As a child, I and every other kid in my class, was going to be president one day. In my day, Lagos was the hub of all social & political activity; so growing up in Lagos gave me a good view of what Nigerian politics was really like.

Our teachers encouraged us to dream big; dream far; page long essays were written on the topic, ‘what would you do if you were president’.

For some, dreams of being the first lady were enough. But i was always on the road less travelled; being queen was never enough for me; i was going to be KING. My name was going to ring through history; children were supposed to read about me in school books and write about me in their civic education exams.

But they forgot to warn us; Our teachers failed to warn us; that there might be no place for our dreams of being presidents In Nigeria.

So here i am, far from a dreamer; steeled from the harshness of the Northern sun; accepting my fate; but refusing to back down. Hoping that word for word, sentence for sentence; i will change the world & make way for my dream; or the dreams of children like me. And so it begins.

In Nigeria, there is absolutely no group that is generally hated and criticised by the masses, like the political class.

We see them adjusting their agbadas & immaculately tailored kaftans;

We watch them roll up in long convoys; hiding behind the tinted glasses of black bulletproof machines;

Escorted even to the toilet by armed men of the uniform. Acquiring jet after jet; land after land.

Even more annoying than the men, are their wives. Claiming to be champions of the people; and launching NGO after NGO; with diamonds choking their necks and Gold adoring their every limb.

When we see them outside, we ‘dobale’ for them and stretch out out hands to collect naira notes. But behind their backs, we call them ‘thieves’, ‘ole’, ‘armed robbers’.

We know they divert public funds into their private accounts; and live like royalty; their children attend the best schools, abroad of course; and if they as much as sneeze, they will immediately be flown off to a hospital in London. But wait.

Let me now give you a different perspective.

A month ago, I was sitted on a couch, flipping through the newspapers; and I came across a breakdown of the cost of a nomination form to contest public office. And it is important to know that this form merely makes you eligible for the primary elections. Which if you lose; you lose all your money;

State House Of Assembly- 1.2 Million Naira

House of Reps- 2.4 Million Naira

Senate- 4.4 Million Naira

Governorship- 11 Million Naira

Presidency- 22 Million Naira

This is only for the PDP by the way, the cost of the nomination forms for the other parties, are not very different.

Nigerian elections; are an investment. The amount of money you invest in your election is directly proportional to your success rate at the said elections . So we get a system dominated by an unqualified elite; or one that is swarming with super rich godfathers; running the nation; via the pawns they have sponsored into office.

Yes we want change. Let us carry placards in the streets and take to twitter; and pump out hashtag after hashtag; But real change is one that is channelled right.

As a nation, we need a clear, transparent, form of control on electoral spending. We need bodies to regulate it; both the legit spending; and the millions passed at the back, to political thugs. A system driven by money; cannot give us the quality of leaders we so desperately need; hence our nation is currently in this mess.

Political office should not be the exclusive preserve of only those who can afford it. This is why we only get recycled leaders. People who made their money off government; and want to spend such money acquiring more power.

We want more young people in politics; yet how much is the average youth paid?

So how many youths can afford to as much as buy a nomination form; talk more of afford to fund the regular Nigerian electoral process. If Obama were Nigerian; I assure you, he would not be able to afford to be president.

Yes we argue that making politics strictly elitist, makes for politicians who are already rich; and do not need to embezzle public funds. Typing that even makes me laugh.

In the same vein, Where is election debate in our electoral process? How many of this our so called leaders can appear on international television and inspire an entire continent to move towards change? Or even give a well articulated speech in public; without disgracing our nation. How do we effectively differentiate between the mentally sound and those who just print beautiful campaign posters?

While they hop out from out bulletproof Mercedes to the next; we sneer and secretly envy: But do I blame them?

If it were you, what would you do?

Let me be frank with you; If I spend an average of 200 million naira; getting myself into political office (which is probably a realistic figure, considering the fact that the actual nomination form is the cheapest thing on the average political list). My first act in office, will be to recover my money; with interest. The people i have been elected to serve and all my campaign policies, will be a mere afterthought.

