WCF - Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie.

 Nigerian author and novelist, Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie is officially my WCF (WOMAN CRUSH FRIDAY). Infact, she's my woman crush all day, all year, and all time... She's just simply an amazing woman whose views have changed my perceptions of reality. She could be melancholic sometimes - which is obvious in some of her works - and it just adds a little bit of mystery to her personality. I fell in love with that the moment I noticed it. Now, I might not consider myself feminist but for Adichie, I think I can go that far. What more can I say, ADICHIE IS BAE!! Her femininity, her simplicity, her realness, her beauty, her kinky hair, and most of all, her works speak volumes.

Stumbled on these art designs on Instagram. Just thought I should share.

   

Creative art! Colourful designs!!

MMAYEN: TRAVAILS OF AN EXPECTANT WOMAN (Short Short Story)

The grasses were still wet with the morning dew and the voices of chirping birds  made the calmness of the morning even more pleasant. Mmayen walked in gentle strides along the path that led to the village stream. She figured she needed to fasten her pace because the moment the first cock crows, the villagers would begin their early morning routine trip to the stream, besides, she wanted to get home before her husband woke up. He would go mad with rage if he found out that despite his warnings and pleadings she still went about doing a domestic chore in her delicate condition.The traditional midwife warned her sternly a fortnight ago to prepare for her delivery which was almost due -abstain from house work, take long periods of rest, and bear optimism that the delivery would be nothing short of successful. She sure knew how to take care of herself and so she went about her duties like a wife should.
     In no time, she filled her earthen pot to the brim and began her journey back home. She came to meet her husband sitting in a cane chair in front of his hut chewing a stick. The instant he saw her, he spat out with his face squeezing into a stern frown. Mmayen pretended not to notice.
"Did my husband sleep well?" She asked no one in particular as she gently put the pot down taking great care not to hurt herself.
"Mmayen! Mmayen!! How many times have I warned you?" Her husband barked.
"What have I done this time". She feigned ignorance.
"It is obvious you've made up your mind to die but please give me my baby before that happens. From now henceforth i...."
      Her legs wobbled, her head spinned and her eyes grew dizzy as she tried to lean on the cane chair but in split seconds, she lay on the floor. Helpless.
      She woke up to pains in her abdomen with the inability to lift her thighs and the environment seemed alien.
"Thanks to the gods! She's awake". The midwife exclaimed.
"Abasi sosongho ". Her husband quickly chipped in.
"Have I been asleep? ". A confused Mmayen asked with her eyeballs dilating in a manner that spelt confusion.
"You've been in labour since yesterday morning but you've been asleep for sometime now". The midwife explained.
      The pains in her abdomen was becoming unbearable and hushed moans turned into loud screams.
"Leave us". The midwife told Bassey. He quietly left the room, shuffling his feet as he went with his head bowed in the humility his wife's condition had bestowed on him. He silently prayed to the gods for it not to be a still-birth again. Two stillbirths and one miscarriage within the space of three years was no joke and if this turns out the same way, just like Mmayen had threatened, she'd give up on childbearing and resign to her fate. He earnestly wished for the gods to smile on them this time as her screams which he could hear pierced his heart.
"Give it another try, another push".
      She screamed, she growled in pains, she pushed, she silently called on the gods to look into her plight because only a thin line separated her now from the world beyond. She was losing every ounce of energy in her. Everything began to look surreal and as though in a trance, she saw herself laughing - a very hearty laughter. And out of the blues, her husband's mother came with her usual rants only that this time she was very fierce. She called her ugly names, howling and screaming at her. Mmayen wanted to say something to her, wanted to fight back, but she stood there transfixed to a spot as tears flowed from her eyes with reckless abandon. Then, the midwife's painful spank on her right thigh jolted her back to reality. Now, she was awake to her pains, to her fears, and to the undying hope of positivity.
      "It's a boy!! It's a boy!!!". The midwife screamed. Mmayen didn't even know when it happened and in her pains she felt a sudden soothing relief. A weak smile spread across her face as she tried to raise her head up to see her newborn child.
"Oh no!! There's another one. I can see the head. Relax". Mmayen slumped back into her previous lying position and wondered what manner of fate she had.
An abomination!!!!

In no time, the chief priest and his messengers were there to escort the 'evil babies' to the evil forest and for Mmayen, this was the end. She wished nothing but death for herself.
"...now I know the gods have forsaken me".

For my Ladies only!!

Hey Ladies!!

From now on, let's be in the business of being awesome. Gone are the days when we needed approvals from people  to give us the support we needed. Be your support. Unfortunately, society today is filled with so many negative tongues that would never speak good about you or what you do and it's even more unfortunate that sometimes we let these things get to us and we tend to adjust our lives and activities to fit the specs of these negative people. They're everywhere- in school, in church, at the workplace, on social media and yes, even in our FAMILIES.The earlier we begin to see ourselves in a different light, the much more easier life would be. Storm the gym to get that dream figure of yours, read books to widen your horizons, listen to new music, go to places you've never been to, save money, learn something new, wear your favorite lipstick, hang out with positive people, fall in love everyday with yourself, strive to be yourself and be happy regardless of what life presents. You'd be amazed at how your positive vibes would attract the right kind of people to you without stress. It's just that easy. Being AWESOME is a thing of the mind and it only keeps radiating. Learning to live our lives regardless of what people say, what they think, and how they feel is the key to real happiness and self-fulfilment. In all, we shouldn't forget to give, love, and LIVE.

