Romance Scammers

I had heard about these scams going on and wondered how gullible a person had to be to be sucked into the scam, but I have to tell you, I've found out that it's very easy!

The scammer takes on the identity of a perfect professional person, nice picture in place and nice but sparce details about themselves but what is paramount is that they wish to meet a person who just wants to be loved and they are very quick to commit to a life long relationship.

But how is one to protect themselves from these scammers? How does one identify them?

First thing is that most of them can't spell for toffee! It's strange but when a so-called 'engineer can't even speall 'sweet' or 'gorgeous' or 'beautiful' then there is a problem there, no so?

Second, they are very quick to want to get you off the dating site or professional site on which you met, they either want you on hotmail, yahoo or this new email site ymail. Be very careful when someone states that they feel that you'd be able to chat better with them on your personal email.

Third, ok, you've moved to private email, they start to flood you with a lot of questions, asking about your life, your job etc. Please don't be flattered that they are interested in you. they are just trying to source you out, see if you're worth playing the game with.

Fourth, they are very quick to suggest and agree to any plans of long term relationship. They use a lot of 'baby, sweetie, darling' and all that jazz that we unfortunately love to hear from the person we think loves us most. My dear, wake up, it's all a lie!

Fifth, once you're well hooked, that's when the demands start and note, they have international numbers, so they will have a number say like T-mobile which offers reduced tariff for roaming but if they claim to be white, they will never have a webcam, they will always claim a reason why it's not working but they will ask you to put yours on and if you're not careful, you may fall into strip teasing for a group of perverts! (This is why having Jesus in your life makes the difference!) LOL

Then, if they manage to call you, they usually have a jacked up accent which they claim is American or British, don't fall for this, always ask questions and you'll find that their phone suddenly runs out of cedit and so they can't call. They try everything to get you to call them so that their scam is cost effective.

So what else can you do to be sure that you're not talking to some fake ass scammer? Go online, use their instrument against them! Check their names, email addresses and you'll be sure to discover that they come up on some scammer website, try and find out details from them; things like schools, degrees, simple colloquialisms of whatever culture they claim to be from and insist they come online with a webcam. They usually either run off or stupidly keep trying to get you to fall in line. Now that's when you have my permission to go on the last thing.

Go crazy, gangsta mad on them; curse them to the tenth generation, tell them how their scam will send them to jail! However, that is the omota way (forgive me, I'm still trying to work my issues out) The Lord help me.

The better way, is to get them arrested. Now I haven't been able to find out what to do yet, I'm asking for advice from professionals who deal with these guys from hell because I too, have an 'American'(scammer) on my hands and I'm hoping I can 'darling, dear' him into jail. So keep an eye out for part two.

Here is a taste of what damage these guys can do if you don't protect yourself. However, before seeing that clip, here is a taste of my omota version on one of such scammers who came on my radar. Learn from this

From: Me
To: Tokunbo Williams (williamstokunbo@ymail.com) The Scammer
Re: Re: hello gorgeous!

Chei!


Dem take una curse me?! Another scammer! Look I be original omo Eko! You should be ashamed of yourself! Using another person's picture to be lying and cheating people. God will punish you and your entire family! You sorry excuse for a human being!

You know how to hack computers and steal people's identities and yet you can't spell for toffee! Olodo! Ode! Oponu! You've seen mugu that you'll now mail and say your stupid mother is dying. God punish your mother and father, idiot!

You will never prosper, all your family will be destroyed. May you and all your sisters, aunties and female cousins suffer pain 1000 times worse than the one you cause women with your jibiti! 419 buruku! Ko ni da fun gbogbo idile e, Alakori, olodo rabata!

If you mail me again, may amadioha thunder your head! It will never ever be good for you, you evil beast. Hello gorgeous ko, o ti ri didirin abi? Ole oshi!

Gerrout off my mail jo! Iwo eniti o ni da fun mo lailai yi, ma ko ori buruku e bami jo!

PS: and yes I've just schooled you in how to abuse someone and STILL BE ABLE TO SPELL! OLODO OSHI!