So While we throw sticks and stones at them; let us sit back, relax and critically examine the society (of which we are a part of) & the system that produces these thieves; as we so fondly refer to them.

Until we get a system based solely off merit; where only the fittest can survive in the political game; With or without billions of their money; in quick circulation; we will continue to kid ourselves every 4 years, without fail.

Inquisitive, Loud, Energetic, Rebellious. Me.
Adannaya Nwokeocha.

A constant embarrassment to my parents & a constant source of disgrace to my mother in particular.
I never did as was expected of me. And this particular occasion was not particularly different.
Hair haphazardly thrown into two ‘shukus’, secured by colourful bands; bright blue dress; puff sleeves; black shoes and a scowl on my face to match. Sunday’s best.
Clutching my bag and reluctantly marching into the Sunday school section of Church, as I did last Sunday and every Sunday before that.
Church in my house, was not a topic of negotiation. It was an obligation that needed to be fulfilled.
As usual, my infinitely more interesting mills and boon novel, was tucked in between the pages of my big Good news bible; and I got lost in it.

The thrill, the romance, the excitement. A much needed escape, from the bore, that had become Sunday school. Yelling children and drowsy, repetitive lessons on Mary Magdalene and the Good Samaritan were not my scene.

I was somewhere in between the main character running away from home with her gardener and potentially getting caught by her father; and the myriad of my train of my thought, was shattered by a single line;
“Hell is Waiting for Women in trousers; Escape it”…

Growing up in my typical Igbo Christian household; it was a game of taking instructions and doing as you were told.
Independent thoughts and negotiations were never encouraged. Daddy and Mummy knew best. And we simply weren’t advanced enough, to decide for ourselves.
Daddy did most of the thinking and mummy did more of the late hours at night, convincing us of why daddy knew best.
Mummy was like us; a child; a victim and a subject of another persons ideologies; she just didn’t know it yet.


As far back as I could trace my first thought, it was a standing rule in our household. I and every other female in our household were banned from wearing trousers (with the tricky exception of pyjamas and sports wear). I secretly wondered if I would have to sew skirts for NYSC. Not that I was ever bold enough to ask. Lol
Because daddy said so and because Deuteronomy 22: vs 5.
“Women are not to wear men’s clothing, and men are not to wear women’s clothing; The Lord your God hates people who do such things”.

Years and years of wearing dresses and skirts, to every birthday party and end of the year party. And having no explanation, when a curious classmate or neighbor was nosy enough to ask why you didn’t own even a pair of jeans.
You can imagine how interested I was in this particular Sunday. I just wanted to know why. To understand the root of my particular brand of misery.
Just like my question on “who gave birth to Jesus” & “whether anyone had actually been to heaven and confirmed its existence”;
All I got was a 20 minute heated debate, and punishment at home for being ‘disobedient’. No explanation.
And so I carried on most of my life like that. Skirts and dresses and more dresses. And of course the trousers popped out when I was away from home.
Mum didn’t particularly oppose trousers, but she dared not oppose dad, and a standing family rule.
I grew up and out of the house. Moved abroad; got exposed; still no answers.


Pastor’s wives wore trousers, choristers wore trousers, the more spiritual sisters I knew wore trousers; and the Pentecostal church services was like a festival of trousers.
I wondered if indeed, they were all headed for hell fire. Including my humble self, who wore trousers, when daddy was not looking.

Some argue that the purpose of that particular scripture is to prevent a confusion of gender identity between men and women; and to discourage the lifestyles that stem from that practice e.g homosexuality.
Others argue that there is no mention of ‘trouser’ in the scripture. And in bible times, men and women wore robes and ‘gowns’ and ‘skirts’ alike.
“Who specifically made trousers a male preserve”.
Another school of thought, gives an impressive speech on the fact that this law is under the Old Testament and Indeed Jesus has come to save us from the law. And a host of very, frankly unsatisfactory answers.

There are so many laws in the Old Testament, which we do not keep.
So why is this particular one, of interest to people like my father and those that belong to his school of thought?

