The saga continues...lol!! ( I had to sound like those Nigerian movie annnouncers!!)
Thanks for the comments guys, critiques, and feedback are thoroughly appreciated..so critique away..be it sentence structure, tense, anything... For new readers, the first two installments are below and this is me working on my literary talents. Enjoy!!!!
SEALED GRAVES ©
We had concluded the customary two-week burial rites for Papa, Mama Nkiru had sewn me a black dress for Papa’s funeral and when Mama tried to pay her for it, she shook her head firmly and raised her hand in decline. So Mama nodded her head in understanding knowing it was Mama Nkiru’s own way of showing her sympathy. Three months after they had sealed Papa away, Mama and I collected our mourning garbs and stowed them in a suitcase, then Mama liberally distributed camphor balls in the suitcase before zipping it shut. I left Mama’s room as she hoisted the suitcase atop a stack of more suitcases squeezed into a tight corner of the room; the rains were here and it had been raining all day. I couldn’t wait till evening when the rain subsided and dusk was ushered in by the cool zephyr that was the certain aftermath of the seemingly endless rain. I anticipated turning on the kitchen lights and watching as winged termites descended in a swarm on the electric bulbs.
Ralu had taught me how to catch them last year; he had put his hand over mine as I nervously grasped the wings of a termite with my thumb and forefinger and promptly drowned it in a bowl of water. That night our bowls had been brimming with termites dancing in water, we had sat together in companionable silence as we tore the wings off their soft bodies and when we were done we handed them to Aunty Ezinne who fried them till they were a crunchy golden brown. She gave them back to us wrapped in newspaper, oil seeping through the thin sheets. Ralu had popped one in his mouth immediately the newspaper touched his palm and as he swallowed he made a low guttural sound that Aunty Ezinne nodded to and replied “You are welcome”. He then smiled at me encouragingly, urging me to try one as the corners of his mouth turned up in a grin. I ended up not trying one but eating the whole of my share and half of Ralu’s. I liked the rich, curious taste of the insects and the characteristic tang the groundnut oil it was fried in gave it.
Thursday, March 5, 2009
Thursday, February 26, 2009
My story contnd'
Hey guys, thanks for all the comments!!! thoroughly appreciate...At the end of the installments, I'll be asking you guys to critique the story, so please make a mental note of your critiques for all the installments..or you could just tell me now..either way works for me. Well, here is installment II enjoy (to my now live audience.lol)!!!
Sealed Graves contnd (COPYRIGHT!!!! cannot be reproduced people, borrowed, and all d ish..)
I watched Mama walk into our house, Aunty Ezinne had her arm around her waist and Mama Caro was holding her hand and leading her to the door. As I lay on my mat that night, I tossed and turned endlessly, unable to sleep I reached for the kerosene lamp and with one strike of the match box I had the wick of the lantern burning brightly. I looked down at my lap, little flesh triangles and lines covered it, Papa called it mat print. He said if I ever stopped sleeping like I was fighting a war then maybe I would not wake up every morning with impressions of the mat’s design temporarily etched in my flesh. I looked across the room, by the window sat my white plastic chair, bare. I stared at it for a while trying to decipher what was so wrong about its austerity, no light bulb illuminated my head, so I lay back on the mat, my knees bunched up, my arms forming a pillow for my head, and my eyes fixed intensely on the ceiling tiles as if there lay the answer to the chair’s mystery.
The light streaming in from the window and the cock’s incessant crowing woke me up, and then it hit me. It was Sunday and my chair was bare, Papa had forgotten to tell me to polish my shoes and iron my clothes with the charcoal iron and that was why my Sunday clothes were not laid out on the white chair. I sprang from my bed, eager to get to the bathroom before Papa caught me and began his speech about preparation and success. I turned the knob of the bathroom door, my towel in hand and realized that my bucket was empty. The empty bucket had just added another thirty minutes to Papa’s lecture, I could already hear him “Golibe, how many times will I tell you ehn? Fetch water for tomorrow the night before, iron your school clothes a week in advance, you can never be over-prepared. “A tuoro omara omara, a tuoro ofeke o fenye isi n’ohia – If you tell a wise one, he understands; tell a dunce, he runs into the bush.” Papa’s proverbs always made me cringe; their delivery was like a blow only more piercing. I snatched the bucket by its handle and made my way quickly to the tap outside the house, there I met Papa only he was not standing, his arms folded across his breasts with that remarkable frown pasted on his face. He lay beneath clay and limestone. It was there I finally broke down, my tears falling like torrential rain. On Papa’s grave were blocks of cement and bricklayers wearing cement bags fashioned into hats were mixing mortar beside it. Their bodies were grey with cement dust and most of them wore only shorts, one with a pot belly and a pen stuck behind his ear was yelling above the dust and the sound of cement bags slapping the ground. I assumed he was their supervisor, I watched as grey dust snaked up his nostrils and engulfed him, wondering how he could breathe with all the dust, and then I heard him “We must finish today o! and put the tombstone” he shouted. It was then an agonizing scream tore itself from my throat, they were sealing Papa in a grave, how would he ever come back now? I stood immobile, my tears blinding me, reality setting in, someone had their arms around me, and I knew instinctively it was Aunty Ezinne she always smelled liked a fusion of Saturday Night powder and pepper soup spices. She held me to her, hugging me tightly “E besina Gogo Don’t cry Gogo” she crooned. My tears fell profusely, continuously, I cried for myself and for Papa and I knew then that he was never coming back.
