As you may or may not know, I am an avid reader though I haven’t read as much as I would have liked to over the last few months. With that being said, I’ve decided to start reading more and sharing with you what I’ve read in case in turns out you are looking for a good book too.
The book of the month for the month of January is “The Smart Money Woman: by Arese Ugwu
This was such a great book. It gives very practical financial tips in a way that is easy to relate to. It is a book I envision I will read over more than once though the first time I read it, the story was so interesting, I just wanted to find out what would happen.
It is a fictional story about a lady called Zuri who finds herself in a precarious financial position after a bit too much enjoying and not enough budgeting. We follow her story alongside a few of her friends as they learn valuable financial lessons that in turn improve their financial status.
The book’s description;
Meet Zuri. She’s living a fabulous life. Great car, gorgeous apartment, well paid job.
Meet Zuri. Broken down car, an apartment she cant afford, a job she’s about to lose.
What’s a broke girl to do?
With her best friends Tami (the flighty fashion designer), Lara (the tough oil and gas executive), Adesuwa (the conservative lawyer), and Ladun (the fabulous housewife), Zuri grows a little, learns a lot and navigates her way to making better financial decisions and building wealth.
This book tackles, debt, spending, the consumerist culture of the African middle class, the fear and misconceptions surrounding money and the lack of it, love, friendships, cultural and societal pressures and the roles they play in success. With each chapter comes a Smart Money Lesson, there to help you work your way up the financial ladder.
I liked that the author used a fictional (and quite interesting) story to help paint her picture and I also liked how the author has used the fiction to weave in key financial lessons which makes the book interesting and educational without being boring.
I think it does a great job of articulating key financial principles and is a great book for anyone who is taking an interest in financial education.
CONSTRUCTIVE CRITICISM / IDEAS
My only criticism is the way the story ends, which I felt was a bit sad. But given that I am a sucker for happy endings, this is probably why I think I felt this way.
I would have also liked more practical information on the investing portion, especially as a newbie investor. Some of information did seem geared to people who live and work in Nigeria which is fine, only that those of us across the pond want to invest too!
I think an accompanying workbook to go along with the story would be great.*UPDATE * An accompanying workbook is actually in the pipelines.
- Just because you have a well paid job, doesn’t mean you will automatically be wealthy. That takes some planning and money management
MARKS OUT OF TEN – 7.5/10
Until next time
Memoirs Of A Yoruba Girl
I’m quite excited to write this post today. For anyone who may have had a look around the “Memoirs Of A Yoruba Girl” blog, you will know I dabble in fictional writing from time to time.
My writing journey started with a story on this blog with a post titled the “The Colour Red” in around 2011/2012. (Here’s the link in case you wanted to read it https://memoirsofayorubagirl.wordpress.com/2012/01/29/my-first-attempt-at-writing/?preview=true )
At the start of 2015, I set myself a number of goals, one of which was to write a book. As the title indicates, the book now exists and is ready for download via Amazon Kindle. I hope and pray that by God’s grace, this will be the first of many.
Please kindly pop along to the Amazon Website via the link below.
Download, read, enjoy and give me your honest feedback. Most importantly, please share!
Hoping to hear from you
Memoirs Of A Yoruba Girl
Hey blog lovers
I’ve been away for a while, I do apologise for my abscence. As you may or may not know, I dabble in fiction writing from time to time. I was looking through emails I had written, looking for something completely different when I came across a story I started (this happens fairly often). The story is literally in the beginning stages , it doesnt even have a name! Its still in its embryo stages. I decided to come and share it here, just to give you some afternoon stimulation . Have a read, excuse any grammatical errors you may see and drop any feedback in the comment box below . Love as always
Chapter Three (of the nameless story)
The 1st time Wale hit me was on the way back from a mutual friend’s get together. It was a black and white boat party in some place in London near Trafalgar Square. I was soo excited as it was the first formal outing myself and Wale had attended together. Although Wale was a student, he was pretty well off. He drove all the way from his London University to pick me up and drove me back home though admittedly he had wanted me to stay over at his. Wale looked delicious. I had to literally stop myself from salivating. He wore a crisp pressed black tux, with a fresh haircut and a neatly trimmed goatee to match. I wore a dress I picked in a Next sale, which luckily looked a lot more expensive than it actually was.