REMINISCENCES

      Childhood was awesome. Was it? Yes. The bitter-sweet memories, the pranks, the tears and laughter, our innocence, and most of all, the unending care of loved ones. Growing up in Ijegun (a part of Lagos) left a lasting impression in my life and has also affected the manner with which I perceive issues generally. I may not presently be able to say 'HOW' but I know someday I'll come to the knowledge of it. My childhood was filled with so many tales I'd love to tell - some I remember vividly, some I remember in fragments. I and my siblings who were present at the time often relive these memories.
      Many a time, my mother would say that our childhood was filled with lack. We often look at her in amazement wondering how and what we lacked, because we hardly even noticed. For all we cared, we ate whenever our tummies rumbled including biscuits at least once a day, we lived in a spacious and comfortable 3-bedroom flat with wonderful neighbours and playmates in the flat directly above ours, we attended a good private school, and what we had was at least enough to sustain us. What more could we possibly ask for. But, of course, we knew that certain luxuries couldn't be afforded and we made no mention of them, let alone crave them. We ate meat at intervals and on special occasions, foods like Indomie and Corn-flakes were meant only for rich kids. That was embedded in our psyche. Funny thing is, sometimes, I look back and wonder how we were able to find our way through and still yet be very happy. And I realised it was but the handiwork of LOVE.
      Love shielded us from a whole lot, love weathered the storm for us, love kept us. That love radiated in everything we did - from how our mother walked with us to and from school everyday (she taught in our school at that time), the meticulous way with which she guided us through our homeworks till we were fully able to cope on our own, forfeiting some of her meals to be sure we had enough, etc. The list is endless.
      Once, I vividly remember her giving me a 200# note on a fine Saturday morning. I was about 8years old. I was asked to buy tin-tomatoes and vegetable oil for cooking. As children, we didn't walk when we were sent on errands. We either ran, jumped, or even hopped. This errand was no different. Somehow, maybe while I was racing, I lost the money. I walked back home sad, teary-eyed and afraid. I tiptoed into the house like a wounded mouse and the look I had on my face gave me away. My mother asked me immediately and I nodded my head in a robotic manner, expecting her to yell at me, tell me how stupid I was or how other girls my age go to market for their mothers, or at worst land me a slap instantly. But she did none of those. She stood looking at me for a few seconds as tears welled up in her eyes and before I knew it, she flung herself up and threw her entire weight to the floor. I was stunned. Why the drama? Kids at school often told stories of either how they lost or stole monies - it wasn't much of a big deal, I thought. Then I looked down at her and saw her sobbing quietly. Even as little as I was, it tore my heart to shreds. I wanted to sit beside her, put my arms around her shoulders and ask her why she cried. But I couldn't. I only stood there and began crying too. I didn't cry because I lost her money, but I cried because for the very first time, I saw my mother cry. Until that time, it never occurred to me that adults cried- let alone my mother. But for some reason, I felt her pain -even though I didn't really know or understand what it was, I became immersed in her grief, and I longed to feel what she felt. It wasn't until much later that I came to discover how much the money I lost meant to her and how it was her only hope of feeding us that day. However, in all, we pulled through.
      Our neighbours, Chi-Chi and her brother Tobechukwu added spice to it all. Together we all had fun, we played, we shared tall dreams and pulled several silly pranks. Our favorite t.v shows were "Fuji House of Commotion" a popular comedy sit-com, "Super -Story", and a Mexican soap-opera which we liked but never really understood - "The Gardener 's Daughter". School was filled with so many interesting characters - yoruba children whose yoruba accent influenced their written and spoken English. But of course, our mother didn't let any of that get to us. Our parents shielded us from so many things. I still remember some of my old school mates and I smile. Especially a smallish and very skinny boy with a head rather too big for his body - Riliwan Lawal- whose grammar was (or maybe still is) capable of making any sane person go stark-raving mad. Blunders like "remoof there" (in place of "go away from there"), " dress for me" (in place of "shift for me") , interchanging "is" with "was" and vice versa were among the few one would find in Riliwan's vocabulary. There are so many things I'd wish to pen down here but whether or not I do so now, it doesn't take away the fact that my childhood and growing up was awesome in its entirety. The kids I interacted with at home, school, and church, the tongue lashing and random slaps I received from my mother (my father never really hit us with his hand, he did the flogging with "pankere"), and the numerous bitter-sweet experiences all put together gave my childhood a quintessential flavour. And I know, one day, I will write about my childhood....