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Short Story: Kama Sutra.

‘Arghhhhhhh!’

There was a thud as he landed on the floor.

She rolled her eyes and stifled her laughter.

‘My back!’ He groaned.

‘Hmmm, sorry dear. Are you alright?’ She tried to infuse as much concern into her voice as she could. She sat up, pulling the bed covers over her bare chest.

‘No, I’m not alright!’ he whined, eyeing her warily from where he sat on the floor as he rubbed his back.

‘But…you said we should try new things…’

‘Not by trying to kill me!’ The pitch of his voice had risen now.

His eyes darted around as he tried to pinpoint the location of his clothes.

She sighed.

‘You were the one who said that our love-making was getting boring’ she began, ‘so I stopped by the bookshop after work yesterday and bought us this book’.

She reached into her bed side drawer and drew out a book the size of an encyclopedia. It was bright red with ‘Kama Sutra for Beginners’ written on its front in large white letters.

She dropped the book on the bed, and it seemed to sink into the covers because of its weight.

He stared at the book with eyes now wide with terror and stared back at her. She returned his gaze with an expectant expression.

‘I feel like I don’t know you anymore’ he muttered. He was dressing up quickly as he spoke and was trying to button up his shirt with very shaky hands.

‘Wait-are you leaving?’

‘Yes…I have to, ermmm…get up early for work tomorrow’. He was putting on his sneakers as he spoke.

‘Oh, okay. I’m sorry about your back, darling’. He mumbled something incomprehensible and walked briskly out of her apartment, slamming the door behind him.

She had never seen him walk so fast in the two years they had been together.

Frustrated, she picked up the book and put it back into the drawer.

She shook her head as she wondered what would have happened if she had bought ‘Advanced Kama Sutra’.

As she dozed off, it occurred to her that the next day was Saturday.

He didn’t work on Saturdays.

 

©Ivie M. Eke 2016.

Jollof Rice: That’s What You Are To Me!

Image: Wikipedia.org

 
Like Jollof rice,

The sight of you calms the storms in my belly,

I see you and feel energized and no longer weary.

Like Jollof rice,

The scent of you is like a party for my nose,

I smell you and I start to write romantic prose.

Like Jollof rice,

The sound of your name makes me straighten my shoulders.

I hear your name and my heart falls over.

Like Jollof rice,

The touch of your skin can fertilize barren lands,

I feel your warm touch like a bowl of Jollof rice in my hands.

Like Jollof rice,

The taste of your kiss can end world wars,

I kiss you and I forget every word I had spoken before.

You have my heart.

You are my Jollof rice.

©Ivie M. Eke 2016.

Short Story: Braids Gone Wrong.

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‘Nooo, this cannot be happening! Not today!’ Bosede moaned, staring at the handful of braids which had come off along with her hair.

She was in the process of getting ready for work and had decided to oil her scalp before putting on her makeup. As she removed the rubber band which held her braids together, about five braids came off her hairline, taking her hair along with them.

For a moment she had simply stared at the micro braids in her hands, as if they would suddenly stand up and explain themselves.

‘Bosede, can you see your life?’ she grumbled to herself. This would teach her to leave her braids in for much longer than was necessary. She had meant to take them out last Saturday after about two months of wear, but she had succumbed to laziness and television and watched a marathon session of ‘NCIS’ instead.

Now, here she was on a Wednesday morning, sporting a bald patch on the right side of her head. She glanced at her watch and saw that the time was now 7am. Suddenly realizing that she had to leave the house in fifteen minutes if she did not want to be late for work, Bosede snapped out of her reverie. 

She went about strategically arranging her braids over the new bald patch so that it was mostly covered up. She then put on some makeup, opting for a ‘no-makeup’ look instead of her usual ‘full glamour’ look.
There was no time for that.

***

Bosede made it to work just before 8am, beating the worst of the Abuja morning traffic, which made her happy; she did not need another query for late-coming. She sat at her desk and enjoyed the few minutes of solitude before her three other team members arrived. Despite her colleagues living much closer than she did to their workplace, a Parastatal of the Ministry of Education, they still managed to show up to work long after the resumption time.

Bosede looked around, making sure that she was alone, and brought out her mirror from her  bag. She examined her ‘braids arrangement masterpiece’ and, satisfied with her work, put the mirror back into her bag. As she pulled out her hand, out came a stray braid along with it.

‘Seriously?’ she asked herself, glaring at the offending braid.

‘Miss Bose, are you talking to me?’ asked Nene, one of her colleagues who had just walked into the office.

‘What? Oh…no, I was just…talking to myself’ Bosede replied, sheepishly.

‘Ah Bose, you know that talking to one’s self is a sign of madness-hope all is well oh!’ Nene laughed. Bosede joined in the laughter, even though she did not really know why she was laughing.

She rolled up the stray braid and put it back in her bag.

‘I must stop at the salon before I get home’ she mused to herself. Thankfully, the office closed by 4pm; she would call her usual ‘hair lady’ at her salon to see if she could schedule an emergency braids removal session.