A friend of mine went as far as arguing that men hold microscopes to the bible and zoom in on the parts that make women more subservient. Instantly, the feminist bones in me leaped to agree. But I chose to tread with caution in agreement.
I, personally, do not believe in the anti trouser rule. I believe the watchword is decency and modesty in fashion.
But I want to hear your thoughts; what do you think of Deuteronomy 22:5?
All My Love,
https://thesmartsinglenigerianwoman./

My original decision to not have kids was a natural one. Never one to fit into the box designed for me, here I was not fitting in again. As if I needed another reason to disappoint my poor mother.
As a young woman, I watched my girlfriend’s closely. I watched how they ‘ooohhheedd’ & ‘aahhheed’ at any baby in the vicinity. They wanted to reach out their hands & touch the baby; tug at his cheeks, rock him to sleep. All the while trading admiring glances with the baby’s proud mother and dreaming of the moment they would get to have their very own bundle of joy.
And then there was me. Just standing there like a limp fish, Staring coldly, admiring from a distance. Not daring to touch & dreading the one moment I would be asked by the mother, to assist her in carrying her child.

And as you can imagine, my decision was not a popular one. Born & brought up in a society where having kids is the next logical move after being married or not married (#TeamBabymama).
I am a smart, beautiful, almost successful; tax paying, upright Nigerian Woman. But all of that is forgotten the moment I say I do not want kids.
My decision to not procreate, became a source of worry for my family members. With majority of them ‘choosing’ to buy the matter, while the others convinced me that my maternal instincts would kick in immediately I gave birth.
:0 So what if I have my child and the maternal instincts still don’t kick in? Is it a toy that I can return?
I was sure that like many other girls from my side of the country, my fate was sealed.
School - Graduation - NYSC/Find a husband- get married and begin procreation 9 months from the night of the wedding.

And then settle into the life of the dutiful Igbo wife. Breastfeeding baby, Making Oha Soup, Making Egusi, Abacha, Jollof rice on Sundays.
Plus conjugal duties, plus that miserable civil service job you had to take, so that you could be able to pick up the kids & spend time with them, since Oga closes work at 8pm.
There is absolutely wrong with that life, I just vehemently refused to let it become by reality. I wanted more.
My first major act of rebellion was my decision not to have children. For me, it was natural. As I got older, I realized that my maternal instincts were never going to kick in, because they were never there to start with.
The day I let it slip from my lips, during an afternoon of drinks with my girlfriends, you needed to have seen the way they looked at me. In that moment, I might as well have been Adolf Hitler or Osama Bin Laden.
How dare I decide I don’t want what thousands are begging God for daily? How dare I defy God, when he commanded that we be fruitful and multiply?
These are some of the questions I was confronted with.
I learned that it is easier to lie to the world, including yourself, rather than face the unpopular truth.
Maybe it is my societal or religious duty to procreate, I get that. But I'm not sure if I want to have kids. Slaughter me!

You can imagine how unpopular my view is, in a climate such as Nigeria, where being pregnant is the equivalent of getting a degree from Oxbridge.
You are announced, celebrated, congratulated. Your parents are proud and of course your spouse is beyond elated. He is truly a man.
But what about you?
Are you truly happy or are you simply reflecting what society has demanded that you feel?


21st century mommies, the Instagram mommies, the super mommies; have made child bearing & Child rearing, Glam!
Photos upon photos of perfectly orchestrated 1st birthdays, 1st steps, adorable smiles, taking baby to swimming lessons and French school, while still looking on fleek and maintaining a top notch career.
Then there’s the social media frenzy, known as #TeamSnapBack� What post baby weight? The silent struggle to be the thinnest possible version of yourself, as quickly as possible after childbirth.

In my humble opinion, Babies are cute when they are someone else's, only.
You spend a fuss free hour with them, and gaze and aww at their curly hair and tender skin. Pick up your bag and head to your baby free apartment. The End.

What happens to the woman who is stuck with the baby 24/7?
The woman who is the poster child for sleep deprivation? Constantly bathing and feeding. Constantly trying to figure out why baby is crying. Dirty diapers, spit up, child care etc.