From: Tokunbo Williams (williamstokunbo@ymail.com)
To: Me
Sent: 13 August 2012 10:38:23

Gdmrng Abi,

How re you doing,i trust ur good n all is well with you? And thanx for getting back to me,i really do apreciate you. And hows ur family,i trust everyone is fine.When i call,i'll tell you anything u want to know about what u asked me but above all am a loving person to be with n i hope ure the same., And dont worry about ur no,i will definately keep it safe.......What i belive av gotton myself into is actually what i love n av been serching for n i thank God av found you....lol. I will call u soon,take care of urself n av a blessed day.xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx


From: Me

Sent: 13 August 2012 00:46:48

To: williamstokunbo@ymail.com

Hello Tokunbo,

It was nice to read back from you. I hate it myself when I've put out there and the person doesn't bother to respond to me.

Its weird how many names that site seems to have. It really opens up avenues for confusion. Well tell me about yourself,what you're up to, what you do, you know stuff people say to each other when they first meet. I will give you my number and you can call me when you're ready. But just a note of warning, I don't do early mornings, call me before 10am at your own peril!

So you my number wisely and carefully. Lol, I'm sure you're already wondering what you got yourself into.

Well buckle up and you'll find out! 07712346575(Obviously not my real number)

Abi  (Try to keep your first letter as real and chatty as possible)


From: Tokunbo Williams (williamstokunbo@ymail.com)

Sent: 11 August 2012 17:03:27

To: Me

How are you doing...i trust you are good n all is well with you n family. Thanx for leaving me ur email adress on just black singles,its really thotful of you,i would av been hurt if i av never heard from u again. I hope things re well with u generally n i guess ure enjoyin d wkend or do you work wkends? And hows ur family,i hope everyone is fine. I really do love to hear from you,talk to you n even meet up sometimes if its ok with you. My no is 07448953762,i hope u will call me n if u cant will u kindly send me ur no n i will call you....Hoping to hear from you soon,take care of urself n av a blessed day. Thots Tokunbo williams xxxxxxxxxxxxxx

This guy didn't even try to give himself a chance but more fool him, not so? Well here's the video and after that I tell you: Go with God!   http://youtu.be/UwqdrB5AeOQ

HairStory

Hello people, remember that I told you about my guest slot on O'Naturals, where once a month, I contribute a story or poem to their site. Well in case, you couldn't get to their page. Here again is the story in its full form. I hope you enjoy and I hope to be able to sort out my insurance and buy a comp soon.

By the Way- Fibromyalgia is a terror but I refuse to be beaten. I will overcome. I fell down in two places this last week and one was in public- my local bank¬ no need to say, it will be in a while before I go back there. Well keep me in your prayers and I'll be telling you more and putting more poetry up. God bless


HAIRSTORY

Time had passed and I knew I wasn’t as easy to recognise but as soon as he saw me, Deji knew it was me. The first thing he did, after spinning me around, was reach for my hair. 'You changed it!' he exclaimed, half accusingly and half incredulously. He knew how much I cared for my hair in the past and how much money he had personally paid for its upkeep. I smiled and shrugged. My hair tossed a bit in the breeze. 'Well, I like it much better this way’ I replied. We talked some more, exchanged numbers and I left in a cab, leaving him standing, waving at me.


Deji and I dated while I was at university. He was a year ahead of me and from the first day he set eyes on me, he wouldn't let me be. He told me he was certain that I was an angel sent to him from ‘Jah’ above. At first, he was frustrating but I soon started laughing at his words and that’s how we ended up spending the day together. Before he left he asked me if I would go out with him and I asked him how he knew I was ‘his angel’. He said that when I walked in and light shone on my head, he just knew.


I didn’t know whether to laugh or choke! I told him that I had just had my hair done with a 100% human hair weave and it was most likely the gloss from the oil that caught the light. He shook his head and said it didn’t matter, I was still his angel and with that he left. From then on, he visited me frequently, took me out for lunches, ate in my room when I cooked and helped me with some of my assignments. And so we just sort of fell into being a couple.


On one occasion, I had just put in an 18 inch Brazilian hair weave when Deji came over. Although my head felt tight, I looked so good. Deji fell in love with it and could not stop stroking my hair. It would have been a romantic time together if he hadn't caught his fingers in my hair, while he was stroking it, and that hurt terribly. He tried to turn around and sat on some of my weave while I was trying to move and the pain actually brought tears to my eyes! It was disastrous. This was to be the script for the majority of our intimate moments. My hairstyles seemed to be causing us hassles and soon enough we started arguing. I got very angry and kicked him out of my room when he suggested me having less extended tresses. Deji tried to get back with me, to be fair, and I did try to make it work but my hair got in the way.


