THE ONLY BLACK WOMAN

Hello Hi,

Happy new month! I cannot believe that it is already August, wow! I know that it's been ages since I wrote and posted on my blog. I have missed writing but to be fair, I have been doing some other types of writing :). Just a reminder that my last BellaNaija post can be found here and hopefully you will get more from me soon. I also hope to resume writing more often so watch out please. Today's story is something I hope many can relate to so please read, comment and share with your friends. I wish you a lovely month filled with beautiful things.

photo credit: thegoodhairdiaries.blogspot.com

THE ONLY BLACK WOMAN

It was good news! Hali had just received a scholarship to go and study abroad. She was excited and looking forward to a new opportunity but at the same time she felt sad because she would have to leave her friends and relatives and go far away. Presently, she did not live in her country, Ethiopia, but she still felt at home in Kenya. Not only were the two countries close to each other, she had friends and relatives living there too and she could easily find her native foods to eat. In fact, there were so many similarities that it felt like she had never left home.

Hali had made the perfect friends; she always thought to herself of how lucky she had been. There was the talkative Hewan, the sweet and gentle Liza, the event planner Kibre and the religious Temar. They were all course mates and had just finished their Bachelor’s degree in biological sciences. From the first day they met, there had been a strong connection and although it was unintentional, they had formed a girl squad with themselves. They were always together and very protective of one another and barely spoke to their other schoolmates. None of them had a boyfriend and unknown to them, they were seen as snobs, with rumours even being perpetuated that they were a lesbian cult group. However, they never noticed as they were engrossed in each other’s life throughout their four years of study. Hali’s travel was therefore a big change in their lives. Of course, Temar, Hewan, Liza and Kibre were happy for Hali but they were also sad to say goodbye. Hali was not just leaving Kenya but she was going far away to the United States of America to further her education and get a Master’s degree in Pharmacology. The other girls were not yet ready for a second degree; Hewan wanted to work first and earn some money; Temar wanted to become a business woman; Liza, who was an only child, wanted to get married and start a family; and Kibre was not yet sure of what she wanted and wanted to take a year out. That was the beauty of the group; even though everyone else outside the group saw them as the same kind of girls; they all had very different personalities and goals.

The night before Hali left the country, the other girls threw her a farewell party. It was no surprise that only a few people attended since they had not exactly been friendly with other people. Nonetheless, it was an emotional party. They exchanged gifts, recounted their favorite moments and made plans on how to keep in touch. Towards the end of the night, Hali became more nervous as reality dawned on her that she was leaving indeed to a new continent, where she knew no one and especially to a state where she heard that there were barely any black people. As the girls packed up to leave her apartment, Hali grabbed Kibre’s hands, the most outgoing one amongst them whom she trusted to continue to organize their friendly meetings.

With tears in her eyes, she said to Kibre “Promise me that you will keep in touch and you will make sure that the others do, please.”

Kibre made the first promise and with that all the other girls made their vows too. It was not going to be difficult, they assured Hali. She would quickly make friends, but their friendship would remain solid and once they got good jobs or husbands or figured out whatever they wanted to do with their lives, they would get US visas and pay her a visit hopefully within a year. They also promised to Skype regularly during the weekends, since they all had access to the internet and with these, Hali felt more confident about their friendship. The next morning, she left with the earliest plane for the state of Vermont in the USA.

As soon as she alighted from the plane, Hali could feel the difference. Nothing was similar to where she had come from and nothing looked familiar. There was no East African at the airport or in her school hostel, or in her classroom, or in her church. Everywhere she went, she looked around for East Africans but as the days went by, she began to realise that she was being too optimistic. Any African would do, she eventually thought to herself and after weeks with no success, she wished for any ‘black’ person. When months had gone by and she had still found none, she settled for looking for any ‘coloured’ person. It was not because she had any problem with making Caucasian friends but she just wanted somebody that she could share her spicy foods with and someone who understood her afro hair. She had become so spoilt in Kenya that now it was difficult for her to do certain things for herself like making her hair and doing her own make up. There were times that she considered going to the neighbouring city as she heard that there were more diversities in the population but as time went on and with the increasing school work, she gave up on the chase. She became used to being the only black person there and she even nicknamed herself “the only black woman”.

