This thing that we have.

This fleeting romance..

Time after time..we meet, we fall, we love

We share, we touch..

I miss you..

Yes. I miss you so much.

You make me glow..

But only for a while.

You keep me fully satisfied..

But only for a time.

Why can't you be mine always..

Why can't you be here, always..

Always and forever??

Why do you seduce me?

With your sweet sweet taste..

You seduce me..

and then, you leave.

This touch-and-go kind of love..

It is not good for me.

It is not good on me.

It is not good to me.

I am never the same without you..

After you.

None can take your place.

None can fill that space.

I wish..

Oh! I wish you could stay forever

I wish I could have your sugary, sugary taste forever

I find solace in knowing that…

I shall soon beholden your sweet face..

In barely two moons to come.

And we shall dance our dance

Of fire and passion.

For now, 

As we slowly count the seconds till your return

(Tick-Tock, Tick-Tock)

You must know this..

That:

I miss you greatly…

Oh MANGO.

The mango is a juicy stone fruit (drupe) belonging to the genus Mangifera, consisting of numerous tropical fruiting trees. (Definition culled from https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mango) 

There is a very disturbing video that has gone viral within the e-shores of Nigeria. (Here)

It features a man dressed in suit, (reportedly an officer with the State Secret Service) cleaning the shoes of Mr. Dambazzau, the Minister for Interior. Mr. Dambazzau is engrossed in the activities of the event he is attending, oblivious to the dexterous efforts deployed by the SSS officer, in ensuring that there is no speck of dust left on the footwear. The SSS officer is part of the Security detail attached to the Minister.

The video has evoked anger over the Nigerian internetshphere. The general uproar: Why is an officer of the SSS cleaning the shoes of his ‘Oga’ (Boss)?

Let me tell you a story of another ‘Oga’. A true story.

In 2014, I paid a visit to a friend living in Garki Area 11 in Abuja. (If you’re not sure where that is, google it).

I parked around the front of her house, quenched my engine, and was about stepping out.

Immediately, I noticed three men, wearing military pants walking briskly towards me, with their Alsatian dog in tow. They came from a mansion-like house right beside my friend's house.

They told me I could not park there ... that I should drive my car right back to the beginning of the close (the street was a close), find a parking spot and park there.

I asked why. They said my (cute) car was a security risk to their ‘Oga's’ house.

I entered my car, reversed a little until I was squarely within the ‘circumference’ (or ‘square’. Or ‘area’… blame my mathematics teacher) of my friend's house, ending just before the fence demarcating my friend’s house from Oga’s house.

They came again. That I could not park anywhere outside… close to their ‘Oga's’ house.

(By the way, Oga was a Senator)

You see... I had received this kind of treatment when I had visited on an earlier occasion, with a taxi. The cab driver was almost assaulted for daring to drop me so close to the house.

The drama was not entirely unexpected.

So I embarked on a little Property Law lecture to ‘Oga's’ military guards, that when a person pays for a house, s/he paid for the appurtenances.

My friend had paid for the house. The space in front of her house therefore belonged to her, in the absence of any better title (of  ‘Oga’ had not displayed)

The men told me to tell that to their ‘Oga’ when I saw him, as he did not take lightly to people parking outside, close to his house. Their preoccupation was that I removed my car.

I asked them to remind ‘Oga’, that he was living in that house, thanks to the taxes paid by me and the other 149.9 million people (at the time, Nigeria’s population was about 150 million people) citizens. I cannot pay for his house, and still not be able to co-exist peacefully with my tiny automobile.

The men looked shocked. Not so much the grammar. But they appeared to have an ‘Aha!’ moment. Like no one had bothered to point out to them before now that ‘Oga’ was living off each of us.

Although they soft-pedalled… they insisted I remove my car, otherwise, they would be compelled to puncture my tires and break my glasses.

I asked them to do as they pleased. (At least, this ‘Oga's’ was easily identifiable. This would not be a case of unidentified government officials bullying citizens).

I left my car there. And went inside.

Truth be told, I was a tad bit scared.

