Idyllic Kaduna

I realised today that it has been a week since I posted something new on my blog and even worse, I couldn’t think of anything to write about nor did I feel like I gave enough of a damn about anything to actually blog about it. So I reached out to fellow blogger Noni Moss for some help. After a few rather unhelpful suggestions: Her: ‘Write about politics’. Me: ‘Erm okay, vague much?’ She e-mailed me this rather good suggestion: ‘You can blog about your experiences in Nigeria - North vs. South. Give us southerners and typical Lagosians an insight into life in the North that is otherwise a clouded stereotypical view of bush illiterate Northerners with no amenities’. After I had finished bristling at that description of the North, I laughed and started write, so thanks Noni Moss!

I’m not going to compare the North and South because they’re very different, and also, I only lived in the South (Lagos) for a year so I don’t think I could write an informed piece about what it is like to grow up there.

I was born in Kaduna and spent the next nine years of my life there. What did I like the most? Well for starters, I loved our house. It wasn’t the biggest house in the world, but it is the only house that my dad actually built (that I know of and that I lived in). It was a bungalow (my parents didn’t think steps were safe for children) that in itself was very quaint but the absolute best thing about that house was the garden. My dad was the first to build in that part of Kaduna and he had secured a huge piece of land. Our house could have fit into the garden about ten times. It had a gravel road leading from the gates to the garage and behind the garage were the boys’ quarters. We also had a chicken farm, a farm that my grand dad set up for us when he came to visit, a strawberry patch, a small vineyard and our absolute favourite to play in, two pagodas linked together. One of them had a bar and we had all our birthday parties in them. We also played in them incessantly and it was the first place all our friends wanted to go to when they came to our house. We also had four dogs; Stella, Lina, Peggy and Speaky and a cat; Jemaima in the years we lived there. Jemaima was a Siamese cat who had been castrated and as a result was enormous. We had taken her and Stella in from some British friends of my father’s who were moving back to England and she never ever liked anyone except my father. We never saw her except for when my dad came back from work. He would go to his room, take off his shoes, go and sit in his chair with his legs stretched out in front of him and one of the house girls would bring him his food. Then, and only then, would she come into the house and sit on his outstretched feet. And as soon as he finished eating, she would get up and leave the house to return the next day at the same time.

I loved that house!

But it wasn’t just the house I loved. Kaduna was a great place to grow up. We had so many opportunities I don’t know if we would have had if we had lived anywhere else. We took French lessons at Alliance Francais and had piano lessons down the road from there. We had Sunday lunch at the rugby club and had Karate lessons and ate suya at Kaduna Club. We took swimming lessons at Hamdala hotel and had English breakfasts with our favourite uncle at the Durbar hotel when he was in town. We watched my dad perform in ‘Oklahoma’ and ‘Ali Baba and the Forty Thieves’ at the British Council. He was the peddler in one and the leader of the forty thieves in the other, if you’re interested. And we had so many amazing friends. Gosha and Danny, Susan, Samantha and Victoria, Sandra, Iko and Sylvia, all of whom we went to Essence International school with before my dad decided that the standard of education in private schools wasn’t up to scratch and sent us off to Air force school! Itohan, Ayo and Tunde, Isioma, Ogadi and Ngozi, Kaltume and Yakaka, Dili and Akalaka are all faces that made my childhood the amazing experience it was.

I know people talk about the North being backwards but I don’t think that’s an accurate assessment by any means. At the time, all the Northern factions of the embassies were based in Kaduna, Kano had an international airport, a cinema was built in Kaduna over 10 years ago and we had all the hypermarkets that are only just now springing up in Lagos.

