Surprise Plus Good News

Dear Hourglass Readers,

This post is coming a few months late and I really really apologize for that.

The good news is something great has happened on the Hourglass. We’ve moved spaces!

We sorta gave ourselves quit notice on here and moved to our own domain. That’s great, yeah?

 

Our new address is http://www.mimiadebayo.com and we just need you to click on the link and follow the new blog so you can get updates on our stories.

You should know, it’s been running for a few months now, meaning the Club Series is finished already on the site and another funny series is being featured.

You have a lot to catch up on, dear Hourglass readers!

I’m so sorry this is coming late. Forgive me!

So, what are we waiting for? Let’s go read some beautiful stories! It’s on me!

 

 

Hugs and kisses!

😉

 

The Club Of God Fearing Men- 14

His fingers danced across the keyboard as he typed his proposal. He had been working on it for two weeks now and still hadn’t managed to come up with something satisfactory.
‘Genesis,’ someone rapped on the door to his office and stepped in.
He looked up, his brows creased in concentration.
‘Rita, what is it? I’m busy…’
She strolled forward, perching on his desk.
‘You’re always busy these days. We haven’t even gone out for our usual drinks in a while. Is it because of that new church you’re attending?’
‘What new church?’ How did she know he was now attending church?
‘Somebody saw you and told somebody that told me,’ she leaned forward, giving him an easy view of her pockmarked cleavage.
‘Gossip. Is that what you people come to work to do?’
‘You’re Mister Popular na. What do you expect? Anyway, what do you say? Drinks tonight? On me…’
Rita had been coming on to him since she began working in the company a year ago and once at an office party, he had shared some sloppy kisses with her in one of the office’ cubicles. He’d considered taking her on at a time before he found out that she had been sleeping with another colleague at work. His interest had dissipated then, restricting their relationship to sharing drinks once in two weeks.
Her offer to have drinks with him was not a surprise but his date with Lola was slated for that evening.
‘Not tonight, Rita. Some other time.’
‘Are you blowing me off?’ she frowned.
‘No. I just said some other time. I have things to do later today,’ he glared at her. ‘Now, did you need something?’
Eyeing him, she slid off his desk, rearranging her dress. ‘Oga said the lady handling the catering for the seminar is around.’
‘And?’
‘He wants you to discuss with her since you’re the one in charge of the statistics.’
‘Seriously?’ Genesis scowled. Since when did he handle food affairs for this company? ‘Why didn’t he pick a female staff to handle this?’
‘You’re the one with an idea of the number of people who registered for the seminar na, so…’ she grinned, enjoying his discomfort. ‘Anyway, she’s in the waiting room. I’ll direct her to your office, okay?’
Genesis nodded, groaning inwardly at the meeting ahead. The caterer was probably some illiterate woman who would not understand simple English. He’d have to talk with Oga about getting a woman, maybe Mrs Nneji to handle the catering aspect of programs like these.
He heard the door close quietly behind Rita and he returned his attention to the laptop before him. He could only hope he discharged the caterer woman soon. First, he’d find the document that contained the list of people who’d registered for the seminar…
Almost immediately, there was a small rap on his door again.
Undeniably, the caterer. ‘Come in,’ he said, his eyes still on his laptop.
‘Good day sir.’
He paused, all his senses coming alert. The voice sounded familiar. Slowly, he raised his head and gasped when he saw who lingered at the door.
‘You?’ the words were out of his mouth before he knew it.
She blinked, obviously caught by surprise at seeing him there too.
‘You…you’re the caterer?’
‘Sorry to disappoint you,’ the words were clipped as she said them. Almost as if she were hurt by what he implied.
‘No…no, I don’t mean…argh, never mind. Just…come in and take a seat,’ he stood, gesturing to the chair on the other side of the table.