Sealed Graves contnd (COPYRIGHT!!!! cannot be reproduced people, borrowed, and all d ish..)
I watched Mama walk into our house, Aunty Ezinne had her arm around her waist and Mama Caro was holding her hand and leading her to the door. As I lay on my mat that night, I tossed and turned endlessly, unable to sleep I reached for the kerosene lamp and with one strike of the match box I had the wick of the lantern burning brightly. I looked down at my lap, little flesh triangles and lines covered it, Papa called it mat print. He said if I ever stopped sleeping like I was fighting a war then maybe I would not wake up every morning with impressions of the mat’s design temporarily etched in my flesh. I looked across the room, by the window sat my white plastic chair, bare. I stared at it for a while trying to decipher what was so wrong about its austerity, no light bulb illuminated my head, so I lay back on the mat, my knees bunched up, my arms forming a pillow for my head, and my eyes fixed intensely on the ceiling tiles as if there lay the answer to the chair’s mystery.
The light streaming in from the window and the cock’s incessant crowing woke me up, and then it hit me. It was Sunday and my chair was bare, Papa had forgotten to tell me to polish my shoes and iron my clothes with the charcoal iron and that was why my Sunday clothes were not laid out on the white chair. I sprang from my bed, eager to get to the bathroom before Papa caught me and began his speech about preparation and success. I turned the knob of the bathroom door, my towel in hand and realized that my bucket was empty. The empty bucket had just added another thirty minutes to Papa’s lecture, I could already hear him “Golibe, how many times will I tell you ehn? Fetch water for tomorrow the night before, iron your school clothes a week in advance, you can never be over-prepared. “A tuoro omara omara, a tuoro ofeke o fenye isi n’ohia – If you tell a wise one, he understands; tell a dunce, he runs into the bush.” Papa’s proverbs always made me cringe; their delivery was like a blow only more piercing. I snatched the bucket by its handle and made my way quickly to the tap outside the house, there I met Papa only he was not standing, his arms folded across his breasts with that remarkable frown pasted on his face. He lay beneath clay and limestone. It was there I finally broke down, my tears falling like torrential rain. On Papa’s grave were blocks of cement and bricklayers wearing cement bags fashioned into hats were mixing mortar beside it. Their bodies were grey with cement dust and most of them wore only shorts, one with a pot belly and a pen stuck behind his ear was yelling above the dust and the sound of cement bags slapping the ground. I assumed he was their supervisor, I watched as grey dust snaked up his nostrils and engulfed him, wondering how he could breathe with all the dust, and then I heard him “We must finish today o! and put the tombstone” he shouted. It was then an agonizing scream tore itself from my throat, they were sealing Papa in a grave, how would he ever come back now? I stood immobile, my tears blinding me, reality setting in, someone had their arms around me, and I knew instinctively it was Aunty Ezinne she always smelled liked a fusion of Saturday Night powder and pepper soup spices. She held me to her, hugging me tightly “E besina Gogo Don’t cry Gogo” she crooned. My tears fell profusely, continuously, I cried for myself and for Papa and I knew then that he was never coming back.
Sunday, February 22, 2009
My story....
It's official my blog is moribund!! I'm so sad!!!!! no comments??? why???????????
Anyhow..here is a story I wrote..will be posting in sections till the end..enjoy (to my invisible readers) more sobbing!!!