I can’t possibly talk about my childhood without talking about Zaria. My Yaya and Papou (Grandma and Granddad) lived in Zaria and we spent all our school holidays there playing with the Greek boys that lived round the corner and eating my Yaya’s famous home-made ice cream while they marvelled at the fact that we would watch ‘The Sound of Music’ and ‘Oklahoma’ at least once a day everyday without getting bored. They had one house as well that stands out as being amazing to stay in. It had gorgeous rosebushes and a tire swing round the back. My Yaya is always telling us the story about how Papou was supposed to take us for dinner to our favourite Lebanese restaurant one evening and he came back really late from the farm so by the time he had a shower and drove us to the restaurant we were ravenous. Being the little impatient children we were, we filled up on the bread and hummus and by the time the main meal arrived (huge chicken kebabs if I remember correctly), we were stuffed and had even fallen asleep. Since we didn’t touch our food, my Yaya asked my Papou to ask the waiter to wrap it up so we could take it home with us. My Papou, being somewhat shy, didn’t want to say it was for the children so he said we wanted the left overs for the dogs. No harm, no foul … till the next afternoon when Yaya unwrapped the package in the fridge to serve it to three children and found out it was a pile of bones. I guess the poor people in the restaurant were like ‘Look at these yeye white people, they want to take good meat and feed it to their dogs, please jo, dogs eat bones!’

Anybody who knows me knows that I’m adamant that I’ll never ever move back to Nigeria. What they don’t know is that I’d move back in a heartbeat to Kaduna if it had remained exactly the same as it was when we grew up there.

A Question of Colour

I was having a conversation with a couple of friends, I can’t remember for the life of me what we were talking about but I'm going to take a wild guess and say we (or I) was talking about how I never meet guys. One of them turned to me and said, 'please, like you have a problem meeting guys. I have seen the amount of attention you get from men'. I explained to her that because I'm mixed race, I do get attention from guys but it's only because of the colour of my skin. She was very surprised to hear this because she honestly never thought of it that way. My other friend who was there is very blessed in the chest area and she felt it was the same situation she was in, the first thing guys noticed about her were her breasts and she’d actually spoken to guys who she was sure had no idea what her face looked like because they were too busy drooling at her cleavage. We ended up getting into a conversation about how being 'fair skinned' is on par with having big boobs or a nice ass ... guys can't help but react to you.

I grew up in Kaduna where being light skinned was never really an issue as there are lots of inter-racial families and also many of the Hausa people are quite fair. We moved to Benin when I was about 10 and I went to boarding school there. Apart from the fact that the most popular boys and girls in the senior class instantly appointed themselves mine and my siblings’ school mothers and fathers, I didn't particularly feel like I stood out or that I got any excessive attention in my time there. It was when I moved to Lagos when I was 13 that it all began properly. I went to ISL for a year and I must have been chatted up by no less than 6 boys on my very first day at the school, everybody knew who I was and I honestly can't count the number of times Uni Lag boys would drive by after school and park their cars down the road and either beckon me over to try and talk to me, or send another student to give me a message. I remember one sports day, this boy and his friend followed me around the entire evening, I mean they literally walked behind me for the entire time I was there. It wasn't just the guys though. I became a bit of an enigma amongst girls of QC as well. It started off with them not liking me because they thought I had stolen a QC girl's boyfriend even though I don’t do guys with girlfriends. This girl was very popular so the SS1 girls decided en masse that they hated me and during their Interhouse sports day, it was rumoured that they had bought water pistols and were going to spray me with them if I dared to show my face. Fast forward to a few months later, I met a cousin of mine for the first time who happened to be in my year at QC, she asked about the whole thing, I told her what happened and she made it her mission to clear my name at QC. Because they had hated me for several months and they now realised that I hadn't actually stolen this girl’s boyfriend, they became friendly instead. I remember going to this party once, and we were standing around outside for a while when my friends and I decided to go for a walk. A friend of mine called to me saying, 'hey B, wait up!' when I heard one of the QC girls also hanging around say, 'Is that B, is that B? Oh my God, I can't believe we are at the same party and we haven’t even talked.’ Lol ... I still smile about that now. A male friend of mine revealed to me a couple of years ago that there was a bet going round amongst some ISL boys about who would date me first. To drive my point home, let me explain that at that time, I was painfully shy around people I didn’t know, I didn't go to parties that much, nor did I go out with any of the bad/popular boys (parties and dating/’cutting show’ with the bad boys were usually the determining factor as to how popular a girl was). Basically, I became as popular and/or notorious as I did because of the fact that I was mixed race.

Now I'm not saying that the colour of my skin is the only thing about me that guys find attractive. I scrub up pretty well but when it comes down to it, while I know I'm hot, I'm also very aware that I'm not that hot. My skin colour is definitely a defining factor. Though I've been told that it's not just about skin colour but the whole package that comes along with mixed race girls like long hair.