***

Unfortunately for Bosede, that Wednesday was the day that her supervisor, Mrs. Kalu, decided to schedule an emergency brainstorming session.

The meeting was set for 3.45pm.

Bosede could feel her braids smirking at her.

The meeting, of course, ran until 4.30pm, with her supervisor doing most of the talking, and with very little being accomplished.

Bosede was the first out of the door of the meeting room once the meeting finally finished, and she walked quickly to her cubicle, shut down her computer, picked up her bag and was dialing her hair stylist as she walked to her car.

‘Aunty B!!! Long time, hope you are fine Ma. Do you want to make another hair?’ ‘No, Dorcas, I actually want to remove my braids now’ Bosede started to say this when Dorcas interrupted her. ‘Ah Aunty, we will soon close, can you manage it until Saturday morning?’

Bosede sighed, sitting down heavily in her car. ‘Ok dear, I will see you on Saturday’. With that, she ended the call and looked at her braids in the rear view mirror. Her hair arrangement was holding up, but she was more concerned for the safety of her hairline.

She had just put her key in the car’s ignition when her phone started to ring. It was Oche, her boyfriend.

‘Hey, baby! How was work today?’ he asked, sounding annoyingly cheerful for someone who had also just closed from work.

‘I’m fine darling…I’ve just had a stressful day’ and she told him all about her braids debacle.

He was silent for a while, and Bosede was sure he was trying not to laugh. ‘What if I come over to help you remove the braids? Would that help?’

She suddenly felt like crying and laughing at the same time. ‘Sure darling- that would be great. Okay, see you soon’. She chuckled as she ended the call. She would probably end up with no hair if she let him anywhere near her braids, but she appreciated his kind gesture.

With that in mind, she started her car and drove home to remove her braids.

***

The End.

© Ivie M. Eke 2016.

AN UNSERIOUS GUIDE FOR USING YOUR CANDY CRUSH SKILLS IN YOUR DATING LIFE.

 

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I’ve spent 2 years on this game…

 

Hey, everyone!

 

Do you play Candy Crush?

 

Do you feel like you have wasted your life on this game with nothing to show for it?

 

Say no more!

 

I wrote an article on the Genevieve Magazine Nigeria which could be helpful (or unhelpful) to you: An unserious guide for using your Candy Crush skills in your dating life.

 

Please don’t forget to leave your comments and share after reading.

 

Thanks!

 

Ivie.

 

The Perfect Man…As Seen On TV.

When I was very young, my idea of the perfect man was determined by my TV watching habits. My ‘perfect man’ was a cross between the following gentlemen:

Michael Praed (Robin of Sherwood in the UK TV series ‘The Adventures of Robin Hood’)

Patrick Swayze (Johnny in the movie ‘Dirty Dancing’)

Christopher Plummer (Captain Von Trapp in the movie ‘The Sound of Music’).

robin-4 from cinetropolis.net

Michael Praed as Robin of Sherwood. photo: cinetropolis.net


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Patrick Swayze in ‘Dirty Dancing’. photo: cinema.de.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Christopher Plummer in ‘The Sound of Music’. photo: deadline.com

All very handsome men.

At some point, the image of a ‘perfect man’ shifted towards Nigerian men, embodied in the person of Richard Mofe-Damijo (RMD) in the Nigerian TV series, ‘Checkmate’.

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Veteran Nigerian actor, Richard Mofe-Damijo (RMD). photo: genevieveng.com

As I moved from my teens into my twenties and thirties, the ‘perfect man’ as prescribed by my TV watching habits began to have varying and often contradictory descriptions:

He must be as cool as Taye Diggs.

He must be able to sing like Usher Raymond.

He must have martial art skills like Jean Claude Van Damme.

He must be funny like Eddie Murphy.

He must be sultry and speak musical-sounding English like Antonio Banderas.

He must be handsome and unnecessarily complicated like Idris Elba (in ‘Luther’).

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Idris Elba. photo: thefrisky.com

This obviously could potentially be a never-ending list.

If you were to merge the descriptions of all of these men, the result would be a weird hybrid of a man who would manage to both enthrall and annoy you at the same time.

In the end, TV is a great escape, and I am always suitably entertained.

In reality, a good man who is one’s match in all the right ways is what is actually needed.

Looks are great, but compatibility is essential.

Now…I’ll just stare at this picture of Blair Underwood…

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Blair Underwood, just because. photo: nbc.com

 

 

No Pets Allowed!

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I hate pets.

Alright, maybe ‘hate’ is too strong a word. I can say however that I have never been a pet person. Animals-dogs, cats, goats, sheep-fill me with a sense of unease and bemusement.

As a child, someone in the Estate where I lived had a very big dog that barked loudly and growled whenever strangers passed by its owner’s flat. I have never been unable to shake off the terror associated with passing by that dog, and now I regard all dogs-big or small, fully-grown bulldogs or tiny puppies-with great suspicion.

