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Christmas Is For Food… And A Note on Nigeria's Google Trends.

Published by Osemhen

Someone asked me what my holiday plans are. I don’t have a lot. My ideal Christmas would have a fierce harmattan, and find me curled up in an armchair with hot Bournvita and a good book. The problem with harmattan is the drying out of my hair. Yeah, I’m wearing my hair out. All the salon women keep inviting me to come and do “Christmas hair” but I’ve outgrown such societal pressures, thank God.

My earliest memories of Christmas are of feasts. Food, food, food. Peppery jollof rice, cold Coca Cola, peppered chicken, chin-chin, buns, cake. To honour that tradition (and my obsession with good food), this Christmas, I plan to cook. I think there’s something spiritual about cooking for the people you love. There’s a connection it forges, from your hands to their stomachs. And watching their eyes light up with appreciation, is priceless. Instead of giving out hampers, I plan to give out boxes of cookies, cakes and muffins I bake myself. Mostly I’m giving to friends of my family who have been more than just friends, who have been closer than blood kin, who have seen my family through some difficult times.

This is also an adventure for me; many of these things I will be making for the first time. I hope they turn out well 🙂 So this is what I’ll be doing this Christmas. Read. Write. Hang out with friends. Read some more. Write. Bake. Eat. Get fat. Work out. Try to save the world. Browse the internet lazily. Speaking of which, look what I found.

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ImageThat’s right. Nigeria’s Google trends. Basically it shows you what we searched for the most on the internet. I find it very fascinating. For instance, I have no idea who Higuain and Damoche are. Mandela did not appear in our top 10 searches for people. And the fact that “ASUU Strike” trended the most is telling, isn’t it? I was quite disappointed that Nigerians searched for “iPhone 5” the most, though. Really? iPhone 5? And Blackberry Z10? I quite like the fact that Nigerians had to Google “How To Kiss”. Lol. But really, why was it the most searched “how to”? What is happening, Nigerian Youth?! Haha. You can check out the full report here.

Let me know what you think in the comments’ section. And what are your plans for Christmas? 🙂 Merry Christmas!

p.s. Please Introduce Yourself! 🙂

This Is How.

Published by Osemhen

This is how to break up with the juvenile, codeine addict who fancies himself Goth because he paints his fingernails black and wears black eyeliner.

This is how to pretend to be miserable, because you’re supposed to be miserable after a break-up. This is how to blog about it.

This is how to live life; a series of Monday-Tuesday-Wednesday-Thursday-Friday-Saturday-Sundays that never get old, never change. This is how to be a yuppie. This is how to dress like a yuppie, in chiffon blouses and pencil-skirts and kitty heels. This is how to spend like a yuppie; on expensive cab rides, handbags purchased from Dubai, ice cream at Coldstone and movies with friends. This is how to wrap your box braids in a bun. This is how to arch an eyebrow.

This is how to smile at a man you like; coy and charming. This is how to smile at a man you don’t like; looking him straight in the eye. This is how to smile at a woman so she feels flattered. This is how to smile at a woman so she feels small.

This is how to wear lipstick; first coat, blot, second coat. This is how to dance in heels. This is how to dance in a club so no one mistakes you for the whore that your Deeper Life stepmother swears you’re becoming. This is how to avoid your father’s calls.

This is how to tweet; sarcastic tweet, narcissistic tweet, LOL someone else’s, RT another’s, (deep) philosophical tweet, insult-the-government tweet, slightly risqué tweet, God tweet, rinse and repeat.

This is how to chase the lonely. This is how to enjoy a book and a coffee on a Saturday morning when the power is out, and there’s no fuel in your generator. This is how to sign up on Instagram.

This is how to block stalkers on Facebook. This is how to update your profile on LinkedIn. This is how to choose a laptop; comparing specs online, Googling the specs to be sure what they mean. This is how to avoid that creep from Finance. This is how to let your boss know you’re not interested, without losing your job.

This is how to brood.

This is how to act on a date with a man you like. This is how to act on a date with a man you don’t like. This is how to spend Friday night indoors watching re-runs of Friends. This is how to save up rent money, then swallow pride to ask your father to make up the balance. This is how to apologize for your rude words to your stepmother.

This is how to turn down an offer to be someone’s mistress and not be the whore your stepmother fears you are becoming. This is how to be genuinely happy that your best friend is getting married. This is how to turn a blind eye to her mother’s insistence in rubbing it in your face. This is how to pretend to like her husband-to-be even though you really think he’s a jerk.