Don't get me wrong, I'm not complaining about it and I've accepted that it is the way it is. I'm just curious about why it is this way. And before anyone even thinks of leaving a comment along the lines of ‘please jare, like you don’t like all the attention. Ptcheew.’ Let me point out that I am that rare breed of girl who actually doesn’t like attention. At least not from anyone I don’t actually give a damn about, and random guys hitting on me on the street definitely fall into this category. Also as a girl, I would say the chances of any guy hitting on you being slightly dateable is about 50:50 so how come in my entire 12 years of being hit on, I’ve only ever come across like 3 halfway decent guys? In my opinion, there are very few advantages to getting lots of attention.

Anyway, back to the point of this post, I'm curious about why it is this way. A guy I was seeing once had a well documented attraction for light-skinned girls and his response was that we were different and that's why he was attracted to us. Why do guys like light skinned girls? Let's flip the script as well because I know a few girls who just can't resist a mixed race guy. So girls, why do you like light skinned guys? And is being attracted to fair girls/guys the same as liking girls with big boobs/asses and guys with dimples/muscles?

I Miss having Someone

I miss having someone

Someone who doesn’t have to find me interesting, or find me funny, or even care what I think
And yet he is fascinated by everything I say, and he can’t help the burst of laughter that escapes him every time I make a joke, and he always wants to know my opinion

I miss having someone

Someone who I think I’ve told everything to, and yet he finds new ways to learn even more
Someone I spend hours talking to on the phone and then curse in jest as I fall asleep at my desk
Someone who can make a grasp of my hand feel like the most illicit thrill of all
Someone who can make my entire night simply by being in the same room

I miss having someone
I miss holding hands
I miss kissing
I miss the naughty touching

I miss having someone who can always figure me out, even when I really don’t want him to
I miss having someone who knows all my dreams and fears even better than I do
I miss having someone who knows when to give me my space, and when to hold me so close I feel like he might never let go

I miss having someone

And then I ask myself, ‘how can I miss something I never had?’

Me v. Olawunmi: A little matter about a pre-nup.

I was out a couple of months ago for a friend’s leaving do. It was at a lovely bar; all white sofas and overpriced cocktails. In the corner was a huge TV screen and glued to it, (like a certain someone that night to her GQ cocktails) was a fellow blogger, and a very good one at that; Olawunmi. We fumbled through a conversation during which I must have made the terrible faux pas of commenting on his watching a game on a night out, when he turned to me just long to say: 'Have you read my blog on pre-nups. I'm having a clause included saying that my wife will have to allow me to watch all and any sports on TV in peace'. Can I point out here that his team wasn't even playing, though apparently, that is completely irrelevant as guys are capable of being extremely interested in any football game, regardless of who is playing. As a relatively new convert to Olawunmi's fascinating and incredibly well-written blog, I had been catching up on previous entries and had not come across said post yet.

So I was at work, kinda bored and I decided to dig into his blog archives and guess what I find? The infamous blog entitled 'I am going to get lynched for this'. Now, I know from the number of comments left by other women that I'm not the only one who has something to say about this, so here goes ...

I don’t normally agree with pre-nups. At least not the kind protecting somebody’s wealth or guaranteeing that a party benefits if the marriage fails. I’m not going to marry anybody who truly believes that I’ll try and take him for all he’s worth if we split up. I also wouldn’t marry somebody if I felt they would squeeze me dry given half a chance. Call me naïve, but I’d much rather be proven wrong time and again than never have that faith in the person I marry in the first place. I do however, find the concept of a pre-nup protecting certain relationship ‘rights’ intriguing. What follows is not so much my pre-nup but rather a reply to Olawunmi’s conditions which I think are probably typical of the average guys’.

One question first. Why is divorce such a dirty word? I hope and pray when I get married, it is for ever but you know what, shit happens. I believe in trying to make it work and I hate to see couples who have not yet tried everything else resort to divorce. On the other hand though, everyone has some limits; some things that they just won't put up with and I don't think there's any harm in making these known. Mine are infidelity and my husband hitting me. Everything else we'll work through. At least the man that marries me will know that if he cheats, and I find out, then it's over. It's not like I didn't warn him and he can't say he didn’t know what would happen if he got caught. Likewise, I would like to know what his deal breaker is, so I can do everything in my power to avoid committing it.