We broke up, Deji graduated and I never heard from him again. I finished school, traveled to the US for my Masters, my hair went natural and I finally got dredlocs. I had been living in the States for five years when I bumped into Deji again. My phone rang as I got out of the cab. It was Deji. He said it was wonderful to see me again and that I looked amazing with my hair. I smiled to myself and said it was good to see him too. He asked if we could meet up for lunch, we fixed a date and he hung up.


From one lunch date to several other lunch dates and then dinner dates. We realized we were still single and Deji asked me to be his girlfriend. We laughed so much and found a new rhythm with each other. Deji said it was like he was with a different woman and it made him happy.


I look into the mirror to check my reflection one last time. Deji’ is standing behind me and he bends to sink his nose and hands into my hair. I don’t flinch or wave him away. I lean back and remind him we’ll be late for the reception. He smiles at me through the mirror and says the guests can wait; after all we are the bride and groom.

Edited by Omozo Ehigie

Life, Leisure and Questions about Love

First published on the 24th May 2009




What is it about life that makes us keep going on for another day, a hope for a brighter day, a better day? What is it that makes a man and a woman fall so deeply in love? What makes thenm fall out of it? Why is love always equated to an imbalance (falling in love) a mental health condition (madly in love, love sick, crazy in love) or a state of incoherence (I love you, I am in love with you, I love you) (need I say more?)

How do you keep love and sex apart? Is love between two people possible without an expression in sex (or for the delicate at heart- love making)? can two people who really love each other and want to be together really stay in a room without touching or ending up in bed, the side of the wall, on a chair, clothes off or on (take your pick) when it all goes tits up, where do all those emotions go? What do they leave behind?

What makes us? Breaks us? Defines us? Redesigns us? What makes us aware of whom we are, what our values are, what our core beliefs are? What makes others aware of us?

What is this life if full of care? (Thanks Hillarae Belloc' Leisure'-I hope I got the name right) do we have time to stand and stare?

Hmmm, there goes a butterfly.....



In between my breasts

is a fire stoking quietly.

Awaiting cool fingers, wander near

Stroke as a match, set all ablaze.


In between my breasts

is a river, flowing wild.

Inviting a plunge into depths

rediscovering in approaching climax.


In between my breasts

is a mystery, holding truth.

Of all that men, being beasts; beasts, human;

Human in the illusion of gods.

Old time Nwantintin

Recently a friend of mine  http://www.facebook.com/nuggetzman on Facebook wrote this statement [Churches in val mood. Red hearts and roses hanging on church walls. Churches are hosting red carpets and comedy shows today and 2mrw. Naija xtian no fit come last. But is romantic love anytin African? Ever saw or seen our parents kiss in public?]

And it made me think back to my parents, they met and married in the UK and are staunch members of Deeper Life Church but they loved and showed that love daily. They kissed especially when leaving or returning to the house and just sometimes to show affection. It wasn't done in public, in public they showed their love in a different way, the way they looked after each other, respected each other. I learnt the gentle, quiet, beautiful and sublime love from them and its what I want.

Flowers, chocolates and presents are all good but nothing beats the gentle trust and assurance that you are loved no matter what. That is what every right thinking person wants. That is what I want. and if wanting that means waiting a little bit more, then it would be totally worth it. 
So for everyone who gets that look or question of 'when are you next', I say don't sell out, hold on, with God on your side, you'll overcome.
So thinking of the old time love, I post this poem and say to you all Happy Valentine. God bless.

First published on 3rd December 2010


The Return 



I will meet you at the path

with the best of nkpokiti dances

Ululating your ancestral names, so your father’s line

can hear and be proud

I’m aiming for the back-hairs at your neck,

hoping they encourage your head to swell


Then I’ll lead you up the cement steps,

into the house, strip off your dust weary clothes,

chanting the songs you suckled to, remind you of your mother’s smell

Lead you in to the bathroom where

a pail of warm water awaits, and as you pour,

I’ll wash your back with black soap and tickles


Then clean and fresh, you sit before pounded yam

with fresh fish soup and as you eat, I’ll recall songs

that will transport you to the fields of nostalgia

When you finish, I’ll await your burp of satisfaction,

show you the raffia chair prepared for your resting


And as you lie content, I’ll lay my head on

your lap and rub your stomach

The trees and winds joining the gentle chant

of my heart-mine, mine, mine.

Whispers

Does the lady protest too much? I don't know, I'm no lady! Just a question though. How does one really know?