Not so much for my life. There were a lot of onlookers. And I was well-dressed. They dared not (… or dared they?) Even if they did ... I could not be bothered.

I was scared that my tires would get punctured. That my windscreen would get destroyed. That I would be required to cough out funds to tow and fix the car. That is, before the legal remedies came through.

I was scared of how I would explain to my boss to give me some time off when pursuing my case against ‘Oga’. I could almost hear my boss's voice (again), in my head: "You have to decide whether you want to earn a living or pursue this your Human Rights thing".

But that day… that fear was overtaken by anger. A righteously-heated anger.

That I was being forced to inconvenience myself for the personal comfort of a being who, like me, was born with nothing and will die with nothing.

I was angry that the resources with which this being was intimidating me was the resources I handed over to him in trust.

I was angry that my fellow citizens had made it their life's purpose to intimidate into submission other humans for the sole enjoyment of this being.

That anger gave me temporary respite from all my fear, and emboldened me to leave my car there and walk away.

It is that same anger that bubbled like a volcano from inside me when I watched the video of this SSS officer spuriously wiping the shoes of his own ‘Oga’, while ‘Oga’ was seated in his throne, with all sense of entitlement.

It is easy to point fingers at the shoe-shinning SSS officer, and marvel at how low he has brought himself.

It is easier to point fingers at ‘Oga’. How does he get off making minions out of humans, with all sense of entitlement?

But we all are guilty of it.

We lot of over-zealous sycophants, who given the opportunity may even wipe his soiled behind. With or without toilet paper.

Our society has metamorphosed into one in which the ‘Ogas’ are pleased at all costs, while they remain oblivious of whose ox was gored… whose life was put at risk... who was actually killed. We have become a people who worship and revere our government officials, rather than hold them accountable to us.

This is why security detail attached to some Government Officials would run an ordinary citizen off a narrow road… in order to create room for ‘Oga’ to pass.

This is why drivers and aides will jump the queues… any queues at all. Because ‘Oga’ must be attended to first.

This is why we fawn at the feet of and squirm in the presence our representatives at the National Assemble… in hopes of recognition, for the greater aim of getting trickles of our own common wealth from them.

This is why the big-bellied Directors and Permanent Secretaries at Board meetings would not take their cups of tea or juice themselves, but must be served by the lesser mortals, fortunate enough to breathe the very same air as them.

Which is why when you speak out or attempt to complain… when your life is not threatened, you are labelled a 'trouble maker'.

(If you are a woman, and you are unmarried, that would be pointed out to you as the reason you cannot 'hold a man down').

One way or the other...we all are to blame for Dambazau's shoes being shined by that SSS Officer. Because it is either we have engaged in it, or we have encouraged it.

I do not know if it is Poverty that has done this to us. That has made us mentally subservient to our leaders, whilst trading our dignity and self-worth. In hopes for rewards and recognition from ‘Oga’. Or in gratitude to ‘Oga’ for giving us the privilege to be some mere feet away from his feet (all pun intended). The ‘Oga’ that we have actually funded his ‘Ogaship’.

If it is Poverty, Poverty is indeed a wicked thing.

We must find away to unshackle our minds from the throes of this Poverty, that has robbed us of our identity as Citizens, and our pride as human beings.

Until we the citizens learn to speak up, speak out, to demand to be served by the people we voted into power, to not treat one another as goats for the benefits of those whom we think we owe our lives to, we are no better than the SSS officer, or his 'Oga'.

Ours has just not been caught on tape. 

(Yet.)

Meg.

P.s. Nothing happened to my car. 

Is it me … or is it real, that since Adele dropped her “Hello” hit track after nearly five years without uttering a (musical) word, there has been silence from other top International Pop/’R & B’ female artistes?

(Hey! I’m just voicing what must have been swirling in the minds of pop-culture faithfuls and/or music observers).

Some may allude this to coincidence. Or timing.

I don’t think so. It’s the Adele effect.

Back in 2011, when she released her 21 Album, with pop-charters such as “Someone like you” (I could still DIE for that song), “Rolling in the Deep”, and “Fire to Rain”, there was a similar lull in the music department from her female counterparts.