TV rights, my husband will be more than welcome to. But I will be insisting on a second (equally flash and expensive) TV for myself where I can watch my ‘24’, ‘Sex and the City’ and ‘Lost’ in peace. And it better be hooked up to Sky+ as well! If however, he happens to like some of the same shows as me, and it's that time every four years when the World cup is on and I actually care about football, then there's no harm in letting me cuddle up on our comfy sofa with him so we can actually get some couple time together. My future husband, please note that we'll both be busy professionals who are unlikely to have much ahem, 'personal time' together during the week, so if you'd rather spend your weekends in front of the TV, rather than in bed with me, then that's your prerogative, just don't let me hear you complaining about how you don’t get any! And please don't use the whole 'At least you know where I am. Would you rather I was out with my boys?' justification for your sports addiction. I don't care if you go out with your boys. You might as well go out with your boys for all the attention I'll get from you when there’s football on. In fact, I insist you go out with your boys, because I'm going to be making time for my girls. I'm a firm believer in having time apart from each other as well as time together .This brings me nicely to my next point.

I insist on some quality time together. We should try as much as possible to have dinner together and maybe have date night where it's just the two of us doing what we did in the beginning. A chance for me to get dolled up for him and to be treated like a princess again (though I’ve never dated a guy who treated me like a princess in the first place, hmm). Speaking of dinner; the food issue is a big one for me. Actually, the whole home maker issue is huge. While I can cook and clean with the best of them, I have every intention of working full-time and cannot see the logic of leaving the house and returning at the same time as my husband, and then he goes to put his feet up in front of whatever sporting event is on, while I slave away in the kitchen to cook dinner, and then wash up after while he catches the highlights of the very same game he watched earlier! No, no, no. It is not happening! We will split the work 50-50. Yes, you heard me, 50 -50! We will take it in turns to do all cooking and other housework! Before the lynch mob turns its attention to me, let me explain. He doesn't actually have to cook. He can order take away, hire a cook, take us out for dinner, I really don't mind. As long as there is food on the table when it is his turn to provide food, we will have no problems. If I go hungry however, that is a whole different matter; and I will not be held accountable for my actions.

Honey, have your toys as long as I can have mine. This will come as no surprise but my toys include shoes, bags and lots of clothes and in the interest of my husband's sanity and my safety (as Olawunmi so eloquently put it), I will have perfected the art of hiding new purchases as well as all evidence that might incriminate me. And when I wear that insanely beautiful Roland Mouret dress (no copies because we'll be able to afford the real thing) for dinner with him and he comments on how sexy it looks; I'll say with very real conviction: ' This old thing? Thank you baby. I must have lost weight since I bought it all those years ago which is why it fits so well'.

Finally, on the issue of video hos; sorry, I mean the 'works of art' flaunted on MTV Base. Please, he should watch to his heart's content. I have to admit to a certain fondness for Keifer Sutherland and Michael Ealy so all's fair in love and TV totty. As long as we don't compare each other or make each other feel insecure, then I think it's actually healthy to be able to 'appreciate' the female or male form in front of your partner.

I don't think I have been unreasonable ... so, what's the verdict? Am I resigned to a life alone?

A Random Thought I woke up with this morning

I have no idea why, but this morning I woke up thinking about people that put you down or constantly try and enter into competition with you.

I don’t know why I woke up with this thought because my brain doesn’t usually work in the mornings (why else would I have woken up one random morning singing ‘Ice Ice baby? ) and I have no idea why on this particular morning because I’m exhausted and feel fluey and even though it’s now 14:27pm, my brain still isn’t working.