Hali tried to keep in touch with her friends in Kenya from the day she arrived in the states. She already had a lot to tell them but the time difference was a barrier as when she was up in the morning, they were already going to bed and vice versa. Their first group skype call was scheduled for the weekend after she arrived. All of them attended but the call barely took place as the internet connection was horrible for some reason on that day. Only Temar showed up during the next meeting scheduled a couple of weeks after, because Kibre had begun her travels, Temar was having a training for a new job and Liza had just gotten a new boyfriend with whom she was out with. Hewan, she learnt, had fallen out with the group shortly after she left for the states. Hali and Temar spoke for a short while; the conversation was awkward and that was when she realised that she had never really had anything in common with Temar and they had never spent time alone before throughout their college years. Somehow spending time in a group was different from spending time alone. Therefore, Hali looked forward to the full group meetings but that never took place because one weekend after the other, there was always an excuse for it not to happen. Hali tried to reach out to them individually via Facebook, WhatsApp and other apps but after a while, it seemed like she was the only one making the efforts and nobody else was interested. Thus, after some months, she was no longer in touch with any of them and it was via Facebook that she found out that Kibre and Hewan had gotten married, Liza had returned home to Ethiopia and Temar had started her small business in costume jewelry.

Hali had not been invited to any of the weddings and even when she tried to reach out to congratulate her friends on their accomplishments, she received bland responses. It became clear that she had either been ostracized from the group or that the group did not exist again. There were moments when Hali felt lonely and she would sit in her room, going through her picture albums and the parting gifts from her former friends. She reminisced on the great times they had spent together and she wondered how things could have changed so quickly. She cried whenever she remembered the promise that Kibre and the other girls had made and how no one had cared to keep them. She made up her mind to be strong and get used to her new life or else she would get depressed.

Almost two years had gone by and Hali was rounding up her master’s program. She was looking forward to moving out to a new city and finding a job immediately after she finished. She was in the final stages of her Master’s thesis and had to spend long hours in the laboratory, thus making her return home late at night sometimes. It was on one of those nights as she was going home that she passed by a lady. At first, she did not notice as she had been absent minded but she looked again and there she was - it was another black woman! She stood in shock as the woman continued her way in the opposite direction. She felt the urge to run after her and say something but she knew it would come off as creepy so she just stood there until she could no longer see her. When she got home that night, she slept well for the first time since she arrived in the country. It was as if the new woman had brought a new hope into her life. She prayed that she would see her again and her prayers were answered a week after. She ran into the woman again just about the same time and same place and that day, she decided to say hi. They spoke for a few minutes. Her name was Mirabel: she was from Jamaica and had moved there recently with her family. She was quite older than Hali and was married with two children. Hali tried to contain her excitement and continued to ask many questions. The woman was on her way to work; she was a night nurse at the nearby hospital and so she had to leave.

After that day, Hali ran into the woman almost every week that she worked late at the laboratory. They would greet each other pleasantly but briefly. And although, Hali would have loved to build a stronger friendship with her, she did not want to start something that would leave her heartbroken again like her former friends. She also did not think that they would have many things in common given the age difference or the time to hang out as much as they were both busy. However, every night that they passed by each other, Hali would feel a strange feeling of joy and would sleep like a baby. Somehow, Mirabel’s smile reminded Hali of Liza, her hair style reminded her of Kibre, she had the same colour of eyes as Temar and the way she walked reminded her of Hewan. In Mirabel, she had found happiness and began to feel less lonely and although, Mirabel would never know, Hali had made a new nickname for both of them and every time after they passed and greeted each other, she would whisper “the only black women.”

The end

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Stay blessed xx.

IN HER EXPERTISE BY ETOH COLLINS

Hi all,

I know it's been ages but I have been super busy! Oh well, I shan't bore you with details because today I've got a nice story from the write - Mr. Etoh. So enjoy, share and please comment. Thank you:)

IN HER EXPERTISE

“The very reason I stopped, later became the sole reason why I decided to push, and I mean ensure that I got to the bottom of the whole thing. It was taking over me; I couldn’t think straight anymore, and one time I almost burnt down my apartment after I left an empty pot on the gas cooker for more than an hour.”

