How to do that fashion thing...

Step 1: PANIC!

Victoria Strange

Victoria Strange

Step 2: Go to church and pray that an outfit manifests itself...

Step 3: Print out invites (just in case)

Step 4: Go back to manning the panic stations!!

Modupe Omonze

Modupe Omonze

Step 5: Empty your wardrobe onto the bed.

Step 6: Obsess about that zit that shows up just in time!

Step 7: Pick an outfit and get a move on

Step 8: Enjoy the show

Tina Lobondi

Tina Lobondi

Tina Lobondi

Step 9: Meet your favourite designer from the night

L-R: Chisom aka Roomie; The amazing Tina Lobondi; ME

Step 10: Attempt to after party, then quit, then go home feeling slicker than your average/exhausted.

Purpose and Direction.

I have no idea what I'm having fro breakfast tomorrow morning or what I'm wearing to school. I still need to double check the time and location of my classes. I don't quite remember how long it usually takes for me to get to school from home around that time of the day. In actuality there is a lot that I do not know and probably a lot more that I am uncertain about in terms of the recent future. But ask me what plans I have for 5-10 years time and you are in for the rant of your life. I finally have the ever elusive purpose and direction that I have been lacking in my life and let me tell you, they are important elements to have.

I recently paid the motherland a long overdue visit. For once I enjoyed my flight and my visit. My month long vacation was packed full of life changing experiences. Furthermore, Nigeria is beginning to feel like home again. I can't really tell you why...Maybe I'm getting bored of Dubai. Maybe being around Nigerians so much in the last few years has finally allowed me to fully embrace my roots. Whatever it is, for the first time since I first left the comfort of my country I was sad to say "see you soon". I think this has a lot to do with my sudden realisations of what I would like to do with my future.

If you had asked me a couple of years ago what I'd like to do after studying, I'd probably have said something along the lines of wanting to travel and write. That's rather poetic but incredibly vague and not very promising. Now I'm finally making concrete plans of when and where I want to travel to, what I want to do and write about and most importantly where I would like to be based. Of course it's not something I readily admit to those who know me well, but I actually do want to live in Nigeria. I revisited parts of my country that I had all but forgotten and that was what reminded me of why it was so hard to leave in the first place. Not only do I have plans to live in Nigeria, I know what I want to do while I'm there. I now know how I want to help my country!!

YES I am excited. But I can't share the details of my plans I'm afraid. Moreover they wont be put into action for a few more years so lets all suffer the long wait together shall we??

P. S.
It's nice for you to stop by even when I'm not around to keep up appearances as it were...Thank you all for your support. 

Patriotic in Diaspora

It's taken me a couple of weeks to write this. Here goes.

It's very easy for Nigerian's that are based outside the country to come to the conclusion that they are homesick, that they miss the food, the people, the land, the culture. And perhaps they do. But it is also surprisingly easy for us to forget that Nigeria is not the idolised country of our idealistic and naive childhood. Things are different. The people have changed. The country is crumbling. The government has gotten worse. We have our own in-house terrorists. Our land is terminally ill but because there is so much attacking our immune system we can't even figure out what the source is.

I was at Miango Rest Home in a little town not too far away from Jos in the middle belt of Nigeria for a 3-day retreat. Beautiful scenery. Amazing food. Great exercise. Everything was good and the people were funny and lovely. But being there for those three days was like being out of the country; I was beginning to live in a kind of blissful oblivion, forgetting the Nigeria that existed elsewhere. On the day we were leaving everyone we had met came to say goodbye. People here were so friendly that somewhere in my head I assured myself that what I knew wasn't true. I told myself that Nigeria hadn't changed at all! Of course not! I grew up in this country that was now making international headlines for all the wrong reasons. IF we had nothing else, we would always have our solidarity. But you can't sing solidarity with your brother one day and set him on fire the next.

On our way back home I changed my mind again. We hadn't wandered far from Miango Rest Home when my sister stopped to get some fresh vegetables from a market. (trust me cheapest bestest veg in the country!! lol). I stayed in the car with my nieces and watched through the window as my sister bartered fiercely with the women in their stalls. My eye suddenly caught movement in one of the car mirrors and I watched with a tightened jaw as a man was led by a rope through the market, a small crowd following and ridiculing him. The first thought that came to my mind was ALUU4. If you don't know what that is look into it but be warned it is gruesome. The entire story centred around the brutal murder of 4 allegedly innocent university students in the southern part of Nigeria late last year. The phrase in the media at that time was Jungle Justice-citizens taking justice into their own hands.

In all fairness to them, if there was justice in the justice system perhaps they wouldn't feel the need to take theirs to the jungle. Nevertheless all I could do was watch angrily as the man was paraded around the little market. As they left I couldn't help but wonder what would become of him. Would he be killed or set free? How would they kill him? I concluded there that my country had changed, not because there hadn't been similar cases when I was younger, not because Nigeria was some peaceful country in my childhood. My country had changed because it had evolved to the point where solidarity alone just wouldn't do any more. Words alone wouldn't do. Making far fetched plans for an ever changing future wouldn't do. We are worth more than words.