Anyway, back to this thought of mine. I got to thinking about competitive friends with one particular friend in mind. As an aside, I realised while I was thinking about this that I don’t have many friends who I feel are competitive towards me so for that, I should be grateful. This friend of mine is absolutely lovely and while she is competitive and very successful by nature, it’s not something that is normally a feature of our relationship. However every once in a while, she’ll make some comment. Sometimes it’s as random a comment as ‘your laptop must be really old, it’s so much heavier than mine even though it is much smaller. Mine must be much better.’ and on that occasion I actually called her on it and said, ‘Yes, my laptop is old and your laptop is better but so what? Why do you feel the need to point it out? Are we having some laptop competition I am oblivious to?’ Often though, it comes up in reference to this pasta dish I gave her the recipe for and taught her how to make. Now she makes it very often and is sure to point out every time I make it, that hers tastes different (read better) and when she makes it amongst people who have tried both mine and hers, she’s makes a point of asking them which one is better. Now this isn’t a big deal at all, and it doesn’t bother me but it occurred to me yesterday that maybe it should. Because the problem with competition is that it is never friendly. Competition implies a winner and a loser and anyone who instigates conscious competition, does it with the intention of winning and hence proving their competition to be a loser. And this is what I have a problem with, someone trying to prove me to be a loser … why do they feel the need to do that? Please note that my problem isn’t with the fact that I can lose. I am not great at everything. In fact, I am bad at a lot of stuff.

The more I thought about it, the more I realised that I would never ever do the same to her or anyone else. If she truly believes her pasta dish is better, why does she need me to know it before she can be happy about it? Surely, the fact that it’s better should give her enough satisfaction. Hence my previous point, she only feels good about that particular achievement after she has made me feel bad. I know it seems trivial talking about food and I admit the whole thing is rather silly which is why I would never even bring it up with her. But to make my point, let’s talk about war. In the days of bloody wars complete with raping and pillaging, surely the fact that the winner had now acquired the losing territory was enough victory. For them to go to their prisons and start to tell their captives details of what they had done with their land and women would be low by any standard.

Now I am as competitive as the next person but honestly truly, it’s only with myself. I don’t give a damn how badly someone else is doing at work or how much they have let themselves go or how many failed relationships they have had because it doesn't make me better at my job, relationships or taking care of myself. In fact, it doesn't reflect on me in anyway. I am my own toughest critic and if I am not happy with myself or the state of my life, I know that I can only fix it from within. Whether I feel good or bad about myself however, I can only ever feel happy for other people’s successes.

Basically, I came to the conclusion that, I shouldn’t be offended by people putting me down, instead I should feel flattered that they feel the need to put themselves in the same competition as me.

I love this girl’s blog … painfully honest, extremely insightful and very funny at times. So in response to Overwhelmed Naija Babe’s tag, here goes:

‘Me’ in 80 Sentences

My favourite food is Thai green chicken curry. My favourite type of food is Thai, or maybe Caribbean, no, definitely Nigerian, or Greek, hmm I do love Italian. I can be indecisive. I’m 5’4” and a bit. People think I’m smaller. I’ve read more books than anyone else I know. Reading isn’t as much of a pleasure as is used to be. I wish James Patterson would take the time and write only really great thrillers like he used to, instead of churning out five mediocre books a year. I’ll only commit to watching a film if I think I’ll like it. I can’t help thinking that 2 hours is a long time to never get back. I’ll never walk out of a film I don’t like, no matter how boring it is. The only book I have never finished is ‘Perfume’. I have watched ‘The notebook’ about 25 times. I get shivers down my spine every time. I speak Greek. I wish I spoke Spanish. It’s a sexy language. I want to have twins; a boy and a girl. My favourite perfume is Stella McCartney’s Stella. It used to be Estee Lauder’s Pleasures. I desperately want to learn how to surf. I love the ocean. It could be because I’m a Pisces. I love cooking. I hate cleaning but I’m obsessively clean. I hate shopping but I love clothes. I hate the sales but I like a bargain.

I’m always making lists. I think Helena Christiansen is the most beautiful woman in the world. Sexiest man is a toss up between Josh Hartnett and my new favourite guy Wentworth Miller. I like my bum and hate my hips. I like my hair but hate my skin. I think I’m a good person. I think most people consider me to be a good person. My biggest flaw is that I hold other people to the same high standards I expect from myself. Most people would agree. I make the best chocolate brownies in the world. I shared the recipe with my sister and cousin so I guess they make pretty good brownies too. I would love to adopt an Indonesian baby. I have two tattoos. I’ll probably get more. My mum understands me more than anybody else. I thank God everyday for my family because they’re pretty amazing. I don’t go to church as much as I should. I’m making the effort to go more. I wish I could play the guitar. My longest relationship lasted 4 months. It shouldn’t have lasted more than 4 days. I wish I had half as much imagination as JK Rowling does.

