REDUNDANCY

THE NEW 'STEW' IS VALUE!

I have this particular space in my bathroom that's utterly useless. Assuming this rectangular shape, enclosed within this erected tiles by the extreme. It sits there, of no use to me, yet very loud at demanding for it's own share of community-cleaning-service whenever I do my 'time' in the bathroom.

Speaking of useless, in same bathroom, I've got on the tiles, by the wall, this beautiful, tempting painting of this perfect-course meal, I can't seem to place the exact number of 'courses'. Pizza, toast, salad, ketchup, wine, and all those other things, they must have a fancy name for such dishes, but my unfancy self don't know such 'mundane' nomenclature so I'd just call it the perfect-course meal. I guess the guys awarded the contract of fixing up the apartment, or maybe just the bathroom, missed a meal or two. You know, hunger could do more harm than we're ready to let on.

So, generally, while going about the task of body cleansing, I have this foodie picture to stare at, or rather, staring at me. Or, doing the other very important business atop the whitish sofa, I have, as muse, for my uncountable, as well as many unaccountable going-ons in my mind, this salivating picture of a meal. Only this time, the salivation is the aftermath of bowel-turning as the palatable artifact disagrees absolutely with it's immediate environ, as well as environ's immediate activity. Still very comfy atop the whitish settee, still going about the very important business, and still having my head and mind wildly in the air, trying to birth the earth's eighth wonder, for wonders are birthed in the oddest habitat, I gaze upon the cocktaily glory on the wall.

Just like our guy, while in his bathroom, let out his proverbial "Eureka" after zeroing on the much needed breakthrough in his erthswhile nine-hundred-plus-some-times-failed-light-bulb-project. He got his illumination, enlightenment and revelation on his bath tub, the only reason why we have illumination and lighting in our houses and offices today. One cannot, should not underestimate the creative, light-producing potential of ideas birthed in very odd locations.
Speaking of ideas, and odd sites, I got the fragmented pieces of this post within the four walls of the same bathroom. Nobody should, after this, drag my bathroom with me.

Redundancy is relative. It's a function of certain factors, or lack of. Nothing, nobody is redundant just by being that thing or that person, no. Redundancy sets in when the thing is put to the wrong use, or to no use at all, or to a use that's not needed (simply because the need has already been taken cared of already), ends up being of no use, and therefore adding no value.
Our appetising food wonder, for instance, would have added value, much value, in the dinning room, or cooking room; kitchen, or in a restaurant, fancy or not.

You become redundant when you add no value. When all you do is take, and have nothing to give.
In that relationship; family-family, friend-friend, spouse-spouse, boo-boo, colleague-colleague, classmate-classmate, .... -....
When all you do is demand, and feel entitled, and demand some more. Demand for love, demand for care, feel entitled to attention, feel entitled to understanding, demand for comforting, demand for help, demand for money, feel entitled to free 'comedy shows', feel entitled to listening ears, demand for sex, demand for intimacy, feel entitled to prayers, feel entitled to 'advice'. The list is endless, inexhaustible.

You demand for everything, you feel entitled to everything. Yet, you give nothing, you offer nothing. You bring nothing to the table. Hey, you're redundant. Shed the bad blood, the redundancy, lose it. Gain, in it's stead, value. Add value.

Value is the new 'stew'. 

NIGERIA, OUR NIGERIA

She's Nigeria.
She's our Jerusalem.
She's our Canaan.

Talk about a land flowing with milk and honey, you talk about our Nigeria.
Let her daughters come forth decked in golden apparel, and ornaments.
Let her sons stand forth, with shoulders held high as true princes of the soil.
Let the drums roll, let the feet gyrate to harmonious trolls.
Let the chords ring, let the chorus sing.
Let the children play, and turn in the sands, for there's no beast to bite.
Let the aged rejoice, for paradise is here.

Yes. I believe in Nigeria.
I believe in this great nation.
"Giant Of Africa" isn't just a cliche;
Reality cannot have been painted better!
It begins with you. It begins with me.