I hear people my age outside of Nigeria making plans and they are often divided into 2 main categories: those that are happy staying outside of Nigeria with the knowledge they have gathered. They are too scared or too nonchalant to go back home and make a change with everything that they've become. Then we have the ones that are all too happy to return to Nigeria to continue perpetuating the sins of their fathers. Very few people fall into the gap in the middle, those who want to help. But I've watched a lot of them fumble around in the dark because although they want to help, no one really knows how.

I'm not here to offer any insight or sage advice. I have my own plans. My thoughts today can be summed up in the fact that it is easy to love or judge from a distance. Come home and tell me how you really feel when you see kids bathing in a gutter, alleged criminals being paraded, shamed and killed, police officers putting up signs that say you cannot bribe them but still managing to extract money from your pocket before you leave the check point. Tell me how much you love the motherland after watching her bare all.

Home, Home on the Range.

It's a different experience every time I come to Nigeria. This time the journey was pleasurable thankfully...I seemed to have come to terms (somewhat) with my fear of flying. Next step, water...

Any way being 'home' has riled up a few emotions and I am looking to write some political fiction. The ideas are still taking shape and I'm unsure about a lot of things. But I think it's about time I pulled my weight and wrote something long and meaningful. I just finished a piece on domestic abuse which was quite lengthy and a lot of fun to write. (If you want to read it, you'll have to keep up with Duvera Magazine where it will be published in chapter-like chunks over a period of time). So I am basically trying to do more lengthy prose. And of course I'm trying to write things that affect my race, gender, generation and people, things that they will deem meaningful so to speak. My brewing idea is gradually taking shape and I think it might make a good screenplay but I might just stick to what I know for now (I'm not particularly confident or comfortable with writing dialogue to be perfectly honest). My last piece took me about a year to write which makes me feel like I need to be very patient for this one. I might think of publishing a series. Plans, plans, plans!!!

I'm telling you all this to hold myself accountable, to motivate myself to finish what I start for a change. Besides I'm getting to the point where the curse of independence and growing up is going to fully set in which means I'll barely have time to sleep, never mind write. There is so much to think about.

But as for this moment I am home and I have some time on my hands so I might as well get to it!!

I'll keep you posted...

6 Months In & All IS NOT Lost. Hoorah 2013!!

So I should have done this right at the 6 month mark (i.e.) end of June. But all writers are lazy procrastinators no matter what lies we tell you. Besides there were more ground breaking things happening at the time.

You might remember, though I barely remember myself, that I made some "New Year Resolutions" at the start of the year?? Well I'm glad to say that I have kept them...for the most part. This is not to say that I haven't lost my way (many times might I add) but so far so good. So by keeping in the spirit of things I'm renewing my personal vows to myself and carrying on with aforementioned resolutions, God give me grace. I have amazing friends (I don't tell them enough) who keep me grounded and sane when I lose my way. I moan all the time (next year's resolutions-stop moaning and going on tangents in speech and writing), but I have this amazing God and He always gives me a reason to smile and thank him even when my world is seemingly falling apart.

Anyway, through the divine grace of God I'm making even more plans. Some of them might be pipe dreams but I pray at least one of them comes to fruition and brings me joy. I have more outlets to write now (will keep you posted). Overall I am genuinely pleased as to how my year has gone. I happy about the changes I've made and I just have to keep going no matter what. I CAN'T GET DISTRACTED...wish me luck

Note to all confused people (including myself)

• I wrote this while tired
• I have an early start tomorrow
• I am hungry 
• I'm starting my 3rd year soon-can you believe it!
• I am still hungry
• Oh results were kinda average but better than I expected :D
• Did I mention the hunger (already had dinner by the way)
• Oh I cut my hair!! I might indulge you and put pictures up soon...might...

BYE!!!

Self-Taught Woman

This one is going to be long, so get comfortable guys and gals.

I'm not much of a feminist-not in the puritan sense of the word. I often laugh uncontrollably at sexist jokes, dance to sexist music that gives detailed directions on how to further objectify your body (albeit in jest), and use sexist language, all this after years of compulsory and independent study on and around the subjects of gender roles, feminism, post feminism and other forms of prejudice. For those who willingly admit it, I'm the worst kind of woman-A BLACK WOMAN. Not only is my skin against me, my choice of reproductive organs have also joined the coup. Thankfully I couldn't care less. After all I think like a genius, look like a goddess and have the firm handshake of a...of a...man?

I wasn't brought up with a superfluity of men in my life; I was raised by strong women. And although I learnt from their strengths and weaknesses, I was never told what kind of woman to be. All that was self taught over years of watching many such strong women up close and some times from afar. So imagine my surprise and disappointment when I realised how much I had become a product of society. Bye bye girl power. Hello self-doubt.

