Dear L,

Babes, guess what?

This year, I decided I was going to be a wicked minx and make you sh*t your pants. 
Since it is now obvious you have become an expert at sitting by the clock till twelve midnight  - competing with Boobo to be the first to call, watching out for blog posts, supporting the airtime giveaways and being the thief that you are; soliciting for your cut even when you supplied the codes.
The plan was to hand your son over to you in some grand gesture then be like "all I want for my birthday this year is Zoey's album". Seeing how it has taken you almost three years to get it from the elusive photographer, I was certain you'd make it work this time.

Rather than dwell on things I cannot have, I've been asked to make a list; of positive things that either made me happy or I am grateful for. 
I guess I'd give it a shot.

1. Two amazing children that are healthy and cute

2. All the days I was a happily married woman

3.

Started writing the list yesterday and haven't still been able to move past number 3.
A lot of hurt could have been avoided if you stayed a while longer.
I guess it will be continued someday but for now, one and two will do.

Wish you were here

- Sketch

Happy Birthday my Love

Here lies Hector Jobarteh. 

The most annoying man on planet earth.
The one human who believed he could get away from any transgression against me by wearing a goofy smile and calling me ridiculous pet names. 

The easiest and stupidest way to hurt you was to say I didn't believe you loved me. The pained reaction it caused you was enough to exorcise what ever vindictive spirit possessed me at the moment. 

I know you love me puppy, I'm sorry for all the times I did that. 

2009, you signed up for a second Facebook account so you could help water my crops on Farmville. 

Thanks to your dedicated efforts, I was a very happy farmer. 

2010 I asked what you felt the 'L' I put in your address meant and being the most unromantic man in the world you said "ah, isn't it Leprechaun?" That's how you became leprechaun when your mates were getting Boo's. 
(I did not realise you noticed I later added the last two L's until I whispered two while tracing the words on your back and you asked about the 3rd one 'my love, my light, my life').  

You were too much for me the first years I knew you. Too charismatic, too daring... too infectious! With your fake Yankee accent and slight H factor. 

You belonged to everyone and I had a hard time sharing. 
Then you pulled that stunt - driving all the way to Uniben from Lagos to say "hi" was a rather suspicious thing to do don't you think? 

*What if someone from Hall 2 saw you?!* 

Before we had each other, we had adventurous eating in common; although willing to try anything the different races could come up with I did not find it funny you and Michael tricked me into eating that baby rabbit and it's still a "NO" to sushi for me. 

Fairytale romance is for the books and I do believe I'm a practical female. 

I was happy to mash traits from you and Martin to create Max, the love interest of Tabitha from  Tabby's Tabs after I decided you were the type to love and leave but man proposes yeah? 

If fate wasn't throwing us together over again after the goodbyes, it was you happening to be in the area and coming to burn my cable whenever my family or friends tried to hook me up with 'husband material 20 yards and above' I can swear you literally growled at that nice gentleman at koko house in Ibadan who was innocently keeping me company. 

2013 I specifically told you we were done with whatever it was we were doing. I wasn't that into Bollywood movies to be doing shanana love with you or anyone else for that matter. Oh let's not forget those your  'sisters' that conveniently left pieces of jewellery, hair accessories and etc in places only non-sisters will find them (the look of embarrassment on your face while trying to explain exactly how your sister managed to lose said items in such places? Priceless!) 

Among other things, I was leaving the country to do the things in that your book that mysteriously vanished. 
You were mature about it and cool with my decision ( you even gave me ideas for the To-Do list), I was quite convinced till you took it upon yourself to personally deliver my doctors note to me in PH and hide an engagement ring in it. 
You are so lucky I didn't throw the envelope in the trash like I wanted to else, looking for "something you heard fall on the floor" while you were in the shower with that tiny face towel around your man parts wouldn't have been the only awkward thing about your so called proposal. 
I know "are you sure?" wasn't the answer you were expecting but who outright says no to an almost naked man dripping wet anyway? Sides you were distracting. 

That's how you crept into my heart and scattered all the plans I had in my head. I wanted a husband and a shared pet, something plastic... A rubber dog maybe or a coconut plant! 

You wanted a partner, a handful of children, a garden and real life pets.

We were un-alike yet  in sync where it counted. 

I am a planner you are a guts guy. 
After I'd spent weeks planning something to its tiniest detail, you'd come up with a random idea at the eleventh hour and end up creating a much better plan than I did. 
Another annoying trait you had was that no matter how much I provoked you, you'd never raise your voice or engage with me. 