Away with the grasshopper perception.
Away with the mediocre mentality.
Adieu to godfatherism, and democrazy.
Away with the Joke that's become our Government.
Good riddance to the farcical CHANGE aphorism.
Away with the lynched Political System.
Away with the sorry excuse for an Educational System.
Adieu to the "Nigerian" mentality- so called:
The perverted justification to everything wrong, and corrupt:
The killings, the forgery, the malpractices, the slyness, the decadence, the frauds, the schemes, the lies, the selfishness, the savagery.

The Nigeria you dream of, the one you fantasise about, is possible, is the real Nigeria.
The "Giant of Africa" is a Reality.
It is our reality.
Nigeria can be great, again.
Nigeria can be great!
Let's talk Nigeria, let's talk hope, let's talk miracle, let's talk faith, let's talk possibility, let's talk effort, let's talk determination, let's talk collective responsibility, let's talk integrity, let's talk honesty, let's talk freeness, and fairness;
Let's talk Nigeria!!
Happy 58th!
Happy Independence, Nigeria!! 

The child-me

The child me.
Once I answered a question. I was supposed to state the person or thing I miss the most from my childhood. Naturally, the expected reply should have been a favourite aunt, or uncle, especially the one with the juiciest treats. Or perhaps a much loved doll gifted me by either of my doting parents. Or some wild play in the sand with not a care in the world.
Me, the child-me, was my unequivocal response.
Hey, hang on a minute. Just before you rush along to conclude how self-reeking my response was, is with all its focus on "me", you might want to understand that that was the only way I could encompass all the "naturally expected" replies, and a thousand and one others. You might want to say that was a smart reply now, yea you can't be more right.
The child-me was all innocent. She was all naive, sometimes naivete keeps one happy. She didn't care, worry about what she'd eat the next day. Or bills to settle before the month runs out. She didn't have to rationalize all her actions and inactions. She wasn't concerned about giving out wrong signals to the boys she played with everyday. Or being accused of "envy" or insecurity by the girls when she refused, sometimes, to let them play with her toys because they rough handled them the previous day.
The child-me grew up thinking "Onigode" was what every street hawker, never minding what they traded in had to scream to call the attention of buyers to their wares. Onigode is actually a Yoruba term used by bottles' (old bottles that could be usefully improvised to serve conveniently) traders to announce their presence. The child-me equated every marketable commodity with bottles, old bottles. She was really cute, like that.
Do they still buy and sell bottles like that now?
The child-me later got acquainted with plenty other terms. She began to know the fish seller was near when she heard "E ra eja e se obe". She recognized the cold-tea seller's voice those hot afternoons screaming "E mu tea tutu ooo". She became very familiar with one particular woman who sometimes played lifesaver to plenty of homes with her melodious ringing- "Ekaro olonje n ki yin ooo". This trader did great services to not a few stomachs, especially on busy Saturday mornings.
The child-me grew up thinking "Alaba Alaba Alaba" were the only words mouthed by bus conductors regardless of the vehicle's route.
The child-me needed not to worry about food because mom and dad would always pass their dishes, only half-gone to her.
The child-me had no worries. She had faith, in everything. And nothing failed.
As awesome and amazing as I have grown to be, every once in a while- scratch that, a million and one times more than every once in a while, I miss the child-me.
Everybody has something, a bunch of things he, she misses from his/her childhood days. Sweet little things that leave you nostalgic every time you revisit them. Feel free to share those memories, people, places, events with us in the comment section. Let's revisit the good old days, together, shall we? 

