These are some of the things I think you can relate to growing up in a Nigerian or even African house.
1. “Mum, can I have McDonald’s?” There’s rice at home
2. Your kitchen is full of mugs, plates and trays from parties, weddings, baby christenings you have previously attended
3. When you go to parties, party favours may include towels , umbrellas, paracetamol, salt, maggi cubes, storage containers, buckets, bags, serving spoons, mugs, trays, keyrings, pens amidst other items
4. Parents phone calls to family back home may involve a lot of shouting, rendering any other activity in the same room as the phonecall pointless
5. You have ice cream containers in the fridge or freezer that don’t have any ice cream but house jollof rice, stew, fried meat, chicken stock and other food items
6. You are the resident handyman or woman for installing new technology in the house and fixing it when it goes wrong
7. Your cupboard is FULL of “aso ebi” from weddings and parties that you have attended before.
8.You have Robb in your house (and maybe Aboniki balm too)
9. You have used maggi to season your food before
10. All other stock cube (irrespective of brand ) is referred to as Maggi
11. Garri or indomie noodles are potential options when there is nothing to eat
13. Your surname and or first name come up as incorrectly spelled word in word documents
Did I miss any out? Drop them in the comments
Until next time
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.