SEALED GRAVES (COPYRIGHT!!!!! cannot be reproduced...and the rest of the ish)
Mama was rolling on the ground and beating her head in despair. “Di m o! My husband!” she screamed again and again, “Chukwu na mo! Ebe ki no? My God! Where are you”. Mama Caro and Aunty Ezinne, our neighbors, struggled to pull her up, each time she was halfway up she would fall back to the earth screaming “hapu m, tata a ga m anwu! Leave me, today I will die!” Her black blouse and wrapper were cloaked in red earth; the wrinkled skin of her feet a dusty red. Behind her Ikenna and Uzo lowered the wooden casket into the grave that had been dug, Father Anthony stood a few feet away from them clutching his missal to his chest his other arm extended over the casket making the sign of the cross. A fine sheen of sweat covered his forehead and rays from the sun bounced off his shiny bald head. As I watched them put Papa in the ground, I remembered Ralu telling me that Father Anthony was not godly at all. He said he had seen the collar of his cassock and it had brown streaks of dirt all around it, and Father Anthony could not possibly be godly because Sister Eusebius who taught him Moral Instruction had said that cleanliness is next to godliness.
So I ran, straight at Father Anthony intent on pushing him to the ground and showing everyone that he was not as chaste as the white cassock led them to believe. Let them see him as his white became mud red, as I lunged at him throwing my weight in the direction of his mid torso, open arms and a warm embrace intercepted my flailing arms. He scooped me up and placed my head on his chest, it was then I saw Mama advancing, a tired frown on her face. “Golibe” she called, the way she did when she was exasperated. Underneath her languorous tone I could hear her screaming in a fit of rage “You will not kill me o! Golibe! Mba nu!” like when I broke her vase from England, but this was different Father Anthony should not be praying over Papa’s body, he was ungodly. I looked up from Father Anthony’s chest and there stood Mama, her weary eyes alive with anger. As she tried to take me from his arms, Father Anthony said softly to her in Igbo “Rapu ya, o bu nwatakili, o maro ihe n’eme Leave her alone, she is a child, she doesn’t know what is happening.” So Mama left me in his arms and later he put me down as he shoved the spade into the earth “dust to dust” he said lifting mounds of red earth and scattering it on the wooden casket. He beckoned to Mama who came near the grave and rolled up the sleeves of her blouse, sweat trickled down her brow and mingled with her tears as she too lifted the spade and drove it into the earth and then scattered its contents on the casket. But Father Anthony was wrong; I did know what was happening. I knew that Papa was in the wooden coffin and Mama had just thrown sand on him.
Anyhow..here is a story I wrote..will be posting in sections till the end..enjoy (to my invisible readers) more sobbing!!!
SEALED GRAVES (COPYRIGHT!!!!! cannot be reproduced...and the rest of the ish)
Mama was rolling on the ground and beating her head in despair. “Di m o! My husband!” she screamed again and again, “Chukwu na mo! Ebe ki no? My God! Where are you”. Mama Caro and Aunty Ezinne, our neighbors, struggled to pull her up, each time she was halfway up she would fall back to the earth screaming “hapu m, tata a ga m anwu! Leave me, today I will die!” Her black blouse and wrapper were cloaked in red earth; the wrinkled skin of her feet a dusty red. Behind her Ikenna and Uzo lowered the wooden casket into the grave that had been dug, Father Anthony stood a few feet away from them clutching his missal to his chest his other arm extended over the casket making the sign of the cross. A fine sheen of sweat covered his forehead and rays from the sun bounced off his shiny bald head. As I watched them put Papa in the ground, I remembered Ralu telling me that Father Anthony was not godly at all. He said he had seen the collar of his cassock and it had brown streaks of dirt all around it, and Father Anthony could not possibly be godly because Sister Eusebius who taught him Moral Instruction had said that cleanliness is next to godliness.
So I ran, straight at Father Anthony intent on pushing him to the ground and showing everyone that he was not as chaste as the white cassock led them to believe. Let them see him as his white became mud red, as I lunged at him throwing my weight in the direction of his mid torso, open arms and a warm embrace intercepted my flailing arms. He scooped me up and placed my head on his chest, it was then I saw Mama advancing, a tired frown on her face. “Golibe” she called, the way she did when she was exasperated. Underneath her languorous tone I could hear her screaming in a fit of rage “You will not kill me o! Golibe! Mba nu!” like when I broke her vase from England, but this was different Father Anthony should not be praying over Papa’s body, he was ungodly. I looked up from Father Anthony’s chest and there stood Mama, her weary eyes alive with anger. As she tried to take me from his arms, Father Anthony said softly to her in Igbo “Rapu ya, o bu nwatakili, o maro ihe n’eme Leave her alone, she is a child, she doesn’t know what is happening.” So Mama left me in his arms and later he put me down as he shoved the spade into the earth “dust to dust” he said lifting mounds of red earth and scattering it on the wooden casket. He beckoned to Mama who came near the grave and rolled up the sleeves of her blouse, sweat trickled down her brow and mingled with her tears as she too lifted the spade and drove it into the earth and then scattered its contents on the casket. But Father Anthony was wrong; I did know what was happening. I knew that Papa was in the wooden coffin and Mama had just thrown sand on him.
