₦airaland Forum

@Ogaga4luv, hahaha, ur very funny.

Yes I did. What's wrong with it?

Ogaga4Luv:
[size=13pt]^{That's a very funny question to ask any sane person my dear. . .} [/size]

The first time I laid my eyes on you, you looked so innocent and beautiful. You were wearing a turquoise dress with chocolate trimmings and chocolate shoes. Your full black hair was held in bunches. I kept staring at you because I wanted to kiss you, but I knew it would be a stupid thing to do.

When Aunty Grace introduced you as Annabel, you refused to acknowledge me. Rather you tilted your pointed nose in the air and stared past me. I said ‘hello’ trying to be nice, but instead of returning my greeting, you quipped, ‘Why are you staring at me?’
I hurriedly denied your accusation to save face, though of course you were speaking the truth.

Following the embarrassment, I wandered off to play with the boys. However, I had to come back and find you because my mind wouldn’t delete your beautiful face. I tried to make friends with you once again but you wouldn’t let me, and that is when I snatched the piece of cake you were eating and ran down the grassy path.

I was surprised that you came after me energetically; I never knew you were so nimble. We were near the mango tree when you tripped and fell. I turned back to help you, however as I bent over to offer my hand, you slapped me hotly across the face. I yelped and jumped back. At that moment, a thought darted across my mind.

‘You silly girl!’ I cursed, then quickly pinned your arms to the ground and gave you a swift kiss.
‘Eww, you monkey!’ you yelled wiping your lips delicately.

I ran away, as fear and thrill tore at my belly. I dreaded you would report me to Aunty Grace but you didn’t. Instead the next time we met at church, you held out your hand and demanded, ‘My cake?’
I feigned ignorance so you chased me down the grassy path where I ran and ran, before I finally surrendered in order to steal another kiss. Thereafter it became a Sunday ritual - you pursuing me along the grassy path after church, and me stealing a kiss.

I assumed it would last forever but life had different plans. One Sunday, I was peering through the window at Sunday school waiting for you to alight from Aunty Grace blue-black Mercedes and glide towards the church. But to my disappointment, Aunty Grace alighted alone.
The next Sunday you were missing. Then the Sunday after that. That was when I mustered the courage to ask Aunty Grace about you. She told me, quite casually, that she had sent you to live with your father in Canada.

I was shattered. You were eight. I was ten. I never saw you again. Until twelve long years later.

In those twelve years I thought about you every day, dreamed about you and wrote you letters which you never replied. Even when I dated other girls you were not far from my mind. You remained my ultimate desire.

I remember when you came home after twelve years. Your skin was so fresh and fair, as if you had never stepped out in the sun. Your beauty, your accent and your carriage prevented me from introducing myself. I watched you timidly from afar.
My surprise was palpable when you approached me. You turned out to be warm, affectionate and down-to-earth. Old feelings surged back. I became your slave. I drove you around town; carried your bags; I was even willing to wash your clothes and wipe the dust off your feet.

Three days before your due date to fly back to Canada, I took you for a walk. I took you to Saint James Protestant church where we used to worship all those years back. I walked you down the grassy path where you often chased me demanding I returned your slice of cake. I showed you the spot where you first tripped and fell; the spot I first kissed you. I asked you if you remembered our childhood antics and, wearing a bemused look, you replied, ‘Hardly’.

That made me realize how foolish I had been for attaching much significance to our childhood exploits. I wish I had ended the matter there, but, much to my dismay, my mouth took on a life of its own. It began to babble about how much I adored you and had lived my life for this very moment when I would see you and have a chance to be with you forever.

All through my avowal you stood statuesque, nose tilted in the air. The old Annabelle was resurfacing.
My running mouth suddenly quit. The look on your face was killing. With your voice full of disgust you said, ‘Do you realise that we are cousins?’
Without another word you cavorted past me.

Yes, we were actually cousins. I knew the fact in theory, but it had never registered emotionally.

@Myne, lol, I'll bear that in mind for the next story.

;d ;d

for where.