This is how to act at a job interview; to use your best voice, to smile a lot, to impress them into thinking you’re smarter than you are. This is how to quit your old job when you get a new one; politely.

This is how to reply a DM from the funniest fellow you follow on Twitter. This is how to ask a man out on a date. This is how not to lose your nerve when he refuses at first. This is how to insist, and flatter him into saying Yes.

This is how to dress for a date, that is somehow a blind date. This is how to smile at a good-looking man. This is how to hold the smile when he doesn’t reply your Hello, when he writes instead on the notepad he holds, I can hear but I cannot speak, I’m sorry.

Hello.

Hello.

It’s great to meet you in person.

Same here. You look better than your avatar.

My avatar is Mr. Bean.

My point exactly.

This is how to have a great time with a man who does not speak. This is how to sleep with a smile on your face.

p.s. Please visit this page to Introduce Yourself 🙂

Flight.

Published by Osemhen

K: I’ll pick you from the airport.
Me: No, thanks.

10 hours later, I wonder how I’ll find my way from the airport. What if “Something” happens? What if my flight gets delayed and I take a taxi to my destination late at night and I get robbed or Something because I’m this petite, light-skinned woman (read: easy mark)? It’s impossible that I could be strong, you see. No one thinks you can be, not when you’re fair and petite and female.

I should have taken K’s offer.

Why do women like to be chased?

Airport. The boarding announcement comes on and we all shuffle to the tarmac. All of us will be dead in 100 years. And it should evoke some sort of camaraderie, shouldn’t it? But it doesn’t. We are ignoring one another. It’s strange, considering that we could be deathday mates.

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What if?

What if our plane, this plane that Arik has christened “Michael” were to fall out of the sky? We would die together. Approach the pearly gates together. Our families would mourn together, share the camaraderie we deny ourselves now. And for that reason, shouldn’t we smile at each other now? Hold hands, maybe? Chant Kumbaya, maybe?

“THAT IS A $5000 BAG!”
I glance at the man screaming at the porters. It is a Salvatore Ferragamo bag and its jacket has been torn. He is apoplectic. I want to laugh or at least, smile.
That’s a $5000 bag, he repeats as if incredulous. He cannot believe the disrespect they have shown it. The porter apologizes and tries to beat the dust off. I am distracted.

The lady ahead of me in the queue to enter Michael is the type of woman 15-year-old me hoped I’d grow up to be. She is fair, too. She wears a pink dress and a belt made of stringed pearls. Her weave is real human hair, I think. Dark, curly, shoulder-length. She wears heels. Elegant. I wish I could be elegant.  But I’m also content with who I am. The one who wears flats almost all the time because I want to be that person with silent footsteps.

I am afraid of flying. As I enter “Michael”, I wonder if today is the day I die. It would be ironic if I did considering my last blog post. Would readers who misunderstood it hold me up as an example of what happens to people who don’t criticise the government at every turn? Are you that superstitious?

I think I should blog my thoughts but all my notebooks are in my checked-in luggage. I have a pen but no paper in my handbag. I panic.

*Suggestion to Arik: if it’s not too much trouble, could you leave a blank A4 sheet in each seat pocket?*

The hostess looks aggressive. I’m afraid to ask her for paper.

I’m in a middle seat. My seat mates are a Nigerian woman in a business suit and the obligatory human hair extensions, and an Indian in jeans and trainers. I guess she’s a banker. I guess he’s in IT. I disturb her getting to my seat. I disturb her again to retrieve my phone from the laptop bag in the overhead locker. It is on and I’m afraid it may ring mid-flight and everyone will give me the evil eye. They won’t know it’s my bag, will they? I’m not sure.

I find an old bank teller in my phone’s pouch. I begin to write on it.

I run out of space.

I flip through the complimentary magazine to see if there’s a blank page I can tear out.  I’m slightly relieved there isn’t.  I mean, what would my seatmates think about me tearing the magazine?

The plane takes off and I don’t hear the briefing. Almost immediately, we fly into clouds and the banker starts to chant “Jesus” under her breath. Over and over, like a mantra. I want to tell her he probably heard her the first time. She doesn’t sound so cool anymore. Was it just ten minutes ago she was chatting to someone on her phone in a fake British accent?

The kids in the seats behind me are laughing as the plane mimics a roller coaster ride.