Ok…there was a bit of Rihanna. Rihanna’s “Stay” was surprisingly deep, with lots of soul.

And if anyone was in doubt that Rihanna could still sing when not making auto-tuned pseudo-growling sounds, she made a huge effort reminding everyone of her real talent at the 2012 Grammys. (Where Adele carted away six awards).

Adele blesses us with her voice every once in a while, and the world takes a chill from the slime and grime and noise into which ‘music’ has metamorphosed. The bang-bang-jam-jam-wonky-donky sounds to which we would pop and grind to their (often) misogynistic and violent lyrics, lyrics we never actually learn, or very easily forget.

Adele helps us find our way (albeit briefly) back to the runs … the highs and lows of deep, deep vocals; the intensity of the music … the sweetly sad message being communicated by unforgettable lyrics.

Every person can relate to the lyrics. As though someone just told your story…in a way far better than you could ever tell.

By and large, that is what music should be. Shouldn’t it?

It is indeed a good thing what Adele does to pop-culture. Helping us to pause a bit and enjoy true talent. Before we run right back into the open arms of the organized chaos we have come to identify pop-culture with, and accept it as.

Beyond this effect in entertainment, Adele communicates a deeper message to us as humans, which we would see, if we are willing.

We’ve heard so much about how ‘sex sells’. Which is the reason almost every music video, every movie, every pop song’s lyrics, even ‘regular’ adverts would allude to or totally be about sex. 

Thereby, reducing our human race to one lacking in intellectual depth, without the mental capacity to actually choose products, brands or services based on their merits or the innovative marketing skills of their promoters, asides appealing to our pre-civilisation inclination to behaving like ape beings and ‘jumping’ at what we are shown.

(That was a really long sentence.)

And then… is it really “sex sells”, or is it “lady parts sell”?

After all, what we see brandished in entertainment and other campaign ads are naked (or near naked) women. Female sexual objectification has basically been accepted as a norm in our times.

Males ‘sell’ the female body parts. Females ‘sell’ the female body parts. Female body parts get the stamp of approval on a song, or a music video, or a brand, or an artiste, or a movie, to make same a ‘hit’.

This is why the likes of Adele, who would go against the tide, and still be successful are good for humankind.

Adele is living proof to the human race, that time and time and time again, GOOD MUSIC SELLS.

That there is flipping the narrative.

She has never objectified her body part(s). All she sells is her voice. And she projects her soul, through her music. And she has very strong opinions on various things, which she hardly hesitates to express.

Adele is not afraid of the world; of owning the world and conquering the world. She is not afraid of political correctness, or societal expectations, or not making enough sales.

Why?

Because she does not have to ‘sell’ anything else, other than what she’s supposed to be famous for.

Her music.

Paz,

Meg.

I know. I know. 

Every blog/article/website/page … basically, every person with the luxury of a computer and internet is dishing out New Year ‘advice’ or ‘goals’ or ‘resolutions’ to make your year perfect.

Not me.

I’m not here to tell you the zillion things to do or not do to have the perfect year. I barely even know how to achieve a ‘perfect’ day for myself. 

I’d love to share with you something beautiful I learnt just before we rolled into this New Year.

My busy mind and I learnt Perspective.

Just before the end of last year, a ‘friend’ asked a rather surprising question. My friend asked me from out of the blues: “Are you truly happy?”

I was taken aback. In my truly Nigerian way, I retorted defensively with a “Why do you ask?” (After all, I AM supposed to be Ms. happy-go-lucky-broke-sometimes-but-would act-like-linda-ikeji-in-her-banana-island-mansion).

My friend expressed that despite the ‘happiness’ I radiated, there appeared to be some underlying sadness bellied under.

I paused.

Truth is, at the time, I was faced with certain confusing crossroads in one aspect of my life. It loomed over me… threatening to eclipse everything else. To drown me. It seemed like if I was did, I was damned. If I did not, I was damned.

I was poised to launch into a tearful break-down; and weep on the shoulder of my friend; and regale my friend with the sob story of how miserable my life was. Yada, yada, yada.

