HAPPY NEW YEAR 2020 AND HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO ODI

Hello hi,

Happy New Year! Yay! It’s the start of a new decade; so exciting! Actually, it’s not exactly a New year where I currently am, but it is where I was born so I’m going with that time zone (ha ha!) It’s also my younger sister’s birthday so it’s usually a double celebration for our family. By the way, I am super excited to announce that I have finally opened my official Instagram blog account (@lavivsblog)! It still needs some work but please follow and share in the meantime.

This year had been a funny one for me. My life almost felt like a pendulum – oscillating up, left, right, down... There were times when I would get annoying news, and then almost immediately afterwards, hear good news and vice versa; it was so confusing. Many times I did not know whether to laugh or cry; I’m sure there were times when I did both at the same time. But in all, I survived by God’s grace; I’m still here - strong, healthy, and happy, and for these, I am grateful to the Almighty. You should be thankful too, because you are alive reading this blog post. J

This year, I had many first encounters – encounter with, new cities, new guys, and even with the Police! I also had lots of unplanned reunions; it was like I re-met someone from each phase of my life this year. I’ll tell you about these later via my blog and as usual, I’ll be sharing my 2020 goals and an evaluation of my 2019 goals (which I think I did not do too bad on). However, for now, this post is dedicated to my younger sister and so I have made a poor attempt to write a short poem. Poetry has never been my strength even though it was what I started with as a writer, when I was about seven years old; so please don’t judge! Hee hee! Enjoy:

AN ODE TO ODI

Mama came home bearing gifts and a baby, I was told that I was now a big sister

The gifts were due to the New Year delivery, T’was a special day though not on an Easter

My five year reign had abruptly ended, No longer was I the last born of the home

I looked at baby with curiosity extended, Her eyes shone like a gemstone

She was given the name Cynthia and Odi, a name that pleases GOD

She spoke and walked before a year old, a child that was never bored

Thus she had to go early to school, a nearby one called Santa Maria

Somewhere she could learn to doodle, until we figured out her future career

Many years gone by with tide, she was now a young woman of steel

Her eyes still shone bright and wide, especially during a Christmas sale

Street-smart and no longer a smallie, elegant and blessed in many ways

Always still full of lively stories, I pray she blossoms more every day.

Happy birthday to my only little sister, the dark brown-skinned woman! May God keep and bless you beyond your imaginations, Amen!

Thanks for reading and have a wonderful 2020. Don’t forget to leave a comment under the post, like and share the post, and follow me on Instagram: official blog is @ lavivsblog, personal IG (@ugochiukah) and twitter (@vivio_gogo) for updates.

THE MAN IN THE POOL

Hello hi,

I hope your Holiday/Christmas season is going well. As I promised, I have another blogpost - the last one before the new year. I hope you've read my previous posts; if not, please check them out. Below is a new post, I hope you will enjoy it :)

THE MAN IN THE POOL

As 2019 is drawing to an end, I cannot help but think about my goals I had listed for the year, what I have achieved and what I have not. “Learning how to swim” was a goal that I had be carrying over since 2016; possibly way before then. I had taken classes before – group lessons, lessons with friends, and lessons with random strangers in the pool trying to help me, but I was still inept at swimming. This year, I had planned to enroll in a private swimming class but I had an August visitor; I mean this in both literal senses, as actually a very special guest visited me in August and during the whole summer. Therefore, I did not have enough time to take on extra activities as I had to do some tour guidance. However, this post is not about this year but rather about the year before – 2018. Ah oui, 2018 was the year I was sure that I would achieve my swimming goals for several reasons.