You'd walk away and come back later asking me if I've eaten like food was my problem. 

While you claim the meals we shared while I was at Apata were what sealed the deal for you, I think we both know minus all the shakara you have to make first, you are a way better cook than I am. 

Then there's my mum. 

We know she scares you just a little bit (I never got to tell you; she scares everyone but it is more fun watching you squirm and act all prim and proper around her) however, she's the only one  I know who would prepare Egusi without vegetables that you would willingly eat and even ask for more. 

I did not trust you with money because you weren't very conversant with the word "No" you were always ready to share whatever you had with friends and family - even the bits you kept aside for the rainy day.  

While you were careful never to let your generosity cause your beloved Sohna to lack for anything, I often fantasised about hitting you over the head with the spoon I was using to eat the garri we had to drink  because Mr. B needed the money we budgeted for a balanced meal more than us. 

We were going to grow old together, be that crazy old couple that terrorised the street kids and banged our canes on iron structures just because we could. 

You said you'd shun my tradition and get a plot somewhere in Ibadan or yonder so we'd be buried side by side and frolic the afterlife together. 

You never mentioned anything about leaving me with the kids you so desired, making me a widow before our 5th wedding anniversary and depriving me of the will to live. 

It was always me before you cause we agreed you'd be able to cope better. 

People call and ask how I'm doing. 
I've lost my freaking better half,  how do they imagine I am doing? 
The truth is I am not "okay", "fine" or "doing better". 
I am angry with a lot of people and at you too Hector. 

Royally pissed, enraged... Heartbroken. 

I want to write you a strongly worded Whatsapp message, or  better still, summon you and give you a serious talking to. 
You dying and leaving me is a selfish thing to do. 
I hardly sleep these days, if I do, I wake up with a start, reach for my phone, and scroll to my messages. 

I am expecting an apology. 

I could not decide what to get you for your birthday this year, I thought of something belated or making a false promise to stop replacing the hankies you keep in your pocket with my brightly colored flimsy panties seeing how unprofessional it makes you look when you whip them out in public. 

Now, I guess making sure you are buried in one of your favourite suits would do. 




Here lies Hector Jobarteh. 

Oseyi's perfectly imperfect man. 

Father, Husband: Son, Friend. 

Who will bell the cat?

Change...
From bus conductors to market women, from wide eyed youths to tired Nigerians. Change is one word they have in common.
Over time, Change or the promise of it has become the next abused word after “I love you”, "trust me" and “I promise”.
While I believe it is bad practice for those in the service industry to insist potential clients come with change, a lesson to be learned is that we should stop waiting for change to be fed to us by not-so-well-meaning aspiring administrators and be the change we want to see. 
If change were something we want bad enough, we as individuals and people should find a way to make it happen. 
Then again maybe these are just words.

In a country like Nigeria, rich in natural and human resources, is it possible really to achieve change? 
Heck we have so much water that we have decided to play gods and build estates on the ocean without giving much thought to the potential impacts on the environment or ecosystem.
Then again, it is possible that building permits were gotten from pastors/priests/prophets who these days serve as all-knowing oracles and have outlawed man's use of common-sense. 

Who has heard of a developing country like ours being resilient? 
Harnessing solar, wind or hydropower to make electricity a basic entitlement for all and not a privilege for only those that can afford it? 
Or even considered transforming wood or agricultural waste to biogas while creating job opportunities for those at the grassroots? 
Here the sun is only good for drying clothes, weave-ons and melon while agriculture has become synonymous with Fulani herdsmen, bankruptcy and kidnapping.
Correct me... if I am wrong.

Compared to what we have witnessed, what does this change really entail?
Does it include promoting religious fanaticism, tribalism, nepotism and the trend of getting ahead by skin bleaching?
How about churches promising heaven on earth, the death of our enemies and wealth without hard work?   
What happens to citizens from families so blended, it is almost impossible to tell which part of the country they really come from? 
Would they prove to be assets or be seen as threats to the government of the idealistic newly divided nation?

The new Nigerian dream is to go a western country and become successful at some job; whatever job is available be it road sweeping, morgue attendant or nuclear physicist. 
The question now is, if everyone leaves to become a foreigner, who will be left to build the nation? 

