
available amazon.com

Mummy dearest

2008-05-21T05:19:00.002-04:00

From the first time people notice you are pregnant, the wahala starts. From well meaning aunts to the WFM (Worldwide federation of wrestling moms) the unsolicited advice and judgment comes your way. You shouldn't eat that, bad for baby, you shouldn't do this, bad for baby. Then if you are unfortunate to have an active WFMer, lawd have mercy. "I played Mozart and Chopin for my baby while in utero, studies have shown it helps brain development" If you are a first time mom, you may fall for this, especially if your musical repertoire consists of hiphop and Psquare.

Then comes the smackdown match, the bottlefeeders against the exclusive breastfeeders. The WFMers have been training for this match for a much longer time. They are adamant about nipple confusion (Men, it is not what you think), they know the exact percentage of nutrients versus life saving antibodies, they proclaim that the bonding of mother to child is second to none during that time.

I know about this fight. I went toe to toe and I survived.
My daughter and I came to agree that breastfeeding was not for us. We had latch on issues and more. Came to the point that my 6 week old daughter told me, "Oya, pack it in, I would like my milk, processed and in a bottle, thank you. This is not working" Of course it came out in screams and more screams, when I tried to bfeed. She would scream herself red and I would be in tears. I was failing at my very first task as a mom. I thought it should have come naturally. After all, all the women I saw, had looks of blissful peace as they unselfconsciously heaved out breasts in public places or demurely sneaked junior under a very stylish shawl, either way they were providing nourishment....so what was wrong with me? I stressed out privately, but my daughter reassured me, despite claims from local WFMers that "Gosh, mine won't even touch formula, I guess it tastes so metallic" my daughter thrived. She grew healthy and big. She was never sick and from her development charts wasn't addle brained. When she started smiling I became sure that all was not lost. I hadn't failed at all, I had just taken a different path.

But it was not over.
Then came the baby food. Organic or not, what to get, what to give. Again trust the WFMers to have an opinion. "Oh my gosh, I only puree steamed organic vegetables and chicken and fish for my child, I don't think I could ever give him anything that comes out of a bottle, you never really know what they put in those things!" Makes sense I thought, not knowing that once more, I had fallen into the trap.
I tried pureeing squash, which was spat out with projectile force. I was given a look and a Waaah that I understood only too well. My little Madam was saying as sweetly as possible "Look, my friend, if you do not present my chicken and rice asap, it will be me and you". My husband laughed and pointed out the trap. "I was raised on Gerber and I turned out just fine"

Next up. The TV
I am a TV fan myself. Complete square eyes. Although these days, I don't have quite the time. The local WFMers paid for a PSA. TV will destroy your child's brain. I no longer trusted them and I also needed the 30 minute break that came in an adorable little boy called calliou. What kinship my child felt with this bald headed 4 year old, I'll never know, suffice to say that "Ka you!!" was one of her first words. I know WFMers, write me a citation!

There are still more stands to be taken, more smackdowns to be had. Ballet class at 3, or romping around in the park. violin lessons at 5, or singing with mummy. In everything you choose to do with and for your child, chances are there will be some WFMer telling you that there is a better way - theirs!

I honestly don't know what impact Chopin has on the brain, I actually play my daughter jazz and big band, because I love it, currently we are digging Diana Krall's rendition of Fly me to the moon and Frim fram sauce and my two year old is loving it too, we are bonding over our mutual love of scatting and improvisation.
I do know this for sure, that you can be so caught up in winning the smackdown that you fail to be present to the reality that you have a wonderful gift in a child. You can get so caught up in shuttling to classes that you don't take the time out to say I love you. You can get so caught up in making sure they wear the right clothes, go to the right schools and speak the right language (accents included) that you miss out on watching and knowing these amazing little balls of wonder, literal manifestations of God's grace and majesty.

Regular joe Mom or champion WFMer, we are all just trying to do the best for our children. Well here is my two cents, whether you breast or bottle feed...and whatever other choices you may make, the best thing you can do for your child is to love them completely and unabashedly. So if you see me kissing my Sina, with our arms wrapped around each other at the organic aisle in the grocery store, or if you hear me proclaim I love you as I give her some wendy's chicken nuggets, know that this is true. That though I may not win every smackdown, I love her wholly and this is the one thing I am most sure of.

PS
Available now on
Amazon.com (The Mrs Club)
Get it now...You won't regret it

The status of your bag or the state of your mind

2008-05-19T03:55:00.003-04:00

It’s a question of faith over fashion. Although some of us think it’s about fashion over faith. Nigerian women are among the most fashionable women in the world. The society women are constantly focusing on their wardrobe. Do you have the latest French lace, the new kind of aso-oke, Have you seen the new season of Chanel, or the hottest it bag?
The pressures some women face in today’s society, trying to fit in to this fashion oriented climate are enough to intimidate even the toughest of us, quite simply put, Naija babes dey oppress.
I’ll never forget an experience I had when I visited Lagos one Christmas period. I had decided to have my nails done at an upscale nail salon in Victoria Island. When I walked in, I was struck by how well put together the clientele were. In every seat, there was a very chic woman, whether she was tall or short, fat or thin, short do or unbeweaveable, they looked quite fabulous and then they had one other thing in common - The status handbag. Next to every woman, there sat in a chair, a purse that cost almost as much as one terms school fees at an expensive private school. They went by different names…Gucci, Vuitton, Prada etc. Each woman held it as proudly as her wedding ring.
As I later learnt the status bag was used as a entrance to a certain level of society, at least on a superficial level. Before certain women would talk to you they check you out, a silent list is checked off in their heads. Hair – check (no rugged afrocentric looks for this bunch, unless of course you happen to be a well known artist, but for the rest of us, well maintained and up to date fashion wise, weave is more than acceptable, but don’t bring that cheap Chinese shine over here, we prefer our hair, virgin, Indian, Spanish or brazilian and we like to pay too much for it) Clothes – check ( well fitting, fashion conscious) Shoes – check (again, fashionable and not too worn) then there is the bag, their eyes go straight to it, can it be called by a name, is it real or fake? Is it first, second or third tier? I tell you the requirements can be mindboggling.

Me, myself…I won’t lie, I have a penchant for bags. Though for me it’s not necessarily about the name, its more about the design and quality. I have to love it. So I buy what I like, within reason of course. Occasionally I put myself on restriction. I say, self, if you cannot express yourself for under a certain price then just forget it and for the most part I stick to it, but I may splurge about once a year, if it seems like more to some people, it’s only because I keep all my bags in rotation and I tend to favor styles that are not overly trendy, so they never look old.

However, I often wonder, how the choice to carry a certain designer, should matter in a person’s evaluation. The idea that because you can spend a good to ridiculous amount of money on a frivolous item somehow makes you a worthy person; A friend of mine shared with her conversation with a popular socialite.
“Hello” my friend said as she walked up to her.
“Hello” she said, then noting the accent she added “You are from America?”
“Yes” my friend said not knowing the first check had already happened.
“My name is X” she said.
“Is that from the new prada line?” The socialite asked.
“Eh no” My friend said. Said friend would never ever spend money on prada or any other designer, not because she doesn’t have money, she is probably one of the higher net worth people that I know actually, it just goes against her walmart principles.
“Is it prada?” she asked again.
“Er, no” my friend responded.
“Ok, what is it? Balenciaga?”
“No, it’s just a bag.” My friend said exasperated.
The socialite was quiet for a while and then after looking my friend up and down. Simply got up and walked away, before she left she said “I thought it was a Prada”
Check – definitely not!

In any event for those of you determined to have the ultimate in status bag...You can get a customized Hermes Kelly bag, with no waiting list and dirt cheap...here. All you have to do is click on the I want it, I'll have it and build your own!
Smile...the world is full of reasons to be happy!

P.S
Don't forget
Buy my book
The Mrs Club
available on amazon.com
and themrsclub.com
My Naija peeps I hear you...
Please forgive me. Logistical issues plague me
Soon and very soon O...biko eweniwe.

To all the bad boys and the women who love them

2008-05-16T22:43:00.006-04:00

So I want to share with you a line that I may use in my next book and I will give all credit to this badass chick when the time comes!

So I was talking to an old friend. We don't talk too often but when we do its a marathon session of truth, laughter and amens. We share anecdotes and coat our truths in slick humor and somehow it helps us deal. We don't agree on most things and her style is so far from mine but this chick is my sisterwoman, somehow, somehow.

So we were talking about relationships as we tend to do...we are both married but she has been at it for much longer than I. When talking about Nigerian relationships invariably infidelity comes up, na standard tori. So we were gisting about this chick who is always proclaiming how she and her hubby's love is sweeter than condensed milk (you know the kind in those small small tins - they always make me sick) and I was telling her how last time we all went out, one of the girls in our party noted that the hubby was checking out every chick in the place..."Aaah" my friend exclaimed "The guy is a junior bad boy!". What do you mean? I asked. Would a senior bad boy not look? "No" she said. "What he would do?" I asked eager to learn the rules of this game. "He would look at his wife and check out the babes from the reflection in her eyeballs!" and we both fell down laughing. We talked some more and what became clear was that my dear friend had once seen a lot in a relationship. Now this is not about her and her relationship. I always find it interesting and ridiculous when people say what they would and would not do in another woman's stilettos. Chick has made her choices and I respect her for owning them.

One of these days, I'll write about love, cheating and 40 to life, but this is about bad boys.

As she spoke, It was apparent that she had a great deal of respect for that bad boy as in he was baaad. I guess if you are going to be bad, be superbad. Tied into that emotion was a sense of respect for herself that she survived him. She said and I quote "once I survived that, I knew that I could face anything". I felt her on that.

I fell for a bad boy once. He was such a charmer. He was the literal manifestation of my fantasy for a man. Tall, handsome, slight British accent from boarding school, Yoruba edge but Ibo to the core. Well traveled and well spoken. I was more than ten years his junior and I was in awe. Naturally I fell in love and hard. It was a simple case of bad boy word equations. If chick is given x number of raps, combined with quality time, gifts and the illusion of a future, how quickly will she give her heart, because at a certain point it was not about the drawers. (hey, I tell it like it is)
I gave it freely and he shred it.
I never hated him afterward. Too much energy, but after the pain had dulled and I had healed, I started to get that I survived feeling too. I mean, I had tangled with a Bad boy and was here to tell the tale. I was now a bad chick.

But was I? I wanted to be hardened, to always tell myself that men aint sh*t, to treat them as bad as they would treat me, but that is and was not me. After a little while, surviving didn't feel like something to be proud of, but to be grateful for. The knowledge that I wasn't defined by this experience. That I could be myself always. I could acknowledge that this man had hurt me, but that I was strong enough to heal and believe in the power of true love again.