First of all, I had just finished taking group swim classes. I did not learn much from the classes as they were each thirty minute sessions, with eight students in them and one teacher. So of course, before the teacher could go from one person to another, the class would be over. Nonetheless, I had developed more confidence being in the pool despite my swimming techniques remaining amateur, if at all existent. This was still a great progress for me, as every non-swimmer knows that the fear of the pool is the beginning of drowning. Okay, I just made that up but I’m sure you understand what I mean. So after the group class, I had developed more ‘ginger’ (the zeal to learn) and got myself some prescription swim goggles, better swim caps, and sexier swimsuits. I went as often as possible to the pool by myself while awaiting the perfect time for me to make the next step, which was to take a bunch of private lessons. The perfect time came shortly afterwards, in the summer when I had cut my hair. Now there was no need to for me to think about long hair wash and drying after swimming, or even to cover my hair in the pool if I did not feel like it. Alas, I was finally ready!

I was now living in a new city and had to find a swim instructor. Just like I did when I took my driving lessons the year before, my plan was to find a cheap instructor who would teach me and then, I would later quickly polish my skills with a professional swimmer, if needed. In case you don’t know this about me, I am frugal. So I went online – Kijiji and Craigslist to search for someone who would hopefully be cheaper than what I had seen advertised on the websites of gyms and sports centres. Unfortunately, my new gym did not have a pool so I would have had to register in another gym and pay as well, to be able to use their instructors. I eventually found someone online who claimed to be a swimming champion in his home country. I contacted him and booked our first lesson after bargaining and settling on a good first lesson promo price. We planned to meet the next weekend in a public swimming pool not too far from my house.

I was by the pool in my swimsuit, five minutes before the set time. I knew he was already there as he had texted me when he got there, and so I tried to find him. There were already a few people in the pool although it was not yet packed. My eyes immediately caught the swift movement of one the swimmers; I watched as the fellow swam towards me, impressed by his dolphin kicks but still not sure if that was my new teacher. Finally, he rose from the pool, and brushed his dark hair away from his face as the water fell across his toned physique. His body reminded me a bit of Michael Phelps and I tried not to stare lustfully. At least, if that was my teacher, I knew he was not lying about knowing how to swim. I just hoped that he would also know how to teach. As my mind wondered within seconds, he looked up at me and smiled. I smiled back; he was my teacher.

I got into the pool after we exchanged pleasantries and the lesson started immediately.

“So show me what you can do” He demanded.

“Erm, I can’t really do much” I said, losing confidence in myself after having watched him previously swim like a fish.

I showed him my naïve ways of floating, kicking, and pushing myself off the edge of the pool. My breathing technique under the water was close to abysmal and so we began working on that. Afterwards, we worked on kicking and hand stroke movements. He was a very good teacher, with lots of encouragement and patience, and I was thoroughly impressed. We practised and practised, taking short breaks in between whenever I needed one. While on my breaks, Mike would swim a lap; I could tell that he really enjoyed being in the pool.

In the course of the lesson, I learnt more about him. His name was Mike and he was originally from Lebanon, and had only recently moved into the city, just like me. He was currently living with his elder sister and her husband, while studying for a University degree. So as to make some extra pocket money, he had decided to start teaching swimming. Unfortunately, he lived far away from the pool and so would not be able to come during the week days. We discussed more on my future payments; if I agreed to take a package of ten classes with him, then he would be happy to keep it at the same initial cost. He was confident that I would be a good independent swimmer by the tenth class and I was convinced. So we struck a deal for ten lessons, same pool, same time every weekend unless otherwise stated, and the money to be paid at the end of each class.  

Time went by, quickly for Mike as he wanted to continue swimming, but slowly for me as I felt exhausted. I was taking an Uber home and since my house was not far from a train station, I offered to give him a ride. He accepted my offer and I gave him fifteen more minutes to swim before we finally left the pool. We sat on a bench whilst waiting for the Uber driver who appeared to be lost, as the app showed him continuously taking wrong turns. During that time, Mike and I made small talk. We both discovered that we were single and waiting for the “right one and the right time”. He mentioned how he would like to get a place of his own rather than living with his sister, so as to have more privacy. I nodded my head in understanding; privacy was important if you could afford it. The Uber driver finally arrived and in a few minutes, we were in front of my apartment building. I described the way to the train station from my house to Mike and asked him to let me know if he had any problems finding it. Then, we said our goodbyes.

