19 year old Nigerian youth on a journey of self discovery. I post my thoughts on life, third world beauty and problems & creative works that strike my emotion ~conservative free thinker~ Fashion Literature Music Art
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I loved to read in secondary school. Not school books though. Textbooks only saw the light of day a week to exam.
I never put down the harlequin novels and fashion magazines. They were my smartphone at the time.
Our library had lots of those. Fashion & lifestyle magazines, novels, and little story books. It was my happy place. Well it wasnāt total heaven because the librarian, Aunty Simi, was very rude.
She loved to hoard books and had an attitude when you went to the magazine section two times in a week. So of course we werenāt on good terms.
When I walk into the library and get a cold stare, Iād pretend I came to read my class note (always brought one with me) and count down the days till it was āacceptableā to go down the magazine aisle again.
A week after exams, weād stay in school. Teachers use this period to mark our exam papers and grade us for the term. While this is happening, weād be kept busy with social events.
It was my favorite time of the school year, not just because there was no classes, but I could read as much as I wanted.
Weād be on waiting lists for a book, and exchange the ones we brought with us for another.
On one of these days, I was walking down to the dining hall with my friend, August. Then I noticed an opening in the library window, big enough for me to pass through.
I jokingly suggest that we sneak in and steal some books in the middle of the night. August is an even bigger bookworm, so she jumps at the idea. We forget about it.
One Wednesday night, we visit out hostel mistress, who is more like a senior sister to us as she had just completed her NYSC.
We help her bake some meat pie, and watch a movie. When we finish, itās 3pm. Weāre about to go to bed when August reminds me of our plan.
It was a joke, but I'm too chicken to tell her that. So I take a bag, and tag along.
We get to the opening, and climb in. It is really easy because the library is a bungalow, and the window is almost floor to ceiling.
We pause for a moment and survey the place with a torch. āweāre in!ā I thought. No aunty Simi guarding my favorite magazines.
I rush to the magazine section, scan through and pick seven of them. I found the one I read half way last month and grab it in delight too.
Meanwhile, August is in the Enid Blyton section, contemplating taking the entire Famous Five series, when I tell her that thatāll raise suspicion as it was a new addition.
So she settles for the older Enid Blyton books.
We put everything in our bag, and climb out the window. We get to the hostel, put the bag away, and climb our bunks to get some sleep.
A week later, aunty Simi calls me to announce to my hostel members (I was a hostel captain you see) that she is looking for library books, and anyone responsible for stealing it should return them quietly, as a search will be held immediately .
I rush to tell August, and we give the bag to the villagers just over the fence (who had become our good friends) to keep before the search started.
I help to search my hostel members, and we find nothing. We heard the cost of the stolen books was deducted from aunty Simiās salary.
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This Sunday started out like every other one. Quiet and uneventful except for the youtube videos I had lined up to watch. While watching the second Dan lok video, I had to take a pee break. Little did I know that would mark the end of my church hiatus.
"mama I'll give you one of my gowns to test. If it sizes you we'll go to church together. Instead of you sitting at home idle all the time" says grandma
"What?!?!? The last thing I am is idle what the fuck?!
I have a bunch of videos lined up, I have my life to figure out, I have Twitter to scroll,I'm definitely not idle!" I thought. Anyways,her gown won't size me no need to get riled upš
I get back to my videos, into the fourth, I get a call. 'Granny'. Exasperated, I go to try out the gown.
Now let's backtrack a little. I haven't been to church since since Christmas. When I left school to stay with my grandparents, I took church clothes with me as backup. The plan was to act like I forgot to pack church clothes so I could stay at home on Sundays. If she ever tried to make me go, I'd pretend I left the clothes in the house last Christmas and just found them accidentally.
The problem here was that she didn't give me a heads up so I couldn't pretend to search. I had to stick with my narrative and wear her horrifying gown. No disrespect, but I mean she's 85 and I'm 19. We have different tastes in fashion.
When the gown "fit" me, I felt nauseous. I dragged my feet, hoped I'd make us late, heck I even said a prayer for god to stop this from happening.
He didn't answer though (big surprise there). We get to church, I feel nostalgic warmth. Not what I was expecting.
We take an empty pew. Now we did get there late. We missed the readings. So the prayers kinda worked. I look around, observing the worshippers, rapping my fingers on the back cap of the pew. The father is a good singer.