When I met my husband. I told him I had no interest in bad boys, I was looking for a man. One who had integrity and knew who he was and had no need to have his ego constantly fed by innocent or foolish hearts of women.
After almost six years of marriage, I can say I married a man, though like every human, he is still and always growing, as I am.

Years ago, I was opportune to meet my bad boy...and how the years tell on us. He was older, greyer and sadder because at his old age, he was still chasing skirts. So much for growing old and distinguished. He tittered (yes O, tittered) this over forty man as he told me how some chick was chasing him. I listened in silence. Thanking God that I had not been tethered to this narcissist. He sounded juvenile and ridiculous, trying to prove to me that he was bad.
"Uh, alrighty then, you take care" was my response, and suddenly I became aware of the quirk of fate. I was now the bad chick, because I had stood up for my values and been true to myself, because I saw something I hadn't seen before, discontent. He was unhappy somehow. Like a homeless man, trying to convince you that his cardboard box is better that a real home.

But I am rambling.

Suffice to say this. "Here to all the Bad boys and the women who love them" Hey we are all trying to figure out how to live in this complicated, crazy world.

PS
Go on,buy my book!
The Mrs Club
Available at amazon.com
and themrsclub.com

Nanny less and loving it.

2008-05-15T11:35:00.005-04:00

For now anyway. So I had to let my nanny a few days ago. Chick was freaking me out. She was super fantastic with my daughters laundry and kept her room organized but I am convinced she was coaching my daughter to call her Mummy in my absence. Even when I explicitly asked her not to. Also my daughter didn't seem comfortable. After almost having an anxiety attack at work when I couldn't reach them in the house, I decided that paranoid delusions or not, this was not healthy. Wetin, all my spider senses were on alert.

So now, na me and madam and she is loving it. She ran round the house chanting, Sina and mummy, sina and mummy. So I put her in the montessori program that she had been attending part time, full time and yes, she might be exposed to more colds and infections, (one kid in her class had scarlet fever!) at least I know that they won't run away with my child!

This Nanny wahala no easy and quite frankly I am tired. I think maybe I am done. It's just that man pikin's work schedule is brutal. Sha O, I have a plan....I just need the, is it five or six winning numbers...and I'll be all good.

Available now
The Mrs club at
amazon.com and themrsclub.com

I've been tagged

2008-05-15T10:45:00.003-04:00

Here are the rules

1.link the person who tagged you… Simi

2. Mention the rules in your blog…

3. Tell about 6 unspectacular quirks of yours...

4. Tag 6 following bloggers by linking them…

5. Leave a comment on each of the tagged blogger’s blogs letting them know they’ve been tagged...

Well 6 quirks...Hmmm

I am an incurable romantic...from raps in french to solid igbo raps...I dig them all. Although lately for all my phonerization I have a particular penchant for my native tongue... In fact my hubby won me over with raps that started with omalicha tomato and ended with aru buttermilk! LOL!!!

I am practically a teetotaler! Not for any moral reason, it's just that all it takes is for one drink to take me from charming and vivacious to snoring on the couch. I go right past the happy buzz to sleep, so when I really want to have a good time I avoid alcohol, although lately I have been building my tolerance, one glass of riesling at a time.

I love the backyardigans song! Yes I have a toddler. And I love that they have a ghetto fab character called uniqua! LOL. And she is my daughters favorite character! Now if they could just give her a proper head roll, we'd be all set.

I can't sleep with any doors open, they always have to be closed, whether closet door or bathroom door. It drives my husband crazy.

I believe that there are things in this world that cannot be explained away by science.

I love my daughter and I am a great mother but I will admit that I didn't enjoy breastfeeding - painful and potty training is aargh! Last night I had a crazy dream, and lets just say it involved the clean up song, underpants, a dora toilet seat and number two!!!!

Okay simi...I have finally done it.

Now, Bobby, Msminx, 9jamommy, Toni and Lola, tag you're it.

The Mrs Club
Available now at amazon.com
and themrsclub.com

The disease to please

2008-05-14T23:38:00.004-04:00

Most people that know me don't know that I suffer from a condition I call Peoplepleasaritis - The need to please. When I was young, I lived for that look on someone's face that showed they were happy with you - You like me, you really like me!
As I got older, I recognized how people had used that to their advantage and as a consequence used and sometimes abused me. By the time I was in college after I had been devastated by teenage betrayal, I went through a radical pleasectomy. I cut the tumor out, except that I wasn't that skilled a surgeon and I cut out some crucial flesh with it. I did what I liked and only that, and you either liked it or lumped it. Few people were allowed close to me and those that were there, well they were and still are special (in the best of ways).

How far I had swung hit home when a friend of mine told me she would never choose me as a bridesmaid because she knew I would not go out of my way for her. I was sobered that day. What kind of person had I become? Yet there were some who would describe me as very giving and loving, my husband for one (as well he should I suppose).

Amaka, one of the characters in the book, also has this need to be accepted, but she has not gone through surgery as of yet, hopefully when and if she does, she will have a more skilled surgeon.

As for me, I am learning how to find a balance. My natural inclination is to give of my heart, give of my time, my money, everything even to my detriment. I learned how to hold myself back a long time ago and now I am learning how to share my love with out losing myself. In all things balance is key.
Now if I could just find the right balance between broccoli and brownies, it'll be all good.

Ngwanu my people.
Love will always be in style.

The Mrs Club is available for sale
at amazon.com and themrsclub.com

Sex, lies and the African

2008-05-14T22:27:00.003-04:00

When I was in Nigeria promoting my book, one question I kept getting was if I was concerned about the racy sex scenes in the book. Ok first off let me say that yes there are somewhat explicit scenes but I don't think that it is gratuitous. Actually when my dad read it he said and I quote "Some parts of it border on pornography and that Titi, my God", but please note my dad is pushing 70, a professor type who would consider sex and the city xxx-rated. In any event I think he was more shocked that his child wrote those scenes than the scenes itself.

What is it with the way we view sex? Don't ask, don't tell. I wrote a story about thirty something women who have sexual encounters as part of their broader dating stories, meanwhile young girls today already have more experience than I have the imagination to describe and they are not even doing it within the confines of loving relationships. It's funny, I didn't know this at the time, I was a dry chick, but my while my high school was known to produce well mannered, sophisticated, smart girls, in other words correct chicks...apparently some of these girls were known for their oral skills and I am not talking about the debate team.

By the time I was ten, I had hit puberty and I was getting all sorts of attention. It was unwanted and frightening and most of the time I didn't have the tools to manage it. My mother was a hawk, she practically locked us in the house, maybe this was how I managed to escape a different fate, but I keep thinking about other girls I know who were like me, trying to survive in a society that can be predatory towards girls and not having anyone to discuss it with. Girls who had sex (were raped, victims of abuse)were labeled as loose girls. I remember a story about a high school classmate who went to her boyfriends house possibly quite innocently because she thought his family would be around and found herself raped by her boyfriend while his friends watched. I remember hearing this story in my form five and being shocked but not knowing quite how to process the information.

When I had my period my mother handed me a book to read on the subject of puberty, girls and sexuality. It must have been written in the fifties. When I finished reading she asked me if I understood the book. I nodded yes and that was basically my conversation about becoming a woman. I smile when I think about this. My mom is my mom and she did the best she knew how and when I think about it, she did a great job. Yes she was so strict, I never partied but she kept me as safe as she could and I am here to tell the tale with only a few minor bruises... not everyone was so lucky.

So I speak freely about sex. I will tell my daughter about it when she gets older. Actually we already have conversations about private parts and who should and should not be touching and why. Yes, she's only two but we live in a crazy world and don't be fooled pedophiles are not solely a product of the western world.
When she is older I will tell her my truths about sex, about how it clouds clarity in an undefined relationship, about how men and women view it differently, about how it should not be used as a pawn in a chess game, about how if you make a decision you later regret, you can stop and change direction, about how I don't believe in labels but in people and about how much her father and I love and value her and how she should know that as a woman, sex is a gift and a responsibility, and more important than sex is love.

So yes, I wrote a book about life and love and a lot of stuff in between...and yes, my heroines and real live chicks who explore their passion for life in a variety of ways, orgasms included and yes I think it's about time we stop being so hypocritical about sex. We need to talk about it, address the promiscuity among some of our young women, the perversity among some of our old men, the lack of self worth, the damage to self esteem, the joys of sincere intimacy, the sensuality of touch, the fact that spirituality and sexuality are not mutually exclusive. (Yes O, I am a Christian and I believe that orgasms are a gift)

Even as I write this I am concerned with being misunderstood but c'est la vie. You can only speak in your language and hope that the people around you are fluent.

My people. Be well. Be happy. Be loved.

The Mrs Club
Available now on Amazon.com
and themrsclub.com

Amaka...my darling....

2008-05-11T01:04:00.004-04:00

You guys...You guys!!!

Thanks for all the email. I have received note upon note about the book. I guess you guys felt like I did, that it was time to read a story about correct naija chicks! LOL

Anyway, the interesting thing is that quite a few of the emails have said that Amaka's story happened to them in one way or another...

So I ask this question? Why do you think Amaka story went the way it did? Did she miss some clues or what? I would love to hear your thoughts...

And for those of you waiting for the sequel...well I am hard at work again...

Love y'all
Ekene

GET YOUR COPY NOW!

2008-03-28T14:09:00.003-04:00

THE MRS CLUB AVAILABLE ON AMAZON.COM and THEMRSCLUB.COM

My People,

Just wanted to make sure you were aware that the book is now available on AMAZON.COM, if you are in the US, UK, canada and other places you can order from Amazon, just check their international shipping policies etc. If you are in the US, you can order from THEMRSCLUB.COM and get an autographed copy from me! Anyway thanks so much for your support also if you have read the book and would like to leave a review please do so at amazon.com. Thanks and God bless
Ekene

The Mrs Club

2007-12-12T15:37:00.000-05:00

December 11, 2007
For Immediate Release
Atlanta, GA

MRS. CLUB: Getting in is one thing, Staying in is another

The Mrs. Club is the Nigerian Chic- Literature of all times! A book that has all the elements of a standard chick-lit novel: Three trendy Nigerian women, their quest to find a man to marry & their quest to stay married.

A book by Ekene Onu puts a new spin on published literature for the trendy sophisticated Nigerian Woman.

According to the New York Times:
“From Mumbai to Milan, Gdansk to Jakarta, regional Varieties of Chick Lit have been sprouting, buoyed by the demographic that’s both their subject and readership: 20 and 30 something years old women with full time jobs, discretionary income and a hunger for independence and Glamour.”

With the rise of Modern Day Chick Literature, Ekene has put Nigeria on the map with this well written book.