My colleagues and I, we had a discussion once on how it might feel to die in a plane crash. They said, if the plane free fell to Earth, everyone on board would be dead before they hit the ground. The shock, see? The shock would kill.
I thought it would be nicer that way. To fall and just have your brain fudge up, the way it feels the last ten seconds before you fall asleep. Aww, I’m falling.

Darkness.

We make it through the clouds.

The hostesses serve muffins, water and juice. I test if I can write on the serviette.

The banker whips out a Kindle Paperwhite. I feel the first sense of kinship with her. She reads for a bit and then gets out her make-up kit. I lose the sense of kinship.

I don’t look stellar. My afro is pulled up in a weird updo, my face is oily and I have a pimple on my chin. I am not wearing any make-up. I wish my hair was neater and I could reach my lip balm. I’ve lost weight, my blue chinos are loose. My blouse keeps coming untucked. I touch the gold heart pendant at my throat.

We are descending into Lagos.

Why Are You Angry About Stella Oduah's Armoured Cars?

Published by Osemhen

So today, Nigerians are outraged over the purchase of two armoured vehicles for Stella Oduah’s  safety. Said vehicles cost over 250 million naira (About 1.6 million dollars). See Sahara’s report here.

I understand the outrage, and I would share it if I knew:

  1. What is the annual budget of the “cash-strapped” Nigerian Civil Aviation Authority?
  2. How do we know they’re cash-strapped?
  3. Was this purchase included in the budget for 2013?
  4. Was the budget approved by the Senate?
  5. Did the Senate know she was going to buy the cars with the NCAA’s budget?
  6. Knowing this, did they approve?
  7. If they neither knew nor approved of the cars’ purchase, what was this money earmarked for originally? Has that activity been done? Is it pending?
  8. Money cannot buy air safety, can it? Someone please explain to me how this money increases the risk of me boarding a plane that will crash?

I’m sincerely curious about these things. This is not an attempt to ridicule anyone. I just need to know why I should care. So I can join in the outrage. Please, I really would like answers.

Thank you.

To Be or Not To Be

Published by Osemhen

One of the most popular mantras these days is about being yourself and doing what makes you happy. The focus is on self-satisfaction. And finding your peace in being secure only in what you think of yourself, and at best, indifferent to what people think of you.

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?gl=NG&hl=en-GB&v=dyihQtBes1I]

And there’s nothing wrong with it. There’s nothing wrong with running my race my way and not living for public opinion. Many people have been ruined because they were trying too hard to live up to an image. But what we often forget is that the “Image” is a reflection of what we have portrayed. We choose the image in the first place, the expectations that society holds us to. And that’s why it’s important to portray a true image. But this is not a lesson on personal integrity.

What inspired this post?

Earlier today, I sent an assignment to a course instructor I met in person earlier in the year. During our face to face interaction, I deliberately put my bestest (sic) foot forward with him. He was impressed and we’ve maintained email contact since then. I sent him an assignment to grade today and I will admit that I did only the barest minimum on the paper. I didn’t think it had serious consequences, and I was comfortable getting only 60% on it.

But then he sent me a note that went along the lines of, “When I saw your submission pop up in my email, I thought it would be easy to give you 100% but you haven’t done the work for 100%. You need to do… and resubmit.”

Ouch.

He wasn’t going to let me get away with a 60%. My first thought was how unfair it was that I’d have to redo the assignment. My second thought was why couldn’t he just let me go with the 60%? Why did he even hold me to high standards sef?

But he does because I set the pace in our earlier interactions. He knows I can do better and he’s challenging me to not be a lazy twat. On further reflection, I  felt honoured that he was willing to take time out of his day to craft me specific feedback.

I remembered all the other times I balked against more responsibilities, or challenges, or assignments. I remembered all the stories I wanted to send out for review to my writing mentors, but never did because I knew they’d call me out for taking the easy route. I thought of all the people who challenge me to do better because they know I can.  Because challenges will make me grow, make me more Osemhen than I am now.

But then, you ask, where do you draw the line? It will always be a matter of discretion. There will be people whose comments (whether delivered in love, or with a swift kick to the you-know-where) will challenge you to be your best self and then there will be others whose comments you will choose to ignore. Ask yourself if the feedback will make you a better you, or not.

*steps off soap-box* I have an assignment to rewrite.

On Being Jaded

Published by Osemhen

It hurts. (Image taken from catholicmom.com)

 

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 we get drowned, suffocated by the deaths and our own helplessness. We get inured. We can’t help it because the alternative; to have each death get to us and the grief find a place in our hearts, places a burden. It hurts too much. It sets us up for heartbreak. It’s difficult.