An hour later, after having what I considered to be a rewarding meal for all my swimming exercise, I texted Mike to find out if he got home okay. He said he did and thanked me for being kind enough to check up on him. “It was my pleasure”, I wrote, and “see you next weekend.” I was not expecting any response so I kept my phone aside and took a nap.

I woke up to a text message from Mike; he was complaining about his living situation with his sister. He said he really wanted to find a place urgently but could not afford one by himself at the moment. I suggested that he could find housemates to share with for a start, as that would make things cheaper and later on, he could find a private place when he had enough money.

“Or I could come and live with you”, he replied via text.

I laughed while responding “LOL”. I did not know that he also had some sense of humour; good for him.

“Is that a ‘Yes’?” He asked.

“What? No. I thought you were joking”. I replied, a bit confused.

“Why not? I thought you said you live alone.”

I was now even more confused and seriously hoped that he was just pulling my legs.

“Yeah, I live alone because I don’t want to live with anyone. Also, I don’t know you; we just met today”. I replied in hope that that would end the conversation but…

 “Well, it starts from one day to get to know each other.” He continued. “You seem like a nice girl so I would not mind getting to know you. You also said you are single or do you want to remain lonely? I would teach you swimming for free”

Now, I was beginning to get worried. I mean, this dude knew where I lived and even though he did not know my exact apartment number, what if he was turned out to be a stalker? In person, he did not seem to be a creep and he had been an excellent teacher. So I did not want to lose him as my instructor if I could help it. Therefore, I had to find a way to end this rubbish; I replied:

“I’m sorry if I gave you any wrong impression but as I told you earlier, I CANNOT live with you. So I hope we can end this conversation now and continue our swimming lessons in a nice but professional manner. Do you think you can manage that?” I asked.

“Okay.” That was all he typed.

Phew! I was relieved, even though I could not help but wonder why he would have thought I was interested in him. Had it been because I offered him a ride in my Uber, or the small talks we had had during and after swimming? I could not recall having any flirtatious body language during my stay with him. Maybe it was because I had told him that I was single and so he automatically assumed that it meant I was available to every single man? Or was it because I checked to see if he got home safe? This was something I always did with everyone, whether male or female. I shook my head; the dude was probably drunk, or having a bad day, and just trying his luck. Anyway, I would just have to wait until the next week to reassess the situation during our class and see if I would still be comfortable continuing lessons with him.

The next weekend approached so I texted Mike on Friday.

“Hi, are we still on for tomorrow at 10 am?”

“Who is this?” he responded.

I could not help laughing; this guy must be a petty fellow, I thought to myself. On a second thought, maybe he changed his phone. I tried to give him the benefit of the doubt and so I replied telling him who I was. His response was cold but funny; he was demanding double the price we had agreed on. There was no need for me to reply, I just blocked and deleted his number. Weirdo, I whispered to myself.

And that was how my swimming for the year came to an end. I had had enough experience for the year for me to go back searching online. I tried to contact some of the professional gym instructors but their schedules did not match mine. Soon enough, winter came by and even though I could have done indoor swimming lessons, the thought of going out even slightly wet in the cold was scary. I would sign up next summer (2019), I told myself but as I wrote earlier, that did not happen. I definitely hope to learn next year 2020 by God’s grace but until then, I cannot help but blame that man in the pool.