Ekene Onu is a thirty something writer who was raised in Nigeria and currently resides in Atlanta Georgia. She is the founder and editor of Nouveau Africana and the Mrs. Club is her first book.

The power of this book is Ekene Onu’s characters (Titi, Amaka and Mina) and the fact that every Nigerian Woman can relate to their experiences on the quest to find that true man or the quest to tame that Naija man. Another strength Ekene has pulled from is her writing style, which pulls its reader into the book and thus making you feel that you are indeed part of the Mrs. Club!

Here are some excerpts from the book:

Titi:
“My problem is I haven’t quite found proper husband material and, for me, husband material means not just good looks, but also money and prestige. And when I say money I mean a lot of it. That’s right, I’m not saying I’m a gold digger; but hey, a woman has to keep up or at least improve her lifestyle! Look, I don’t believe in faking the funk. I am a straight-up person and there is no shame in my game; so yes, I am looking for a husband but he better be rich, African and fabulous!”

Amaka:
“He was sexy, smart, and polished to perfection. He held my hands and played with my fingers. He told me that I was amazing, that he found me attractive, very sexy; he confessed that he really wanted to book a room for the night and invite me to share it with him.
I said nothing because my throat had become so dry and besides, I couldn’t trust myself. I knew that if he pulled me into his arms right then and there, I wouldn’t have the strength to resist. I was looking at his lips as he talked; this man was beautiful. He turned me on with his words as well. I mean he made me feel like I was the only woman worth knowing. He told me that he had never had a conversation like this with anyone, and that I really got him and he felt for the first time in his life like he had made a real connection. He said he thought that he finally had a small understanding of the word soul mate.”

Mina:
“The truth is I don’t enjoy sex with my husband. He slobbers all over me and has no idea how to please me in bed. At best it’s a clumsy effort at going down and at worst it’s a sweaty attempt at hitting it, while I lie there praying for him to come already. Yes, clearly, Obinna doesn’t do it for me. There is no chemistry for me.
So why did I marry him? Because I saw a man with potential, a man who was rough but teachable and I went for it, love be damned.”

The Mrs. Club is a must read and will be available in stores across Lagos, the UK, the USA & Canada in February of 2008.

An exclusive book signing will be held in Lagos in the second week of January and some advanced copy of this well-written book will be made available at the event.

For more information on the Mrs. Club, The Book Signing, or Press Matters, please contact Bobby Taylor at bobby@bobbytaylorpr.ca

To receive more information about the book, please visit the website www.themrsclub.com

Porous Brains Continued

2007-11-06T18:28:00.000-05:00

Mina

Porous Brains part deux

Anyway back to the story, so she carries herself back to work after 4 weeks, can you imagine the girl wasn’t even completely healed but you know since her hubby wanted to play author and she was stupidly trying to be the supportive wife, she had to go back to work. So of course she was desperate for childcare. She went through a nanny referral service. When she saw this Rihanna girl’s resume it was amazing. It was as if the girl was Mary Poppins re-incarnate and her references were excellent. So she ignored the fact that the girl looked like she just stepped out of a music video. Actually the day I saw her she was wearing shorts and a tank top. As soon as I saw her I told Katya to fire her, because no matter how attractive you are, you should never put a competitor in your house, but of course Katya didn’t listen. She told me I was being a paranoid Nigerian. So I left her alone; she, her passionate husband and her shorts wearing nanny.

Naturally when she called me today after several months, somehow I was not surprised to see she was in tears. Apparently her husband had been having writer’s block and somehow Rihanna decided to inspire him by opening her legs. Did I not warn Katya? I knew it. Hot pants my foot! Anyway bottom line is that Rihanna has just informed them that she is pregnant for Katya’s husband and fully intends to keep the baby. So now Katya is basically screwed and because her idiot husband wasn’t working, if they divorce, she might end up paying him palimony, imagine that! Her baby has just started crawling and this happens. I was too disgusted, and even more so when I talked to Katya and she said her life is in God’s hands. I am telling you I am sick and tired of people being too weak to face life and hiding behind God. It’s not like I don’t believe in God, it’s just that I don’t see what place He has in my life. I don’t need him. I have everything under control; I am not stupid like Katya. So when she started spouting this church jargon, talking about “No weapon formed against me” and all that, I told her to get real and I referred her to Titi to help her find a new place and called a few friends of mine for a referral to a good divorce lawyer.

Honestly, women and their porous brains, how can you take trouble and put it in your house? That is why in my house, there will never be any drama, because I know how to handle my life and I make sure it is handled.

Katya kept crying to me about how she loved him and she couldn’t believe he could do this to her and all that. I was so irritated. There was a point when I wanted to slap her. I mean why she was wasting her tears on that idiot, I’ll never know. Imagine sleeping with the help, how cliché! Months ago I warned her that she was being too soft on her husband. That catering to his every need would only make him take her for granted. Men are like wild animals. To get them to behave acceptably in public you have to use a little cruelty otherwise they don’t respect you. Take for instance Obinna, he cannot try me, because I have him so trained that he is ready to jump through any hoop, just for a small tidbit of affection. I know what you all are saying, but that’s okay, I’ve been called a hard bitch before and quite frankly, it doesn’t bother me. I learnt early on that the only purpose love serves is to make you feel bad so as for me, I don’t bother with emotions. I have always had a plan and I am willing to do whatever it takes to execute it. So say what you will, but you won’t catch me with a hot pants wearing nanny. She better be old and grey with one lazy eye and even then I’ll have my eye on the heifer!

Porous brains

2007-10-25T21:06:00.001-04:00

Mina

Porous Brains

I just don’t know how some women can be so foolish. Imagine my friend Katya carrying some young Caribbean girl to come and be a nanny in her house. How can any reasonable woman take petrol and matches and put them in the same place and then start complaining when a fire breaks out? Katya’s problem is that she is biracial. Her mother is German and her father is Nigerian and so somehow she thinks the rules don’t apply to her. She and her husband just got married a couple of years ago and had a baby. Now of course Katya has a solid career in finance. She is a VP at Citibank. One of several I know, but still she is doing pretty well. Her hubby is a lawyer. Well he was a lawyer, but recently he decided that he wanted to take some time off to pursue his passion which was writing. So this man who just had a baby and has all these bills to pay, because naturally they have a hefty mortgage and the car notes on the S class and the M class are no jokes either, decides that he needs to take the time off now.

Katya was of course pissed off. But she felt like she couldn’t do anything about it, her baby was only a couple of weeks old at the time and she didn’t have the energy. If Obinna tried that passion nonsense on me, I would have taught him that his passion better be making money, just like my passion is spending it. Baby or no baby, when your house is on fire, you better have enough energy to douse it, otherwise, you might find yourself sleeping on the streets!

I just fell ...hard

2007-10-25T21:02:00.000-04:00

Amaka

Still falling

At some point during the evening, after Jeffrey had fed me pork tenderloin and chocolate bread pudding with his fingers, I felt for certain that this was all just raps. I mean the romance factor was through the roof. I banished the thought as soon as it came, because truth be told I no longer cared, the whole thing felt so damned good. We were having such a wonderful conversation and I had had a little bit of wine, actually I had stopped counting after the third glass. We didn’t notice the restaurant emptying out, until the maître d’ came over to ask us if we would be much longer. I looked around, no one else was there and the staff was actually clearing tables. Jeffrey immediately settled the check and left a hundred dollar tip.

It had been such an intoxicating night that when we got up to leave, I could barely manage my stilettos, let alone my car. So he did what any gentleman would do. He drove me home. I was not too far gone to notice that he drove a very nicely set up Range Rover. I nestled into the plush leather and started to drift off as we listened to music. Thankfully he had a navigation system and didn’t need any directions from me. Soon we arrived at my house and I vaguely remember him walking me to the house, but as I leaned into him, I remember thinking that his cologne smelt citrusy. He took me to my bedroom, took off my boots and my cardigan and lay me in my bed. After which I drifted back to sleep and dreamt of weddings on the beach.

falling deeper

2007-10-19T22:07:00.000-04:00

Jeffery called and said to meet him at Babette’s café, a French restaurant in Atlanta noted for its romantic ambiance and good food. I got there just in time, and he was already waiting. Looking incredibly good in chocolate slacks and a chocolate cashmere pullover, with chocolate loafers, this man had style. I was so glad I had put on my dark rinse dolce and gabbana jeans, a find in a size 14. These jeans make my hips and thighs look more Beyonce and less Monique. I topped it with a bustier style camisole and tie front cardigan. As soon as he saw me, he started to walk towards me. I tried my best to walk extra sexy in my casadei stiletto booties, which I’d found on clearance from bluefly.com.

When I got close enough he pulled me into his arms and kissed me on my mouth. If the date had ended right there and then the kiss would have been enough. I don’t know where I found the self control to act like a lady and go into the restaurant and start and finish the date. We walked in and were immediately seated.

Jeffrey perused the menu like a pro, and then when the waiter came he conversed easily in French. He ordered in French and even picked out the wine to go with our meal. It was an exercise in elegance, even though I knew that it was probably all for my benefit. If Titi were here she would be chanting “Effects!” It was so obvious he was clearly trying to affect me with his sophistication. I knew his moves were probably game but I also knew I wanted to play.

We talked about everything under the sun: politics in Nigeria, love in America and yes, sex. He seemed to be amazed at the easy way I spoke about sex. According to him, most girls he knew acted all ‘holier than thou’ when it came to sex. I smiled; that used to be me. In fact I was a virgin till twenty three. I know, either way its crazy. To have held out that long, or to have given up and not waited till marriage. Such is my life, stuck in the middle and you know what’s even crazier? I didn’t give up my virginity to some man I thought was the love of my life. No, it was some random dude I dated for a short while after college. I just got so conflicted about my faith and everyone I knew was having sex, even some members of the church I used to attend then. I felt like I was behind and backwards and just wanted to get it over and done with. So I did. Since then, it's like I am not the same person. As far as my faith is concerned, well I believe in principle but I don’t know if you could say I am living as a Christian. To be completely honest well, when I looked over at Jeffrey, I was glad I had rid myself of any such restrictions, because clearly a man like him would not have a relationship where sex wasn’t involved and I was so ready to have a relationship with him.

He told me about his business in Nigeria. He had set up a law practice and was dabbling in Oil and gas. Clearly he had been quite successful, but his present sabbatical was not just to further his intellectual education but to take a break from the life he had and explore new options. When he said that he had a twinkle in his eye and reached over and touched my hand, and that was when the conversation really got hot and heavy.

I keep on falling

2007-09-13T14:46:00.000-04:00

Amaka

I keep on falling

Jeffrey was all I could think about since I met him. I was hopelessly infatuated. He appeared to be everything I wanted. Tall, handsome, Igbo, intellectual, sexy and he wanted me. That was the icing on the cake.