AGALIO

Appreciate what, who you have while it last. Don't be that young man, lady who only realises a worth when it is gone.
There is this dance I like to do whenever am happy, or excited, or thrilled. It's called the "Agalio" dance. I got it from my roommates some time in my final year in the university. They got it from their church; it was some symbol of joy or excitement, which was supposed to be the overall feeling in church. Afterall, it's said that in the presence of God, there is fullness of joy. I started doing this dance, and gradually, gradually, it stuck. It became a reflex action that happens whenever I'm a little bit excited.
On this fateful day, I had this little episode that somehow wanted to put a stop to my Agalio dance. I had a mighty fall that landed me heavily on my chest. The fall left me gasping for breath for a few seconds. Somehow, it had this effect on my chest that's left a hollow, dull pain somewhere deep in my chest. This pain, though subtle, stops me from indulging in little little things I'd been doing prior to the fall without even realising it. Things I take for granted. For one, am not able to do my Agalio dance as energetic and eager as I used to. Even when as a reflex action, I switch to the dance, the pain unapologetically reminds me that hey, you can't do that, not as you used to before.
The other day I won some folks at a Ludo game. The excitement at the win was heightened because I wasn't taken serious at the game. My, I was blatantly told- babe, you no fit win this game. And I was like-- no worry, I go shock you. They didn't believe me. Apart from the fact that it's been quite long I played the ludo game, a matter of 12 years or more, and I never hesitated at drumming that piece of factual info into their ears; somehow I don't know why I use to have this effect on people, this fragile-effect. I don't like it. Not-the-am-a-feminist-type-of-I-don't-like-it, but I simply don't like it. It has this weak undertone and innuendo that annoys me. One incidence out of many, I remember, is when sometime ago, I made a post on my 3 weeks NYSC camp experience, as much as I could abridge into some post without it becoming dreary. I talked about parades, and my take on it, how it affected me. I also talked about how I had some guys asking me to represent the platoon for the NYSC pageantry, and how I declined. This friend of mine called me up, and after some chit-chats on how service was going, and how 'classroom' was daily happening. After mentioning that my students must be excited and lucky to have me, he said, and I decided to read in between the lines, that he'd have loved to see me actually teaching in the classroom. To observe all my feminine charm, and ardour, how I would look like teaching the kids, how my whole anatomy, and facial make would be incensed and lit up, each part dutifully engaged in its own part in communicating whatever it was I was communicating at a given time. I asked, deliberately, to expansiate, what he meant by all that. He was having a hard time. I didn't mind, I didn't pity him. This had been going on for too long, and I really needed to get an explanation from a scapegoat, him. So I asked him, what do you mean. He then referred me to my post, telling me that I should have yielded to those guys asking me to go for the pseudo pageantry, and that I didn't have any business getting involved with any form of parade whatsoever. I wasn't done with him. What do you mean by that, still, I probed, further. By now, his throat was getting all clogged up, but I still didn't care. I was already at where he was trying to arrive at, I'd gotten the cue, but seriously I was tired of having people see me like that. Looking at me and seeing only an attractive petite woman who doesn't have the physical body structure for indulging in any form of manual work. To me, that is synonymous to being useless, completely redundant. Still, this position is not because I am a feminist. I am not. Not the type plenty folks are quick to lay claim to. So, I asked him to explain himself. He attempted to do that by asking me to sincerely explain what, and how I would be able to manage a parade on the parade ground with all my very delicate and 'abridged' body parts, that that was not my thing, that I should focus on going for pagaentries, doing catwalks, and maybe being a beautiful woman. This, I consider, demeaning, very demeaning, even though I didn't tell him that, at least not in those very words. On the parade ground were people, different kinds of people, male and female, everybody was there. People with and without sickness were there, terminal or not. Everybody remained there until those who fainted did and were taken to the medical centre. Come to think of it, I didn't faint, I've never even fainted in my entire life. I am not the weakest in the group. I do not even fall into the last thirty percentile of weakest people. Why was he saying such things to me. What is the very fragile thing about me that would make people have such conclusions about me, albeit telling me to go for delicate things, like pagaentries. Who the heck cares about pagaentries, and stuffs like that. I can do a catwalk, naturally, but I can as well do a manual work like others, at least others my size do. I know my limits, I do not try to overdo or show off. If I can't, I'd say. For one, I know I have issues with fetching of water. I don't like this particular chore. I could give you money, if I had, to do it for me. Although with my family background, and history, you have no business forming I can not fetch water, or any other thing of the sort, lol.
To the original gist. Those people practically dared me to my face that I cannot win the game. Maybe on the grounds that such things were for the thickened ones, the street-bred, not for the fragile ones like me. Sometimes, these type of hasty conclusions make me laugh. All these people do not know I actually have more 'pako' than 'butter' inside of me. I am very much stronger than I look. By strength, of course, I do not just mean physical. In fact, I mean a whole lot of things but physical. Agreed, one of the opponents was some Delta girl with all the Warri stereotypes. No, seriously, she was a typical Warri-breed. I was challenged, but I played it down, I jokingly said I would show them, and show them I did, I won. And I was happy. The kind of happy I felt was the type they could not understand. It was the type of se-you-think-it's-only-to-cross-my-legs-and-do-catwalks-that-I-can-manage-but-see-I-beat-you-at-your-Ludo-game-type-of-happy. And so automatically, my feet began, the rest of my body picked it up, my Agalio dance. Then, it struck me, a chord, from my heart, fortissimo, or a similar musical term, gradually becoming louder, clearly warning me.. You can't do that again, you can't do your Agalio dance again, not the way you would have really wanted to do it. That moment, something crashed inside of me. So, even Agalio, just Agalio, I can't do anyhow now. It was a sad moment. But I didn't let it show. Nobody noticed. Because I continued doing my Agalio, albeit with reduced friction on my chest.
Appreciate what you have while you still have it. If I had known a time would come when I wouldn't be able to do my Agalio dance anytime I wanted to. I would have done more than I did before. Both when I was excited and not. I would have done even more than that. I would have done a lot more than that, and have some of it video recorded so I can help myself whenever I felt like. But I didn't. I took it for granted, even if it was without my consciousness.
Appreciate what you have while you still have it.
Appreciate who you have while they're still there.
(P. S: MY CHEST IS Fine, WITHOUT ANY PAIN OO!) 