But it’s right.

We have to place the premium on human life. We have to let it hurt. Have to let it get to us. Have to let it burn. We have to put ourselves in the shoes of the victims’ families and loved ones. We can’t afford to do less. Because those are our children that are being murdered in their schools, those are our friends that are dying in plane crashes, it is our siblings that are being mobbed in the street. The difference between them and us is luck.

We are not safe, and we can’t bury our heads in the sand. It won’t just go away. The lives that are so carelessly being forfeit, are our lives too. The dreams so casually tossed away, they are our dreams. We can’t not raise a fuss. This. Is. Life. We can’t create Life. And you can argue that people die everyday, it’s inevitable. But we also have the right to die with dignity, and to not have the date be rushed forward by someone else’s carelessness or brutality. I, You have a right to live.

There is no worse desolation than losing a loved one in a split second.

I can never forget her. The mother who lost 3 children in the 2005 Sosoliso crash. I still see her face. The image from the TV is seared in my mind and I will never forget her. I tried to imagine how it felt, and couldn’t. Nobody should have to go through that.

And you might say, But how do we change anything? I don’t know. I don’t know. But I know we do ourselves and humanity a disservice when news of death is shrugged off as business as usual. It can’t be. We should never be complacent.

When it hurts, we find our outrage. And when we’re outraged, we try to fix it. The trying is all.

These Are A Few of My Beautiful Things.

Published by Osemhen

I’m a sucker for beautiful things. And I don’t mean physical beauty, though I appreciate symmetry and intricacy and elegance and all those things that define physical appeal. And I hardly consider humans physically beautiful; pretty, good-looking, fine? Yes. But that’s a discussion for another day.

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YiXd_9DFCOQ]

Beauty. I watched a TedTalk* once that tried to define beauty. According to the speaker, real beauty isn’t so much seen as it is felt. Beauty is something you feel in your gut.

I have a list of beautiful moments. If I had any sort of talent with a camera or a painter’s brush, I would capture them, commit them to eternity on paper. But all I have are my words. So here goes.

  • My cousin bravely swallowing tears back the evening of her wedding. She’d come home to change out of her dress, her husband was outside waiting and she was inside, fighting sobs while her mother smiled and soothed her.
  • The 10-year-old in church with a fierce look on his face and his arms wrapped protectively around his 7-year-old autistic brother.
  • My aunt cracking jokes in the front seat of her car with the 9-year old she adopted three months before. Their raucous laughter.
  • The softening of my colleague’s stern face when he talks of his wife of almost 10 years. The way he smiles when she calls him.
  • Light from street lamps on a deserted, tree-lined street pooling on the tarmac.
  • Movie OSTs composed by James Horner.
  • Gregorian chant.
  • Giant turbine blades.
  • Walking through elegantly laid out pipework in a process plant. If you’ve never been in a process plant, imagine a cathedral nave (high ceilings et al) made entirely of shiny steel pipes rising on either side of you to meet on pipe-racks 30 feet above you.
  • And this is cliché but… kites circling lazily against a backdrop of fluffy cloud “mountains” and blue, blue sky.

What are yours? What moments do you feel in your gut?

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How It Feels To Turn 25

Published by Osemhen

I turned 25 on Sunday. It’s the silver age, I hear. Of quarter-life crises and self doubt/realization.  It’s the knowledge that I am older than my mother was when she had me. It’s the power that comes with approving of the choices I’ve made thus far.

I have no regrets. I have been incredibly stupid, and shied away from looking myself in the mirror. I have been surprisingly clever and written well-worded letters of commendation to myself in my diary. I have been deliriously happy and in love with the world. I have plumbed previously unknown depths of grief and prayed to die. And yet, right now, I have no regrets.

Through it all, I have written. In diaries, in notebooks scattered somewhere in my room, on this blog and on others’. And so it’s only fitting that I write on this occasion of turning 25.

But what to say?

I could reiterate everything I wrote when I turned 23, and it would all still be true. As would the words I wrote to 10 year old me. And yet, there are a few things I’d add.

Like.

Never be too busy growing up that you forget that your parents are getting old. I look at my Dad and sometimes feel that he will live forever. His quick wit and his sheer strength seem boundless; when I think of old people, I don’t include him. And yet. There are more greys, more lines, more wrinkles. His spectacle lenses are thicker. I catch myself feeling protective over him, like our roles have been reversed and this big, dark hulk of a man needs to be shielded from all wahala by me with my pixie-like dimensions. Not likely, really but the thought helps me in my interactions with him. I no longer sweat the small stuff like when I was a teen, and predictably our relationship has improved.