Over the last few weeks I subconsciously started re-learning what it means to be a strong willed, self-taught woman. It started with God. My Pastor briefly mentioned a plan that would help you read the books of Psalms and Proverbs over the period of a month. As I decided to start the journey, I remember getting excited about Proverbs 31. Now for many Christian women Proverbs 31 is the go-to chapter when in doubt about anything from your role and identity to your faith and independence. Undoubtedly many non-Christians will take this time to remind me of the sexist nature of the Bible. To them I present this:

"She looks at land and buys it, and with money she has earned she plants a vineyard" 

Proverbs 31: 16

"She spins her own thread and weaves her own cloth" 

Proverbs 31: 19

"She makes clothes and belts, and sells them to merchants. She is strong and respected and not afraid of the future. She speaks with a gentle wisdom."

Proverbs 31: 24-26

Of course we could nit pick about a million and one things surrounding this, but this is my little way of showing you that contrary to popular belief the Bible did in fact cater to women, despite the circumstances of the times in which it was writing about, written and published. But I digress...

In anticipation of reading this chapter I was unusually alert about gender equality especially in the Bible and in the Church. So of course my ears stood on end when the subject of the submissive wife was approached. I could hear the many chants of the modern feminist but I chose to keep an open mind. The Pastor's  wife who spoke briefly on her active understanding of the role of a submissive wife, said many things that I took away with me that day. But what stuck the most was the most simple of truths. The meaning of the word "submissive" like many other words in our lexicon today, has shifted drastically. Of course I couldn't verify on the spot, but my mind returned to a musty A-Level's English Language classroom with a man that looked well beyond his years teaching us the many ways in which words lose and gain meaning, both negative and positive, over time. 

Fast forward a month, and I'm flicking through my copy of The New English Dictionary published in 1932, when I decided to look up the meaning of submissive. After my initial excitement I compared the meaning to that of the eight edition of the Little Oxford English Dictionary published in 2002. Admittedly 70 years didn't make as much of a difference as I thought it would and a quick Google search showed me that the first acknowledged and complete translation of the Bible into English happened a good 500 years before my 1932 dictionary. Nevertheless my findings excited me. There is more than one definition in both dictionaries but I'll stick to the ones that are of interest to us.

1932

Submit: To yield or surrender oneself; to put forward deferentially; to yield, to surrender, to give in.

Submission: Compliance. Obedience. Resignation. Meekness.

2002

Submit: To give in to the authority, control, or greater strength of someone or something. Subject to a particular process. 

Submissive: Very obedient or passive.

First I think it is worth noting that the language changed enough in those 70 years that submission is only defined in terms of handing in work in the 2002 dictionary. Now to the main gist of it all. Whereas in 1932 submission is seen as a willing act of respect and the choice of humility, it seems that today it is viewed as a passive act of being controlled. The 2002 definition places great focus on strength and weakness while the 1932 definition focuses more on willing meekness. It's no wonder then that the idea of submitting to God (never mind your husband!!) is something that terrifies most of us today. Language teaches us that by submitting we are being forced to put control of our lives in someone else's hands. Ironic really, considering it's an action word...

Now let me go back to why I gathered you all here to waste your time. Like many things that began before our generation was even a concept in the human mind, feminism has lost a lot of meaning. It has also gained a lot of unflattering meaning and many modern feminists think so what?! Let it be unflattering; it's not a pretty little dress and pigtails, it's not meant to be an easy pill to swallow. I suppose in many ways they are right. However, it does have the tendency to go from educational to outrageous all too quickly and so many women find themselves saying out loud, "I am not a feminist". They're claiming not to be something without even being sure what being that thing means!

For me, in the simplest of terms Feminism is Equality. I don't aim to overpower any man or live without men, I don't want to make up for years of their sexism by being sexist myself, I don't want the world to be split jaggedly in half. I want to be treated with respect and equality in all things. I remembered what feminism meant to me after a necessary conversation with a friend from work and it is reiterated every day on my twitter page when I see the handle @EverydaySexism. Honestly following this twitter account will change your life. And if you're curious about how it started?? Here you go http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PBeNfSoMqjY Don't say I never do anything for you.

Thank you for following me on my little nerdy journey and I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed haphazardly putting it together. 

Montage...Reminders of an African Childhood

This is the final piece I wrote for the magazine project. It is basically a short culture piece. A few of us did one. It focuses on an aspect of a culture the writer knows a bit about and you provide some interesting information about said culture to the readers. I really liked this one because I got a bit nostalgic writing it. Oh it also comes with an image because it would make absolutely no sense to most people otherwise. This one was a bit light hearted so enjoy.

Reminders of an African Childhood

My guess is the name varies across all the many tribes in Nigeria but the Yoruba people call it ayo. It’s a game most people learnt to play with their fathers or grandfathers. Me? I learnt by watching other people, siblings, uncles and even my mother. It’s fairly easy to pick up if you watch a couple of rounds. The one we had while I was growing up was larger and it was set on the back of a rather ugly looking eagle carved out of wood. The statue which I now remember as being quite grotesque was actually what attracted me to the game to start with! I spent so much time tracing all the kinks and crevices of the carving with my finger and I remember being quite taken with the beak. This one is relatively smaller and simpler and belongs to my sister. I had all but forgotten about it till I found this at her house over Christmas.