HYGIENE

It is more difficult for some people to take responsibility than to deliver a healthy set of twins without getting pregnant.
And they'd readily prefer you to put grains of sand into their dish than to point out, to them, where they're lapsing and not getting it right.
How else can we explain a situation where certain folks are refusing to own up to obvious responsibilities because they would just prefer not to be told to do so by anyone.
But I have one question for such people. If you know you'd sooner die than to be told what to do, why not try and be a little bit proactive and identify those things yourself, deal with them so that they don't all together become eyesores, all-the-senses-sores to others around till they cannot help it any longer but point them out to you, albeit meekly?
Chinonso was sure she's had more than enough of such attitude, and was almost beside herself for lack of what to do to address the particular situation she was faced with, different from what she's done already, without being the person she's trying with all of her being not to be on a daily basis, mean. Or on a much lesser note, the person they might think they have reason to think she is, forward.
But why can't some persons be responsible themselves, for themselves, and even for others; responsibility does come with the whole package. Why do they have to wait to be told before they find out that they ought to clean up, collectively, the GP tanks that's been the source of water in the apartment especially when it rains, Chinonso mused. Afterall, they're all using it, some of them for more than a year, before she very recently became one of them, and the insides appear dirty enough to breed various germs and bacteria as they would be unfortunately nonchalant to allow. Very nasty it is to think that they cook their daily meals with said water and still feel comfortable.
Chinonso was convinced they, the GP tanks, haven't been washed for a longer time than is convenient. Dirt, dirty dirt.
Irresponsibility at it's peak, Chinonso almost spat out. Oya go wash am na, sebi you say e dirty, as na you clean pass. Went a full blown lady, shamelessly. Ehn, you start first na, shuoo, why you just dey talk, go start make you see whether we go join you or not. Another fully grown lady chipped in as reaction to Chinonso's stance that the cleaning should be a collective work of concerned, well meaning, even if only for themselves, occupants of the apartment. Chinonso could only shake her head in utter disgust.
Responsibility is not a course taken in the university, or at least I do not remember that much. Actually, it happens to be a topic treated in secondary school; Civic Education, Social Studies, Moral Instruction and what have you; on the other hand, I remember this much because I have a lot of times taught same topic. Whether or not it is being taught, everybody is supposed to have a sense of responsibility. If you wait till you receive lessons on everything before you actually practise them, you might wait forever, and find out ultimately, you've only succeeded in wasting away.
Being a graduate isn't enough.
Being educated isn't enough.
Learn hygiene.
Inculcate responsibility.
Ask Chinonso, she'd enlighten you, both off her lesson notes, and more importantly, her head notes. 