He was struck again by her gracefulness, her poise…her. How long had it been since that encounter at her house? Since he started purging himself of her?
She wore a long oxblood gown that swept across her feet, her toes peeked out beneath the gown, and he marveled at how she could look so delicate and strong at the same time. She wore her hair up in a bun and small gold hoops dangled from her ears. He could tell she wasn’t wearing any make-up except for the shiny gloss on her lips that made him want to suck on it.
Jeez! He blinked, taking his eyes off her.
‘Can we get to business now…sir?’ she had a serious look on her face, like she was oblivious to the effect she had on him. How could one woman affect him so even after avoiding her for weeks?
He sat, clearing his throat. ‘You can drop the sir…Abbey.’
‘Why?’
‘Because it makes me uncomfortable,’ he blinked. ‘Because I’m no sir to you.’
Instead of answering, she opened her bag and took out a mini laptop setting it on his desk.
‘You…you didn’t tell me you were a caterer,’ he said.
‘Last I checked, we didn’t know each other that well,’ she flipped open the laptop, avoiding his eyes
He heard the accusation in her voice and felt the guilt rushing at him. ‘How…how are the girls?’
‘What do you care?’ she looked at him now, ‘Listen, can we just cut to the chase and not pretend you actually care about anything that concerns me? I’m here for business. I hear your former caterers moved so I’m being called on to replace them. Tell me what I need to know about this seminar. How many people are you expecting? Any dignitaries? The sooner we get this over with, the sooner I get out of your face.’
She said he words in a rush but he heard every one of them and they felt like tiny darts aimed at hurting him. He knew he deserved it. He’d been a jerk, leaving her house like he did and never calling, not once, to even know how the girls were, or keep his promise to them.
Even though at the time it had seemed like the best thing to do, he now saw it as it really was from her point of view. A selfish bastard.
‘Abbey…I’m sorry,’ he couldn’t go on without telling her that.
She held up a hand, ‘don’t. Just…don’t.’
He heard the tremor in her voice, heard her take a deep breath before looking straight at him.
‘Business, please. Give me the data I need to cater your event.’
He couldn’t argue with her and he didn’t blame her for not wanting to have any personal discussion with him. He deserved it.
‘Okay. We have fifty registered people…and six dignitaries.’
‘What about the staff?’ she was typing on her laptop as he spoke.
‘Er…lemme check that.’
Sorting out the catering didn’t turn out to be as boring as he’d thought. He had to admit Abbey knew her onions; she took him through the process step by step, reminding of things he’d forgotten that would be necessary and once again he found himself enjoying her company even though it was only in the business capacity.
Their planning took almost an hour and by the time they were done, it was lunch hour.
‘So in conclusion, we should have everything at the venue by ten a.m?’ she asked, as she slapped the laptop close.
‘Yes. Ten is fine because we have the first break scheduled for eleven-thirty.’
She nodded, zipping her bag.
As she stood, she stretched out a hand, ‘a pleasure doing business with you.’ She said.
He took her hand in his and even though the gesture was impersonal, he wanted to take her hand to his lips and kiss it, or place it against his cheek.
Jeez!
Shaking himself out of it, Genesis scolded himself for slowly turning into a mushy rat. He released the hand before he did anything stupid.
‘Well…goodbye,’ she said, turning to leave.
He didn’t know how it happened; how one minute he was standing behind his table, separated from her and the next he was standing beside her. He was so close to her he could feel the heat emanating from her body and he liked it.
For a moment he forgot where they were.
‘Have lunch with me,’ he breathed. ‘Please.’
She was a few inches shorter, her head stopping at his shoulder. She took a step back, breaking their closeness.
‘I…I have to go,’ she said, quietly.
‘Abbey, I’ve been a jerk. Please let me fix it…have lunch with me now.’
He saw her eyes flick at the door, her only way of escape but she couldn’t get to it without getting past him.