Monday, February 9, 2009
Little Someone and I contnd' (might want to read entry below first)
Somebody help me o! blogger does self editing and takes out chunks of what i've written when i'm done posting..leaving blank spaces..any suggestions????
Looking at this poem now, I'm thinking my little someone is probably anorexic, plus crackers and soup ? Why couldn't it be Garri and Ofe Onubu? ok..something light..plaintain chips.lol. My mind was really fascinated by the American/British culture. I recall wanting to taste and feel snow. (I have.lol!) But,that's story for another day joo...
Looking at this poem now, I'm thinking my little someone is probably anorexic, plus crackers and soup ? Why couldn't it be Garri and Ofe Onubu? ok..something light..plaintain chips.lol. My mind was really fascinated by the American/British culture. I recall wanting to taste and feel snow. (I have.lol!) But,that's story for another day joo...
Saturday, February 7, 2009
My Little someone and I.
Hey Guys!! Happy New Year!!!! Here's hoping the new year brings many wonderful things and it is indeed a year of unspeakable joy for us all. Amen!
Ok, so I know I haven't come back to finish my series *On love, crushes, and jeans* but I will be back..It's just two more to go and it features crushes even on blogsville (scandalous eh?)..so hopefully, I'll get it done. For now, here is a poem I wrote when I was 17, I was (almost) fresh out of high school, ok, not really - a year out of high school, my inspiration? My t.v hugging cousin. Enjoy! P.S - I didn't change anything..this is what my 17-year old mind came up with.
MY LITTLE SOMEONE & I
I'm frustrated, on the verge of insanity all because...
I know a little someone who's up till 3a.m and funny enough when I wake at dawn,
he was up an hour before.
It's puzzling and I can't comprehend it, how my little someone does it.
He's awake at 5, sets out at 6, and by 7 he's in his chair
Punching numbers on his keyboard, picking the phone that's always ringing, attending to people as they walk in and out of his office.
I wonder how he isn't crazy!
He skips lunch as always, he says he's keeping fit, he sits back in his chair sipping mineral water, his fingers working steadily on his computer.
Soon the day is over, he jumps into the seat of his Rover, he starts back home where he eventually has a light dinner - crackers and soup, sometimes a bowl or two. (Only on weekends does my little someone indulge, he has breakfast, lunch, and dinner!)
When he's done eating, he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand.
Soon he's seated on the cushion facing the T.V, he so loves the movies one would think he was born with them. Now he has his bottle in one hand, the other is on the remote, I don't even bother trying 'cos I know the T.V's taken till three.
So there he sits watching the people and the movies, I really don't know what's so interesting.
I don't get to see him sleep but at dawn when I wake, he was awake long before
I've tried, really tried to understand but my brain just can't process this data. He's an enigma that isn't unfolding. A mystery so very frustrating.
Doctors say you need 7 hours sleep to be healthy, strong, and merry. My little someone is never sick, yet he sleeps just for an hour. He doesn't have the occasional headaches, not even the slightest trace of a fever. He's cheerful, blithe, and merry as a palace jester. Now you see why I'm going mad, he should have been dead long before now.
But he's alive, yes! alive, bubbling with so much vivacity.
So here I rest my case. I'm letting sleeping dogs lie, though I'm on the brink of madness my litte someone is my guide!
Looking at this poem now, I'm thinking my little someone is probably anorexic, plus crackers and soup ? Why couldn't it be Garri and Ofe Onubu? ok..something light..plaintain chips.lol. My mind was really fascinated by the American/British culture. I recall wanting to taste and feel snow. (I have.lol!) But,that's story for another day joo...
Ok, so I know I haven't come back to finish my series *On love, crushes, and jeans* but I will be back..It's just two more to go and it features crushes even on blogsville (scandalous eh?)..so hopefully, I'll get it done. For now, here is a poem I wrote when I was 17, I was (almost) fresh out of high school, ok, not really - a year out of high school, my inspiration? My t.v hugging cousin. Enjoy! P.S - I didn't change anything..this is what my 17-year old mind came up with.