NIGERIA, NYSC

Oke-Ilewo.
This Abeokuta town, in Ogun state, with all its hills, plenty of them. Can't it, they, pretend to be a little bit tushed?
Which one is Oke-Ilewo, Iyana-Mortuary, Panseke, Adigbe, Adatan, Kuto, Iwe-Iroyin.
All these, you won't believe, are names of bustops, I tell you, and there's more, lots more, where those came from.
The only Englished bustops I've heard so far are Secretariat, and wait for it... Mango, there, absolutely! I also thought they were just lovers of fruits, fiber-ous fruits..
Ehn, the Committee of Black African Culture Ambassadors who are carrying the whole upholding our native language thing as against the alien English White language, I know y'all would like to have my neck, but I dodge, yes I wave all of you. But seriously, which one is now Iyana-Mortuary (for non-yoruba speakers, it means something like along mortuary Road! ).
First days as a corper in Abeokuta, Ogun.
Mmeri had it coming for her, anyone could say that again. She relaxed, cruised, dragged her feet, when her mates were resuming duties at their various PPA(s) . She scoffed when others like her were attending their CDS, and they, by so doing, among other things, were knowing their way round town, Abeokuta town, or at least to their CDS venues.
So she definitely had it coming for her, when she set out on Wednesday, her first CDS outing, with no phone to reach, or contact anybody. Yes that part of Abeokuta, where she was lodged, was having light issues they boasted to Mmeri would be fixed in no time tho. she could only believe them, and prayed, more for her sake, than theirs, that they were telling the truth. She was practically on her own.
Mmeri headed straight to the local government secretariat. Somehow, she just felt her CDS should hold there.. Like why wouldn't a CDS hold at the local government secretariat. Well maybe she didn't really feel, maybe what she did was hope, hope that it, her CDS , anti corruption CDS , would hold at the secretariat, after all she spent not an insignificant amount of money to get there, from her lodge, considering she didn't have much significant amount in her purse, or at the bank. So it has to hold there. True, CDSs were holding, hers just wasn't, not there at least. Iwe iroyin it was, she was told by some lady that had carried out her documentation once, against the next allowee, monthly allowances for corpers, who later turned out to be her CDS instructor, or leader. A motorbike would take you there for fifty naira. Taxi, for only thirty naira. Only, did she just hear only thirty naira? Obviously this woman, Mmeri's CDS instructor did not know what was going on in Mmeri's mind, nor pocket. She did not blame her.
At the junction, close to "under-bridge", opposite Dominos Pizza, Mmeri tried, to no avail, to get an only thirty naira taxi to take her to Iwe-Iroyin. They all held it at fifty naira. She later caved into the fifty naira taxi since the motorbikes were charging same, and she could as well relax a little en route her destination.
Taxi driver, elderly tho, but rude. Sure, Iwe-Iroyin was a strange location to Mmeri, but she didn't think she had to do a mini-karaoke throughout the ride so she wouldn't be driven past her stop; at least one or two reminders should suffice, plus she wasn't feeling too well. Mr taxi driver didn't share her sentiments. He took her past her stop even tho she happened to coincidentally throw in a reminder at the exact bustop where she should have alighted. But Mr taxi driver felt she was not too eager to go down since she didn't bulge when he slowed down for her to. He definitely did not realise that she did not notice it to be a slowing down at all for it was really a subtle one. Mr taxi driver would surely take home the cup, one similar to the type Mikel promised Buhari, in a competition of subtle-slow-downs-at-bustops. Lady beside Mmeri was nice, making up for Mr taxi driver lapses. Didn't you say you were going to Iwe-Iroyin, we've passed there. Oh! Driver, let me come down abeg. E ma wo eleyi kee..people help see this lady oo.. You don't know where you're going to, and you didn't bother to remind me. Not a word did Mmeri utter to him, she just alighted, set for her back-trek, after thanking lady nice of course.
Like a bared doll, Mmeri progressed. Noticing the glances and stares thrown her way, some of which were from people who would lose their little finger first before they let themselves be caught staring, some were peeping from their taxis. As a regaliad corper, Mmeri understood, only smiling , when she could manage. If only they knew, ignorant folks.
Mmeri realised with a start that she'd almost rounded the block without making any obvious progress. She would have inquired from one or two as she proceeded but they all just looked... somehow, unapproachable. Mmeri even thought one actually appeared mad, he had his back facing the road. But he might just have been the owner of a furniture open-shop where he was standing, in his dirty work clothes.