Wishing you a happy holiday season!! Don’t forget to leave a comment under the post, like and share the post, and follow me on Instagram (@ugochiukah) and twitter (@vivio_gogo) for updates. Look out for my new blog instragram page. Until next year, by God's grace, kisses. X

HAIR-NIVERSARY (PART 3): THE PHASES OF NEWAFRO (NEW-AFRO)

Hello hi,

I hope you enjoyed part 1 and 2 of this series. This is part 3 below. Enjoy :)

THE PHASES OF NEWAFRO

After my haircut and announcements, I went through various stages of change. First, I tried to adapt to my new routine which included quick showers, hair rubs and sometimes using a brush to give my short afro some curls. I was surprised that I did not missed my old hair as I thought I would. A part of me felt disloyal but I wondered if the feeling was real or whether I was just in denial. I sometimes wore hats, mostly to shield myself from the ever blazing sun but sometimes to add some spice to my look. Making up had never been my calling but every now and then, I made an effort to wear bright lipsticks and wore large earrings and accessories. Although I had not made any plans prior to my hair chop, I hoped to carry my hair the way it was for a minimum of three months before deciding on what next to do. Things were going smoothly and three months went by quickly. I was travelling around Europe when the third month came. By then, my hair had added more volume and needed a change – either a new hair cut or hairstyle to keep it looking tidy. I was sure I was going to cut it again but shortly after I returned home, it began to snow. Everyone warned me not to cut it, your brain would literally freeze, they told me. I believed them as I could already feel the cold air hanging around my head like a halo. So what was I to do? I did not know how to manage hair in general, not to talk about managing a short afro hair. Alas, God heard my prayers and sent me favours through several friends and most conveniently, someone living nearby.

She was a fellow African from a francophone country and even though she was not a hair dresser, she was eager to learn how to make hair. Of course, I was just as eager to let her practice on my hair and that was how our friendship evolved. I came by every other Sunday morning for her to play with my hair; she spoke English while I tried to speak French as she tried different hairstyles – bantu knots, cornrows, twists etc. It was a symbiotic relationship, maybe a little more commensalism since I benefited more from it; but at least it was not parasitic. Each time I returned for another hairdo, she expressed surprise at the rapid growth of my hair. “Wow, it ‘az really grown; so beautiful, so lucky”, she would way with a French accent. I wondered whether she would still consider my hair as beautiful and lucky in a few months, when it would begin to show its true colour.

“You better warn her; you know your hair can cut through a glass” some close friends of mine and my sister suggested. They wanted me to let my new francophone friend know that my hair was neither soft nor gentle; even though it looked deceptively dark and lovely.

“Why should I warn her? She would see it for herself.” I said. “Besides, what if my new hair grew out to be all nice and easy to touch?”

“How is that even possible?”  My sister argued, “As long as the hair is growing from the same scalp, it would grow the same way, unless you change your genes.”

I ignored her; only time would tell how my hair would grow.

And yes, time did tell – as much as I could recall, my hair grew exactly the same way as it had almost 20 years ago, that is the last time I had it short! It sprung like a rain forest, like trees with long spreading branches looking for space such that some fell over my ears. With each centimetre of growth came thicker curls, and with each curl came more tangle. Of course my new friend noticed it– “Ah, your ‘airs are growing up and they are growing wide too”, she exclaimed one day. I laughed and asked her if she still liked the texture, to which she affirmed. Then, I told her stories of my previous hair struggles – how people used to avoid helping me out because my hair was a lot, and how hairdressers used to try to charge me more money when they saw my hair. We both laughed.

Winter finally came to an end and it was time to reconsider cutting the hair. However, it had blossomed into a mid-sized afro and everyone thought it was a good idea to keep it growing, including my new friend. As long as she did not mind helping me out, I did not mind keeping it, I told her. And that was how my hair came to stay, for now at least. After some time, my new friend did not have as much time for my hair. Sometimes I wondered if she was avoiding my hair but I still managed somehow, mostly soliciting help from other friends. I did not want her to feel that I was taking too much advantage of her. I had tried hard to style my hair by myself but I found it challenging, my arms hurt badly whenever I tried and it was never neat. #Teamnatural was not easy and then slowly, I started to miss my old hair a bit. I thought of back then, when it was well relaxed and I could manage to make cornrows by myself without having to ask anyone. Then I realised that I was going through a new phase.