The drive to the boat party was heaven. Wale wouldn’t stop complimenting me and kept making me laugh all the way there. When we got the party, I got hit on quite a few times, even with Wale on my arm. Wale made the grave mistake of going to get us both drinks from the bar. That was all this particular creep needed to come up to me and start talking to me. He was actually very friendly but rather cheeky. I tried my best to be polite. I did not plan to laugh at whatever joke he was cracking, but I couldn’t help myself. Wale walked up just as the creep dropped the million pound question “so, can I have your number?”. Luckily he quickly retreated when he saw the look on Wale’s face. I laughed it off but the laughter quickly died in my throat when I realised Wale was still pretty upset. “Wale, what’s up?”. “Why were you talking to the guy?” “He came to talk to me, actually. I was standing here where you left me”. My answer wasn’t sufficient for Wale. “Don’t embarrass me like that Ada, do you get it? When you are out with me behave with some decency”. That comment made me frown, my eyebrows shooting up instantly. “Are you being serious Wale? you need to just chill out ok? It’s not that serious”. I thought he had let it go and the incident didn’t cross my mind again for the rest of the evening.
When it finally came time to go home, we did our rounds of goodbyes to the celebrants’ and the other guest and walked towards Wale’s car. I was walking slightly ahead of wale, because I came off the boat 1st. The night was cool and the view off the edge of the water was really nice. Next thing I knew, Wale’s hand grabbed my arm swinging me around and then quickly landing a hot slap on the right cheek. The shock of the slap made me drop everything I was carrying, including a very expensive glass party favour. When the glassed smashed on the pavement, Wale quickly realised what he had done. He proceeded to cry, saying he was sorry and didn’t know what had come over him.
I think the slap cleared any sort of good reasoning from my head, I couldn’t form any words. I picked up the contents of my bag from the floor, quickly stuffed them into my clutch and started off towards Wale’s car, my feet thudding with each step. The drive back home was very silent and extremely awkward. I stared out of the window as Wale tried to make conversation. I ignored him and didn’t even look in his direction. When he realised his attempts at conversation were futile, he left me alone. As soon as we got up to my campus halls, I grabbed my things and jumped out of the car. I didn’t even look back once and Wale had the sense to not try and call me back. Luckily it was late so all my friends were asleep. I quickly unlocked my room dorm, locked it behind me. I dumped all my stuff on the floor and shed my dress in favour of my pyjamas. I removed all the make up and got into bed. I lay there for quite a while with the evening replaying in my mind. I wasn’t sure if I had done anything to warrant Wale slapping me. I knew it wasn’t right for him to hit me. My dad had never slapped my mum in all their marriage together. The last thing I remember was my pillow feeling damp from my tears that had soaked through.
happy Wednesday everyone, Just a short post here. Hope the week has been good so far? I’ve got another part of the story of Ruth, (just in case anyone wondered). So say hello to some more from Ngozi and Emeka. Enjoy and let me know what you think!
ps please excuse the extra dots, spelling errors and etc. Its still in work in progress! and if the story doesn’t make sense, feel free to backtrack to the first few chapters I posted at an earlier date!
The Story Of Ruth
Emeka smiled to himself as the beautiful stranger named Ngozi carried on walking to the stream. This wasn’t the first time he had seen her walking this path to the stream. He had always wondered what her name was. Ngozi was a beautiful name for such a beautiful woman. Ngozi was a name from the Ibo people of Nigeria. It simply meant being a blessing. Emeka allowed himself to dream as he walked back to his family compound. He chuckled to himself as he remembered her screaming after seeing the snake. As he walked back, he wondered why he had never seen her around with the other village girls who were of marriageable age. He found he thought a lot about Ngozi, even before he knew what her name was. He thought about her face, her voice, and the beautiful songs she sung on the way to the stream. The one she sang today sounded a lot like one of the hymns from the local village church where he attended for Sunday morning services. He loved their little village church. It wasn’t anything to be compared to some of the mega high steeple churches he had seen on his few trips to Lagos, but God was there, that was definite. Church was like nothing else he could describe. Sundays were a festive day in their village and even in their neighbouring ones. All the ladies in the village put on their best clothes, with head ties almost touching the sky. The men wore traditional attire so starched and ironed, it was impossible to see a crease. On a Sunday, children knew better than