All posts filed under: Love. Life.

Lessons on Loving, Lessons in Living.

My Big Fat Nigerian Wedding: Five Favorite Moments

Published by Osemhen

On November 29th, I would’ve been married “traditionally” for one year. Looking back now, I realize I never blogged about the whole experience of planning a “typical” Nigerian wedding. So in honour of this anniversary, I want to share my five favorite moments from the event we dubbed “The Carnival”. The first time K saw me in all my regal Esan splendour/glory: Lol! Esan women love their coral beads. I’m not often vain but even I recognize that I must have looked a sight. I wore almost 8 lbs worth of coral jewelry. I felt like royalty, like an Edo warrior princess. I didn’t want to take off that outfit. It was one of those once-in-a-lifetime moments and I loved it. The entrance dance: I think I only vaguely appreciated the fact that it was my traditional wedding when I woke up that morning. I had a sense that I was a participant, and nothing more. I was dispelled of that notion the moment K and I danced in. There was this roar of appreciation and …

A Grief Lived

Published by Osemhen

“How lucky I am to have something that makes saying goodbye so hard.” Winnie The Pooh. This is how it happened, Okha. November 12, 2014. I am chatting with Ozoz about a dessert table for the wedding. Discussing macarons, I think. And candy buffets. Then Daddy calls. And he calls me Osemhen. Not Ose. Osemhen. In a tone that makes me feel like I am about to be scolded. You know that tone. And he asks me where I am. And I am afraid. Because he already knows I am at work. I’m at work. I force cheer into my voice. We are both prevaricating. I have some bad news. I think I asked, what? And he says Okhafo is dead. I think I heard someone sob in the background. I stand from my chair. Suddenly the air in the office building isn’t enough and I need to get outside. I tried, Okha. I almost make it. But my legs crumple at the door. I cannot stand and I cannot push the door open. Our horror stares at …

Meaning of life

Published by Osemhen

Someone (you know yourself :)) went on a reading spree on this blog and this was one of the posts she liked. I re-read it and liked it so much I decided to reblog it. It reminded me of many things. Hard to believe I wrote this 5 years ago! Hope you enjoy it.

Good People

Published by Osemhen

I noticed when you joined the queue, you both wore suits and I wondered if you were married. I wondered where you worked. Idle thoughts, I was more concerned with getting a seat on the 7pm Aero flight to Lagos. It was the last flight out of Port Harcourt with free seats. My heart sank when, after almost 20 minutes on the queue, the Aero teller announced that the POS machine wasn’t working. I’d have to pay cash. I didn’t have any cash . I heard you mutter that you didn’t have any cash either. This was 5:20. I made my way to the ATM, to the queues that dragged. I was number 7 on one queue; fifteen minutes later, you joined the other queue. My GTB card did not work. 20 minutes on the ATM queue, and my card did not work. I stepped off the queue. You asked me what the problem was. I replied that I needed to transfer money to my First Bank card so I could use it. You got …

First Post of 2015

Published by Osemhen

Today I smiled at my own reflection in the mirror. I was alone. This hasn’t happened in a long time, a very long time. Don’t get me wrong, I smile all the time, everyday. I smile at strangers, I smile at friends, I smile flicking through pictures on my phone. But it’s been a long time since I smiled, really smiled at my reflection in the mirror and meant it. I don’t even know what it means but it felt good. I’ve missed writing. I’ve been scared, though. Scared to write because it forces me to face my emotions. But yes, this is me facing my emotions. How are you? It’s Lent, one of my favorite seasons. I love Lenten hymns. I love saying the Stations of the Cross. I like the results that come from the typical Lenten observances. Simply trying to reduce my usual indulgences has a profound effect on my peace of mind and my productivity. I wonder why I don’t practice the same ascetism all year round. I have many things …

You Are Legend

Published by Osemhen

I thought I knew what loss was when I wrote “Laughter & Champagne.” But this is worse. His room still smells of him. I never noticed till he was gone. But his room has a distinct smell. It is the scent of Icy-Hot, the smell of folic acid, a hint of Dettol Cool and Vaseline Aloe-Vera. This is what his room smells like. This is how to console a bereaved person. Visit…and sit in silence, saying nothing. Or saying a lot, distracting them. Bring food in Ziplocs and plastic bowls. So that we do not have to cook. Do the dishes that keep mounting up because “guests” persist in eating the food other people have brought to console the family. Sweep. This is how not to console a bereaved person. Hold them too tightly when they cry. We don’t cry because we want hugs. We cry so that the sadness does not implode in our chests. We cry because we miss our love, because we can’t imagine the rest of our lives without hearing their …

26.

Published by Osemhen

I was going to do a proper blog post but my heart is too full. Instead, I’m sharing my favourite memories from the past year (as captured in various pictures). In chronological order… 🙂 That time a bunch of strangers in Lagos all agreed to hang out at Bogobiri and discuss politics, relationships and just chill. 🙂   That time he traveled from Lagos to PH just to surprise me on Valentine’s Day. I nearly had a heart attack when I saw him! That time a different set of friends decided to shoot our own “Happy in Port Harcourt” video, and it turned into a picnic with chocolate cake, popcorn, puff-puff and zobo 🙂 We will release that video…one day. That time he asked me to be his wife <3 🙂 That time we decided to take a family portrait just as I was stepping out of the shower with my freshly washed hair still dripping! I was worried but I think it turned out okay 😀 That time he brought me a birthday cake, and …

On Being Jaded

Published by Osemhen

  I remember thinking the conversation a bit dramatic. We were in first year, Jide and I, and it was one of those idle days where all we had to do was gist, waiting for one lecturer or the other. We used to have deep conversations, we still do. In almost ten years of our friendship, I can’t remember having a frivolous discussion with Jide. (Yes, we’re boring like that.) I can’t remember what the exact topic was but I remember Jide saying something like “I pray to never get jaded or used to mediocrity. It worries me, sometimes, I see a dead body lying on the road and feel nothing. I want to always feel something.” This was 2004. Before Boko Haram and its bombings. Before Aluu. Before Bellview and Sosoliso and Dana. Before violent elections that killed NYSC members. And I remember thinking, I’ll never be jaded either. It’s a resolution I fight to keep. Because it’s too easy, right? Too easy to get used to the statistics. The bad news pours in and …