MY LITTLE SOMEONE & I
I'm frustrated, on the verge of insanity all because...
I know a little someone who's up till 3a.m and funny enough when I wake at dawn,
he was up an hour before.
It's puzzling and I can't comprehend it, how my little someone does it.
He's awake at 5, sets out at 6, and by 7 he's in his chair
Punching numbers on his keyboard, picking the phone that's always ringing, attending to people as they walk in and out of his office.
I wonder how he isn't crazy!
He skips lunch as always, he says he's keeping fit, he sits back in his chair sipping mineral water, his fingers working steadily on his computer.
Soon the day is over, he jumps into the seat of his Rover, he starts back home where he eventually has a light dinner - crackers and soup, sometimes a bowl or two. (Only on weekends does my little someone indulge, he has breakfast, lunch, and dinner!)
When he's done eating, he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand.
Soon he's seated on the cushion facing the T.V, he so loves the movies one would think he was born with them. Now he has his bottle in one hand, the other is on the remote, I don't even bother trying 'cos I know the T.V's taken till three.
So there he sits watching the people and the movies, I really don't know what's so interesting.
I don't get to see him sleep but at dawn when I wake, he was awake long before
I've tried, really tried to understand but my brain just can't process this data. He's an enigma that isn't unfolding. A mystery so very frustrating.
Doctors say you need 7 hours sleep to be healthy, strong, and merry. My little someone is never sick, yet he sleeps just for an hour. He doesn't have the occasional headaches, not even the slightest trace of a fever. He's cheerful, blithe, and merry as a palace jester. Now you see why I'm going mad, he should have been dead long before now.
But he's alive, yes! alive, bubbling with so much vivacity.
So here I rest my case. I'm letting sleeping dogs lie, though I'm on the brink of madness my litte someone is my guide!
Looking at this poem now, I'm thinking my little someone is probably anorexic, plus crackers and soup ? Why couldn't it be Garri and Ofe Onubu? ok..something light..plaintain chips.lol. My mind was really fascinated by the American/British culture. I recall wanting to taste and feel snow. (I have.lol!) But,that's story for another day joo...
Thursday, November 27, 2008
On love, crushes, and JEANS I...
So it's been a while and yes, i'm dutifully guilty..verily so even. Mz. Dee (Shout out!) how u been?, thanks for forever checking up on me...further evidence that even though my blog may be moribund, it hasn't totally gone under. (Make u update sha, so u don't join the likes of Ozaveshe and Co...yes i know pot calling kettle black). Well, I've been good, life is good, taking it one day at a time..now to the subject at hand. I know you all are nearly falling out your seats and over yourselves just because i mentioned the L word. (Ok..so i kid myself..allow me enjoy the fantasy.). It began like this, (insert naija soundtrack here, somewhat along the lines of *gengengenge* and do the flashback thing) I woke one morning, had not previously prepared my day clothes the night before like i was trained to do,did the usual morning rituals donned my top,thermal wear, and then the jeans and was off to catch my bus, earphones stuck in both ears, book in hand.
So I sat at the bustop waiting for it to come as tears rolled down my eyes, cold biting my fingers, desperately and tirelessly, despite my gloves that were 60% wool and then it came. "Goodmorning" I said in a cheery tone that was not forced " 'mornin" he answered and then I swiped my bus pass wiped the tears that streamed down my cheeks and made my way to a seat. The bus came to a halt or maybe screeched, (I couldn't hear still had the earphones plugged in) I alighted and walked to work, I got to work removed my jacket and hung it, ready to start the day. "Hey Ro" I greeted my coworker "Hey Adia..how was your weekend?" "Good" and so we began small talk and later commenced throwing straws and gumballs at each other.
But this all happpened before I SAT and then it happened, i looked into my lap, one leg crossed high above the other and I was confronted with a long line on the inner thigh, like an angry gash lacerating the skin only this gash was in my jeans!!! I screamed silently, looking down again and willingly it to not be true...but it was because beneath the line my pink thermal wear peeked out as if to say "yoo-hoo, i can see you". This was wrong, so very wrong, my KILLER jeans (KJ) was dead!!