‘Please Abbey,’ he pleaded.

To Be Continued

Mimi A.

The Club Of God-Fearing Men- 10

She picked on the first ring, like she had been waiting for the call.
For an instant, Genesis was caught off-guard.
“Finally!” she spoke, almost breathless. “Hello, who’s this?”
“I…um…this is Genesis from…”
“Ah, Genesis! I need a favour from you immediately, please! Do you stay anywhere around Opebi?”
He didn’t understand what was going on, but he replied, “Erm…yeah. I stay somewhere around Berger.”
Her sigh of relief was audible. “Good. Please, I need you.”
“Excuse me, but do you know who you’re speaking with?” He asked, befuddled.
“Genesis, yeah? Stalker dude with the weird name from Grace Assembly and then the club?” her words came out sounding like full-stops. Like she was fighting to be cordial yet abrupt; like she was talking to a 911 operative.
“Well, yes…no. I mean…”
He was no stalker dammit.
“Which is it please?”
“Yes, I am that Genesis.”
“Please I need your help…just…come over, please. Here’s my address.”
She didn’t wait for him to respond as she rattled off the address.
“When you get to the gate, just call me,” she said, with a finality that he could not argue.
Genesis wanted to ask if she was crazy, if she knew what time of the night it was. He wanted to tell her he wasn’t coming.
Instead, he said okay and hung up.
He did not think about it as he hurried into his clothes. There was nothing to think about, his brain wasn’t going to process anything about the situation at this moment so he figured his best bet was to get to her place and figure this whole thing out.
As he drove out of his compound, it occurred to him that she hadn’t bothered to know how he would find his way to her place. What if he didn’t own a car?
It was Sunday night, the roads were free and in ten minutes, he arrived at her gate.
As soon as he called to inform her of his presence, he saw the gate parting to let him in. In the dimness of his car lights, he saw her. She was carrying something.
He watched her struggle with the gate with one hand, while using the other to support the bundle she was carrying.
He stepped out of the car towards her.
“Leave it. I’ll open it,” he said, taking over.
She nodded and he noticed she was perspiring. Her feet were bare, like she had rushed out not caring.
What was going on?
He drove in and closed the gate behind him. By the time he was out of the car, she was standing on the porch.
“What’s happening?” he asked.
“Come in. I need you to help me with the girls.”
She turned to enter the house and Genesis saw her stumble, instinctively he reached out to steady her and his hand brushed against her skin. He recoiled.
She was burning hot.
“Jesus! You’re burning up!” he exclaimed, stretching his hand to take the bundle, which turned out to be one of the girls, from her.
“I’ll be fine. She’s worse.”
And yes she was; the little girl’s body seemed to be prickling with heat.
“You’re all sick?” he asked, following her into the house.
“Talk later. I need to get a wet towel to calm her temperature down. Would you do that for me, please?”
Genesis thought she looked terrible, she was almost swaying on her feet and there were bags under her eyes.
“Sure. Where do I get water and the towel?”
She pushed a small pink towel into his free hand and pointed him in the direction of what he surmised was the guest bathroom.
“Just keep dabbing her body with it. I have to attend to Amber.”
He didn’t ask questions; instead, cradling the whimpering girl in his arms, he set to work.
He didn’t see her again for another thirty minutes, mostly because he was busy with the girl and he didn’t bother looking up to know her mother’s whereabouts.
“You’d be fine, honey,” he whispered, over again to the child. Sometimes he found himself muttering soothing words he couldn’t remember, words whose origin he couldn’t fathom.
“Hey, how’s it going?” Abbey’s voice startled him from behind.
“It’s better than before,” he replied, touching the girl’s neck.
“Okay. I need to give her Paracetamol. Give her to me.”
“You can’t handle any more tonight. Don’t worry, I’ll carry her.” With that he lifted the child and carried her back to the living room.
He laid her on the couch, placing the damp towel on her forehead.
“Which one are you?” he asked, hoping to get her to talk.
She sniffed, blinking. “Augusta,” her voice cracked with unshed tears.
“Beautiful name for a princess. Augusta, you will stop crying now, okay? By tomorrow morning, you would be up and running, promise.”
Her nod was barely visible.
Abbey knelt beside him, touching her fingertips to her daughter’s face.
“Star baby, mummy’s gonna give you your drugs now and then pray for you. And then you’re gonna sleep and wake up tomorrow, good as new, okay?”
Genesis glanced at her, admiring the cheerfulness and hope in her voice. One he was sure she didn’t feel.
“Mummy…I’m afraid,” her voice was small as she spoke.
“Oh my baby, afraid of what?” Abbey was sitting now, a tremor in her voice.
“What if…what if…I don’t wake up tomorrow?”
The sheer simplicity of her question tore at Genesis heart and without thinking he said;
“Of course you will wake up tomorrow. Or don’t you want to see my handsome face again? Remember I promised you a treat when you get well?”
His heart warmed at the semi-smile that formed at the corner of her mouth.
“Okay…but my sister will come with us too.” She said, still in her soft voice.
“Deal.” He gave her a small tap on her hand.
*******