We Nigerians are actually very big on keeping pets, especially dogs. Dogs usually serve as great security in areas prone to robberies and general unruly behaviour. I can understand this; however, it is when dogs are kept solely as companions that I begin to have some reservations. All that dog hair, dog feces and dog saliva-that’s a bit too much for my brain to handle. If I went to visit a friend and I met him cuddling the dog like one would cuddle a baby, and he allowed the dog to lick him all over his face, I would probably just get up, turn around and leave, never to return (nah, I’m joking. I would return…eventually).

I have seen lots of movies (mostly American) where a variation of this scenario plays out: A guy would smile shyly at his girlfriend and say ‘I have a gift for you’ and proceed to open up a colourful parcel to reveal a puppy that has a red bow tied around its neck. His girlfriend would smile, her eyes brimming with tears, and she would say something like ‘Oh darling-how did you know? I love it! You’re so sweet!’. They would hug, and the scene would end with both of them looking lovingly at the puppy.

How sweet.

This would never happen if any man gave me a puppy as a gift.

You have been warned.

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I’ll admit-puppies are very cute to look at…from afar…and in photos…

photos: weheartit.com.

Kisses: Sloppiness & Goodness.

love-the lows weheartit

A victim of sloppy kisses.

 

Sloppy kisses,

Make you curl up your toes in despair,

Wiping away copious amounts of saliva,

As you take frantic deep breaths of air.

 

Good kisses,

Make you smile sheepishly with delight,

They make your heart almost burst at its seams,

As you are suddenly filled with a joyful light.

 

Sloppy kisses,

Make you feel sorry for your tongue,

Wondering if there’s such a thing as a tongue-bandage,

As you ponder on where it all went wrong.

 

Good kisses,

Make you feel buoyed with confidence,

You can hardly believe your good fortune,

And you can’t wait for the next one to commence.

 

Sloppy kisses,

Make you walk around with an emergency pack of handkerchiefs,

Making you wary and on the look-out,

For all the excessive drool which such kisses leave.

 

Good kisses,

Make you smile and remember what you had endured before,

You believe that the good kisser has absolved you,

And that you will experience sloppy kisses no more.

 

©Ivie M. Eke 2016

photo: weheartit.com

 

Love in the time of harmattan.

Every year, (and I mean EVERY YEAR) we Nigerians are extremely surprised when the weather changes to become very cold and dry at the end of the year. This time of the year is known as harmattan and usually starts in December.
Our usual default weather settings are either sunny days or rainy days. These bring with them excessive sweating and frantic searches for elusive umbrellas respectively. Harmattan comes along with its unique kind of challenges, which include:
Dry lips.

Dry skin.

Stuffy noses.

Dry coughs.

Watery eyes.

Congested chests.

 

All characteristics which scream ‘look at me, I’m so unattractive today! Hahaha **coughing**’

 

However, this is the time of the year when offers along the lines of ‘hey baby, come over so that I’ll keep you warm *wink *wink’ start to surface.

 

Hmm.

 

I can picture it now.

 

The intoxicating smell of Vicks or Aboniki balm hanging heavily in the air, while a young man tries to whisper sweet nothings in my ear whilst coughing, as I blow my nose and ask for more tissue.

 

How romantic 😍

 

It almost brings tears to my eyes.

 

Or maybe it’s just the strong smell of the Aboniki balm.

 

Aboniki balm. photo: amazon.co.uk

 

England, my on-again, off-again boyfriend vs Nigeria, my long-term relationship.

There you are, England!

 

London, England.

 

My sweetheart who I see from time to time.

Why I love you:

-Great customer service, great customer service and great customer service.

-Did I mention great customer service?

-Shopping here is an experience for me, not a chore.

-Freedom of sorts; you can be a version of yourself you’ve dreamed about; someone who bundles up in a jacket and wears wool gloves before leaving the house. Someone who stops to buy a cup of hot chocolate on the way to work. Someone who takes the bus, or the train, or even just walks to work if distance and the weather permits.

-Good internet connectivity that is taken for granted.

-Political satire on tv which makes me happy: ‘Have I got news for you’ and ‘Mock the week’.

 

Why I can’t commit to England:

-The weather-why so cold, England?

-People talking about the weather all.the.time.

-People complaining about politics all.the.time.

-Watery milk-why so watery, England?

-Don’t have a lot of family and friends here.

 

Hey, Nigeria!

Abuja, Nigeria.

 

Ah, my reluctant, often tedious long-term relationship. What can I say? You have your good parts:

-Being the country of my birth.

-Food that is tasty and has pepper in it.

-Family and friends who want the best for you.

-Opportunities that exist if one squints very hard.

 

Why I don’t always take you seriously:

-Constant power failure

-Dodgy internet connectivity

-Dodgy customer service

-Dodgy politics

 

So what do I do?

Make an honest man out of England and commit to him while drinking tea with watery milk?

Or grin and bear it with Nigeria while secretly rolling my eyes at the institutionalized dodginess?

 

Decisions, decisions.