First published on Wednesday, 11 February 2009

Misread things and February



Again, the month where we fall, get out, think and hate love is here and already I'm sick of it! Why one month has to have so many emotions tied to it is beyond me but since I'm slowly converting to the whole idea of this love thing. (I have good examples around me...its rubbing off) here's something for people enjoying the magical experience of that crazy thing called love. Note though, that I put my personal abilistic spin on it.



Sunset.


In your shadow

Comfort looms

I am wrapped tight like

Kola nut in shell.


Fingers trace outline of

Lips, eyes, lashes, dimple

I stick a tip in, tickle;

Bubble of laugh from

my stomach

Tumbles up into

my chest

Out of my throat. I. Am. So. Happy.


Sunrise.


In the cast

Shelter stays

I am cocooned like

Fish in deep water, there is safety

Freedom at once.


Lips graze then

Part and tongue flicks

Picks up salt, grit

Familiarity

Pucker, press, imbibe essence of

Deliciousness, which is you.

In here

I am whole, found,

alive, true, sane, complete

filled, loved.


Yours.

I absolutely love this song and I think it fits with the poem-feel free to enjoy!

Whatever Love Is

Really...what's love got to do it? This is a question noone's really answered you know? I've heard so many definitions of relationships and one thing remains constant, especially those who have been married more than a year, 'its not about the emotion of love but the discipline'! This didn't make any sense at all initially but a friend kindly broke it down-it means all that mushy gushy thing you feel will not stand the test of farts, stretchmarks, flaccid "nkannkans",unreasonable behaviour, bad habits, hairy chins, skidmarks, body odour, mouth odour, receding hairlines,inappropriate scratching of intimate areas in public, picking the nose, sickness,disease (haba!), not in the mood, complete loss of libido, lack of money excetera, excetera.
What will stand is that two people like themselves enough to say through all the above and more, I have decided to stay by you, with you and love you.

Love is not soft, rose tinted and rainbow hued! It is hard, tough and constantly forgiving, it is graceful, humble and in many cases beyond belief. So I ask those who are 'celebrating' their love and valentine; really...what's love got to do with it?

First published on Wednesday, 19 November 2008


If- Tales of When Love Strikes- Sham Lyrics




The question has always been 'when love hits you what will you write?' I have had the good fortune to come close to the emotion, never been a true disciple, but a good acquintance.

I would like to believe that love and I have gone beyond mere shaking of hands and nodding across the street.

I think we have reached the stage where, we stop and say hello, give each other the outstanding penny at the check out point in the supermarket, we know the area where the other lives and stuff like that, we are not close but we're not far either.

So I give you these tales, tales of what I would write if love struck, I call them Sham Lyrics.



This thing is deep, rich

It makes like butter, warm places

Happy feelings joy and fear

At the same time, unequal measures

Smiling, fearing, it is all

Heady and I love it.



This thing is dark, light

It makes like red wine, chocolate

Those nice things that make you smile

And your pockets bleed

It is beautiful, radiant

Disturbing, cheesy

Not me, all of me.



It is a misty place

I am beckoned to its quiet edge.

There are no promises, no theatrics

Just a simple ‘come’

This invitation is potent

Enticing. I am of two minds yet

I find my toes tingling in eager

Response, gently levitating to follow.

Wisps and Dreams

Going on the love theme, it is clear that the average person's mind is a bit lke a maze, hard to negotiate and you eventually get lost somewhere, somehow. Now I've been called both difficult and easy to please. I guess I have my days. There are so many rules to live by, either rules made by yourself, society or family. They are hard to break loose from and sometimes a dangerous noose by which we tie up ourselves and hereby prevent ourselves from moving-anywhere!

I'm not too certain where I'm going with this as I'm still trying to process it in my own head, but this is not the first time, I've been here, so there is a certain assurance that I'll walk this maze again.

First published 26th January 2007

It took me a while to decide what I was going to put in my journal, I was meant to write in it sometime ago but I kept on putting it aside ‘cos the flow hadn't come but then I thought (oh, oh) wait a minute, I’m a writer ke! (Yes ke!) Why not put up some of my work (so that you people who think 'does she think she's Wole Soyinka?' would know that I’m chasing his pen).

So here is a little something, something, a poem, written for that imaginary guy who warms my bed, loves my body (love handles, turkey wings, buddah belly and all, ah yes and corns) loves my mind and wants to spend his days and nights with me irrespective of my moods (ok, I know I’m asking for a lot but hey! a gal can dream)


'how my love is to be'


Not for me the clichés of the past

They taste bitter at the back of me throat

I don't want my romance in

The sweet by and by

I want my love, nay, I need my love, now!