I was poised.

But I did not.

I paused again.

My busy mind slapped me right awake from sob-story-dreamland.

What?? Just because I was faced with scary-looking decisions in one aspect of my life; did that determine that I was not truly happy?

I slapped me again.

Why/How/When did I allow just one not-so-crystal aspect of my life loom over and cloud the other pseudo-perfect parts of my life that made me shiver with excitement at their mere thoughts?

Whatever happened to the liberty of my blissful polygamy with full-time law practice and ‘undercover’ blogging that I reveled in?

What of the sanctuary I called my home? My cosy little abode? My world-famous couch I curl up on at night to blog, while mutli-tasking with Grey’s Anatomy/Game of Thrones/Born to dance?

The joy, sheer peace and glee I feel creeping into the silence of my kitchen? Choosing whether or not … and then when to roll out of my bed over the weekends?

The excitement of making a new hairdo; the anti-climatic feeling after making it due to Halle-Berry high expectations… and then, gradually falling in love with the hair over the weeks. Until my friends politely ask me ‘So when are you taking off this hair again?”

 The excitement I feel from pressing the pedal and going from 0-75 miles in less than 20 seconds? And then slowing down, when I remember that even Schumacher was susceptible to human frailty?

But still… rolling down my windows; playing my weird mix of Beyonce and ABBA from my phone’s playlist. Singing, popping my head while driving, and flashing fellow drivers with that acknowledging smile of “Yes, I’m crazy. But I love me”.

The joy of breaking new heels, feigning modesty at “oohs” and “aahs” over their sheer awesomeness; giving more feigned surprise looks at exclamations of “You’re so tall!”. All the while, knowingly reminding myself to not forget my pack of Panadol for the ankle pain before I sleep at night (Ah! Vanity is pain. Worthful pain.)

The feverishly exhilarating trepidation I feel when I get a new brief to tackle; the endless hours of seeking intelligent-sounding arguments in support of my position, and the huge (inner) sigh of relief when boss-lady does not shred my submissions. Followed by hours of binging on pop-culture gossip after work, to reward myself for the hard-work.

Whatever happened to that feeling of defined purpose I wake up with daily, and the sense of achievement I sleep with nightly?? Was that right there not true happiness?

In one (or two… maybe three) split seconds, my busy mind threw up all these perspectives before me. And it hit. Me.

I WAS TRULY HAPPY! I just almost succeeded in fooling myself into thinking I was sad.

I was happy … I am happy, that I did not have to lie to my friend that I WAS happy. Perspective helped me.

And I will use a lot of perspective this year. We can all use a lot of perspective actually.

Nothing IS that bad.

Ok maybe some things are. But we can also bring out the good stuff right before us, place it side by side with the ‘bad’ stuff, and we’d be taken aback at how good things really are.

Let’s not take things too seriously. For example, eating a shawarma. Laugh at yourself if you eat some of the paper used to wrap it. Smile if you spill some wine on yourself, and lick it off.

Let’s not take things unduly seriously. (Except however, crossing the road).

In 2016, live fully.

Explore. Enjoy. Liberate your soul with perspective.

Do not let the seeming shadows obliterate your joy.

When the clouds seem to crowd in, create some space for the sun. With the proper perspective in place, you’d more often than not find yourself saying out loud “Yes. I am truly happy”.

Paz,

Meg.

P.s. If you like the quippings of my busy mind, just click the G+1 button under my bio, or after this post. And you'll get a sneak peak any time I ruminate here.


P.p.s. My fingers are ITCHING!! My busy mind is bursting. I have so much to blog about. (But then…I need to keep some content for you to read tomorrow).

P.p.p.s My ‘friend’ disappeared. Into thin air. Vanished. Don’t ask me how … I don’t know too. Or why.

P.p.p.p.s. I prayed against fuel crisis in Nigeria on cross-over night. I shouldn’t be up at night blogging about fuel scarcity … when LAWMA is busy taking away all the trash. (“Badosneh” ehhn??)

P.p.p.p.p.s Happy New Year!!

 …and may the odds ever be in your favour.

(Ok. Done)