He was the kind of man I always thought was out of my league. I remember when we were in college, Mina was considered the fine one, Titi the sexy one and I was just one of the Naija girls. Actually on campus they used to call us the Nigerian sisters, because we were always together after class doing strange African things – their words not ours. We used to act crazy and crack each other up, like one day we were in our dorm lounge. We used to stalk the lounge on account that was where the TV was and on the days that the black TV shows were airing and in those days it was just A different world and the Cosby show we would camp out in the lounge to make sure that none of the remaining white students in the dorm didn’t put it on MTV or something.

So this particular day, we were waiting for our shows as usual and I can just finished drinking a can of coke, now instead of throwing it away, I began to tap it with a fork. Ting, tin, tin, ting, tin, tin, tin, tin. And then Titi started drumming on the coffee table, ba da ba, ba da ba, ba da ba, then Mina started singing loudly Omo mi ma soun were and then we joined in with the chorus to that popular Christy Essien song. We sang for a while at the top of our lungs. I guess we were really homesick, being the only Nigerians on campus. Fellow students walked by and looked at us strangely, one of the girls asked us to stop making noise, telling her companion that we were probably doing some African ritual, of course this only made us crack up and sing louder.

Before you could say jack robinson, the resident director was commanding us to stop and come into his office. There he proceeded to ask us why we were making such a racket. We said for no reason. That didn’t satisfy him and apparently he felt we were behaving very erratically because the next question he asked was whether we were on drugs and of course we laughed heartily at his suggestion. Drugs were unnecessary, we were high on life. He turned red at our laughter and obviously felt slighted, he was going to write us up for creating a disturbance. We were already almost on probation because of a phone scam we had pulled but that is another story and so we couldn’t let him write us up. So naturally Mina and Titi seduced the geeky little fellow with promises they never intended to keep and soon all talk of writing up was forgotten.

Obviously, I was not the one known for my prowess with men, so when a man like Jeffrey comes my way, it always floors me. He sent me this lovely bouquet of orange roses and invited me out for dinner on Monday. Naturally I accepted. You know I don’t usually let down my guard with men, but there’s something about this guy, I can’t lie, I’ve been dreaming about him every moment since.

I got up really early Monday and looked at myself in the mirror. It was as if I was looking at a different woman. Was my life going to be the same after today? I got dressed as I usually do, but today I put on a pretty blouse and trousers. I got made up; usually I hit work sans makeup, just moisturizer and lip balm. I smiled throughout the day. Nothing could bring me down. Not the ghetto girl who told me to go back to Africa, because I wouldn’t give her a narcotic medicine that the doctor hadn’t ordered, not the crazy white guy who called me an uppity black bitch; Nothing could bring me down, not the druggies, the welfare chicks, the pushy patients who wanted their prescriptions called in their way, right away.

I walked through the day in a haze. I checked every drug order three times, because I couldn’t concentrate. At exactly 5 o’clock, I said good night to everyone, I could care less that number of people waiting for their prescriptions seemed to have grown exponentially. They were just going to have to manage without me. I was going to meet my man!

I got home in record time, somehow the I-285 that I always took home and that was always a crawl with rush hour traffic was clear, I tell you even the roads were giving way to my romance.

I took a shower, curled my hair and then shook it out till it fell in soft cascading waves around my shoulders and down my back. I spritzed on Sarah Jessica Parker’s lovely and channeled Carrie a la sex in the city. Never mind Carrie is a blond wasp from New York, today she was dark, voluptuous and Naija.

Titi - still continues

2007-08-24T20:35:00.000-04:00

As the term wore on, I became his Saturday night regular and when I graduated and went to university, he put me up in a flat. Then I effectively became his property. I drove a brand new Honda and wore the finest clothes. Unfortunately the honeymoon came to an end after some time when his wife accosted me one day with some thugs. They gave me a thorough beating and took the Honda, and she warned me to get out of Chief’s life. I was in the hospital for 7 days, and though he paid the bill, he didn’t even come to see me. I was devastated. No-one told me before I went and packed my things out of that flat and figured my next move. Fortunately I had already been working on a plan B. I had also met this older man who worked for the US embassy, after a hot and heavy session at a hotel, he had an attack of conscience and decided he wanted to save me from myself. He had promised to help me arrange for a US student visa, and help me get into a school, so I could change my life. At the time I wasn’t particularly moved by his request, but after the Chief fiasco, I took him up on it in a hurry.

Since then I have managed to work myself into the system here and find some relative success. I declared I was done with sugar daddies after that experience and I planned to make my own way, but I guess I have gotten used to the finer things in life, and so when I marry I don’t see anything wrong in marrying up. I mean it’s not like I plan on using the guy or anything, I do plan on loving him too.

There is just something about successful men that turns me on. Especially men like Dele. I mean he has the finesse and the wealth, not to mention that the bobo is fine! The phone started ringing, just when I was about to start daydreaming about Dele and I walking off into the sunset. I hoped it was Madam calling to say she was ready to make an offer on one of the houses.

“Hello,” I said sweetly into the phone.

“Titi?” A gruff voice that I knew all too well barked into my ear.

“Yes,” I replied, putting some distance in my voice.

“Why are you acting like you don’t know who this is?”

“Segun?” I pretended to be interested.

“Ehen, who else will it be, or are you seeing any other guys?”

“I beg sweetheart, give me a break, after you I no go fit.”

“You know it.”

Segun was one of the guys that helped me get on my feet when I first moved to the States. He is a flashy guy who has no visible source of income but lives incredibly large, drives a nice car, spends a lot of money (in fact most of the designer bags in my closet are gifts from him) but doesn’t work. I won’t lie; Segun is the kind of guy that does deals. Shady, dirty 419 type deals. Credit card fraud, bank check fraud you name it and he’s into it. When I first came, I needed so much help, I didn’t much care where it came from. He saw me and desired me, so we both got our needs met. I was his girl and he took care of me. He bought me my BMW, cash down, he gave me a substantial down payment for my condo. To be honest he financed the life I’m living.

The problem is that now that I am trying to upgrade to a different class of men, the bobo won’t leave me alone. I haven’t accepted a gift from him in at least a year, well if you ignore the diamond earrings and necklace he gave me for Christmas, I couldn’t resist, plus I knew I was going to the gala and I needed those pieces to complete my look. So what if it cost me a rough ride in bed? Yes, Segun is one of those guys that likes everything rough. I have never enjoyed sex with him. He is all about the blow job and hitting it from way back. Heck I think he’s a closet homosexual. I have tried to shake him but I have to be careful about it. Last year, I tried to break things off with him and he stalked out of the house. The next night I was opening the door on my way out, and he showed up out of nowhere, pushed me in and held a knife to my throat. His eyes were red and he looked crazed, or high actually. “Bitch, you don’t leave me till I am done with you.” Oh boy after that, I didn’t quite know what to do but I knew I had to tread carefully.

Fortunately he is only ever around for short stints, then he has to go underground again. So I might not hear from him for months when he’s gone and his time with me usually lasts about a couple of weeks. He is definitely a chapter in my life I wish I knew how to close.

“So what are you doing?” he asked.

“Taking a bath.” “Good, because I like you fresh and clean.”

“O-kay”

“Come and open the front door for me, I’m outside.”

“Alright, give me a minute to get dressed.”

“No, come just the way you are, dripping and everything!”

“Segun, it’s cold, I don’t want to get sick.”

“Titi, don’t let me wait out here one extra minute,” he barked.

“Ok, ok, I’m coming.”

Oh shit. It’s going to be a long hard night.

Titi Continued

2007-08-14T13:44:00.000-04:00

Titi

Continued

As for my father, the man had like 5 or 6 wives and countless children, and I was so far down the food chain. You see, my mum wasn’t even his legal wife, more like his concubine and I am her only child. When my mum died while I was in secondary school, I approached him for help with just the small school fees that Queen’s Academy was asking for. He claimed he didn’t know me and his wives chased me out of the compound with a broom. Afterwards he sent his driver to school with N200 for me. That couldn’t pay even half of my school fees and besides I’m sure the man spent more on beer. Anyway sha, I took the money, there is no shame when you are hungry. Thanks to my friend Chichi, I figured out a way to pay for my school fees and much more. My dears, thank God for Chichi. At Queens Academy there were girls like Mina, who incidentally didn’t really talk to me back then, who supposedly came from rich families and walked around with their noses in the air. And then there were the regular girls like myself and Chichi, trying to make a dollar out of 15 kobo. Actually there was a third group, the studious, dry ones, but who wants to hear about them.

Chichi was one of those girls in school that mothers called wild. At sixteen she had one of those attack and defense bodies. Decent sized boobs, small waist but an amazingly large ass. I am telling you, as she walked by in her school uniform you could see our male teachers lusting after her as they focused on the jiggle of her backside. And the girl used it to her advantage. I am not saying that she slept with any of our teachers, all I know is that she always got high marks in the subjects taught by men.

One day I was crying and worrying about the next semester, when Chichi came and sat next to me. When I told her what my troubles were she told me not to worry, that she had a solution, if I was willing to follow her lead. I didn’t understand what she meant, but she soon showed me. That weekend I left school with her on a pass and I learnt the meaning of bottom power. She took me to one party after outfitting me in shorts and a tube top with high heels. I wore make-up for the first time and I was surprised to see that I was really quite pretty. At the party I met one Chief. This man was to become my provider for a fee. That night, he introduced me to another level of life. It was my first time and it was extremely painful but the fact that I was a virgin seemed to tickle the Chief and he tried to be gentle. He gave me money that night, enough to pay my school fees and more.

Titi - the spin doctor

2007-08-05T11:34:00.000-04:00

Titi

Another day, another dollar

I swear if I show another house to this my ‘come today, come tomorrow’ couple, I will just scream. The man feels his level is around $300k, but the woman keeps making us see homes in the $500k range. But I even show them houses in the $600k range. I am no fool, I have noted the wife’s Vuitton purse and Cartier watch, while the hubby is in Dockers and citizen. The kicker is that she’s a stay at home wife O! I tell you, monkey dey work, baboon dey chop. Anyway, I have seen their pre-qualification papers and the guy makes fairly decent money and has great credit, so they can probably do around $700k in a pinch. Naturally the woman wants to live around the black gold coast in South Dekalb area. I showed them some of the decent subdivisions, like Water’s Edge and such, but Madam wanted to see the more moneyed places like GreenRidge and even million dollar haunts like Sandstone and Belair estates. What’s my own? Ask me and I will show you because the way I see it, this woman is going to force her hubby into a high priced home and cars and lifestyle, so while they qualify today, they’ll probably be facing foreclosure tomorrow, but that’s not my business, I’ll still get my commission check so I’m totally with the wife. In fact today I showed them the ritzy Thurgood Estates subdivision. Starting from the $800’s in Ellenwood, it was right up Madam’s alley. She could just picture herself in the houses with the marble floors and the media room. She even asked the onsite realtor if they could put in swimming pools, I swear her husband farted in shock and boy was it a stinker!