I can’t imagine my life without the music of Michelle Branch, Lene Marlin, Boyz II Men, Lionel Richie, Bryan Adams, Damien Rice, Dru Hill and Christina Aguilera. I want to be a book editor when I grow up. I never wanted to be rich. My favourite city in the whole wide world is New York. If I could go anywhere tomorrow, it would be Hawaii. I’m not scared of spiders. I’m terrified of snakes. I have a recurring nightmare that the day before my wedding I realise I’m not in love with my fiancée and I don’t want to marry him. I wait until the wedding day to tell him. I think I might have issues with commitment. I wish I didn’t have issues with commitment. I’m very sarcastic. I can’t help it. I don’t think I’ve ever had a best friend. I don’t mind that I’ve never had a best friend. I don’t wear yellow gold. I cry when I am frustrated. Funnily enough, the only other time I cry is when I’m faced with examples of basic human decency. I always wear trainers. I love that I grew up in Nigeria. I had an amazing childhood. I’ve never been in love.

I really wish Sex and the City hadn’t finished. Grey’s anatomy is good compensation. What about Friends? There’s nothing to compensate for Friends. I read too many magazines. I’ve got my mum addicted to magazines. I like baking even more than I like cooking. I once dated an Indian boy. I wish I could take good photographs. I don’t swear. I have never seen any of the Lord of the Rings or Star Wars movies.

What is your deal breaker?

Can you remember your biggest crush? That person who’d make your day simply by smiling at you. That person who had the ability to incite several hours of conversations with your friends simply by saying hello. ‘He said hi! (Cue high pitched voice and irrational excitement), what do you think he meant by that?’ So imagine that your wildest dreams came true and you got together, what would it take for you to end it? For you to decide that he isn’t the stuff of dreams after all?

I was kinda awkward in my first year of university. I can’t stay I had my style or look sorted yet, and I had taken the plunge just before I started and cut my hair short. Yup, I was awkward to say the least. This guy called Chris lived in the halls of residence next to mine and unlike me, he seemed to know exactly who he was and what he was about. He was tall and lanky, with very dark hair and the most piercing blue eyes. He had the whole surf style going on for him and the most genuine smile. Long story short, my friend told him I thought he was cute and we would smile and say hi to each other. I had the biggest, hugest crush on him. Not only was he gorgeous but he was so nice. However, like most crushes, we didn’t get past a few hi’s that year and I didn’t see him much in my second year.

In my third year, I spent the first semester on an exchange program in Victoria, Canada and came back in my second semester. My sister said to me almost as soon as I got back, ‘this really hot guy that looks just like Freddie Prinze Jnr. thought I was you. Then when I told him I wasn’t, he was asking all about you’. Now, I didn’t think for one second about Chris because honestly, I hadn’t thought about him in over a year. I no longer had a crush on him. A couple of nights later, I went out and Chris came up to me and started chatting to me … I was in seventh heaven. I wasn’t seeing anyone, and all the memories of my greatest ever crush came flooding back. He was still gorgeous, and now I was finding out that he was also funny and smart and interesting and witty and generous (well, he did buy me several drinks). Towards the end of the night, after we’d danced and talked, he said to me, ‘I’d love to kiss you’ and naturally I obliged.

That’s when it all went downhill … he couldn’t kiss if his life depended on it! Now I know that brings up questions like ‘what makes someone a good or a bad kisser?’ Well, first of all, I’ve been told and I know that I’m an amazing kisser, so if I’m not enjoying a kiss then I know it’s not me! Let me try and describe the way he kissed. He went for it with a lot of zeal and put his entire tongue in my mouth with no rhyme or technique to it. It was like kissing a washing machine! Now before I’m accused of being shallow, we met up a few more times and each time we kissed, I would cross my fingers and toes and hope that his technique had improved since we last kissed. I was so desperate that I wouldn’t have given a damn about how he had learned to kiss. No such luck though!

I love kissing, and for me, it’s the most physical I’m going to be getting for a while so it has to be good! I can spend hours kissing somebody I love kissing. Besides, if he can’t kiss, it doesn’t bode well for any future physical relationship. And I really wasn’t in the mood to teach a 21 year old how to kiss so needless to say it ended before it began. Even though he was perfect in every other way.

So, I guess my deal breaker is a bad kisser. What’s yours?