I stopped to look at Ms. Funmi; she didn’t seem like she had taken her gaze off me.

“Yes…yes go on, I’m with you” she said without me even asking her anything.

I really wasn’t used to telling people my worries or problems, I just felt they would only end up laughing at me in their judgmental minds, and worse still I wouldn’t get any close to getting back my lost life. But something about Ms. Funmi seemed different, she said little or nothing, and she smiled at almost everything I tell her, and then she would say “it is well”, well I just hope she isn’t as insane as I thought I was.

All the same, everyone had wanted me to speak to someone, someone who would advice me on my current dilapidated state of well being. And after months of refusing, and after my wife left home citing marriage breakdown as her reasons, it became pertinent that I solve this problem that I probably think has left me looking cancerous to others.

“At work I couldn’t do little tasks like write memos or draft a course of action, something I originally had been doing for over three years.” I had continued after she gave me the go ahead, “I started to get angry at every slight thing that wasn’t even supposed to make me blink, and I think what I noticed was that I started to get irritated easily by anyone who ventured to ask about my well being.

“Ok, let me cut you there” she interrupted for the first time since we started conversing for more than three hours now.

“I need you to tell me how it all started, this whole change, like can you remember?” she had stopped talking before I knew it, and I had forgotten what she talked about.

I motioned to her, trying to understand if she had asked me a question.

“Gbenga!!!” she shouted straight into my face.

“Yes” I replied looking away from her.

“I really do not want to assume you’re sick or suffering from something only God knows. I decided to help you because I believe everyone’s got a second chance at bettering their lives, so I urge you to come out of your shelf so we both can help you out of this mess.” Then she stopped talking, and bent her head so that it rested on her right fist.

The room was quiet for about twenty seconds, I didn’t know what to say, I had gotten used to her starting off a point, my own was to give a reply to her questions, and ensure I followed exactly her procedures. She then she got up from her chair, went behind me, placed her hands on my shoulders and so fast she started to caress them, soon to my back and then down my hips. After about a minute of intense massaging and body touching, she bent that her mouth was directly proportional with my ears, and then she whispered “let me help you relax…..ok?”

I had no idea if she expected an answer from me, or if she needed a thumbs up in respect of her question, I was indifferent, especially when I actually didn’t major in psychology, so I really didn’t think she expected me to have any clue as to how she would make me relax.

“Ride on Miss Psychologist” was all I could say deep down in my heart.

“So tell me about your sex life, were you having enough of it?” as she spoke her hands found their way into my shirt.

“I really can’t say, but my wife wasn’t exactly the kind that loved frequent sex, she preferred it occasionally and well prepared kind of sex” I could swear I knew nothing of what I had just said, Miss Funmi hands were causing so much havoc in my mind.

“Ok” that sounded like she was dozing off.

I never cared to turn to look at her, all I was sure was that she was the professional here, and for me, getting back my life was most fundamental at the moment, and not how she got to the end.

“And were you against having routine sex or should I say were you the everyday sex kind of guy”

“Yes and No…emm…sometimes I come home so tired and wouldn’t venture into sex. But other times I really would be a hundred percent ready for it.” And again I didn’t know how that came out of my mouth.

Miss Funmi had her hands already caressing the part of my trousers where the zips were tailored to. At first it was great and I felt the moon on my ears with the clouds giving me the soothing of a lifetime. Miss Funmi’s touches were unconditionally eccentric, and I started to float as soon as possible, and my lips became so dry so that I began searching for something wet to infuse into it.

Everything happened so fast and I didn’t know how to tell her that this was exactly my problem. That I was HIV positive and the knowledge of my predicament had made me a ghost of myself, because as it is, I was simply awaiting death and a very cruel one indeed. But only if my psychologist would have been so professional enough to have understood that I needed help from my imminent destruction, instead of becoming trapped in it. We had a very hot and long romantic evening that lasted for about four hours, and everytime my realities came flashing its ugly head at me, Ms. Funmi would kiss my lips and say to me “put that behind you, lay all your worries on me.”