The next time he checked the clock, it was half past midnight and that was when he had the opportunity to actually settle down with Abbey.
After administering her meds, Star had drifted to sleep almost immediately but Amber had needed more attention because she had been having difficulty breathing all night as a result of her asthma.
After some struggle, she had finally drifted to sleep and Genesis had helped tuck both girls in.
It was when he and Abbey both slumped on the couch in the living room that he realised how much time had gone by.
“You don’t know what you’ve done for me, Genesis,” Abbey began, running her fingers through her weave. “I owe you big.”
She looked tired, like she had just been through a marathon. Despite the chilly air in the living room, she still had beads of sweat formed on her nose. It was then he noticed she was still fully dressed in one of her customary turtle necks.
“You should take a cold bathe. Your temperature was a bit on the high side when I came in,” he said. It occurred to him that there was nothing suggestive about his suggestion. It was something he would say to an old friend. The thought of it made him smile inwardly.
“I’m fine. Don’t worry about me,” she said.
“At least get rid of the turtleneck,” he said. “We don’t want you sick too.”
“Genesis, I said I’m fine, okay?” she snapped.
He nodded, standing. “I think I’ll take my leave now, ma’am.”
She shuffled to her feet too, her hand reaching out to touch him. “I’m sorry. I’m just a bit strung out. You’ve really been a God-send. It’s late, you should stay…”
Under different circumstances, Genesis would not have hesitated to take her up on her offer, but it crossed his mind that she was probably asking out of courtesy, not because she really wanted him there. After all, she had used him, what more did she need him for?

And so he shook his head.
“I should leave.” He didn’t wait for her to protest; instead he took long strides to the door, closing it softly behind him, he let the darkness embrace him.
To Be Continued…
Mimi A.

More Than An Apology

Sigh.

Dear Hourglass reader, I enter with my knees bowed. I have been away too long. Five weeks of radio silence is totally unacceptable on the Hourglass no matter what the excuse is, yeah? I can see the inter-webs(internet cobwebs, just in case you’re wondering) and there is a musty smell coming from this space. I know that smell, it’s one of neglect, distance. The smell that welcomes you to your home after you’ve been gone awhile.

Sigh.
This post is dedicated to you, dear reader; because I care, because I appreciate you, because I am grateful to you. I am posting here strictly to say I am sorry.
I have been underground for a while, away from internet connection, cut off from y’all and it has been like a bad case of withdrawal. I missed this space, I missed y’all, I missed the delightful comments.
I have been trying to post this apology for days now, but a certain internet demon has kept me from doing it, it has been extremely difficult to open the web page. But alas, I persisted and here I am!
I would have put up a post to compensate but due to some circumstances beyond my control blah blah blah…(I’m beginning to sound like a politician.)
Basically sha, I’d have to take a raincheck on putting up a story today but I am sure that would change soon! I am so hopeful that things would get back to normal around here and I would have the blog up and running in no time.
Meanwhile, thank you all, for being here, for reading and for following. I do not take any of you for granted.

LOADS AND LOADS OF LOVE.

MIMI .A.