Iwe-Iroyin, sounds like a newspaper firm or something, Mmeri thought. At a kiosk sat the kiosk tender, one motherly mummy. Mmeri approached her, good morning ma, please how can I get to Iwe-Iroyin. Just keep walking forward, no no don't cross, you'd see one small fence, the building behind it is Iwe-Iroyin. Thank you ma. (Even if am just coming from that direction and didn't see anything of such, well what would another walk down the same direction cost me anyway). Up, up, she trekked till she noticed deliberate, somewhat shy footsteps behind her. She turned, a long young boy, good afternoon, please can you direct me to Iwe-Iroyin? Just at the right there. Well, Mmeri did not know if she should count it as funny that that was the second time she was directly at Iwe-Iroyin and asking about Iwe-Iroyin. Forget it, if you're new to a place, you're a total dunce no matter how IQd you are, she concluded. Just about the same time, a motorbike with a passenger on board sped to a halt in front of her. OK, thank God, looks like we got a fellow CDSer. Are you here for CDS. Seriously, Mmeri couldn't believe her ears, you're really asking me, yes I am. Is this Oke-Ilewo, Oke-Ilewo again haba.. because I told the bike man to take me to Oke-Ilewo, state secretariat and he brought me here. What.. you mean CDS isn't holding here? Ahan no na, were you not around last week, they already moved the location. Ehn no, just don't worry. He, bike man doesn't know the way. Ha, so what are you going to do, we're going to have to take another bike. Well, Mmeri felt she could as well immediately take the bull by the horn and start making further plans of transmuting to state secretariat instead of sulking and lamenting at the unfortunate turn of events, and what life meted to her, maybe for cruising when others like her were going to CDS the previous weeks. Why, anyways, would anyone be moving CDS locations like that. Nevertheless, Mmeri was paying her dues, or so she felt, after all she relaxed when others like her were rushing to attend CDS, diligently, like they should.
Not knowing your way round a strange town is one thing. Having to deal with a bike man who doesn't know how to get to state secretariat, especially when he has no proper understanding of the English lingua franca is another. This was the plight of the other CDS girl, Mmeri felt sorry for her, and herself. She waved down one, two, three bikes till one did a reverse and approached her. State secretariat please, Oke-Ilewo, the other CDS girl quickly added. Mmeri was going about the whole thing very maturedly, taking responsibility for both herself and the other CDS girl, she was proud of herself and could only hesitate to pat herself at the back. Se Oke-Ilewo ko ni ibi bayi ni? ... Is this not Oke-Ilewo, the confused bike man asked the new bike man, ehn this is Oke-Ilewo now, but state secretariat is just that other way, ni ibi works yen.. At that "works" area.. New bike man explained to his colleague. Okay. Mount, Mount, the other CDS girl was atop the bike again, to be taken to state secretariat, finally, by the confused bike man, with the new bike man, who had Mmeri as his passenger, leading the way. Hurray, somebody just saved the day! Barely two minutes after a bend, Mmeri saw the familiar sign and bill boards of the state secretariat. Ahan, oga, se na wetin you wan collect hundred naira for my hand be this, because I no know road ni. Haha, he laughed, no worry oya bring fifty naira. Mmeri thanked him but did not tell him that she didn't think the service was worth fifty naira, heck she could have even trekked down. Such waste for the insignificant amount she had in her purse.
How much did you give him, she asked the other CDS girl after alighting. Ehn, I can't give him more than fifty naira oo, Mmeri smiled.
CDS wasn't even started. Didn't start for another one hour.
When it did begin, after taking of attendance, her first CDS task ever, and only task for the day, you wouldn't believe it, were to fix and arrange clearance forms of past corpers, about two sets before hers, into their files. Mmeri wouldn't want anyone to know that tho. She is a member of anti corruption CDS group. One day, she's sure, they'd live out their name.
Hungry, she ate out a leaf. The Yoruba seller dished rice into leaves and sold them for hundred naira. When Mmeri approached her, that was when she was convinced her legs would give way under her if she didn't do something, and quick, she was asked.. Ofada or white? Ofada was the brown local rice that most people use to be crazy over, she didn't understand why. White please, so she was served her rice, with red oily stew, and meat, beef, in a leaf, fixed inside a plate. Ahan, anti, so you have to eat up first before you work, that was her CDS instructor, going jokingly. Mmeri smiled and continued eating. Then she fixed files.
Sitting at some doorway to a block housing various offices at NYSC state secretariat, synonymous to sitting on the floor, or on the "ground" if you're mean enough to call a spade a spade, Mmeri sat.
She wouldn't want anyone to know that either.