And yes indeed, I did lay all my worries in and on her, the bad thing was that it never left me, but I succeeded in passing it to yet another person.

As we lay on the bed after a breath taking performance, she started to say how much she had enjoyed every piece of me, and how she wished we never stopped. I looked at her with pity, funny enough she thought my eyes were so sexy, and every time she would kiss them, and say that my eyes were capable of making her happy for life, only if she knew the truth that lay beneath it. I was seconds away from trying to live my life at least for another week, but Ms. Funmi the psychologist had come along, and taken me back to where I was a week before I was introduced to her. What kind of psychologist was she anyway? Instead of helping me, she has eaten a great chunk of my worries.

How will I break this news to her, how on earth will I say to her that I am HIV positive, and that was the reason why I have been living like a country plagued with famine and war. All because of pleasure, and my love for ecstatic feelings, I have plunged yet another soul into total catastrophe, and I know she will live never to forgive me. And although I think and feel pity for her, Funmi still finds my manhood so attractive that she cannot stop putting it inside her mouth like she was promised gold in the Olympics for it. The same object that has caused me an avalanche of pains is what Funmi treasures and wishes she had it in her bedroom, to play with every night she gets home from work.

I regret meeting Funmi today, just the same way I have regretted meeting every woman that I eventually slept with, because up till date I really do not know who had given me this Greek gift. I want to think about my life, and I wish Funmi will let go of it before it kills her in my presence.

                                                    xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

 Have a happy weekend!

IG: @ugochiukah ; twitter @ vivio_gogo 

HAPPY EASTER

Hello Hi,

Happy Easter Monday! I hope you had a wonderful Lenten season and Easter break.My last article on Bellanaija is here.

Photo source: www.50img.com

For Christians, Easter is one of the most important celebrations in the church. This is because we are reminded of how we became saved by the Grace of God through the death and resurrection of Jesus Christ. The 40 day period preceding this event is a time to reflect on the suffering and death of Jesus Christ and to become closer to him. Many Christians especially Catholics try to fast or at least abstain from certain things; one of the key messages is to give up something loved to share in the suffering as well as to do good unto others. This year Easter came quite early, in March, because many times in the past, it fell in April. I know it has fallen on my birthday before, in 2011. Anyway, I just thought to share a reflection of my Easter season:

For me, Lent this year was one of the most serious one for me. I tried new prayers, new habits, tried to give up old habits that were not the best (including coffee, lol). In retrospect, I do not remember attending any stations of the cross this year L…I’m sure they had some at my church but maybe I was busy working. However, I felt really grown this season, both physically and spiritually by His grace. Physically, I felt more mature because I did not try to sit down during the long ‘Passion of Christ’ reading read on Palm Sunday and on Good Friday! Usually, halfway, I would sit or kneel or squat or keep flipping through the pages…..because that reading is very long, from the trial of Jesus to his death and burial. But this year, I was calm and I even enjoyed the reading.

Holy Thursday or Maundy Thursday was an interesting day as the washing of feet of his disciples emulated by the priest is always humbling. I believe that the message here is that for you to be a leader or master, you must learn to serve. I have been blessed to have my feet washed previous a couple of years ago and  this year, the priest said that we should learn to was the feet of our partners, family, loved ones and even enemies!

Good Friday service was another good one for me. It was as sullen as usual, without the sign of the cross or sign of peace. The veneration of the cross always reminds me of the crucifixion of Jesus. If you’re a germaphobic like one of my siblings, you will find it hard to kiss or even touch the cross. I remember my mum had to send my brother one year to go back to kiss the cross as he had just gone to the front and turned around without doing anything, hee hee. During the reading, I was reminded of and medidated on the last words of Jesus on the cross:

"Father, forgive them, for they do not know what they do." Luke 23:34…this was when the soldier and some others were mocking Him on the cross.

"Truly, I say to you, today you will be with me in Paradise." Luke 23:43…He said this to this thief who believed that asked to be remembered in His paradise.

"Jesus said to his mother: "Woman, this is your son." Then he said to the disciple: "This is your mother." John 19:26-27… This was when He handed his mother to John for care. 

"My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?" Matthew 27:46 and Mark 15:34…I can’t even begin to imagine the pain He must have felt.