It was definitely one of those days and I’m just glad to finally be home and soaking myself in my garden tub. It’s on days like this that I appreciate my condo. Sure it’s not a ritzy 6000sq ft mansion, but it’s cozy and comfortable for me. Sure one day, with the right man, I too will be pushing a loaded Range Rover while I ferry my kids to private school, and maybe I’ll work for the fun of it, but until that time, I no dey craze, I work hard, and keep a little money away for emergencies. I don’t play with money. I have no intention of being poor. I know what poverty is. My mother used to sell roasted corn and groundnut on the streets back home in Nigeria. Fortunately I was pretty smart so I managed to get into the prestigious Queens Academy for secondary school, which is where I met Mina, although even she doesn’t know that my mum used to sell local snacks on the side of the road. She thinks my mum was a business woman. Ok that’s what I told her. It wasn’t a lie! After all, selling roasted corn no be business?

Love can be so cold part 2

2007-07-16T22:34:00.000-04:00

MINA

So as you can see, I work hard to maintain and make gains. I am no trophy wife; I am just a smart woman. My life is simply what I made it, perfect! Well, almost perfect, the only thing that is missing is a child.

That’s my only challenge and I am so frustrated. We tried for 2 years straight but nothing. We even went to a fertility specialist, which was difficult to begin with. Obinna may be a modern man, but getting any African man to even contemplate the fact that he may not be shooting right at the target is complicated to say the least. He kept saying he was fine and if I needed to go I should but he wasn’t going to be a part of it. Imagine the nonsense, a surgeon, a man who is medically educated, refusing to get himself checked out. What if it was his fault? Maybe his little swimmers were a tad lazy, so I badgered him until he agreed. Turns out, nothing is wrong with either of us, but it’s just not happening. When I suggested IVF, Obinna flat out refused. It was the strangest thing. He felt the process was unnatural, which is so bizarre because I mean what’s so natural about cutting into people’s chests to sew pieces of their heart together?

Also there has been a new, strange development. It is as if he has lost interest in sex. Until last night, we had not been intimate in over 6 months. Initially when we first got together, Obi was always all over me, practically salivating when I walked into the room. I used to feign headaches and the like to put him off; I simply had no intention of sweating out my relaxer every couple of weeks. So initially he was thrilled when we started trying for a baby. He thought it would be sex all the time, any time. When I explained that I thought it was best if we concentrated on when I was definitely ovulating, he was a bit crestfallen. But these days he barely notices me, just a perfunctory goodnight kiss on the forehead and then he is snoring. At first it was great because I really didn’t need the stress of trying to dodge his advances but now I am a bit concerned.

I know he is tired but my goodness, nothing is happening. Truth is I wouldn’t ordinarily mind. The sex was never mind-blowing, just same old, same old, steady and boring just like Obinna. But now, if I didn’t know better I’d say he wasn’t attracted to me anymore but that simply cannot be possible. Any man would be delighted to have me. Like I said I keep myself together; you should see my body naked, even my breasts are still perfectly rounded and perky. That’s because I really watch what I eat, none of that heavy pounded yam and soup everyday. Obinna loves his local food, but it can wreak havoc on your body, and since I am not cooking two meals every night, he has gotten used to grilled chicken with vegetables.

I daresay my face hasn’t aged either, thanks to the assortment of potions and creams I use daily. Ever since I read that Kimora Lee Simmons uses La Mer cream all over her body, I adopted that practice as well, and it works too because at 32, I don’t have a single wrinkle or stretch mark.

That’s why Obinna’s inattentiveness really baffles me. If it were another man I’d be worried that he’s getting his somewhere else, but the man is so dry, I just can’t see him doing that. Anyway I am going to have to talk to him about it. If his libido is waning, maybe we can try some Viagra or something, or if nothing else, maybe he’ll be willing to go the IVF route.

Something has got to give, after all in a few months, his mum is going to be visiting and I just cannot take anymore of that woman’s insults. She never liked me from the jump and she did everything to derail our relationship. Fortunately Obinna was too mesmerized by me to care about his mum’s opinions. She felt I was just here to eat his money, which is not true. It’s true I am not in love with Obinna but I do care about him and plus I helped him get to where he is now. When I was dating him and he couldn’t afford to take me anywhere decent, wasn’t I managing then?

Honestly she is your typical mother-in-law from hell. She criticizes my cooking, my way of dressing, even my manner of speech; she calls me ‘oyibo.’ She keeps saying that she is tired of tilling barren land, that if the land won’t produce, then it’s better that her son go and buy new land. Meanwhile Obinna just stands there and says nothing. When we first got married, he used to stand up for me but these days he just shrugs his shoulders and tells me to endure it, after all I am not the first wife with a mother-in-law problem. Well, I am not leaving this marriage for some other woman to come and enjoy. All the work I did and some small girl will come and eat the fruits of my labor ? I don’t think so!

love can be so cold

2007-07-12T20:16:00.000-04:00

MINA

The good life-part 2

The truth is I don’t enjoy sex with my husband. He slobbers all over me and has no idea how to please me in bed. At best it’s a clumsy effort at going down and at worst it’s a sweaty attempt at hitting it, while I lie there praying for him to come already. Yes, clearly, Obinna doesn’t do it for me. There is no chemistry for me. So why did I marry him? Because I saw a man with potential, a man who was rough but teachable and I went for it, love be damned.

I pushed him to be successful, every time he wanted to settle I made him work harder. When he was thinking about specializing, I pushed for surgery; when he wanted to do general, I pushed for cardio-thoracic. I knew he had the brains and skills, he just lacked the motivation. I built him up. I buffed him and taught him about the finer things in life and every day, I push him just a little bit more.

Like with this house; Obinna was reluctant to buy it, he felt it was really more than he could afford. I told him that one million five was really not too bad for a house; after all if he were in New York wouldn’t he have to pay that just to live decently? He felt it was an unnecessary expenditure.

I disagreed. I know what I am used to and a swimming pool, eight thousand square feet, a gourmet kitchen with a subzero and Viking range just about brings me close. He told me he was thinking more about a three to four thousand square ft house, but who wants to live in a shoe box? Not me, I’m a woman who knows her worth and I am worth it. Decorating the house cost us quite a bit of money, but it looks divine. In fact one of the editors of Atlanta Lifestyle magazine called me, asking if they could feature our home. Of course the answer was yes, after all it is important that people see what true taste is, if only so they can have something to aspire to.

Now don’t get me wrong, I’m not some lazy woman who sits at home eating bonbons. No way! Obinna is not the only one working hard. First off, I keep my body together. After 4 years, I can still fit into my wedding dress, which was a size two. So many women completely let themselves go once they get married. I bumped into an old girlfriend in the grocery store and she looked absolutely horrific. She had gained at least thirty pounds, her hair was a complete mess, it looked like she hadn’t seen the inside of a salon for months and she didn’t have a stitch of make-up on and, my word, she really needed it. Mind you this was a woman whose premarital wardrobe was like a designer sample sale and she used to have a standing appointment at Nseya, one of the hot hair salons in town. I tell you honestly some women just don’t try. It’s like Amaka. Yes, she has a generous figure but with a little control she could probably be curvy like Beyonce or Halle or someone, but she refuses to control her eating. She is constantly eating rice or bread or something completely detrimental to looking good. It’s not easy looking like I do as I forgo carbohydrates and spend hours in the gym but I don’t mind, because I believe a woman should maintain her best assets.

Furthermore, while I may not have a traditional 9 to 5, I do work. I sit on several nonprofit boards and this allows me to hob nob with the crème de la crème of Atlanta society. Obinna and I have helped raise over one million dollars for various charities and organizations. My goal is to position him for public office one day; I can just see myself as a first lady. Maybe governor or maybe we start small with Mayor or something. That reminds me, I have to make sure we are invited to the Governor’s Ball this year. I wonder who I have to schmooze to make sure that happens.

Meet Mina

2007-07-06T17:21:00.000-04:00

MINA

THE GOOD LIFE

I can’t believe Amaka stayed back with that guy, Joshua or Jeffrey or whatever his name is! She can be so stupid. She barely even knows that man and she is probably going to sleep with him. How can she be so naïve? She’ll probably fall for the first line he throws out. The truth is that men that good looking don’t go for women like Amaka. He can only be interested in the sex for one night. And anyway even if he were interested in more, she wouldn’t know how to handle him. If it were me, I would have that man going in so many circles he wouldn’t know which way was up unless I told him. I would never put myself out there like that, with men you have got to take control immediately or else you are finished. I guess I can’t be too hard on her; it must be hard being a single African cosmopolitan woman over thirty, because the pickings are slim and you are competing with the young fresh ones.

As to be expected, I don’t have to worry about that anymore. I am successfully married. People envy me, married to a handsome, successful man. I live in a sought-after Atlanta neighborhood and my home can be called a mansion by any standards. I don’t have to work for a living, so I have time for my other interests. Yes, indeed, I am living the life I chose for myself.

People usually ask me how I got so lucky and I tell them luck has nothing to do with it. My life is good because I made the right choices. So many women out there make unintelligent decisions for stupid reasons. As for me, I wanted this life and so I knew what I had to do. Take for instance, my husband, Obinna. When I met him, I was being chased by so many men but they were all the typical African professional man with an ego to boot. Obinna was a quiet and unassuming guy, but I already could see that he was going to make it. He was at medical school when I met him, brilliant but terribly unsophisticated. He was dreadfully uncultured. On my first visit to his apartment, he served me wine in a champagne glass, how gauche is that?

But I endured his lack of couth, why? Because I knew what tomorrow could bring. When I announced our engagement, Amaka gave me this whole lecture on passion and love. What has love got to do with it really? Frankly I am looking for security. Amaka who is so focused on love and romance, where is she now? Single at 31 and still hoping for Mr. Right! Meanwhile I am married to a very successful surgeon who has been featured in Who’s Who in black Atlanta and quoted in Atlanta magazine.

I know I sound cold but that’s the way the world works. After all it’s not as if I don’t do my part for him. Like on the night of the Nouveau Africana Gala. He got to walk in with a woman like me: beautiful, slim, elegant. He could have been single and looking desperately to mingle, like that poor Dan Okoli. Or even worse he could have ended up with someone as crass and overweight like that Tigi Simpson. Furthermore, later on that night I let him make love to me.