I want to snatch my kisses

From his lips like apples from a tree

I want to look across a room and

Stamp my signature on him

Like a branded cow



I want to pull myself into

His arms like a whirlwind in a barn

To be wild, wicked and free

Not for me the clichés of the past

They taste really bitter at the back of me throat.


Instead my love ...


Draw me
Draw me into this union
Where your arms wrap
And I am safe

Where your lips smooth
And I am whole

Where your eyes seep
And I am reborn

Where your heart is
And I am loved

Draw me into this union
This sweet, wholesome union

my loneliness leaving into the night
I becoming 'some' of a body's
Yours .

Divorced Intentions

Do you sometimes wish you could hear God's voice directly? I know I do. I'm not afraid for I don't think He'll use the big boom voice of the Ten Commandments, but rather the still small voice of calming Elijah's personal storm. In matters of the heart, there's no greater time, I need to hear His voice than then.

For we humans are SO complicated and our lives are so tangled up and when one is trying to live in a straight way, somehow a curveball is thrown and splat it all goes. Its in this craziness and stupidness that I really wish I could hear God speak directly to me, in my ear straight down into my soul and I sit straight and sure for I know.

But God being God wouldn't do that, would He? Besides His Word speaks His heart loud and clear and if we all knew the bumps and lumps ahead on our journey through life, what would be the joy of living? There would be no angst, pain, anguish, joy, relief, happiness, contentment-all these emotions that tingle us into awareness and then what would be the fun in that?

First published 13th April 2010.


Well I've been thinking how we as humans say one thing, yet act in the total opposite way. Take me for example. I say I love all music, but I really am a snob, I can't stand rap and R & B. A friend says she's lonely and would take any guy's offer , as long as he's tall, light skinned and works in a bank. A man tells you he wants you desperately in his life but has absolutely no interest in you or your life.




The mouth says one

The heart another

If only the night would speak truth

I should be so lucky.



Words pull,

Actions push

If only the night would speak truth

I should be so lucky


Time passes

Failed hearts sigh

If only the night would speak truth

I bloody well would be so lucky!

Teardrop-February Blues

I have found that I have a lot of angst with regards to February. It is a month I wish to wish away ASAP, so we can get on with the business of living. I am so not a fan of February! Many have their theories as to why-my response is 'to each , his own' I don't have to have a reason for not liking something and that's that.

So this month, I'll be posting the many angst-filled lines I have written over the years in this particular month, who knows , maybe it will all make sense in the end.

First published 24 February 2008

If I have learnt anything recently, it is that everything is never quite enough. there will always be the hunger for something more, there never really can be perfection, so we keep reaching forth, and the most content people are those who know how to pick their battles. I am learning.

A wise man said to me once, and I must point out that he was a bit fed up of the world and in particular, with my whinings about my expectations of others. He said 'blessed are those who expect nothing, they shall not be dissappointed, but will always open to the possibility of being pleasantly surprised'

Think about that. So here is 'Teardrop' Enjoy


Teardrop


Wind against my face.
Heartbeat echo fear, passion, hurt.
I am stretching, my hands in front of me,
as the waves from the keys hit my fingertips

Heartbeat echo fear, passion, hurt.
The tune of blood rising to the surface of my skin.
My legs lift from the ground, toes pointing down.
Its crescendo rises from the earth, tumbles into my thighs.

I am stretching, my hands in front of me.
'Take me back', I cry, to the place of my innocence,
where I wandered on virgin plains, a precocious child,
sucking rhythms from the nectar of the grass.

As the waves from the keys hit my fingertips,
I learn anew, "love is a verb."
My teardrops hit the fire and fry.
Broken down by the climax, I am dust in the air.

"Water is my eye, most faithful mirror"
It crashes as I melt into sound.

Rattle my Window-Part 2

I have been threatened with broken limbs if I don't put up the rest of the story (so LM, I hope I can come into London without fear now?) only to find that its not the first time, I had been in this particular situation, So here it is, first published in December 21st 2007, it is 'Rattle My Window'


As Joko got in, she saw two of her husband’s colleagues and his immediate boss. Another neighbour was there. Bewildered, she frowned. ‘What’s going on here?’
‘Madam,’ it was Rele’s boss who spoke. ‘I’m so sorry…your husband was sent to Benin to do some things for the office…but…he had an accident.’
Immediately, her neighbours moved closer to her and stood near. She looked at Rele’s boss. ‘Accident? How? Where’s my husband? How is he?’ Joko couldn’t understand.
Her neighbour was already crying and Rele’s colleagues were looking at the floor. When his boss couldn’t hold her gaze, she understood. ‘No!’ Joko screamed and all went black.