The Club Of God- Fearing Men – 7

That Sunday, Genesis went back to Grace Assembly. After his chance meeting with Abbey on Friday, he was sure she wasn’t the right prey. He didn’t need someone who knew how to manipulate a conversation, who made him feel like he wasn’t in charge. Her promise of a date cum appointment was the last straw. He went home that night thinking about her and wondering what her messed up story was; how had she come to sing in a club, to be so familiar with the setting?
His friends had badgered him with questions that he didn’t want to answer when he returned to their table that night.
Who was she? Had they met before?
Tango was bitter that she had created a subdued atmosphere in the club for the rest of the evening. The few people who talked loudly and ordered several rounds of drinks were those who had missed her performance.
Tango went as far as to scold the club manager for letting her sing that song.
‘Whitney must have sung it when she was high on something and was seeing angels,’ he joked.
The club manager had in turn told him that some of their guests had requested her return. Genesis was silent as activity swirled around him.
The prospect of seeing her again was tempting, he had to admit. There was something about her he found fascinating. Maybe it was those eyes of hers that told a story of their own, with pain lurking in its depth.
He wanted to know her, wanted to know what made her tick, wanted to touch her beneath her long-sleeved, turtle-necked shirts.
Most of all, he wanted to break her. She gave the impression that she had everything put together, that she was a strong woman. He wanted to peel away that façade and see what was behind the mask. Surely, it was a mask.
When he got home that night, he drifted into a dreamless sleep after making up his mind to not call her.
She was used goods; someone else’ wife. It didn’t matter that her husband was dead. Heck, she still wore her wedding band!
On Sunday he found himself in Grace Assembly to continue his search.
However as the service progressed, he found himself glancing behind occasionally. At first he didn’t know why he kept doing it until he figured it out. He was looking to see if Abbey would walk in the door and march to her seat like the previous Sunday.
She didn’t.
He wasn’t disappointed, he told himself as the Pastor mounted the altar for his sermon. The lady seating in front of him looked like a good enough prospect, at least from the back. He would make his move today, somehow. He had wasted enough time.
‘Come unto me all ye that labour and are heavy-laden and I would give you rest,’ the Pastor quoted. He was wearing a navy-blue suit and a sky-blue shirt that matched his polka-dotted tie.
Genesis liked his dress sense. He could bet it was the wife who had put it together, or some eager devotee had sowed it into the Pastor’s life.
‘Brethren, we need to be in Christ’s rest. That’s the only place we can be assured of peace and safety. The enemy is constantly at work to prove that you made the wrong decision the moment you accepted Christ. The Bible says he is like a roaring lion, looking for whom to devour. Would you be his net prey? Would you let him succeed at tearing you down? Paul makes it clear that we should not be ignorant of the devices of the enemy!’
Genesis winced, uncomfortable. Why did he feel like this man was talking to him, about him?
Paranoia, that’s what it was. No one else knew his mission here.
And he didn’t believe in the Holy Spirit doing amebo. Maybe back in the days of Ananias and Saphirra. But even then, he could swear that something in Ananias demeanor had given him away to Peter.
He settled in his seat, consciously drifting away. He didn’t need a sermon that made him feel like the devil.
Well, he had to admit the Pastor had small swag. Not too much, no permed hair or some large bling-bling hanging around his neck.
Genesis didn’t know why those things put him off. To him it was like Pastors who did such were trying too hard to throw off attention from what they had on the inside and draw more attention to how they looked on the outside.
The logic was probably this; if they could keep the audience focused on the myriad of distractions on the outside, then they wouldn’t probe too deep to know how much of the content was inside.
They would jump; do their theatrics to elicit enough noise from the congregation. They fed on the chants of ride on pastor and tell us, tell us. The people would eventually leave church exhausted on the outside and empty on the inside. God knows, he had seen enough of that.
He remembered a time he had come home for holidays from the university. He was eighteen then and already forming an opinion on his mother’s religion. She had however forced him to attend a program with her.
The guest speaker had turned out to be one of the motivational speakers that Genesis had already become familiar with.
‘Drop everything you have at the feet of the Master and see if He would not answer!’ the speaker said as he rounded up his sermon.
Which Master exactly? Genesis wanted to ask, but he had kept mum while his mother emptied the contents of her purse on the altar.
‘Remember the widow’s mite? Remember the widow, children of God, remember the widow!’ the speaker kept singing while tapping the side of his leg with his hand.
When the service was over that night, Mum had no transport to go home.
‘Geegee, abeg you get money for there? Don’t worry, when this seed manifests, I will do you well eh?’
‘Which seed, Mummy? Don’t yu know a scam when you see one? What if I wasn’t here and I didn’t have money, shebi you’ll trek home?’
She hadn’t answered then, when she did, it was to scold him.
‘Shebi it’s because you have gone to school you think you can now outthink God? Biko, let’s go home and don’t tell me nonsense. Don’t use your mouth to destroy my seed, eh?’
Genesis chuckled to himself as he remembered that incident. He had certainly seen it all, he thought.
‘Are you okay brother?’ someone asked.
He looked over at the questioner; his seatmate, a lady in a bright pink dress, was looking sternly at him.
‘Why?’ he responded.
Before she could respond, an usher strolled by, glaring pointedly at them.
Genesis sighed and returned his attention to the sermon. All these oversabis sha. Mtchew.
‘All heads bowed, all eyes closed. If you know that deep inside you, you feel an emptiness, a need to enter into Christ’s rest; just obey God’s voice and answer the call. Just step forward, don’t be ashamed. The bible says if you’re ashamed of me here on earth, I would be ashamed of you on that day. Come forward and we would pray with you. Step into his rest.’
Genesis thought the Pastor was being too desperate about his altar call. C’mon he didn’t have to say all those words in one breath na.
And why did altar calls have to sound so clichéd? Why say the ashamed thingy or the heads bowed, eyes closed?
Whoever wanted to obey the call would do so regardless of the eyes staring at him/her.
‘Don’t waste any more time. This is an opportunity of a life time…’ the Pastor continued, ‘thank you sister….ah, thank you brother…’
Genesis waited, bidding his time. He had positioned his head in a way that he could see a cross section of the congregation, especially those who were answering the call.
And then, just as the Pastor was about to close the gates of heaven, Genesis stood.
And began to make his way to the front.
The hunt had just begun.