I've actually gone through your blog before and left a comment (using Oluchi Ugwu) on the most recent post 'so much yet so little'. I found the memoirs of a lost soul particulary hilarious. Keep up the good work.

It is a perfect night. The full moon illuminates the sky brightly. Cool, refreshing breeze winds its way through the streets. The tall sycamore tree spreads its flourishing branches over two young lovers.

Tall handsome lad holds pretty girl’s hand. ‘Baby, I’ll give you my heart, liver and soul. Just say you love me.’

Girl hangs head shyly. ‘I don’t want your liver.’

‘Then what do you want? Just say the word girl.’ Lad waxes quixotic. Sinks to one knee: ‘Baby my desire is to please you.’ lifts girl’s hand to lips and kisses it tenderly. ‘Speak my princess, what do you desire?’

Girl winds her neck this way that way. In honeyed voice: ‘I want to see the content of your pocket.’

‘Heh?’ Boy springs to feet. Girl’s hand slips out of his. ‘Wetin dat one mean?’

Girl fiddles with his shirt buttons playfully. ‘You said I should ask anything I desire, sebi?’

Lad scratches head. ‘Yes baby.’

‘I want to know the type of owo living in your pocket. Is it green, blue or brown?’ Does your ego have many brothers, sisters, cousins, aunts and uncles? Or does it live alone?’

Lad gulps saliva nervously. He lifts her hand to his chest. ‘Can you hear my heart beat? Can you feel the pure, unadulterated love flowing from its depths? My princess what I offer you exceeds anything the eye can see or the hand can feel. Ego and owo will someday pass away but my love for you will never fail.’

Girl’s chin drops to chest. ‘I can’t feel your heart beat but I can feel the emptiness in my stomach; the dryness in my mouth; the harshness of the night breeze stealing through my thin aging clothes.’ Girl suddenly looks up eagerly. ‘Tell me, my love, does your kudi have nieces from America? Nephews from Britain? In-laws from Japan?’

Lad slaps thigh frustrated. ‘Babe, bone dis kudi talk! I no get, whether na naira whether na dollar I no get. Just give me your love, eh? Give me your love…biko, ejo, duallah.’
Girl folds arms across breast. Eyes him angrily. ‘So you no get abi? Then you called me all the way here to fill my ears with nonsense talk. I don’t blame you!’
‘Laila! I don’t suffer. You say na nonsense talk abi?’
‘Guy if you no get better to talk get out of my sight. Craze dey worry you. If you want my love let me tell you how you can get it. Produce brown, I will like you. Produce dollar I will love you. Produce pound sterling and I will fall in love with you. Chikena. No more no less.’
‘But baby I love you.’
‘Sharrap my friend. Have you not heard that faith without works is dead? Also love without works is dead. If you say you love me let your pocket produce evidence.’
Boy falls to knees. ‘Abeg.’
‘Abeg wetin? Waka!’
She brushes past him and disappears into the night.

You've got a great idea for the next bestseller in the bookshops yet you can't seem to get it on paper. For minutes, even hours you are staring at your computer screen but your head is full of cotton. You're stuck. How do you handle it?

  For years I would start a book (when hit by the first flush of inspiration) then quickly abandon it once the inspiration ebbed. But now I'm so much better; I've actually completed two books. If I had relied purely on inspiration I would never have gotten this far. This is how I deal with my writer's block:

1. Set deadlines and stick to them. If I decide to write 2,000 words every other day, I stick to it.

2. Whether or not you feel like it just write write and write some more. Even if it looks like gibberish to me I keep writing. At some point my imagination kicks in and I get a good flow. Simply put, my emotions are subject to my actions.

3. You don't have to write in chronological order. If I'm stuck say in the beginning of a story I'll simply jump to the middle. I didn't write my second book chronologically. I jumped back and forth because I often got stuck.

4. Pray. It helps me a great deal.

5. Let someone hold you accountable. I have a friend who checked up on me everyday to find out if I'd written my 2,000 words.

6. Be inspired by the greats.  When I read an author like Buchi Emecheta I tell myself that if she could do so can I.

7. Take a break if you need one. Sometimes you need the mental space to receive new ideas.


You can check out samples of my writing: http://fresherangle..com

What are your own tips?