Change for me will be good well maintained roads, affordable and reliable power supply and promoting the country's agriculture sector.
With these for a start, I can look forward to more job opportunities, less political unrest and improved livelihoods for all.

The final question...

Who will bell the cat?

The story so far

Earlier today...

Sandwiched between our potbellied driver in a shirt badly in need of two, three say four-five complete wash cycles and a younger man who was ah, somewhat physically fit and give or take endowed, I was engulfed in a wave of nostalgia so strong I could perceive the scents of memories past.  

Although I did not quite get a good look at the face of the younger man, I knew he was fit because as we rode the motorbike fondly called “Okada” in my area, every time the bike rider pushed his brakes to avoid a bump or speeding headfirst into the bumper of a bigger vehicle, I was pushed into his rather nice, welcoming chest by one of Newton’s laws of gravity. 

Come to think of it, I think we shared a moment, because when I finally got to my stop, he hesitated a bit and actually told me good-bye.

Young love? Sigh.

Abu Dhabi

First impressions count, theirs on me? 

Not so good.  

I lost a waist belt that some how managed to remain with me through thick and thin until UAE. 

Despite the fact that said belt was “borrowed” it still smarts that after happily telling me to take it off before walking through the scanner machine ‘thingy’, they failed to tell me it had dropped while I struggled to grab the rest of my bags. 

When I realized I lost it, I made an attempt to retrace my steps but abandoned my quest after I tried to explain my predicament to a uniformed man and was asked instead to step aside and produce my travel documents.

I was like huh? 

The next episode occurred when some interesting team members of Burger king used sleight of hand to make my paid for bottle of water disappear from my tray and feigned not to understand my accent when I demanded to get what I paid for.

When finally I was told to “Please get decent.” by a male flight attendant because I happened to be carrying breasts beneath a to-the-neck T-shirt and an all-other-upper-body-parts-covering leather jacket. I half expected to be escorted away and stoned to death for being shameless.

To sum it up, the experience was ‘bleh’.

MMM

I have not bothered to check if MMM stands for anything or if it was used because the inventor had a fondness for M&M’s and couldn't use the name but, I may or may not have lost a dear friend because of the whole MMM palaver.

X swore never to talk to me again because the freedom to choose to be with her was taken away from me by another person who went a step further than her by sourcing for my details and depositing money into my account and having his way with me after I had turned down several of her (and other peoples) offers to “come under” (is it just me or does the whole MMM lingo sound sexual?).

Aside from that, for the past weeks every other thing I hear is MMM this or that it is like a secret society of sorts, you are either in, out or a square for not respecting the hustle.

Call me ignorant or clueless but I couldn’t stop myself from laughing when I came across a ‘subscriber’ huddled in a corner making calls to remind ‘paired partners’ that they were due to make payments in a couple of hours.

The thought that someone might have the audacity to call me by 11:30 pm and probably wake me up after a long traffic, dust and noise polluted day to pay N2000 into his/her account is enough to put me off.

Pedestrian Bridge, Ojota

I committed an offence and felt really bad. I needed to confess to anybody so I could do my time and move on. 

I mean, how can I say I lead the  change I want to see when I allowed myself to be pushed into doing what I wasn’t comfortable with.

So, I called sister dear.

I was on for about five minutes talking about how I was sorry,  how I was careless and my fear of dropping the soap in jail when she was like wait first, are you talking about road for driving or flyover? 

She found it difficult to understand how it was possible to use one way on an overpass/pedestrian bridge or flyover as PH people refer to it. 

So, I took pains to explain to her that for some reason I don’t know, in a bid to protect life and property, restrictions were put around Ojota bus stop on the Ikorodu express road to stop people from running like headless chickens across the motorway and rather force them to squeeze their way across a below capacity pedestrian bridge because it is better for one person to get mugged, trampled or contact skin disease (and spread to a dozen more …Ebola anyone?) than to properly plan an alternate route for movement before enforcing “law and order”.

Out of courtesy or concern, a metal partition was constructed within the narrow bridge with up and down clearly labeled to ease traffic.

While school children and people in uniform are allowed to go either way (one way) it is an offence for anyone else to walk freely.

I accept responsibility for my actions and it would not happen again but the question is, at what cost?

What next?

There is Jumia and their dismal customer/client service that have decided to take my order to ransom, there is the story of recession and how it affects weather conditions and my new favorite word "Kolework" but that is gist for another day. Until "that other day", e go be later!

Cheers!