What ? You don't know what killer jeans are???? I'll elaborate, its the least I can do in an attempt to aid the transition of my KJ to glory (regardless of the fact that it's still being rocked). Killer Jeans...hmm..my killer jeans were my world, my love, second only to the KS (killer stilettos). It created illusions and enhanced amazingly, these jeans brought out the best of my butt (for which the two cheeks will forever be grateful), it fit right, totally right, and clung in all the right places. Not only was it my KJ it was also my one nation jeans which might explain the *oh so sad tear*, I rocked the joint eh! at some point I pitied the jeans too. My KJ got me compliments from "Wow..I love your jeans" "Where did you get them?" "Adia..Omg!! see your butt (d jealous ones.he he)" to "This jeans does wonders o!, everytime you wear it ehn.." Alas, KJ is dying of "rockingtearkolotis", and nothing can be done *sob sob* venturing to allow KJ undergo surgery involving stitching by the Calabar guy will last for a while but there will be further tearkolotis in future.
KJ wants all lady bloggers to know that they should all have KJs in their closests and this is the legacy she desires to leave behind...
" I KJ,once living in stuffed Ghana-must-go's, laid on waterproof sheets, left to the elements, scorched and baked in the sun, stray rivulets of sweat found their way to me, I was haggled over "2-5" he screamed, she looked dumbly and hissed lowly "1-5 ,last price" she answered and I could not understand what happened to the zeroes. "2000" she chirped, he consented. I was bought, designed by "C'est moi" my Aba artists, I soon found myself on a plane, my back snugly warm not for long though. I was ushered into biting cold my colors threatened to run from the threads but i held them in check, she can't possibly wear me everyday I told them, we'll find ourselves in a warm closet soon enough I told them but i was wrong, dead wrong. She must have loved me, a hella of a lot, cos I was rocked three days a week, sometimes mercifully two. She alternated between me and Sir Skinny, but there were so many others- Sir Levi, Sir Londonwhite, Miss Corduroy, Miss delightful-blue..ah..but it was just me...
I leave this life on account of rockingtearkolotis, but a hero even in death.Adieu!" *Rockingtearkolotis* - disease that often results in death of jeans a consequence of over-rocking
*Tearkolotis*- continuing tear and decline in jeans after having been stitched, this too often results in death
So I sat at the bustop waiting for it to come as tears rolled down my eyes, cold biting my fingers, desperately and tirelessly, despite my gloves that were 60% wool and then it came. "Goodmorning" I said in a cheery tone that was not forced " 'mornin" he answered and then I swiped my bus pass wiped the tears that streamed down my cheeks and made my way to a seat. The bus came to a halt or maybe screeched, (I couldn't hear still had the earphones plugged in) I alighted and walked to work, I got to work removed my jacket and hung it, ready to start the day. "Hey Ro" I greeted my coworker "Hey Adia..how was your weekend?" "Good" and so we began small talk and later commenced throwing straws and gumballs at each other.
But this all happpened before I SAT and then it happened, i looked into my lap, one leg crossed high above the other and I was confronted with a long line on the inner thigh, like an angry gash lacerating the skin only this gash was in my jeans!!! I screamed silently, looking down again and willingly it to not be true...but it was because beneath the line my pink thermal wear peeked out as if to say "yoo-hoo, i can see you". This was wrong, so very wrong, my KILLER jeans (KJ) was dead!!
What ? You don't know what killer jeans are???? I'll elaborate, its the least I can do in an attempt to aid the transition of my KJ to glory (regardless of the fact that it's still being rocked). Killer Jeans...hmm..my killer jeans were my world, my love, second only to the KS (killer stilettos). It created illusions and enhanced amazingly, these jeans brought out the best of my butt (for which the two cheeks will forever be grateful), it fit right, totally right, and clung in all the right places. Not only was it my KJ it was also my one nation jeans which might explain the *oh so sad tear*, I rocked the joint eh! at some point I pitied the jeans too. My KJ got me compliments from "Wow..I love your jeans" "Where did you get them?" "Adia..Omg!! see your butt (d jealous ones.he he)" to "This jeans does wonders o!, everytime you wear it ehn.." Alas, KJ is dying of "rockingtearkolotis", and nothing can be done *sob sob* venturing to allow KJ undergo surgery involving stitching by the Calabar guy will last for a while but there will be further tearkolotis in future.
KJ wants all lady bloggers to know that they should all have KJs in their closests and this is the legacy she desires to leave behind...
" I KJ,once living in stuffed Ghana-must-go's, laid on waterproof sheets, left to the elements, scorched and baked in the sun, stray rivulets of sweat found their way to me, I was haggled over "2-5" he screamed, she looked dumbly and hissed lowly "1-5 ,last price" she answered and I could not understand what happened to the zeroes. "2000" she chirped, he consented. I was bought, designed by "C'est moi" my Aba artists, I soon found myself on a plane, my back snugly warm not for long though. I was ushered into biting cold my colors threatened to run from the threads but i held them in check, she can't possibly wear me everyday I told them, we'll find ourselves in a warm closet soon enough I told them but i was wrong, dead wrong. She must have loved me, a hella of a lot, cos I was rocked three days a week, sometimes mercifully two. She alternated between me and Sir Skinny, but there were so many others- Sir Levi, Sir Londonwhite, Miss Corduroy, Miss delightful-blue..ah..but it was just me...
