We would drive out of the hospital or whatever this is, in silence. He would drop me off at Tolani’s place – she was the only person I could use to escape from the house. He would then go on to Yolanda and tell her how long his day was and how he was stuck in traffic and she would comfort him while I bled my son’s life out. I would recover in a few months, of course. I would bounce back at school, finish with my 4.0 and travel to an obscure country to hide away from Shola, posting Yolanda’s pictures on snapchat and the gram.
I remember a night she called and was almost in tears, afraid of sleeping in her house because of him and his stalking. I told her to block his number and if he tried contacting her again or as much as step a foot in her house, I would take it up with the authorities. I wasn't thinking of how this was not my business or how no one would stick their neck out like that for me, I just felt like no one should be scaring my friend to death, and it was my duty to help as much as I could
Nnenna, Your father says you’re upset I missed your 18th. You see, these things you do make me laugh, but maybe someday you’ll understand why I work as hard as I do and why I have to go to Africa most of the time. My father did not attend any of my birthdays and that’s putting it nicely, because I didn’t have any birthdays at all, growing up. Now, you kids grow up with birthdays at the park or house parties with friends – I even heard your father let you do this one at the club. Wawu! My child, you have certainly outdone your mother.
Before the year goes fast and everyone forgets their resolutions, I need to chip this in quick. I was reading a post by @diaryofanaijagirl on instagram and she was all about keeping a journal this year and recording three things that you’re thankful for at 10pm daily. I heard about this thing last year, I can't remember where, but the concept was to get a jar, then at the end of each day, write down in a sheet of paper or sticky note, something you're thankful for and put it in the jar.
You know how everyone is excited about the new year and talking about the things they’re dropping in 2017 and all that, blowing up my notifications with how they’re going to be a better person Bla Bla, stop fighting with everyone, bleh… and I’m just here like, Nigerians get too excited
It's a wrap guys, let me know what you guys think in the comment section. This coincides as my last post in 2017. See you in 2018; this is 1nigeriangirl signing out.
The ceremony starts with the young man in question heading to the village market with his machete, sword or big knife, followed by an entourage singing and dancing. It is an age old tradition that young men be initiated into manhood at the village market in honour of whatever god of the market. This has sparked a lot of religious debate and for this reason, after converging at the market, they head to their various churches for blessings, skipping all the traditional rituals and libations that should have been done.
Once, I had a bad fall, an accident if you may. You see, I’m not much of a sports person, I just run a bit, here and there to get by the day. So, my association in church had a sports event to mark the end of the year and it was all fun and games, you didn’t have to know how to play any of the sports, it was just for fun and to celebrate togetherness but well, McClumsy fell.
Hi, I'm Itohan - or should I say, was? You see, if you're reading this, I'm probably dead already. I'm hoping somehow, this letter never gets out, because, obviously. My story is not an interesting one, it won't catch the attention of blogs or social media, I'm just a grain in the heap of sand, … Continue reading MASK OFF : THE LIBYAN STORY
Growing up Nigerian, I heard a lot of stories ,fables and motivational speeches about how beauty was superficial, how the inner something matters the most and how if you were beautiful you had to go the extra mile to prove to the world you had brains to go with it. The logic was simple, you just couldn’t be smart and slay at the same time, the only time the letters SS came together, was in relation to the dreaded condition.