Seven days later, Joko woke up. She was thankful for the blessedness of oblivion, but she had to wake up to life. She woke up on her wedding anniversary and cried bitterly through the day, she refused to see anyone and when she remembered Rele’s promise to come back, she clung to it and urged him to do so. When she became hysterical about it, the doctor had to come in to sedate her to sleep.

A month later, Rele was buried and Joko went home. She made it a ritual every night to call on him to rattle the window, but nothing happened and she would cry in frustration. Her belief in his ability got stronger when Iya Agba came to visit. Wizened with age and sorrow, she pronounced that she could feel her son was still in his house. Instead of Joko being frightened, she became strengthened and she continued to stay in the house. At first her friends came to stay with her but she craved for solitude and mercifully she was soon left alone. At times, in her quiet moments, she would call for Rele and times when she needed the arms of her man; she almost became crazed with vexation at his absence. She hated him and loved him, she begged him to return and cursed him for leaving her.

Then as the months flew by, she lost faith in him. She started to smile again and she stopped calling for him in her dreams. She stopped laying the table for two and she stopped talking aloud to him. Later, she stopped wearing black clothes and started wearing bright colours. At first she was afraid and yet hopeful that he would take offence and rattle the window, but when nothing happened for a whole day, she threw her widow’s weeds away. She started to use make-up and she started to find her banker attractive especially after the way he helped her manage her money after Rele’s death. She went out with him several times and enjoyed the experience. He was very different from Rele but he was a nice person and the dating excited her.

Four and a half years later after Rele died, Dipo the banker, proposed to her, Joko went into her room and called for Denrele again to give him, his final chance to register his presence. She waited for a full minute and then turned around and left. ‘Well, it was stupid of me to have believed he would come back, who knows what goes on after a person dies.’ She thought to herself as she walked out of the house and went to Dipo’s house to tell him she had accepted his proposal. She had already put the house up for sale and moved her things out, ready for a new life.

As she drove away from the house, Rele became visible. He looked out of the window and rattled it in frustration. How was he to know that it took a ghost so long to perfect the art of appearing and tangible action? He had been there through Joko’s tears and pains and he had stood by her as she had voiced her frustrations. He had flinched when she abused him and he had wanted to explain to her that he would never have left her if he had the power.

He had been delighted to see her smile again and wear bright colours. He had loved her anew as she applied make-up and sang little songs. He had felt a little jealous as she came back looking alive after having dinner with that banker guy, but he had been truly happy for her that she was living life again. He only wished he could tell her how much he had loved her and wished her the best. How he had tried to comfort her with his presence. ‘Well Rele, she’s happy now, its time to go.’ a figure appeared beside him and smiled. With a nod and a little sigh, Rele held the figure’s outstretched hand and they disappeared. At last both he and Joko were finally free.

Jewel-Melody for Elizabeth

First published on the 25th of June 2010

I don't know why but I didn't start off liking you much. We weren't friends and I prefered Jokesman to you. But your love stayed strong, unyeilding,constant and I grew to know you, understand you and like you very much.

Many unfortunately don't have someone like you in their lives and it makes me wish I could share you so they could know just how wonderful it can feel.

You taught me that there's nothing too high for me to reach, too hard for me to fail (even maths!) and I thank you and even though I say it everytime to you when we talk, I just want to say again. I love you mum, thank you for everything.




Wura

The very bones of you
Yielded and moved to birth me.
The flesh of you tore and
Pumped blood, pus, water
On my clumsy eyes.
The tears of you, mingled with
My sweaty dark head and
You saw a miracle.

Wura

The bones of you
The flesh ripped from you
The very meat and blood of you
I love.

My Mothers Eyes are Volumes 2

First published on the 2nd of March 2008, this is a follow up part to The Melody to Elizabeth-My Mother

Mrs Idowu (as I call my mum, she was once my teacher so it stuck) wasn't always my friend, I was very much a daddy's girl and I remember so many clashes between my parents over my discipline, I would commit a crime, dad would let me off with a speech and a hug and mum would scream at my dad 'Wale! If she's spoilt rotten and grows up irresponsible, its all YOUR fault!'