"I thirst." Gospel of John 19:28…this was to fulfil the scripture of giving Him wine to drink.

"It is finished.” Gospel of John 19:29-30…I believe his work on earth as a being was finished.

"Father, into your hands I commend my spirit." Gospel of Luke 23:46…unto God, we should commit all things.

After the service, everyone was asked to leave the church quietly as usual and Saturday was a quiet day.

Easter Sunday came yesterday and once again, we could sing Alleluia and dance and make the sign and kiss of peace. I always love Easter Sunday as I fell liberated after all the quiet lent season. The mass was beautiful with singing and to add to it, I ate jellof rice yesterday (although it was Ghanaian jellof..ha ha!)

So this is a summary of my celebration. In as much as the Lent season is over, I hope that we continue with whatever good work that we started and stick to better behaviours. I wish you a continuous wonderful Easter celebration and a blessed April.

PS: Does anyone know the origin of Easter bunnies and eggs and most importantly, what rabbits have to do with eggs?? I’m just curious. Please share if you do, thanks.

Twitter @vivio_gogo

IG: @ugochiukah

THE LAST CONFESSION

Hello hi,

It’s been a while; very busy year already but I trust you have been good. I thought I would share a story with you before the month of February ends (I cannot believe how quickly the year is going!). My last Bellanaija post can be found here and today my writing is titled:

THE LAST CONFESSION

picture source:www.calledtocommunion.com

It was the season of lent, a period of solemnity for Catholics. Adaobi was a staunch catholic or at least she came from such a family. Therefore, for her, this was a time to be in a ‘state of grace’ and holiness. Although she was a regular church-goer, she felt guilty for not going for confessions for over a year. The problem was not that she could not find the time to pour out her sins or a priest to absolve her from them but she did not feel comfortable revealing some of her deepest secrets to the parish priest, Father Joseph. Father Joseph was a nice and humble priest but he knew her family and thought the best of them. He also thought of Adaobi as a responsible, charitable, young woman with a strong faith in the Lord. It was his high regard for her that had made him entrust her with more responsibilities in the church including leading the Sunday morning mass readings, Bible studies on Wednesdays and counting the offering money from the congregation. She was also a member of other renowned church groups as well as the choir even though her voice was quite below mediocre. Father Joseph always sang her praises to his parishioners and even referred other young women to Adaobi whenever they seemed to be going astray from the Lord.

While one could have thought that these actions would have made Adaobi feel more at home in the parish, they almost had the opposite effect on her. She found herself pretending when she did not want to, attending church service where she was barely paying attention and receiving Holy Communion even when she did not feel worthy to do so. She only hoped that the Lord would understand and not punish her too hard for her actions. She desperately longed for a confession as she had been carrying some heavy sins in her heart for over a year but could not bring herself to tell the parish priest. It was not that she thought her sins were unforgivable but she felt that her reputation was at stake in the church. Yes, she knew that priests were not allowed to judge people making confessions or even tell another person about them but she still felt that he would not see her in the same way if he knew what she was capable of. And so she had made up her mind to never confess to Father Joseph unless she was about to die and he was the only available priest.

The week before Easter came and her prayers seemed to be answered. Father Joseph had travelled to attend to some urgent family matters and a priest from a different church was in charge of Mass that day. There had been other guest priests visiting her church parish in the past but Father Joseph had also been present always and so would still be the one doing the confessions. This day was different as he was away and this new priest, who looked quite old, announced at the end of the church service that he would wait behind for anyone who wanted to confess. He was a funny, elderly man who claimed that he was partially deaf and so would not even hear most of the confessors, which was a good incentive for them to come forward. Adaobi decided to take this long awaited opportunity and sat behind in church after the service was over.

She was the first on the queue but she decided that she would go last because she had a lot to say and assumed that the new priest would give her a long list of things to do as penance for her sins. She remembered long ago when she had heard about some priests asking people to cut grasses or do hard labour as an act of penance. She did not mind and was willing to do anything to atone for her sins. Her only prayer was that the priest would not ask her for details of anything that she was going to tell him. Her turn quickly came and she went into the confession room.