To Be Continued…

Mimi .A.

A Semi- Rant About Saro 2

So, this is the reason I have been sorta AWOL for a while. Trust me pals, it’s for a good cause.

Saro: The Musical launched in December 2014. It is a play that’s written by Mrs Bolanle Austen-Peters, that speaks a lot about the situation of most Nigerians.

The just concluded Saro, The Musical 2  ran from the 1st of April to the 6th of April at Shell Hall MUSON Centre. It definitely lit up the Easter celebration for those who were in Lagos.

So, day 1 kicked off with just one show by 3pm seeing as we were still recovering from the election brouhaha in Nigeria.

One thing I can confidently say is that the show is like sweet wine, that gets better with age. It is not something that gets old or wears out. It is not something you’d see once and conclude that that’s enough for you. The play is like a revelation, like a well-defined orgasm shocking you beyond your senses.

The experience of seeing the play is something I can’t capture properly right now because it’s one of those beautiful things that words cannot begin to describe. You know how some guys go ‘your beauty is too much for words’? Well, only now do I truly understand that phrase and thankfully I’m using it for something better than to toast a babe. Smiles.

Saro is too beautiful for words. You have to be there to catch the bug, experience the feeling of staying glued as the stage comes alive with music, dance, drama and talent of all kinds. It opened my eyes to the fact that there’s so much raw talent in Nigeria that needs just one opportunity and a little polishing to make it to the top.

The idea behind the plot is the typical Nigerian success stories of wannabes. Four village boys who migrate to Lagos, the city of dreams with the intention to’blow’, to become superstars.

Of course, they meet up with roadblocks on the way that make them  realize that the road to success is never laced with gold.

The most exciting part of the play, for me, is the way they writer/director brought together the ethnicity of Nigerians and laced them together, to prove that we are all woven from the same fabric. that no matter the language we speak or the dresses we wear, we all need each other.

There’s another show by December which I’m going to be sure to attend again. The Saro experience is one that once or twice is never enough.

One thing I discovered with this play/show is that Nigeria is rich. Not the riches of gold, silver or oil money, but the riches of talent beyond imagination. We have people with amazing things inside of them that just need a little tweaking to become something magnificent. There are too many things to do than just be stuck with being conventional. You don’t have to study medicine, law or engineering before you become a success. It is never what you study that makes you a success, it is what you have inside of you. When you let it out, you find that you will soar above those who have not yet discovered who they are.

My advice? Be you. You can only succeed as you, never act the script of someone else’s life, never tailor your life after another’s, you’d only end up living and dying unfulfilled.

That said, thank you so much for reading even though it isn’t a story.

FULL TEXT: Statement By President Goodluck Jonathan After Announcement Of Presidential Election Results

I said I’m in love with My President. This is reason enough. Dear Nigerians.

Su'eddie in Life n' Literature

STATEMENT BY PRESIDENT GOODLUCK EBELE JONATHAN AFTER THE ANNOUNCEMENT OF THE RESULTS OF PRESIDENTIAL ELECTION 2015

Fellow Nigerians,

President Goodluck Jonathan

I thank you all for turning out en-masse for the March 28 General Elections.

I promised the country free and fair elections. I have kept my word. I have also expanded the space for Nigerians to participate in the democratic process. That is one legacy I will like to see endure.

Although some people have expressed mixed feelings about the results announced by the Independent National Electoral Commission (INEC), I urge those who may feel aggrieved to follow due process based on our constitution and our electoral laws, in seeking redress.

As I have always affirmed, nobody’s ambition is worth the blood of any Nigerian. The unity, stability and progress of our dear country is more important than anything else.

I congratulate all Nigerians for successfully going through the…

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Dear Future Husband; A Letter

Photo by LivluvCreate

Dear Future Husband,

Believe me I will not be writing this letter to you if it were not so important. I have pondered on it many times and have decided it is important I communicate this with you before you approach me.

There is one thing you will need if you want to marry me. Forget the cars, the duplexes, the 9-5 bank job or the fat wallet, this thing is more important than all those. In fact, if used well, this thing will get you all those.

I am sure you are dying to know what it is that will be your ticket to marrying me. Let me tell you, it is something seemly insignificant but I tell you it is a case of the pen being mightier than the sword. And please do not laugh because if you do it will just convey to me that you are not the kind of man who understands the deep things of this life.