Forget Hollywood; but the price your body pays for having a child, physically and psychologically is unbelievable. Despite all the body magic and hours in the gym, does any one actually get their pre-baby back 100%?
Puberty has left me with enough stretch marks; Thank you very much. Who needs more?
Call me vain, but these things matter to me at least.
Let us not even talk about 'downstairs'. Does it ever stay the same?

What is the effect on your relationship with Oga; the one with whom you started?
Does your love and attention move from him to the baby?
What happens to your chemistry?
Does it get stronger or is it a constant race to get away from the house & away from baby's screams?
What about the physical? Does that fly out the window? Since you have made the transition from gorgeous girlfriend & wife to Mama Bomboy.

What about the physical act of child birth. For some it is 'miraculous'; for some it is 'quick' and virtually painless (as if); but what happens to the other 50% who don't have a ball, for whom is a struggle between life and death. But are expected to make at least 3 more trips to the labour room.
And who even talks about Post Partum depression? It is very much real.
Questions to which I have received, frankly unsatisfactory answers.

It is a constant game of giving and giving and giving.

Then they attain the age of walking a.k.a the age of breaking shit. Oh, then there's tuition. It goes up with every year and every new class.
Is the price really worth it in the end? Is everybody meant to be a mother?
I Like peace, quiet, tranquility, order, glass, a good night's sleep, a healthy bank account, a great body (without living in the gym) all of which I don't see happening for me in baby-ville.
I do love kids, ironically. I can actually stand them, for about 3 hours max. Until they get restless and get into tantrum throwing mode. And I just want to drop them back into their mother’s waiting arms.

I have made peace with my reality. The potential emptiness of living alone with my partner, till death do us part. The echo of our laughter, as it slithers through our half empty house. The struggle of even finding a partner in this part of the world who shares my view & will be willing to commit to it long term.

For the mothers who love motherhood, who revel in it, like my mother & many other mothers I know, I salute you. Your work is not easy. You are a superstar. You are extraordinary.
I am glad my mother chose to be a mother.
As for the rest of us who refuse to bow to societal pressure, please let us be. If we have made peace with our choice and our reality, the rest of the world needs to make peace with it too. Doting mothers, doting aunties, nosy relatives, nosy friends; yes you; make peace with it.
Stop trying to convince us that our maternal instincts will kick in once the baby is here. What if it doesn't kick in? Then what?
Is it a toy that you can return?
There are so many beautiful children in this world already, whom I can shower with love & affection. Do I really need to have any of my own?

https://thesmartsinglenigerianwoman./

fizzile:
I used Abuja visa office too. Yeah you can actually get your visa before 17th if you pay for priority. Mine took exactly 7days. To pay for priority, you will have to register with a TLS agent after you have paid for your visa. You will see it there on your application page. After registering on the TLS page, you will go to added value services and you will select priority service then make your payment. Please try to be fast with it. Please make sure you confirm all your documents before going for your interview. If you need guidance, we can also give you some guide so you dont make some errors. This thread has all it takes to help anyone here. If you have your interview on the 5th and u pay for priority, latest 12th or 13th you will get your visa.

THANKYOU VERY MUCH DEAR. I will pay for priority and hope for the best. I hope mine goes as swiftly as yours did.

guysss; i'm new on this thread. And i'm currently freaking out.

My school resumes on Monday, the 3rd of October and the latest possible resumption date is 17th October.
So basically i applied for a visa (standard); and after more than a month, it was declined due to a miscalculation in the 28 day money rule. so basically they concluded that i had insufficient funds for maintenance, since it hadn't been in my account for 28 days.

Today, i lodged a new application. And the only interview day i got was the 5th of October. I will definitely pay for priority. Is there actually a realistic chance of getting this visa before the 17th?

Also, how does one pay for priority, for the Abuja visa office?
Thankyou

Hi guys. Stream 1 here; for Anambra. Add me to the whatsapp group. Chiamaka -Good luck guys