I thought the woman didn't like me. She came down hard on anything I did wrong, was swift to punish and slow to praise. it never occured to me that after waiting almost 8 years to have me and me being a split image of her, she saw herself in me and wanted to (rightly or wrongly) right the wrongs in her own life, give me better access to opportunities.

It took my father's death to enable us build the bridge. At first, I thought we were friends out of necessity but I later realised that it was genuine and deep. We had shared so much together, good and bad and for the first time, we saw each other as women, not mother and child, but women, sisters, walking the same road of life, her with all the experience, I with the hunger to know. Leaning on each other, we could be symbaotic, weaning each other , yet dependent.

Most of my writings are based on my mother, she is the prototype of my heart. Sometimes, when I write things that bring some deep seated memories to the fore, tears seep from my eyes, for I wish I could experience my childhood again with the new eyes with which I see her.

My mother is beautiful, she is joy and pain wrapped up in patience. She is my teacher, sister and friend. She is the harbringer of my birth and rebirth, the one who invited the muses to take dwelling within my soul and school me. She is love, she is discipline, she is heart that hurts itself to make me a better person.

My mum was meant to be here with me today, but circumstances stated otherwise, yet she is not bitter. She is hopeful and filled with love soaked prayers. I don't feel bereft, I feel protected and that is good.

Gimme some lust

First published in 2007

There has been this big debate about love and lust and it has been very interesting. I tell you, the number of romantics still roaming the streets! They should be shot! Do you know how many people still believe in the 'love at first sight, music when he/she appears, everything looks brighter when he/she is around' nonsense!

I say ' down to all dem people with dem mind in rainbows and flowers and give me people who know that what you see is what you get, there ain’t no sunshine, no flowers no nothing when she/he gone because there ain’t in the first place!

So I'm representing, for lust, pure sweet lust (please just make sure my pastor never hears) and I give you this poem in defence. Enjoy!

True Love

I could tell you things
Tell you I love you
When all I want is to know
If your skin really is as soft
As it looks
If the promises your smile gives
Are as true as it beckons

I could compare you to a bright sunny day
Say you come out brighter
Tell you; I'd die without you
I'd give my life to you
When all I'm wondering is if your lip gloss
Tastes as good as it looks
And would you quiver, if
I touched you there?

I could tell you some things sweet, untrue
Draw you into my arms, not touching you
When all I ache for is to drag you, down
As I grasp your hair, ravish you with my lips
My hands, my teeth, me

I could tell you many things
Convince you, I love you
Why not
Let me show you instead?

Love Attack!

First published on the 14th of April 2007

I have been attacked! Friends who have visited this site, have attacked me asking how I could shamelessly pander to such hedonistic, libertine ideas! But I asked a question to my defence and no one so far has been able to answer me staright in the eye, so I plead here.


I plead poetic liberty to say what would normally not be said,
so that the tongue might be free.
I plead poetic truth, the lie can only travel so far 
till the truth catches up with it.
I plead poetic diahoerra, that which I see,
I must speak,
I cannot hide away from this foible of mine,
it is ingrained, niggling till I give in, shuddering at its feet.
I plead poetic egoism,
I believe I can see beyond the man, read his mind,
form his thoughts before he finished thinking them,
his eyes vast windows to his dirty soul, and
I look within and dredge,
Stirring up the muck and yet cleansing.
So I plead,
I plead, I am a writer, it is what I know,
what I do best , what makes me really be

Love Rock

Posted first in 14th April 2007

This is to y'all who think I hate Love (truth is : I do) but I know some believe in it like they believe in God and I respect that, so I give you something I wrote when I also was a believer

Vows

Steadfast steps through the crowd
To your waiting side
I do

Beaming into your eyes
You're all that I see,
that I know

Standing by your side
Binding myself to you
I will

Looking into your eyes
See a future ahead
I am

Taking your hand
My circlet of trust embraces you
I give

Walking back with you,
A new life to begin
I live.

Now that I've made y'all happy, I go back to my lust tribute! haha just messin' with y'all. I'll just give somethings straight as they come, make of it as you will



Can the weather change your skin?
So they told me
But I'm still black as sin
Can the distance change your heart
So they said
But you're still fond to me
Can people change in the distance like the weather?
Over again I have heard
But they are just you and me.