Okay here it is, my dear future hubby, you need dimples.
And no, I am not some dumb blond. I will not tell you what I have not researched about. I have seen the power of dimples first hand. In fact, the other day I went to the bank to do a transaction and while at the counter waiting my turn, a lady brushed by me and marched to the front like she owned the place.

I opened my mouth to tell her it was my turn next and she turned to me and the moment she smiled I knew that the battle was lost. This lady had the freshest dimples you could imagine. I almost died and went to heaven.

She now spoke in one tiny voice like that and said things I cannot remember because I was too busy basking in the glory of those two deep holes in her cheeks.
Now, I am not gay(how could I be, when I’m rooting for you?) but dimples have this effect on me that it doesn’t matter who has them; man, woman, animal, alien. I do not mind. They drive me crazy, in a good way.
You should know how the rest of the story goes.
So, future hubby; you don’t have to be tall, dark and handsome. Don’t worry dimples would take care of that. They have a way of wiping off any sort of ugliness in anybody. When you show them, everybody forgets about whatever inadequacies you have. With dimples, you are beauty in the eyes of every beholder.
And by dimples I don’t mean those semi-dots, those wannabes that appear by mistake on people’s faces. Like mine. Do you know how many times I have stood in front of the mirror and folded my mouth in just to produce actual dimples? I can’t count, I tell you. I mean real dimples, the deep ones that your finger can fit in.
Let me tell you why dimples are important again, for us. You see, dimples are like boobs. I have boobs so I can tell the effect they have on men alone, this time. They open up closed doors; they are powerful in an inconspicuous way. And with dimples you and I will never have to fight. Because I am very sure that by the time you bestow me with a glorious dimpled smile, my anger will evaporate and I would forget what I had been angry about in the first place. That way, we get to have lots of make-up sex even when there is nothing to make up for.
But that is good, right? After all, the key to a successful marriage is sex. And from what I hear make-up sex is the most beautiful kind; spontaneous and passionate. If we keep doing that, our marriage is sure to succeed. Do you know why?
Dimples.
Do you now see why it is paramount for you to have them?
With dimples, even if you don’t have a car or a good job when you come to marry me, my mother would convince my father to hire you and then marry me. You see, mother is a sucker for dimples too.
I am concerned about this because I am dimpleless and it has been a source of worry for me all these years. I have however made up my mind that when I have become a millionaire like some of these celebrities, I will fly abroad and have plastic surgery done. The kind where they only put dimples in my face. I hope that kind of surgery exists because I am thinking, if they could change a black man to white with plastic surgery, why not put dimples where there were none? Faces are like pasta, no?

photo by drahanorov

But I digress; I was saying that I am sure that if I marry you, dimples would automatically be in our children’s jeans…I’m sorry, genes. That has been my earnest prayer all these years.

Lord, what I have never been able to get, my children shall have in hundred fold. Amen.
So you see, you are paramount to the answering of this prayer.
Now, I know you will read this and I am telling you now, please, biko, mbok, ejooo drill a hole in your cheeks if you want me to ever recognise you because I have asked God to blind my eyes to any man whose cheeks are naked.
And my God answers prayers.
I will wait for you.

Your Dimpleless Future Wife.

Photo by Hitarek.net

Dear Reader: A Must Read

THANK YOU.

I know, I know. You were probably expecting a sermon, something more colourful than a simple thank you. But what is more beautiful, what captures gratitude like the word THANK YOU?

So, here I am thanking you, the faithful followers and readers of the Hourglass. You’ve been wonderful. To those who take out time to comment, I am thankful. You make blogging fun, you make it worth it. You make the Hourglass what it is.

I hope to do better in 2015, I hope that as we close this chapter and open another in a few hours, I wish you all an amazing 2015.

Lots Of Love!

What’s Not To Love About Naija?

This isn’t a motivational piece telling you to rise up and rep Naija or to remind you of who you are as a Nigerian. You should read this, laugh about it and ponder the many things mentioned here then drop a comment. I’d love to hear from you.