I recently read 'Things fall apart' again. Buchi Emecheta is a great writer. Has a talent for delving into a woman's psyche. Adiche is also good - 'Half of a yellow sun' was quite engaging. On the whole I don't read as many Nigerian books as I'd like to 'cos I buy most of my novels from charity shops

Brilliant. I loved the posts on your blog. Very inspirational. You can also check out mine: http://fresherangle..com

I smile to myself each time I remember the confession of a plumber I once engaged to work. We were griping about Nigeria’s prolific problems when he confided in me that he’s made up his mind that when he has children they will not grow up in Nigeria. He will send them abroad. He wasn’t kidding judging by the resolute expression on his face. But I couldn’t help smiling when the said abroad turned out to be Ghana, our bosom neighbour. Apparently anywhere but Nigeria is a more auspicious place to live. It made me wonder how many Nigerians harbour rosy dreams of escaping a dysfunctional society where everything that can go wrong does go wrong to build a more cosy life abroad which seemingly offers utopia. Many it seems, judging from the numerous international education consults springing up to take advantage of the increased demand for foreign degrees.

On the face of it, studying abroad is the best option. There is a backlog of articles bemoaning the declining quality of education in our country. Employers too complain that home-made/Nigerian graduates are ill prepared for work, and use the term ‘half baked’ to describe the country’s inadequately skilled graduates. Therefore one of the appeals of a foreign degree is attaining better skills which subsequently put a foreign-trained graduate ahead of the competition in an already saturated job market. Even graduates of Nigerian universities who are increasingly opting for a masters degree owing to unemployment, would still prefer to have a postgraduate degree abroad.

And it is not just about the skills, who wouldn’t be taken in by the glossy brochures exhibited by foreign universities displaying idyllic settings, sophisticated, highly-equipped laboratories and dedicated staff? Who wouldn’t find the offer of 24 hours electricity, high-speed broadband internet, good transport systems, security and better career prospects enticing?

However before a person sets the wheels in motion, there are considerations to be made. Just like at the end of a mouth-watering promo you read terms and conditions apply, before making a decision it is important to weigh the costs against the benefits.


People who choose to study abroad must face up to the discrimination they will experience as a result of being international students. They should be prepared to pay at least twice the amount paid by home (local students). In the United Kingdom for example (a popular destination for Nigerian students) home students can pay as much as £5000 annually. That means an international student should be ready to cough up a couple of millions, considering the high exchange rate of the pound to the Naira.

Granted, the student will get good quality education, thanks to well equipped labs, dedicated staff and modules that equip them with the right skills. An added bonus is that unlike Nigeria where students rely on mummy and daddy for pocket money, they can offset living costs by working part time both during the semester and during holidays. However, what happens at the end of the degree? Getting a job is one thing, getting a good job is another matter. This is when the difference between home and international students becomes glaring because an international student is ‘saddled’ with two tags: immigrant and ethnic minority. The two don’t go down well in the job market except the person studied a course that fills shortages in labour. For instance medical and engineering graduates have better opportunities.


That immediately puts the graduate at a disadvantage; he/she is not on a level playing field with other local students. Hence the majority of ethnic minority/immigrant graduates will find themselves doing odd jobs to get by such as cleaning, working as a care assistant in old people’s homes, sales assistant and so on. Many times people retrain to enter careers where they’ll find a leeway but has nothing to do with their passions.

The graduate who chooses to return home to Nigeria shouldn’ rule out discrimination. Many employers will tell you that experience abroad does not translate in the Nigerian setting.  Unfortunately in the saturated labour market having a foreign degree may not necessarily make an applicant more attractive to employers.
t is a painful reality, but one which is important to face up to. Before a person chooses to study abroad he/she must make careful considerations and above all have the end in mind. In other words, check out the quality of education a country offers but also check out the prospects of getting a good job afterwards.

How receptive is the country to immigrants? Are there job opportunities in the person’s chosen field? What prospects await if the person chooses to return to Nigeria? It is not commencing a journey that counts but completing it successfully, therefore look carefully before you take that leap.