He goes on, I keep observing, while singing along. These were songs I grew up with so I can sing them like second nature. I don't have to think about the lyrics so I busy my brain with the women dancing in front of me.
Teeth bared, crinkles in their eyes, wiggling waists you can tell moved graciously until age took it away, hands up to the ceiling talk-singing the words of the song to each other "ogozirim a gozi, otinyerem Jara"(he blessed me, he added extra)
You know what? Maybe god actually works. Not in the way Christians think though. More like how Karl Marx thinks. "Religion is the opium of the masses" he says.
It all makes sense now. The poorest countries are the most religious. It's not a coincidence. We need religion. In a country as hopeless as Nigeria, you need a drug to stay sane. Someone to save you. Somewhere with justice and care for the defenceless. Somewhere without suffering and pain
I smile in derision because there is no such place. I wouldn't tell them even if I had the chance to though. They're happier this way. Let mama junior dance with joy to relive her sorrow in church on Sundays.
Just like how I smoke marijuana after a bad test that might get me a C, mama j should feel good after sitting in a fly infested market all week long, haggling with customers trying to feed her children. She deserves to feel good just this once.
I notice father's snow white sneakers. "Damn, those are sleek. Looks expensive" I wonder if mama junior's offering from her market stall contributed to it's purchase.
Service is over, grandma is calling grandpa to come pick us up. He ignores the call. Grandma didn't serve him breakfast before going to church.
Grandma is still on the phone when an old man walks towards us, trying to talk to her. She eventually gives him attention, and he begins to introduce himself and describe his house and relatives.
I'm irritated. I try to communicate my dislike without words, but he purposely averts my eyes. Well maybe this isn't so bad. It's nice that someone is giving my grandma some attention. She's the most caring, loving homemaker I know, but grandpa doesn't seem to notice. All he cares about is his stomach and his fucking decoder.
My guy is out of words, so he says his goodbyes. Finally.
We start to walk home, and I start to count the days till I'm able to go back to Kaduna. At least the churuch boys are pretty and playing dress up will compensate for the two painful hours I have to sit on the pew.
I think of my apartment at Nsukka. On Sundays I smoke weed, binge eat, worry about life or argue about logic and technology. I definitely do not think about church. "Man, fuck Corona" I mutter under my breath.


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Christian Lacroix Haute Couture A/W 1991-2
Nadege du Bopertus
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"I'm fucking bored!" I thought to myself, while clicking the red button to end my mum's call. After tossing on the floor for about a minute, I decided to leave the house.I've been indoors for days now, seeing only the four walls of my apartment. Today however, I decided to visit the campus. Everyone is home, but I stayed in Nsukka. I just need a space to be by myself, lazy around and explore my creativity away from my Nigerian mother's nagging and constant monitoring. The weather was just how I like it. Foggy, cool breeze and grey clouds. I took a deep breath to fill my lungs, let out a big grin and felt genuine gratitude to nature. I must say, the visit to campus was nostalgic. Crazy how a few weeks ago, I and my friends were contemplating tickets to a fireboy concert and today, a pandemic has the world on lockdown. Deserted streets, panic buying, worldwide hunger ... life's crazy tbh. My days are uneventful. Quiet, alone, routiney. Just how I want it to be.
#coronapocalypse#coronavirus#real life#lifestyle#nigeria#covid2020#coviddays#covid 19#photography#blue aesthetic#flowers#yellow#aestheitcs#aestethic#aesthetic#aestehtic
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I broke up with my high school boyfriend the year I got into uni. I still loved him, but I believed that our romance had to end because we were going to different universities. We needed to explore the world and grow up to become our own selves. 'Americanah' is about a Nigerian couple that gets separated because the girl (Ifemelu) has to leave for America for Uni. They keep dating, but separate eventually when Ifemelu stops replying her lover's mails. After years of self discovery and growth on both sides, Ifemelu decides to relocate back to Nigeria, and they end up together after sacrificing some very important relationships and going through tests on their love. I loved (still love) this book so much because it gives the young high school girl in me hope that after we grow strong apart, we'll become like one of my favorite dishes. Rice and beans. Tastes heavenly together, but still great when apart.
#book review#english literature#literature#chimamanda ngozi adichie#americanah#latenite#ramblings#rambles#growth#relationships#dating#healthy relationships#books#books & libraries#bookworm#booklr#booksofinstagram#book photography#book blog#books and libraries#classic#africa#africanlifestyle#africalove#thoughts#young love#african literature#nigeria
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