I leave this life on account of rockingtearkolotis, but a hero even in death.Adieu!" *Rockingtearkolotis* - disease that often results in death of jeans a consequence of over-rocking
*Tearkolotis*- continuing tear and decline in jeans after having been stitched, this too often results in death
Tuesday, July 15, 2008
Meme ( so i took princesa's advice)
1.What time did you get up this morning? 7.10 am
2. Diamonds or pearls? Can i have both?
3. What was the last film you saw at the cinema? Tyler Perry's Meet the Browns
4. What is your favorite TV show? Army wives, Fuji house of commotion, All of us, still standing...............
5. What did you have for breakfast? Pancakes, eggs, and corn beef hash.
6. What is your middle name? Starts with an E, at some point in my life it became Jacqueline.
7. What is your favorite cuisine/meal? In case you haven't noticed, i don't have a favorite anything..not colors, foods.... oh but i'm liking Indian cuisine right now sha.
8. What foods do you dislike? Nothing really that i've tried, however Garri- not my favorite
9. Your favorite Potato chip? Hmm...sunchips..healthy stuvs, oh and ritz chips.fabulosa!
10. What is your favorite CD at the moment? Hmm..Asa, those rooftoop boys- shocktherapy is it?
11. What kind of car do you drive? The one you'll hopefully be getting me.
12. Favorite sandwich? Mummy's hardboiled egg and cucumber sandwich.
13. What characteristics do you despise? Arrogance.
14. Favorite item of clothing? this i can choose, hand me a pair of jeans anyday.
15. If you could go anywhere in the world on vacation, where would you go? All around it.
16. What color is your bathroom? White tiles, cream walls, blue pastels.
17. Favorite brand of clothing? Style knows no brand....hmm..just coined that one.
18. Where were you born? Lagos, Nigeria
19. Favorite sport(s) to watch? hmm...
20. Who do you least expect to respond to this? Neyo my one and only Chimere. *sob*
21. Person you expect to respond first? Hmm..The Scribe maybe..
22. What laundry scent do you use? Something with flowers
23. Coke or Pepsi? Coke
24. Are you a morning person or night owl? Night
25. What size shoe do you wear? 8 1/2..anyone wanna buy me a pair?
26. Do you have pets? Yep. i did..they died, i still do.
27. Any new and exciting news you'd like to share with everyone? I'm working on a short story. surprisingly, i'm totally committed. hmm...
28. What did you want to be when you were little? A doctor, writer and part time singer..i actually used to chant this when people asked..then it changed to architect, scientist, and part time singer. Now..u ask, do i sing??
29. Favourite Candy Bar? Twix, Peanut Chews, Bounty..however i"ll take Walker's Shortbread over all three anyday.
30. What is your best childhood memory? My sisters and I play-acting, singing on poof stages while my Daddy crooned nwalecha in the background.
31. What are the different jobs you have had in your life? Salesperson, Marketer.
32. What color/type underwear are you? Pink boyshorts
33.Nicknames: Atinga, Aso,Asocabin,...and the list goes on
34. Piercings ? One in each ear.
35. Eye color? Will get back to u on that...Black or Brown..not sure
36. Ever been to Africa? lived and breathed it yo!
37. Ever been toilet papering or rolling? This question na waya o. is that even a word?
38. Love someone so much it made you cry? Nope
39. Been in a car accident? Never
40. Croutons or bacon bits? These two are deadly..must i pick? wheat croûtons will suffice..no cheese.
41.Favorite day of the week? Friday baby!
42. Favorite restaurant? Hmm...
43. Favorite flower? Chrysanthemum..ok..nt really..i just like the sound of it..the emperor of China ones are very pretty though.