Yes, I had gone through several stages – from feeling unsure of whether to cut my hair, to feeling fly with my short hair, then feeling bored of it, then feeling excited at the rapid hair growth and now sometimes feeling confused. However, through all of these I tried not to complain. After all, I still had HAIR, one that many would kill to have!

Thank you for reading and have yourself a merry Christmas and Happy Holidays.

Don’t forget to leave a comment under the post, like and share the post and follow me on Instagram (@ugochiukah) and twitter (@vivio_gogo) for updates. As I said in my previous post, I will be creating a new Instagram page for my blog for year 2020 by God’s grace and I hope be more consistent. Thanks again and remain blessed. x.

HAIR-NIVERSARY (PART 2): THE ANNOUCEMENT

Hello hi,

I can't believe the year is almost over; too many things have happened and yet I feel like nothing has happened, ha ha! I know it looks like I'm not serious about blogging or writing stories anymore but guess what, I am actually planning to open a new Instagram page for my blog for next year so that I can upload more stories much more frequently. Trust me this time, I hope you will continue to follow and read :)

So to make up for my absence, I have written 2 blog posts - Christmas bonus, yay! The first one is below and the next one is here. f you have not, don't forget to check out my previous post here too as these three make up the series so far. Enjoy and please leave your comments below.

 THE ANNOUCEMENT

Officially a year and 6 months have passed since I chopped of my hair, almost spontaneously (see previous post, part 1 here). I think back to the very day it happened; after the barber had finished his work, I had looked at my face in the large mirror, moving my head from side to side. I didn’t look bad, I thought to myself. The moment I got back home, I rushed into the bathroom to take a shower. Summer had just begun and the temperatures were as high as 35 degrees Celsius. I had been sweating and feeling dehydrated ever since I moved into the new city, so a lukewarm shower was much appreciated. For the first time in many years, I could feel the drops of water on my scalp within seconds of running the shower. Every drop on my head running down easily to my hooked nose, every touch of air filling up my scalp pores; it was worth it! I dried my hair quickly with a towel, just the way I used to see men do it. Like every millennial, the first thing I did was take a selfie, striking different poses to get different views of my head shape. My head did not appear big, I did not have an ogoo (no big bump sticking out of my skull), there were no bald spots, and I did not look like a boy; thus I was pleased with what I saw.

The next step was to break the news; starting with my family and friends. So I sent a couple of pictures to my mother first and then my younger sister. I knew it would not be my mother’s preferred look but I hoped that she would not dislike it. She responded on WhatsApp in her usual manner: “You’re looking fine”, while my sister said I was brave. Those were good enough for me. Next I called some of my friends one by one on video-chat, all their expressions were similar – from looks of shock, to squinting, to smiling, and then saying that I looked good. My new colleagues were next in line. I went into the office the next day and greeted the secretary at the reception, whom I had met a few times the week before. She responded:

“Hi, how can I help you?”

“It’s me, Vivian.”

“Vivian! What happened to your hair?!”

I burst out laughing; for sure I had expected some surprise but not a complete lack of recognition. From there, the news spread around, colleagues expressed interest in my hair and my new supervisor was able to recognise me with less difficulty than in the past. I say this because before I started working with him, I had met him a few times before at conferences and each time I had to re-introduce myself to him. It was until one day I realised that the issue was my continuous change of hairstyles, so I gave him a great tip “Never try to recognise a black woman by her hair.”  This time around, I think it worked; he had a little smirk on his face when he saw my new haircut and said “Hi Vivian”.

Finally, I put up my photo on social media and then the whole world knew I had cut my hair. Contrasting comments were written under my post, some expressing pleasure, others displeasure, but for me, I felt relieved. The shock was over, my job was done.

Continue here for part 3.

Thank you for reading. Feel free to share with others and follow me on instagram @ugochiukah and twitter @vivio_gogo for more updates.

Cheers. X