“Bless me Father for I have sinned” she started while he began his prayer.

 “It is now 18 months since my last confession.” She paused, waiting for a reaction but got none and so she continued.

“Since my last confession, I have not been very trusting in the Lord. I have told several lies and I have been disobedient to my parents.” She had decided to start with the lesser sins.

“I have also fornicated, not once, or twice or thrice. Actually, I have fornicated a lot especially last year with my boyfriend.” She took a deep breath before she concluded her confession.

“For these sins I have confessed and the ones that I have not (she whispered) and the ones I cannot remember, I am truly sorry.”

 “Are you still together? You and your boyfriend” The priest asked.

“No, we have broken up now.” Adaobi replied, hoping that he would ask her no more about the topic.

“It is good that you have ended your ungodly relationship and returned to God. The good Lord has forgiven you so try not to enter such relationships again in the future.” He said.

The priest then gave her some short prayers for her penance to her surprise and then she was asked to say an act of contrition which she did. Afterwards, he prayed for her sins to be absolved and permitted her to go.

Just as she was about to leave, she added in a low voice “Oh, I also had to abort his baby which I was carrying after we broke up.” She paused and she heard the priest grunt although he did not say anything. She took his silence as a permission for her to continue.

“I also stole some money from the church offering to carry out the abortion.” The priest was silent.

“I am very sorry for that too.” She said.

He remained silent.

She hoped that he was not annoyed with her for almost starting a new confession after finishing one. After a few minutes of silence, she assumed that his partial deafness had returned and he probably had not heard her. So she repeated the latter sins a bit louder but there was still no response. It was then that she looked closer at him and noticed that he was no longer breathing. The new priest had died during her confession! Adaobi was confused; she ran out into the church but no other person was left there since she had been the last one to go in for confession. She did not want to be caught in the middle of a scene in the church and so she ran away. On her way home, she wondered if her sins had given the priest a heart attack and killed him but most importantly, she wondered if all her previous sins had been forgiven because she knew that she would never confess those ones again.

Thank you for reading and as usual, please leave your comments below and kindly share with friends. Have a blessed week and follow me on: 

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HAPPY NEW YEAR

Hello Hi,

Happy new year to you all. 2015 was a blessed year and I pray that 2016 will be greater. I am thankful to God, my family and you all for contributing in making an awesome one.

No matter what you went through in 2015, there are many reasons to be thankful and happy because:

For every rice without meat that you ate, some had no food at all

For the Christmas new dress that you could not get, some are naked

For the relationship breakups, some are dying in marriages

For the weight gain you hate; some are looking for flesh

For the horrible singing voices, some are dumb

For the eye glasses you have to wear; some have no sight

For every failed hot selfie, some have no cameras

For every hairline-loss gelled in front; some are completely bald

For every rejection, some could not even apply

For every argument, some only speak to themselves

And for those that have an annoying family member, well family is everything so deal with it!

So my prayer for you this year is:

May your tears be turned into smiles,

Smiles be turned into laughter,

Heartbreak turned into strength,

Dreams into reality,

And Hope into certainty.

So please continue to follow my stories, comment, share and have a happy life this year filled with love and great opportunities. Thank you again and happy weekend!

Twitter: vivio_gogo

IG: ugochiukah

A CHRISTMAS TALE

Hello hi,

Merry Christmas to you all. I hope you are having a lovely weekend; my previous bella naija post is here. As, the year is drawing to an end, I wish you all a joyful vacation and peace. I have a new post for you today, so enjoy and please leave your comments below. Thank you!

A CHRISTMAS TALE

Going for vigil mass yesterday and singing “O come all ye faithful” along with the choir made me realize how much I had grown over the years and how Christmas celebration had changed for me. After mass, I began to reminisce about how I used to spend Christmas when I was younger. Back then, we would go to our home town (village) for about two weeks. We did not have a choice as my father always threatened to lock up ‘his’ house and take the key. So grudgingly, my siblings and I would pack our bags for the trip. Our reluctance to travel was not because we did not like the village but because we did not see the point of leaving our lives and friends and going away for so long to see people that we barely knew. The more we tried to explain our reasoning, the more my father resisted. To him, that was even a better reason to go – so that we would get to know our long-lost relatives even more! And so every year, we had the same arguments and ended up travelling to the village.