What is the Mrs Club

2007-07-06T07:56:00.000-04:00

THE LOWDOWN

Hi, everyone! Thanks for checking out my blog. I am working on a novel in the chicklit genre. I have always loved writing though I never really tried my hand at anything like this. I just kept thinking about the different gist and scenarios I kept seeing my naija babes in and I would always say, this is so hilarious it should be in a book. Then one day I decided why not. Anyway I've been working on this for a while and it's practically finished. Soon to be released! But it the meantime, in between time...I decided to post a few chapters to see what y'all think!
Thanks for your comments...like I say, it's true the devil wears prada but she wears it with ankara and lace too!

Quick Synopsis
Amaka, Titi and Mina, who you will soon get to know are fictitious characters...but they are also everyday Naija babes...trying to balance life in today's world...Titi has a penchant for rich guys...but don't call her a gold digger, just yet, Amaka is well the sweet one...or is she and Mina, well you'll find out...
I am the author of the Mrs Club, where these women live and this blog is sort of their first introduction to the world.

and the beat still goes on

2007-07-04T04:09:00.000-04:00

AMAKA

About half an hour into the party and I could feel my high evaporating. I was beginning to feel like I usually feel at these things; like a wallflower. I mean here I was, standing there next to bombshell Titi, who was giving even the models a run for their money in her red dress and Miss Perfection, Mina, who gave new definition to the word coiffed, not a hair out of place and her designer gown fitting just so. All of a sudden, I started to feel less voluptuous and more fat. The curves that I had felt hot with were starting to feel more like extra rolls. If only I could listen to my mother and stick to my diet. I was chastising myself for eating that extra bagel this morning when this guy walked up to me. He looked like someone out of a magazine. Just beautiful! All I could think as he walked up was “so out of my league.”

He had that whole soulful thing happening with his eyes. He was truly handsome. When I looked up and saw him coming towards us, I assumed he was going for Titi. I mean she is a stunning woman. Just the right shade of brown, in great shape, which I guess comes from working out an hour a day every day. Her abs are completely flat and she is all tits and ass. Naturally she is a hot commodity with the guys. Unfortunately I don’t think they see her as quite marriage material— that is the kind of guys she wants anyway. The problem with Titi is you can see her desire for a rich man from a mile away and what man wants to feel like all he is a dollar bill to his woman, even if it is a hundred dollar bill. I keep telling Titi to focus on getting a good man, but she always counters by telling me to focus on getting a man period. I always laugh, although sometimes I wonder if I’m ever going to find anyone.

Then Jeffrey walks into my life. It was a made for a movie moment. The people around us started to blur and the room started to get dark and all I could see was him. By the time I realized that he had asked me to dance, I was in his arms and they felt good.

They felt strong, not like a body builder’s arms, but like a real man’s should feel. They were playing Mary J. Blige’s song “Be Without You” and we were slow dancing to it. I found myself feeling all sorts of crazy things for this man and all I knew was his first name. I could feel his hands around the small of my back and he was holding tight enough for me to feel him and yet it wasn’t intrusive. When the song was over, we walked out into the lobby.

We started to talk and he told me that he had just moved here from Nigeria and he was doing a sabbatical at Emory Law school. He said he had a practice in Lagos but things weren’t going as well as he would have liked so he was rethinking his strategy.

He told me he was in his late thirties and still felt like he had never really been in love. I told him that I worked as a pharmacist but secretly desired to be a world class chef. I told him that I was sick of men seeming one way and turning out to be another. He told me how at thirty-eight, he had decided to become true to himself. I told him I didn’t know if I still believed in love. He told me that he lived for it.

We talked till the music died down and people started to get their coats to leave so we moved to the hotel bar. Titi and Mina came by to say goodnight. Titi gave me the thumbs up gesture behind his back and Mina simply pointed to her watch. We talked till the night started to become the morning. By then I think I was already in love.

I only knew what he told me, but I felt like I knew him well. He was from one of these fairly well known families in Lagos. He was Igbo like me but spoke Yoruba fluently and was what you would consider a Lagos boy. He had the typical pedigree: King’s College secondary school, university in England and then back to Lagos for law school. He was sexy, smart, and polished to perfection.

He held my hands and played with my fingers. He told me that I was amazing, that he found me attractive, very sexy; he confessed that he really wanted to book a room for the night and invite me to share it with him. I said nothing because my throat had become so dry and besides, I couldn’t trust myself. I knew that if he pulled me into his arms right then and there, I wouldn’t have the strength to resist. I was looking at his lips as he talked, this man was beautiful. He turned me on with his words as well; I mean he made me feel like I was the only woman worth knowing. He told me that he had never had a conversation like this with anyone, and that I really got him and he felt for the first time in his life like he had made a real connection. He said he thought that he finally had a small understanding of the word soul mate.

While we were talking he saw a friend who he knew in the hotel bar and excused himself to go and talk to him. I peered at him over my wine glass as I sipped my Riesling. He was really something. I was getting myself into trouble; I started to feel a wave of panic welling up inside of me. What was I doing? My thoughts were conflicting. “This isn’t you, what are you going to do, sleep with him tonight?” I shivered as I thought about what the night might bring. I kept thinking about being a good girl. I had always been the “goody goody” my whole life. You know the girl with home training. I looked over at him walking back to me, his long legs striding confidently over the sage and gold carpeting with his tuxedo jacket showcasing his strong broad chest. “Just once, I’d like to be bad” I thought. This whole home training thing is just rubbish, I know girls who were looser than loose and they are happily married now, meanwhile those of us home trained ones are still sitting at home. He caught me gaze and smiled. I blushed, I wondered if he could figure out the thoughts that I was indulging in. Just him, me and a bed sheet…

And the beat goes on

2007-07-01T23:12:00.000-04:00

AMAKA

He produced a ring. It was beautiful, antique style. “It is my mother’s, we have her blessing.”

My mind was in turmoil. I loved him, but this relationship had been for me like a fairy tale, like a beautiful fantasy, and real life was where my mum lived. I didn’t think the two worlds could coexist. Kwame saw the turmoil on my face and said “You don’t want to marry me?” I couldn’t speak, but tears started to well in my eyes.

His eyes darkened and his body became rigid. I’ve always wondered if the muscles of the heart harden as well. He took his arm away from me. “I never thought it was real, this obsession with marrying a Nigerian man, but I guess it is. I wish for once though you would be honest and admit that it’s not your mother’s obsession, it’s yours!” He stood up angrily. “I really cared for you,” he said slowly. Then he turned and left.

I wanted to call out to him but I didn’t.

At first I almost felt relieved, I had been walking this line that I knew I didn’t have the strength to cross, but for months later I was still brought to tears whenever something reminded me of him. I would look out of the bus window and remember us walking down that street and realize that I would never feel his hand over mine, his rough skin holding mine tightly as we crossed the street. The summer months afterwards were the hardest. I had no friends, no life, because I felt so badly about what happened I avoided everyone we both knew. Every now and again we would bump into each other at odd places. It was the hardest thing. My heart would start beating fast when I recognized his walk and in the moments before he saw me, I would fantasize that we were like before and then he would look up and notice me and walk the other way or frown. It was a crushing feeling recognizing that you are still in love with someone who had come to hate you. I was torn between a sense of deep loss and a sense of duty, caught between sorrow and relief. I don’t know how I got over him. One night I cried until the sun came up. That summer went by in a blur and I threw myself into my studies the next semester. I couldn’t sleep or eat and it took all my energy to study. It was a hellish semester but at the end of it, one day the pain dulled and I realized it was over. It took a while to get over him, but I have. I heard he is married now and lives in New York.

Since then, I have never had a real relationship. Mere flings, but my one rule was always that they had to be Igbo. In reality, it has been very hard to find the sort of man that attracts me and is also Igbo in this vast country. So as you can imagine, I was quite excited to go the NA gala, a place were polished African men were sure to be found. And so the night before the party I decided to take Titi’s advice and find my inner diva.

It all started with the dress. I wouldn’t normally wear a dress quite like that, one that showcased all my curves. But Titi was insistent that it looked fabulous on me and since, in her words, my curves actually look nice, the idea was that I should show them off. I decided to go with the look, with good results I think. Even Mina said I looked decent and coming from Mina that was high praise. Some people can’t understand why I am so close to Mina, I guess you really have got to know her to love her. The girl is truly good-hearted but she is continually putting up a façade for the world.

Anyway, so I put on the dress and I discovered that I actually felt sexy. I had soaked in a bath with these bvlgari bath salts that Mina gave me for my birthday and then I put on my Syleena Johnson CD and sang with major attitude as I did my hair. I put on my makeup- well just mascara and lip gloss and a hint of eye shadow. I don’t wear much makeup and fortunately people say I don’t really need to. Then I got dressed then and put on these sexy Jimmy Choo sandals.

Shoes are my one weakness. I may be fairly simple when it comes to my clothes but I love seeing my feet encased in pretty shoes. After all of that preparation when I looked at the finished product in the mirror I was amazed to see that I looked and felt pretty hot. In fact as Titi put it, I was practically sex on legs!

I gave my hips a little wiggle and by the time I got into my car, I was sure that since I was feeling good and looking fabulous, I was going to have a great time at the Gala.

The party was happening as predicted, everyone who was everyone was there. I even saw that Nigerian model that is making waves these days and that sexy Yoruba actor from that HBO show.

Although the actor that really does it for me is that Chiwetel Ejiofor. The man is so sexy in a subtle kind of way. I saw him again in my favorite film love actually, and I practically kissed the screen. Plus he’s Igbo as well. If only…well a girl can dream can’t she?

CHEMISTRY CONTD

2007-06-27T22:18:00.000-04:00

AMAKA

Kwame wasn’t handsome in the traditional sense of the word, but he was very attractive, a man who was very comfortable in his own skin. He drew women to him, he was like Godiva to chocoholics. Our romance started when we spent a summer together in New York, when I was doing an internship at Gourmet magazine and he was doing a program at the Columbia School of Public Health. That was the summer I first fell in love. He used to come over to my little studio apartment in Brooklyn and I would cook him egusi or jollof rice, occasionally he’d bring Ghanaian delicacies like kenkey or banku. We would talk about our dreams and aspirations. One day after dinner, we were lying on the roof of his building. He had sublet this apartment for the summer which wasn’t much to write home about, but it had a great rooftop deck. That night we had packed a picnic basket, a portable CD player and a bottle of cheap wine. We felt so cosmopolitan. I was only about twenty and he was twenty two.