Done is better than perfect. Disregarding this, is one reason why I didn’t achieve my dream of writing my first book by age 25. (The other reason was indiscipline). The need for perfection is a dream-killer, and I discovered this too late. Even as I write this, a part of my soul balks. I am Osemhen, it must be perfect. Lol. Wishful thinking.

It’s okay to change your mind. I used to think that being true to myself meant that I never changed my mind once I’d made a decision. To change your mind = inconsistent, lacking integrity, being a wimp. This can be tricky, sha. For instance, if you’ve given your word, you should do your utmost best not to go back on it. On the other hand, there are mind-sets/attitudes that you evolve out of when more information is presented.

And these are the things that are great about being 25.

  • Being able to act like an adult without feeling like you’re playing Charades.
  • Being able to walk in heels ☺

It’s hard to explain but it feels like I’ve come into my own as a person. I’ve discovered/created myself and yes, it’s work in progress but it’s also a journey I’m very comfortable with. I’m happy with who I am. I’m not the 25-year-old I thought I’d be when I was say, 15. I’m not as selfless with my time as I’d like; I don’t think I volunteer enough or mentor younger people enough. But I’m more confident than I expected.

I made a few resolutions. The best part of having my birthday come around was the opportunity to take stock and reassess my life journey. There were a bunch of personal resolutions but the key one is to stop being afraid of writing.

Yes, I’m afraid.

I’m afraid I’ll start something and not finish it.

I’m afraid that I lack the right inspiration and so I’ll find the writing incredibly boring.

I’m afraid I’ll fail myself.

I’m afraid I’ll fail the people who read me (sometimes, I wonder what you guys like about my writing sef ☺).

I’m afraid I’ll write rubbish.

And so many times, it’s easier to not write and delude myself that I’m just too busy. Well, I’ve thrown that out of the window. I’m going to write, afraid or no, and you guys will just have to deal with the rubbish 😀

I look forward to making memories with my friends and family, and especially J’aime K. I look forward to more stories, and my novel. I’m curious about God’s plans for me and can’t wait to see them unfold.

For my birthday, I ask that you pray for me. And that you forgive my flaws, my vanity, my occasional shyness/indifference. Many thanks. And may lines fall for you too in pleasant places…

O.

p.s. please stop by here to introduce yourself 🙂

The Contentment Challenge

Published by Osemhen

The best part of being an adult is earning proper money. You can’t convince me otherwise; when I compare my childhood to my adulthood, the key difference is that I can now buy myself a tin of Danish cookies as often as I like 🙂

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And I can now buy myself a host of other things. Stuck as I am in this limbo where I earn money but don’t have corresponding responsibilities (no family yet), it’s an incredibly liberating feeling. I can literally buy myself anything I want. If it’s expensive, I just need to save up and it’s mine. Awesome.

And unnerving. I consider myself a rational person, not given to frivolous purchases or impulse shopping. When I was younger, I learnt the importance of buying things on an as-needed basis. New books? Because I needed them for school. Handbag? Because I needed to carry my stuff around. New sweater? The old one had holes in it. Having a small allowance made this prioritization a must.

But I’ve noticed things have changed. About a month ago, I bought a bunch of books. Not a bad idea, except that I had 3 new books that I hadn’t read yet. And just yesterday, I was contemplating buying a new pair of sneakers. But the sneakers I own now are just about a year old and in good condition. Then there was the matter of the rust-coloured slouch tote. But again, I already have 2 slouch totes and a red bag that are in fabulous condition. And more bags to boot!

The Coveted Bag

I went through my wish-list and realized that everything I want now, I already have a functioning substitute for. I have enough shoes, I have enough bags, I have books I have not read, I have enough sweaters, and jeans, and jackets, and make-up, and gadgets and jewelry. And it doesn’t matter if I can afford ten more, I don’t need ’em.

I’m trying to internalize this. Yes, I have a savings account but there isn’t a limit to what I can save. I don’t have to spend all of the shopping budget I allow myself if I don’t need new stuff. Heck, if I feel I have money to splurge, I could give it to someone who needs it badly, yes? So this is my commitment. To not buy things I don’t need. No new sneakers till this pair wears out! 

I hope I last the year. Wish me luck. 🙂