The first day of arrival usually involved having visitors, coming around to welcome you back home. They basically asked all of us the same questions in our local language – how are you? How have you been? How is your family (which they could already see by themselves)? How are your brothers? How are your sisters? (As if these were not part of the term ‘family’); to which we always replied “good, thank you.” The next day would involve cleaning up the house and cooking as well as more visitors; some of whom had already visited the day before. Of course, they would resume the usual questions while we struggled to get some work done. By Christmas day, we would be tired from all the cooking, cleaning and guest entertainment such that my siblings and I would fall asleep in church. Sometimes, we would sneak to my grand-uncle’s house which was a few blocks away from the church to take a nap and return back to the church before my parents noticed. Thankfully, the Christmas service was always very long because of annual church harvest and so we always made it back on time. After church, we would even so many visitors follow us back home directly and so, we used to spend our time serving meals whilst my father would tell his friends how happy we were to be back home. And we, the children, always had to smile and nod when he made such statements to the guests.

On Boxing Day was when we were allowed to go out. My father would wake us up early in the morning to have breakfast and go out to greet our relatives and practically, the entire village. His exact words would be “go out and do not come back until evening. Visit everyone and feel free to pluck fruits. Everybody here shares…there’s no place like home!” Ironically, we were almost never allowed to go out for more than a couple of hours in the city so my siblings and I wished that we had such freedom in the city. We had to obey orders as once again my father would threaten to lock the village house if we did not leave immediately after meals. And so we were forced to go and watched the inter-villages soccer competitions, masquerade performances and some traditional dance. We stopped occasionally at trusted relatives’ houses for lunch, dinner or some snacks along the way but when it came to fruits, any tree of interest that we saw, we would ask for permission from whomever was present in the compound and then pluck some to eat.  

It was during one of these fruit picking that we came across a nice Udara (Agbalumo) tree one year. My cousins and I had wandered into a compound that housed the tree, so rich with ripened fruits. We were surprised at our luck at finding such a fortune as more often than not, this particular tree type would be lacking its fruits because the other villagers would have plucked them before we got there. We did not hesitate to ask the boy standing by the gate if we could have some and began to help ourselves immediately after he said yes. It was on our way out, chatting excitedly, our hands and pockets filled with the fruit, that we that we heard a woman’s voice screaming. We turned around to find an old woman running after us and asking us to stop. My first instinct was to run but I held back as I knew my cousins would not. The woman came to us and started talking so fast in Ibo that I could barely understand what she was saying. One of my cousins, Ezi, whispered to me; basically, the woman was saying that she wanted her fruit back. We were surprised as we had never been asked to return any food before but sadly and slowly we emptied our hands and pockets. She also inspected us to be sure that we had dropped all of them before she let us go.

All our initial excitement was turned into disappointment and we recounted our experience to one of our uncles. We described where her compound was and he laughed and told us that she never allowed anyone take anything from her house and that she did not have any friends. It was then that we understood why her tree was still filled up with fruits; we thought about how stingy she was! Just before we went back to bed, Ezi took me aside and showed me an udara fruit.

“Where did you get it from?!” I almost screamed.

“Shh! From that woman’s tree. I hid it”

“Where? But she searched us…”

“Do you want or not?!” Ezi snapped impatiently.

I did not have time to think; I quickly agreed and I must say that was the best tasting udara I have ever had in my life. I was thankful to Ezi for our escapade and we vowed to keep our secret for the rest of our stay in the village.

So it was adventures like this and many others that usually made my travel memorable as well the huge collection of interesting novels in my uncle’s library including ‘the pacesetters’. Now I am grown, I miss such adventures and the other incentives I used to receive during this festive period such as new Christmas clothes, shoes and even new hair! So as I sat in church this year, while I was thankful for the year so far, and also for the years gone by, I secretly wished that I was wearing a new Christmas dress with new matching shoes.

*udara - chrysophyllum albidum

Thank you for reading and following my blog and bella naija stories all year. Have a happy Christmas holiday and catch lots of fun. Best wishes always!