After eating, we lay down on a mattress and gazed up at the sky, listening to a Bob Marley CD. We had come to a lull in the conversation and the song that had been playing came to an end. I still remember that moment like it was yesterday. He turned to me and said, “do you know what I have been wanting to do all night?” His voice was low and gravelly. “What?” I asked simply because even though I was not unaware of the sexual tension between us, I was simply content to be next to him, the evening could not have been more perfect. “I’ve wanted to kiss you.”. I remember, noting how fast my heart was beating, I had begun to feel a little light headed. It was a different time then. We had spent practically every evening together for about two months and the summer was coming to an end. He never made a move and being a virgin, I definitely didn’t make any moves. I didn’t know what to say, I just looked at him. He must have taken my expression as an invitation because he kissed me. I feel like there should be drum rolls or a symphony playing even now because even that could not describe how wonderful that kiss was. It was every thing I thought a kiss should be. That night, for the first time, I put aside all my fears and thoughts of my parents’ disapproval and gave in to the sensation of pleasure and love. Kwame was my first and at the time, I thought he would be my only. When the summer was over, we started a long distance relationship, he in Boston and me in Bronxville, NY.

Things changed soon, when my mother decided that a liberal arts education was a waste of my time and I should focus on getting a practical degree, like medicine or pharmacy. She announced over the telephone that she had decided pharmacy was best and that I should study in Boston, where my aunt and uncle could keep an eye on me. I went without argument, partly because I believed that it was futile but also because it would bring me closer to Kwame. When I moved, our relationship shifted into high gear. We became incredibly close. I met his parents and siblings but I never introduced him to mine. He was always a little bothered by that. Every time the subject came up, we would argue. I tried to explain that my mother was very opposed to me being with anyone who wasn’t Nigerian. He couldn’t believe that I didn’t have the courage to stand up for myself.

When he graduated from his program at Harvard, I sat in the audience next to his mother, who had been smiling at me all day. That night after dinner with his parents, we sat in the lobby of their hotel and he put his arm around me. I snuggled into his chest. “I am moving to London,” he said, “I’ve been offered a job there that will take me closer to where I want to be.” I looked at him. London was so far away.
“Come with me, Amaka.” I was in shock. “You expect me just to pack up and move? My parents would have a fit.” “Not if you were moving with your husband.” Kwame smiled.

Chemistry

2007-06-25T22:32:00.000-04:00

Amaka
Chemistry

I couldn’t believe how amazing that Nouveau Africana party was. I don’t know how it happened but I really enjoyed myself. Usually at these things I end up sipping on a glass of wine all night, watching Mina and Titi have all the fun. Titi usually has her pick of men and Mina well, she has Obinna. As for me, I am usually the brown girl outside the ring; in fact I am the brown girl fading into the wallpaper.
I really hate being alone, but what can I do? I don’t have Mina’s elegant looks or Titi’s sex appeal. I am just a regular Naija girl. Okay I’ll admit, I am on the plumper side of regular. Mina keeps giving me diet advice and Titi insists that I am fine as I am; all I need is a little more confidence.
My mother apparently thinks I need intense prayer and fasting and also to stop being so picky. She keeps sending me these emails advising me to go on these dry fasts to coincide with some prayers that this or that potent prayer group are doing. Add to that her constant questioning through phone calls and text messages and crazy set-ups that she keeps denying and you have the stuff of a laugh out loud comedy, except I’m not laughing. I mean take for instance, this phone call and tell me how you would feel if your own mother thought this would be a potential mate. The call went exactly like this…
“Hello?” I said
“Ha-low,” a voice said in a very heavy Igbo accent—mind you I don’t particularly have a problem with heavy accents, it’s just that the men I meet with them are usually just as parochial in their thinking.
“How are you?” he said, interrupting my thoughts.
“Fine,” I said a little impatiently. “Who is this?”
“You don’t know me, but my name is Festus and I am looking for a partner.” Needless to say the conversation went downhill from there. He informed me that he was currently working as a probation officer or something but his big claim to fame was that he was studying to be a nurse and he didn’t fail to tell me, “you know I can make a lot of money working overtime!”
My mother just doesn’t understand what I want. She thinks I should be happy with any man, just as long as he is Igbo and hardworking. She totally knocks the ideas that I have of meeting someone who is polished enough to move in any circle, Igbo or otherwise. Someone who would enjoy Broadway as well as read Chinua Achebe. I mean the only way the men she keeps sending to me relate to Chinua Achebe is that they could be one of the traditional chauvinists in his books. And Broadway? As far as they are concerned, please, that is just some street in New York. It’s so crazy, all my life my mother tried to expose me to the finer things: tennis lessons at Ikoyi club, piano recitals and so on, and now just because I just turned thirty, she just wants me to marry the first Johnny just come.
The truth is that there was one guy that I felt that I loved enough to spend the rest of my life with. Kwame Wilson. I met him years ago at the African students’ conference. He was studying at Harvard. The first time our eyes met, I had no idea who he was, but I just knew that we would become part of each other’s lives. By the end of the weekend, we had become fast friends. We exchanged phone numbers and email addresses and over the rest of the semester we bonded over shared experiences as immigrant students in America: the stupid questions people asked about Africa, the racism and the new culinary and social experiences.

Chap 1 - contd

2007-06-16T23:22:00.000-04:00

Titi
The Party Continues

There was JJ Brisbee, my kind of guy: tall, handsome, sexy and very, very rich. His family has had money for generations and he is the official heir. On top of that JJ has made his own fortune in American media. Word is he is even producing Hollywood movies. In short, JJ na my complete spec (as in he completely meets my specifications), in fact just seeing him does the kind of things to me that no polite woman should admit to in public.

Unfortunately JJ is a ‘love them and leave them’ kind of guy. We had our fling and it was too much! I mean the guy had me chasing him. He introduced me to the jet set high life. We would be partying in London one night and Ibiza the next. I tell you he ruined me for regular guys. Not to talk of in the bedroom, let me not expose myself but the man took it to another level. Chai! The problem though was he wouldn’t stop there, he kept taking it to the next level and the next. Forget ménage à trois, JJ is about full-blown orgies. One day he took me to a swingers’ club! That’s when I ran for dear life. I may be bad, but this one is pass Michael Jackson!

Anyway he was there with one virginal looking biracial girl. I heard they are engaged and that the chick is very conservative. You see yeye men? They want to marry angels and still have someone shagalicious on the side. The foolish boy was winking at me as we made eye contact. Idiot, he gave some other babe a 4 carat rock, but he still wants to rock my own yansh! Utter nonsense! Na me be mugu abi! I gave him an evil look and moved the heck on.

Look at me going on and on about the guys at the gala. Naturally there were also many babes. In fact let me give you the gist. So when I entered the place, the first thing I saw was another red dress, but the babe wearing it was nowhere near as correct as me. The babe was at least 40 pounds overweight and the dress showed more than a few curves if you know what I mean. Plus her blond weave was a little overdue for a touch up. My babes, let me tell you one thing, if you have the audacity to get a blond weave, I am begging you, please invest in a professional touch up at least every now and then. This babe was looking like a complete disgrace, then she turned around and what did I see, she was none other than Tigi Simpson.

Tigi Simpson! This was a babe that used to be super hot about 10 years ago, I mean she was my hero! At the time she could have had her pick of eligible men, but as the story goes, she was busy looking for Mr. Totally Perfect and now look at her, she is still single and looking run down, settling to be the consort of whoever would have her for the night. Judging from the fact that her dress was a Donna Karan from 4 seasons ago, either the class of men or their frequency had diminished.

“Titi! my darling,” she called out to me. I cringed as she walked over, I wasn’t trying to be associated with this aging senior babe, I mean I was still fresh and hot and definitely not broke down. “Hi Tigi,” I said unenthusiastically.

“So we are the babes in red, I trust you to be as hot as me now. I see I taught you well,” she cooed at me, linking her arm through mine as she steered me towards the bar. Heh! See me see trouble O; this woman was indeed crazy, was she comparing herself to me? That is like comparing a 94 Honda, to 2006 C-class. The babe needs to get a grip. Imagine saying that I was as hot as her, doesn’t she know sexiness is like microwave oatmeal, leave it in for too long and it will turn dry, sticky and lumpy.

But I didn’t want to kick a girl when she was down so I said nothing. Nothing about the fact that I am a good 10 years younger and the fact that I will get married and probably be a mother of the cutest little baby by the time I’m her age. Nothing about the fact that her time has come and passed and, guess what, she missed it. Nothing about the fact that instead of trying to get me to buy her a glass of hpnotiq, she needed to be home figuring out her life plan.

Yes O, I’m a nice girl, so I didn’t say anything; I just pulled out my purse to pay for the drinks, hpnotiq for her and a whiskey sour for me. But just when I put my Prada satin bag on the counter, who placed their hand over mine and said “let me,” but JJ himself. “It’s not everyday a man has the honor of being with two sexy ladies in red,” he said, grinning, not even trying to hide the lust in his eyes.

“JJ darling, how are you? I hear you are off the market now,” Tigi said, leaning into a hug and a cheek kiss. If you ask me her hips were a little too close to his and his hand was way down her back, practically on her butt and if I was not mistaken he gave it a little squeeze. Na wa for guys, I beg where is his wife to be, she better come get her man. “Not just yet Tigi, and if you two ladies would do me the honors, I could show you just how available I really am.” He actually licked his lips as he said it. The horror of it all! I took off immediately. Tigi could flirt with him if she wanted to but, like I said, me I had plans of being a Mrs. so I couldn’t fool around and be known as a shameless ho.

I walked away from the bar and ran smack dab into my girls, Mina and Amaka! We all went to college together and had formed a tight friendship ever since. We are all so different but there’s nothing like spending some years in an all-white college in the middle of upstate New York with nothing to do on the weekends than tip cows to bond people together. We had been through so many experiences together, from culture shock to racism. I remember that first winter at Johnston U. It snowed and while the snow was beautiful and new to us African babes, we were completely unprepared for it. That night we were going to a meeting in a nearby dorm, we had of course dressed up as usual. Colorful sweaters (it was a decade ago, ok almost two!) matching accessories and cute shoes. When we started to leave our dorm, people kept looking at us strangely. I looked at Mina in her pink sweater with pink hoops and black leggings with patent leather loafers and you could tell she felt too fine. Maksy looked cute in an oversize orange sweater and black jeans with her new lace-up shoes that she bought from wild pair. And as for me well, let’s just say I looked fly, so I couldn’t understand all the looks we were getting. Finally someone asked us as we approached the door if we didn’t know it had snowed, and weren’t we going to wear boots? We all laughed at the suggestion that we would ever wear those ugly construction worker boots that every one seemed to have. Please, you know how true Naija babes are, be fine or die! My friends let me tell you there is no teacher like experience! After the three of us slipped and slid our way to the dorm no one told us when we went to buy the boots. We learned that when it came to the weather, function must always come before fashion. That was one of the many experiences that bonded us together. We are all so different but these girls are like my sisters.

“Can you believe Yinka would date a guy like that? “Mina said to me, interrupting my trip down memory lane. She was looking at Yinka Davies, an acquaintance of ours.

“A guy like what?” I asked.