Accents- British, American etc.
Am I the only one who appreciates how some Nigerians manage to be American, British and Yoruba all wrapped in one? Do you see our talented Nollywood stars? Don’t you think it makes us awfully talented, being able to talk like people from countries we’ve never set foot in? Our accent is unique. We have the Yorubas who miss their ‘h’s’, the Igbos who mix their ‘r’s’ and ‘L’s’, the Northerners who can comfortably mix their ‘f’s’ and ‘p’s’.
Tell me, what other country can fake our unique accents? So dear friend, the next time you fake that British-American-Indian accent and you actually pull it off nicely, give yourself a thumb up because you’re actually more talented than you think.

– Serial killers
We hear in the news of how someone walks into a school, takes hostages and starts shooting and ends up with numerous victims, or how some guy offs his girlfriend with multiple gunshots while thinking she’s an ‘intruder’. In Naija, we’d rather go for the more traditional way of rat poison if you feel so offended by the person. Or back in the days, juju would do it. No one is in actual possession of a gun or ‘emergencies’. Where can I buy a gun in Naija?
We have the occasional ritualists and then the occasional ‘armed’ robbers, but we don’t have a pyscho who walks the street kidnapping women, mutilating them and when he’s caught, blames it on having mummy issues when he was a kid. What mummy issues give you the license to become a serial something?
Shouldn’t Nigerians be grateful that religion is holding back some potential psychos, no?

– Government
We always blame the ‘government’ for our problems.
No light– government, no job–government, no money–government, no fuel–government, no happiness–government, childlessness–government. Everything is the government’s fault and our job is to sit back and blame them for it. What about the receptionists who collect bribes to enforce something that is your right? Is that the government too? What about those who are making money and are actually happy, what? Will they credit their happiness to the government?
Ultimately, we should be our ‘government’. We shouldn’t let anyone determine how happy or crappy our lives should be. No matter how little what you have is, make the best of it. There are people who thrive despite our economic state, ever wonder their secret? It’s time we take responsibility for our failures and leave the government alone.

– Spanking
How would you feel, Mum and dad if your eight-year old holds you ransom by threatening to report to the cops if you lay a finger on him/her as a form of discipline? What if your kid, whom you brought into this world and for whom you cater for, threatens to sue you for what sef…assault?
In Naija, we actually believe that sparing the rod will spoil the child. Corporal punishment should not be eradicated from the life of a child.
Parents, be grateful you aren’t getting sued for giving lil Emeka welts on his butt. Be grateful you’re in Naija.

–Jokes
Don’t you just love how Nigerians end up joking about everything? I love how we took the Ebola crisis to a whole new level with the salt and water trick. I marvel at how the BringBackOurGirls campaign eventually turned to TakeOurRunsGirls. I admire how our First lady became the butt of well-known jokes; I love how we have clowns who claim to be House of Rep members etc. running our government.
Seriously, what’s life if you can’t see humour in every situation? It is a gift to be able to see humour in impending doom. It is a rare privilege to be able to laugh and crack jokes about matters that actually make our heart bleed with tears. It is our own way of keeping our heads above water. It is our way of surviving amidst the dire and bleak circumstances in our country. If you’re a Nigerian, you have this uncanny ability. Don’t fight it.

– Patriotism.
Don’t you just love how Nigerians can be passionate about a thing that is none of their business? See the Ice bucket challenge for ALS, didn’t you see how our Nigerian celebrities were patriotic enough to dump a bucket of ice water on themselves to show how sympathetic they were to a sickness they’d probably never heard of before?
Or did we fail to mention how they joined the Americans in celebrating Thanksgiving, the Fourth of July?

–Religion
Is the most beautiful thing that happened to this country because after all is said and done, this is what keeps us together and drives a wedge between us at the same time. It is what keeps this country sane to an extent; it is why thieves visit their Pastor before an operation to ask for his blessing for their ‘businesses’.
This is also why our President invites Men of God to the Villa to pray and advise him too. This is why gay marriage cannot be legalised in this country. Who says religion is our curse?
Perhaps it isn’t religion that matters; it’s believing. It isn’t about masquerading behind religion but about putting to practice common principles of living. It is about doing to others what you want to be done to you. Won’t the country be a better place if our President thinks about his people before he takes any major step? Won’t our country be a better place if we all stopped exploiting each other?

Dear Nigerian, do not to lose hope in you because YOU are Nigeria and NIGERIA is you. So, join me as we reiterate what our National Anthem says;
“Arise Oh Compatriot!
…to serve our fatherland
With love and strength and faith,
The labour of our heroes past
Shall never be in vain,
…one nation bound with freedom, peace and unity.”

Happy Birthday Nigeria!

Mimi A.