.

ONYINYECHI

Nobody can love me better than me. Coming from someone who'd battled with 'complex' for the better part of her life- her twenty-somethingish life, that's bliss, that's everything. 
Looking at Onyinyechi with the eyes of an outsider, an observer, one might be quick to conclude that she's living the world. Maybe not as everybody else is doing, but exactly the way she wants it. 
Onyinyechi is fairly complexioned, at least her face is. She has a spectacular gait to her steps, like she is ever dancing, self-consciously swinging her hips, or rather the part of her feminine anatomy where the stereotypical, African hips is meant to be located, she's been told over and over since she was a child. It's a beautiful gait.
But what Onyinyechi's observers would never get to know is that before she owned that beautiful gait, once as a growing child sometime in the junior secondary school classes, she used to practice different walking steps both in front of the mirror, and on her way to buy cream crackers biscuit for her elder sister, or one kilo of fresh iced fish, kote, for her mother. There was this particular girl at her neighbourhood then, Dorcas, who had this boyish way of walking, no she wasn't a tomboy, but she had this bounce when she walked. Onyinyechi thought it was cool, and practiced the bounce walk in front of the mirror in the bedroom when no one was watching, or on her way to buy cream crackers or kote, or on her way to/back from school when everyone could watch if they liked. She spiced up the bounce step with the haircut her stylist used to give her at her request, the one that had the frontal hair edges shaped like a boy's after the main cut was done. The only thing Onyinyechi did not do then was wear the male trousers, she would have but she did not want to be sent packing from home.
Overtime, Onyinyechi stopped finding the bounce walk and hair cut cool. She discovered another girl, Titilayo, who used to walk with her feet barely touching the floor. Her hands were usually carried in a particular downward slope most of the time like they were not meant for manual usage. Onyinyechi picked up a new lesson, this time in being Cinderella. She also tried her hands at deciding which akimbo standing style was more stylish; was it the one with the thumb at the back of the waist with the other four fingers at the front, or the one that takes the thumb to the front of the waist ....
Gradually, the idea of steps and stances fazed off Onyinyechi's consciousness that even when she landed the walk she has now, the one she has been teased over, misjudged over, even envied over; it was totally oblivious to her.
Onyinyechi is pretty. In her own way, she houses various forms and arrangements that come together to become beautiful, Onyinyechi is a smart girl, the kind of smart that makes 'smart' as an adjective inappropriate. Onyinyechi is brilliant, not in the usual kind of way, but like every other thing, in her own kind of way. 
But Onyinyechi, in her own eyes, did not see any good, or plenty of it, in herself, like others did. She did not see much to be envied. Although she likes the soft pleasant feeling she use to have when she is told of how beautiful she is, or how intelligent, she never readily believed it. Despite the fact that she used to suspect herself, that somehow, she must be brainy, some kind of genius, she used to question it when she is told same by others.
Onyinyechi has had her fair share of life's aches, for someone in her twenty-somethingish years of life, or maybe a little more than her fair share. On the other hand, Onyinyechi has had series of triumphs, successes, laurels, and prizes, yet somehow she still used to find a way of reasoning out and proving that every other person was better off. She was hanging, desperately, to every negative possibly available, while at the same time wishing for every positive possibly available.
Onyinyechi would wish or do no man evil, but she wanted every man to not wish or do her evil, too; Onyinyechi was silly.
Onyinyechi has had people who'd loved her sincerely, but she clung to the way she was made to feel by those who didn't; Onyinyechi was gullible.
No matter how much anybody tried to come close, Onyinyechi  would not let it happen. She could have as well told everybody to stop saying or showing any love to her, even though that was all she desperately wanted, because after all she just didn't, couldn't love herself, what was there to love after all. 
Interlude. 
Now, finally, Onyinyechi sees things, plenty to love in herself. She understands that she is the best and only version of herself. She realises that circumstances do not make her, but she is what she makes of circumstances. She met a guy she is convinced, doubly convinced loves her, and she doesn't doubt it when he tells her she is beautiful. She is sure of this guy because she found out he'd been, and is very persistent. She'd run, toyed with, disregarded, tried to frustrate him for years, testing him, but he persisted; he loves her, wow.
She even calls him "my prince", while he calls her "my delight".
Onyinyechi brags of this guy these days to everybody, interested or not. If anyone dares doubt, she's quick to show off the hands of her beloved, nailed for her, out of love. 
Sometimes, if she is pushed, she'd even take such doubters to golgotha, and show them the cross where her love died, out of love, for her, and them too. 
Now, Onyinyechi stands, walks, with her beautiful gait of course, and says, confidently :
No one can love me better than me. 
She has found one who loves her beyond her senses. 
She understands that there are plenty who love her, she doesn't blame them, there are tons of things to love in her. 
Yet she maintains her stance, she surpasses them all
She loves herself. 