Twitter: vivio_gogo

IG: ugochiukah

BIRTHDAY JOLLY BY ETOH CHINEMERE

Hello Hi,

Xmas is coming and I can only help but think about how fast the year has gone by. I hope your year went as good as you hoped for and even better!

My last bellanaija article can be found here. Today, I am posting a feature from My. Etoh, a talented writer (happy belated birthday by the way :) ). So please, as usual, enjoy and share with your friends and feel free to leave your comments below in the comment sections.

BIRTHDAY JOLLY

All my life, I have always looked for a time and an age where I would invite my friends over for a chill out or for a party. All my birthdays starts and ends with wishes, and wishes, and more wishes, and worse case scenarios, members of my family forget I was even celebrating. It’s been this way so much that I now considered it a ‘culture’, my way of life, until my last birthday.

I had hopped on an okada* with my weight pressing hard on the seat as I landed my buttocks against the wet chair. I knew I couldn’t get any wetter than I already was, and even though I knew I couldn’t hide from the rain, I was sure to make the okada man pay for my sins. So I shrugged behind him and made sure no part of me was seen by this bad-belle rain.

Sometimes I wondered how these okada-men drove in the rain, I wondered how they saw the road, and worse still, they also drive in same conditions at night. I knew it was extremely dangerous, at least the risk of slipping and landing inside a ditch was high; but for once I had never cared. I had been riding on this means of transportation all my life, it somehow was a part of me, and sometimes I wished I could travel on bikes to the village. That was how complicated my okada life was.

Just about ten seconds into the journey, my phone started to ring hysterically. I was pissed especially because I knew how important the call was, but I couldn’t answer it while on the bike, and under the rain. It was Uncle Ugonna’s call, and I was sure he was calling to know my location at the moment. He had promised to make my birthday a memorable one, and an hour back he had called to tell me to come and take twenty thousand Naira, ‘so at least you can arrange some drinks with your guys’ he had said and then dropped the call.

That money at this moment seemed like the whole Nigerian budget to me. I could swear I had lost touch of such kind of cash, and although I knew he was capable of doing ten times much more than he already did, I decided to accept this with both hands and my legs.

“Young man, where are you?” was the first thing I heard even before the phone reached my ear.

“I’m close to your house sir” I shouted on top of my voice ensuring he heard every bit of what I said.

“Hmmmm…ok…if I don’t see you in the next five minutes, I’m going out, and I would leave with the cash” he hung up immediately the last word dropped.

If there was one thing I knew about my uncle, it was that he never joked with timing, and he meant whatever he said over the phone.

And to ensure I got a happy ending over my uncle’s search for discipline, I tapped the okada-man on his right shoulder, and said loudly, “kai malam, fire this okada!”

And without even letting the words sink into his ears, he responded “yowa mutumina.” He seemed happy and over-joyed after I gave the command, and truthfully, he started to fly. I knew he was over-speeding, I knew it was dangerous considering the weather condition and that it was night, I also knew that if something happens, we both might not be spared; but despite all this knowledge, I still couldn’t stop or slow him down. I needed to get that cash, I needed to party and eat with my friends, I needed to buy a present for myself and most of all, I needed to have cash. All these together made me the biggest fool at that time. I was a fool on my birthday, and yes, even though I now understand the gravity of my actions at that time, I still fail to understand how I survived the crash that came our way less than a minute after I had urged the okada-man to end our existence.

I woke up some days later with all manner of wires penetrating into my skin, and I was bandaged like Lazarus in the tomb. People from all works of life had come to see me in the hospital, but uncle Ugonna. I’d like to think he hasn’t yet heard the unfortunate news his calls brought about. I was crushed and bed-ridden, but I could still swear that I needed that money. People came and stayed and went, but no one’s attention was most needed like that of my assassin Uncle. I looked out for him amongst the dozens that trooped in to offer their heartfelt and warmth pity for me. I didn’t feel any pain, and even if I did, I was so less worried about it, all I still needed was that cash that prompted all this.

*okada - Motorbike for public transportation

yowa mutumina – okay, my friend

Enjoy the rest of your week. x

Twitter: @vivio_gogo

IG: @ugochiukah