“As if you don’t know, my goodness, he used to be the security guard in her building.” Mina looked disdainfully at the couple who were holding hands while making the rounds.

“I thought he owned a security company?” Amaka said.

“Well he does now, but it’s nothing big. Clearly she is going to be the breadwinner in that relationship” Mina said turning away from the couple who had started dancing now.

“They look so happy though” Amaka said.

“I know” I agreed, watching them. Yinka had her head on his shoulder and he had both his hands around her waist.

“Whatever!” Mina interrupted, “let’s see how happy she is when she realizes he is not in her class.”

Mina is such a snob. She’s my friend so I can say it. She has a wonderful heart but she can be so pretentious. She married a fairly wealthy guy, I mean they are not JJ-rich, but you know he is a cardiothoracic surgeon, so he does alright. Meanwhile she stays home and plays the role of a lady who lunches. As far as I can see her main palaver right now is the fact that she hasn’t had a child in 4 years of marriage, and her in-laws are beginning to stress. Other than that, honestly her own is better, I mean her husband is probably the sweetest, most down-to-earth guy I have ever known. Actually, how they got together remains a mystery to me, but c’est la vie. I mean I am not totally knocking her, she is my friend and all but I have to call a cutlass a cutlass, the babe has issues.

She was standing to the side looking down her nose at everyone. Looking like an ice princess in her pewter satin Vera Wang gown, with her hair pulled back into a rather severe chignon. She did look very elegant though, but I guess it’s easy to look elegant when you are a size 2, café au lait complexioned and have naturally wavy auburn hair.

“By the way Titi, what were you doing with that crass woman?” she said, still speaking in the pseudo British accent popular with the stuck-up Naija set, crinkling her nose in disapproval. “Who, Tigi?” I asked “You know she’s not that bad.” I said, suddenly feeling the urge to defend the poor girl. “Well whatever, I wouldn’t be caught dead talking to her,” she said, turning up her nose even further. “Ah Ah, Mina, that’s rather harsh, cool down I beg jo.” I replied a bit impatiently. Even though we were friends, Mina always managed to cause an argument when we were together. Amaka, our other friend, defended me, saying “Mina, how far now, the woman is not stressing you so forget about her please.”

Mina glared at her and Amaka ignored her, turning to me. “Anyway Titi my dear, you are looking hot in that dress.” That was Amaka, always the peacemaker, the woman fit be diplomat. “My dear, I dey try, and you my dear are looking pretty good yourself”. She really was actually. Amaka was forever obsessing about her weight, but she was one of these few women that the extra pounds actually look good on. She was about a size 14, with the kind of velvet chocolate complexion people longed for, and she was wearing the hell out of a bronze gown that she said was a Richard Metzger. Well that’s a designer who definitely knows his way around a curve. I know he does plus sizes but I wonder if he can do anything with a busty size six? “Thanks,” Amaka said, breaking into my reverie, “50% off at the Saks outlet store.” “Haba Amaka, Igbo woman, always looking for the bargain”. “Of course, why not” she smiled. She wasn’t kidding either, She just bought a fixer upper in Grant Park, rehabbed the kitchen and the bathroom herself and the place not only looks like something out of a home magazine but it has appreciated in value by $40k. The babe will make someone a solid wife someday. In fact I don’t know what her problem is, guys are always interested but she is romantic to a fault. I’ve known her for ten years and in all that time I think she has had maybe one real relationship but several flirtations. She can’t seem to get past the sweetheart phase, when you are both infatuated with each other. She keeps dreaming about her prince charming. He has to be tall, handsome and polished, and he has to be Igbo.

Actually the real problem with Amaka is that she is so focused on pleasing everybody, especially her mother. It’s so crazy, here she is thirty years old and her mother still has so much control over her. The woman calls her at all hours of the day, forever demanding to know all sorts of things, like if she is still dieting, has she gotten a pay raise at work, has she found a suitable man to marry. I tell you, she has Amaka going round in circles so that any man she meets not only has to live up to Amaka’s idea of romance, but has to meet her mother’s criteria too. Not only does she have to find a romantic African man but he has to be Igbo as well. My sisters that’s like saying you want a fabulous designer dress for under $50. You may find one, but you’ll have to search long and hard.

Speaking of men, there was one fine brother checking Amaka out right now, and who can blame him, my girl was looking rather hot, the bronze against her velvet skin and her hair down in loose waves. Even I was checking her out! Anyway, the guy was particularly fine and new on the scene; I had never seen him before. He was about 6ft 4 and a cross between Will Smith and Boris Kodjoe, in a good way that is, so at least he met one of Amaka’s criteria. He smiled at us, since we had all turned and checked him out so obviously, and raised his glass. I raised mine back, Amaka looked away and Mina, well, she smirked.

Mina’s husband, Obinna came over and took his protesting wife onto the dance floor. She couldn’t flow with the music because she was obsessing about her Vera Wang, she didn’t want any of “these clumsy oafs to step on her train.” Meanwhile I saw Dele alone and decided to go and corner him. I felt a little guilty about leaving Amaka but I turned around and saw mystery man had sauntered over and was trying to put it on her. Get him girl, get him and if you no want, I fit collect?

Chap 1

2007-06-16T23:10:00.000-04:00

Titi

Champagne Taste, Beer Pocket

As I walked into the ballroom, I paused to smooth out a slight crease in my gown. All eyes were on me, and why not? I was looking too fabulous in my red Carmen Marc Valvo gown. The satin fabric highlighted my curves and the deep neckline made me look even more endowed that I already am. Move over ladies, Titi is in the building!

I had chosen my outfit and coordinated my whole look so carefully, that you would have thought I was going to the Oscars as a nominee. I even had my make-up professionally done and put a custom blended weave in my hair. Now I usually make sure my hair is on point but I wanted to take it to the next level. I swear when my stylist told me how much the hair alone was, I almost passed out. But I tell you it was worth the expense because my hair was like something out of a magazine, I mean I was totally Tyra meets Gabrielle Union, and I was loving it. Top it off with a few carefully chosen pieces of jewelry and there I was looking like a million bucks.

You might be wondering why I had to go through all of this effort. Truth be told, on any given day, I’d be considered an attractive woman. Okay, I’ll stop being modest, I am hot! I have this whole sexy vibe going.. But tonight was special: it was the annual Nouveau Africana gala evening. It was being held at the Ritz Carlton in Buckhead and the event brought out the crème de la crème of Africans in America. So you see, to me this event was even more important than walking the red carpet. The place would be teeming with rich eligible African men and my plan tonight was the same as it had been for the past year…to find a husband. Yes, I said it, I believe in being open, after all you never know who has a single investment banker friend looking to settle down. And I can admit that these days I have to work a little harder and be more strategic because…well, I am on the wrong side of 30.

You see in the African community, age is definitely not on a woman’s side. When you are about 22, you get put in the front window and are marked for sale. Then when you are about 26, they mark you 50% off, , 75% off when you are 28 and then when you are 30, the sign is changed to say: “ALL GOODS MUST GO!” Your sell-by-date has passed.

Oya, before you brand me as desperate, you should know that I have had many marriage proposals. After all a babe like me has a lot to offer: beauty, brains, and the ability to fully break it down in the bedroom on a regular basis! What? Why are you looking so aghast?! What is wrong with a woman enjoying sex and not being ashamed to say so? My problem is I haven’t quite found proper husband material and, for me, husband material means not just good looks, but also money and prestige. Now when I say money I mean a lot of it. That’s right, I’m not saying I’m a gold digger, but hey a woman has to keep up or at least improve her lifestyle! Look, I don’t believe in faking the funk. I am a straight-up person and there is no shame in my game, so yes I am looking for a husband but he better be rich, African and fabulous!

Every year Nouveau Africana Inc. hosts a benefit for AIDS treatment in Africa and it has become the signature event of the African social season, a veritable who’s who. Let me tell you, everyone is here from Emeka Anayo the NBA rookie of the year, to Dr. Agu, the first African immigrant named on the Forbes 100 list. If I tell you the hoops I jumped through to get tickets, Heh! I won’t lie O, it’s not easy trying to be among!

But it looked like all my hard work would pay off. The evening had just started and I had already spotted 3 well known millionaires. They were not contenders because they were all married and right now, I have no interest in married men, even though they quite frequently have an interest in me. Well, let me be honest, I might allow them to buy me the occasional Vuitton or trinket, but as far as starting an affair, forget it, I am much too focused on being a wife, so I can’t be investing in bad karma.

Fortunately there were some interesting bachelors there also. I spotted Dele Thompson, CEO of Thompson Engineering; he was actually featured in Fortune magazine and his net worth was estimated at close to $15 million. Add that to the fact that he is handsome, under 40 and from one of the big name families in Nigeria and you have a lethal combination. I was glad he was noticing me noticing him in my sexy red dress. Naturally his date noticed me as well and gave me the dirtiest of looks as she held on to his arm for dear life. I didn’t take it personally, after all e no dey hard make person ting become person ting abi,. Let me translate: one person’s thing can easily be taken by another. I wasn’t feeling like any drama that night so I moved on. But I fully intended to check out Dele when the time was right, girlfriend or not!

Sitting in the corner I saw Dan Okoli, or Dr. Dan as they call him. He was just featured in Atlanta magazine for pioneering some new surgery technique. He certainly meets my criteria in the finance department but as far as looks go, well let’s just say that he is not quite my style. I mean my guy is barely 5ft 8, is chubby and suffering from a case of adult acne, so even though Danny boy is seriously hot for me, I keep him on the back burner with the heat turned down real low. He waved when he saw me and tried to come over. I quickly looked away and walked in the opposite direction. Can’t settle for small fry now, not when the fishing is still good!

Our search for love

2007-06-16T22:47:00.000-04:00

Smart, Sexy and Successful!

These three Naija girls living in America have everything to offer. So why is it so hard becoming and staying a member of the coveted Mrs. Club.

Sexy and Scandalous Titi is determined to have a better future than her past and the way she sees it, the only path to that future is to marry and marry well. She is seeking for Mr perfect. Handsome, uber-rich and able to make waves in the bedroom!

Sweet and Smart Amaka has always been successful at day to day life, but when it comes to men, she is often left standing by the wall while everyone else takes a spin on the dance floor. When she meets Jeffrey, an incredibly fine and charming stranger from Lagos, could he be the man of her dreams?

Sharp and Savvy Mina has always had the upper hand in her relationships. If there was anything her mother taught her well it was that love was for fools. Marriage is simply a tool to get the life she wants and her husband simply a man to be tolerated.

Mina, Amaka and Titi think they have everything under control. Until life throws those curveballs that push them to their individual limits. They’ll have to pull together as friends and grow as women to figure out how to get into and remain in the Mrs. Club!