FAVOURITE SAGA

What do you do for fun? Sorry, I don't get. I mean, when you want to unwind, what do you do? Huh.. why does that sound threatening, making me want to run and hide, every single time I hear it. Why are all of you terrorists?

What are your hobbies? I don't have any. How can you not have any hobby?
You're supposed to love singing, and dancing, like you should be able to relate with musical healing and all. You're meant to cherish cooking, making delicious delicacies, you're a woman afterall.
Everyone is supposed to have a favourite right? - a favourite person, a favourite thing, a favourite colour, a favourite movie, a favourite artist, a favourite sport, a favourite car, a favourite phone model, a favourite pet, a favourite poet, a favourite author, a favourite brand of shoes, clothes, wristwatches, sunglasses, plus belt too, yes, so you'd be tushed.
Yes, everybody is supposed to have a favourite one of those to qualify as a normal body. But what happens when you don't. Should you lock up and cry yourself to a comfortless sleep, should you be banned from the social community since you don't seem to be worthy to be among normal humans, or should you be condemned to the "weird"

clique where nobody cool wants to be , scary right.
Need not be. Lemme tell you one little something something, might come in handy. Next time one of those terrorists come with their big bag of questions, and throws one at you- hobbies, favourites and the like...
Just look them straight in the face, or type them straight in the something ... when chatting of course... or go-all-mute straight in the air.. when on call of course, grab your phone, closer, much closer, and..... type, click, play, press away!
At least, there, you succeeded, you got a hobby, a favourite!
My phone, my bae. 

HISTORY MAKING

History could mean different things. A course of study, origin or story behind a particular place, people, concept...

It could also mean an aggregate of past events, especially spectacular ones, I'd choose to add.

You needn't get scared as this is not some class in some old, rickety lecture hall by some self-conceited lecturer (I hope they don't get to see this) on "History" whether or not you care about "History".

Rather, this is you and I making history together as we go about our first post on "TimesWithEbere" !

Let it be known, far and wide, that on this day, history was made! We got our names on the sands of time, we had, and would have our Times together. You don't want to be left out, you don't.

We're creating our own world, and living in it.

So much for our History class.. 

Anticipate.. 

Ebere, on...