44. Favorite ice cream? Haagen dazs..anyday!
45. How many times did you fail your driver's test? Never did, at least not yet.
46. What color is your bedroom carpet? Brown
47. From whom did you get your last e-mail? A bunch of random marketers ( how do these people find me?) and friends.
48. Which stores would you choose to max out your credit card? Hmmm..tough decision..not one store however
49. What do you do most often when you are bored? Read, watch tv, play something or with someone.
50. Bedtime? 10pm- 12am
51. Who are you most curious about their responses to this questionnaire? Ah..dare i say Neyo?
52. Last person you went to dinner with? family..i think
53. What are you listening to right now? silence and the computer's humming
54. What is your favorite color? already answered thisNon
55. Lake, Ocean or river? Lake
56. How many tattoos do you have? None
57. Which came first, the chicken or the egg? who do i look like? God?
2. Diamonds or pearls? Can i have both?
3. What was the last film you saw at the cinema? Tyler Perry's Meet the Browns
4. What is your favorite TV show? Army wives, Fuji house of commotion, All of us, still standing...............
5. What did you have for breakfast? Pancakes, eggs, and corn beef hash.
6. What is your middle name? Starts with an E, at some point in my life it became Jacqueline.
7. What is your favorite cuisine/meal? In case you haven't noticed, i don't have a favorite anything..not colors, foods.... oh but i'm liking Indian cuisine right now sha.
8. What foods do you dislike? Nothing really that i've tried, however Garri- not my favorite
9. Your favorite Potato chip? Hmm...sunchips..healthy stuvs, oh and ritz chips.fabulosa!
10. What is your favorite CD at the moment? Hmm..Asa, those rooftoop boys- shocktherapy is it?
11. What kind of car do you drive? The one you'll hopefully be getting me.
12. Favorite sandwich? Mummy's hardboiled egg and cucumber sandwich.
13. What characteristics do you despise? Arrogance.
14. Favorite item of clothing? this i can choose, hand me a pair of jeans anyday.
15. If you could go anywhere in the world on vacation, where would you go? All around it.
16. What color is your bathroom? White tiles, cream walls, blue pastels.
17. Favorite brand of clothing? Style knows no brand....hmm..just coined that one.
18. Where were you born? Lagos, Nigeria
19. Favorite sport(s) to watch? hmm...
20. Who do you least expect to respond to this? Neyo my one and only Chimere. *sob*
21. Person you expect to respond first? Hmm..The Scribe maybe..
22. What laundry scent do you use? Something with flowers
23. Coke or Pepsi? Coke
24. Are you a morning person or night owl? Night
25. What size shoe do you wear? 8 1/2..anyone wanna buy me a pair?
26. Do you have pets? Yep. i did..they died, i still do.
27. Any new and exciting news you'd like to share with everyone? I'm working on a short story. surprisingly, i'm totally committed. hmm...
28. What did you want to be when you were little? A doctor, writer and part time singer..i actually used to chant this when people asked..then it changed to architect, scientist, and part time singer. Now..u ask, do i sing??
29. Favourite Candy Bar? Twix, Peanut Chews, Bounty..however i"ll take Walker's Shortbread over all three anyday.
30. What is your best childhood memory? My sisters and I play-acting, singing on poof stages while my Daddy crooned nwalecha in the background.
31. What are the different jobs you have had in your life? Salesperson, Marketer.
32. What color/type underwear are you? Pink boyshorts
33.Nicknames: Atinga, Aso,Asocabin,...and the list goes on
34. Piercings ? One in each ear.
35. Eye color? Will get back to u on that...Black or Brown..not sure
36. Ever been to Africa? lived and breathed it yo!
37. Ever been toilet papering or rolling? This question na waya o. is that even a word?
38. Love someone so much it made you cry? Nope
39. Been in a car accident? Never
40. Croutons or bacon bits? These two are deadly..must i pick? wheat croûtons will suffice..no cheese.
41.Favorite day of the week? Friday baby!
42. Favorite restaurant? Hmm...
43. Favorite flower? Chrysanthemum..ok..nt really..i just like the sound of it..the emperor of China ones are very pretty though.
44. Favorite ice cream? Haagen dazs..anyday!
45. How many times did you fail your driver's test? Never did, at least not yet.
46. What color is your bedroom carpet? Brown
47. From whom did you get your last e-mail? A bunch of random marketers ( how do these people find me?) and friends.
48. Which stores would you choose to max out your credit card? Hmmm..tough decision..not one store however
49. What do you do most often when you are bored? Read, watch tv, play something or with someone.
50. Bedtime? 10pm- 12am
51. Who are you most curious about their responses to this questionnaire? Ah..dare i say Neyo?
52. Last person you went to dinner with? family..i think
53. What are you listening to right now? silence and the computer's humming
54. What is your favorite color? already answered thisNon
55. Lake, Ocean or river? Lake
56. How many tattoos do you have? None
57. Which came first, the chicken or the egg? who do i look like? God?
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