to play and run around to mess up their Sunday clothes although by the afternoon, most of them would have forgotten………………….. Their church resident Pastor, Pastor Amechi, was quite a character. He was quite a dark stout man, with a round pot belly. Pastor Amechi always insisted on wearing a white shirt, dog collar and a black blazer, all of which would be drenched in sweat by the end of the service. Emeka found him to be quite a humorous man, but he could never argue that Pastor Amechi didn’t know what he was talking about. He had arrived from Lagos some years back, originally from a village similar to theirs. Emeka wondered why Ibo people ever went to Lagos. Lagos was filled with the Yoruba people of Nigeria, most of whom still worshiped gods like sango, the god of thunder, osun and several others. Ibo people too had been idol worshippers, worshipping the sprits of ancestors, dead and buried kings and feared jungle animals,most especially in this village, but once the Gospel of Jesus Christ, or better known as Jesu Kristi arrived through pastor Amechi, it swept the village like a flood and soon, their indigenous idols were forgotten. Emeka strolled in to his family compound with his catch from the bush. “Ada? Amarachi? , come and take this meat”. His sisters, both younger than him slinked in, annoyed about the work that they could not escape. “Welcome brother” they both chorused. “Thank you. Take this meat and clean it, so mama can cook with it later”. “But brother, this meat is so big, it will take us a long time to finish”. “That is your own problem”. Emeka had to supress his laughter as they picked up the meat, silently fighting themselves and each other. Emeka sunk into one of the chairs on the veranda, and allowed his thoughts to again wonder, back to Ngozi.
“I’m coming o, hold on”. Ngozi stood in front of Mr Peters door, face set as stone. The door clicked open and Mr Peters peered out through a crack in the door. “Ah Ngozi, it is you, welcome dear”. “Good morning sir”, Ngozi curtsied in a way respectful to elders in the community. Mr Peters smiled, “Ngozi baby, this is why I have always liked you, you are a very respectful girl”. Ngozi rolled her eyes inwardly. “Please sir, I don’t have time, I came to return this bag you left at our compound”. Mr Peters looked down and noticed the bag in her hand. “Why? You don’t you like the gifts? I can get you some different materials if you would prefer? Lace? Or maybe some more European kinds?”.”Please sir, I don’t want, good day”. Ngozi dropped the bag and started to leave. “Ngozi, wait now, why are you rushing, can I offer you something?”. By this point Mr Peters had sat down on a wooden chair in his compound and was fanning himself from the ever increasing heat. “Ngozi, please sit, there is something important I would like to discuss with you”,” Mr Peters, I don’t have the time”. “Ngozi, we are not fighting? Come and sit”. Ngozi begrudgingly sat , though as far away from Mr Peters as the bench would allow. “I’ve known you a long while now. I’ve seen you grow from that naughty little baby that never wanted to bath into a beautiful young lady that any man would be proud to have”. Ngozi nodded, thoughts a thousand miles away. “Before your father died, I promised I would take care of you and your siblings, and I’ve been thinking of how to make good on that promise. I’ve spoken to your mother about finalising our wedding plans, but she felt it would be better if I asked you”. Ngozi’s thoughts made an emergency stop “What?” was all Ngozi could muster. “The wedding plans now, between you and my son, Chinedu”. Ngozi mentally breathed a deep sigh of relief, she thought it was about to be a case of men that didn’t realise how old they really were. In their village, it was common place for the older men in the village to have some perverted tendencies and several of them had 2nd wives, old enough to be their daughters. Some of the more brave hearted ones went as far as three. “Please Sir, I have not heard anything about these wedding plans before, I don’t really believe in arranged marriages anyway. I think people should marry for love”. “Hmm, is that so? Very interesting”, Mr Peters gave Ngozi a look that made her feel more stupid. “Anyway, madam love, go and discuss with your mother and get back to me so we can agree on a date for your engagement”. By this point, Ngozi’s heart was racing, “Mr Peters, I don’t want to marry your son, please, I came to return the gifts, I don’t want any trouble”. “Look Ngozi , you know me as a respected man in this our village, and I always get what I want , if you don’t want the gifts , I will take them back , but you will marry my son , that is not an option”. Ngozi’s mouth was dry and her head racing a mile a minute. What was she to reply to this man? She knew what a shrewd man Mr Peters was, and she knew what he was capable of. “Mr Peters, I’m leaving now, my mother will be expecting me back by now”. “Go my daughter, it is well with you, don’t forget our discussion”, Ngozi dropped the bag, and started to leave the compound, she rolled her eyes and whispered under her breath, “discussion indeed”.