And here is one I wrote so long ago, one time when...


You wouldn't be my
'All of the above'
In a multiple choice
Question sheet
But you would be my
'Due to popular demand'
A beloved repeated request
And I would
'Grab my copy now'!


and this tells it all eh?


BODY AND SOUL

I just wanto be on this plateau
Darkened aureole of heavy savannahs
Running through the clefts and mounts of this plain
This dark plateau

I just wanto die on this plateau
Ebonic scents of luxuriant abundance
Slipping with liquid fluidity to the centered peak
This dark plateau
I just wanto live on this plateau

Powered force akin to engulfing flashes of flames
Carried with powered volcanic eruptions of lava
Carried up, flung and slung down.
I just wanto need
This dark plateau

Ani-Valentine Angst

Written a long time ago (well in 2007) and the sentiment is still very much the same.

Twice I have tried to post a write up on Valentine on the system’s wiped them so no more, just enjoy!

Love is mush
Love is waiting by the telephone
For that elusive phone call
Praying that February is your month
And valentine your day
It is epileptic emotions run entirely by
Circumstances dictated by another
It is the eternal search for 'the one'
You are another's use.

Love is slavery
It is losing the power of self-control
Turning into a 'Yes dear, no dear, I only live to please dear' android
It is dreaming of being an equal
Yet becoming under, submerged by that desperate need
To be owned, to belong to another

Love is dominion
Enslaved with recycled cardboard chains
Shackled with roses
Kept sublime with wine and a little sex
Enough to keep pliant.

Love is boring
It is comfortable fat, sitting in front of the TV
watching another episode of 'East enders',
hoping your numbers come up in the Lottery,
disappointed
Having curry for dinner again
Trudging upstairs and falling into
Cuddle and sleep.

Love is bad
It is tears, called by many names
Heartbreak patched up with chocolate and untrue apologies
A wining, dining cyclone wiping out all that is real
Giving fairy tale settings that leave out the 'happy ever after'
A secret open yearn for a ring
To seal the destiny as lost.
Love is...bah!

Responses welcome-play nice!

The Art of Forgiveness

Well, for those who read this jlog (a journal blog, get it) Thanks for your faithfulness and for those who just come and look at my lovely face, thanks for your whatever it is (fascination? ideas anyone?)

Earlier today I had wanted to write about how much I hated valentine and how I had never celebrated it as I always dated smart guys who picked a quarrel in January just to ensure we had split by February. Dissolving the cabinet as a friend put it.

I wanted to write about how I sent myself a valentine card at secondary school when I got fed up of everyone getting one each year and I having nothing to show for myself. I liked a guy (really, Demo, where are you?) but all my seniors liked him too and I don't have the strength to suffer for love (yeah, say what you will, I'm built like that)

I intended to eat my body weight in sweets and biscuits (I hate chocolate) and strangle anyone who gave me a pity face when I tell them I spent the day alone. I had planned to write all this, in fact I wrote it 3 times! This is my 4th attempt (I'm typing it first on Word, then cutting and pasting) Then I went to church (I can hear the hehen!, go on, I'll still speak) and as the sermon went on, I started thinking about all the men that had messed up my life either directly or indirectly, some have messed me up more than others and I realised, I still hated them, oh yes, I'm very good with the 'I'm good, lets remain friends' thing but I still hope they never find happiness and daily knock themselves for letting someone as wonderful as myself go.

Then I realised I had to let them go, really forgive, and then I could really move on and be. (As you would have guessed the service was on forgiveness and building each other up)

So I have stopped detesting, I have stopped hating, I am now forgiving and letting go.

I forgive the boy who said 'I love you' and said it to my best friend too
The one who made me cook for him, then said it tasted crude
My pardon to the one who farted and blamed it on me
The one who wouldn't wash, wouldn't brush, or simply would not flush
The one who left the toilet seat up, or messed it with paper
The one who licked the plate after lunch and slurped his water
The one whose mum didn't like me, she said I was too fat
The one who said he liked my body if only I could lose the pouch
The one who hunched, belched his lunch, rolled his hips like a girl
The one who told everyone, I liked it rough and loud and a bit cruel (not true)
The fat , the thin, the bald, the weak, the bigoted arrogant fool
The one who named my boobs but said my ass gave him no clue
The one who got married on my birthday, the one who broke up with me
The timid one who sent a text saying, 'its not you but surely not me'
The flashy one, the messy one, the stark raving sex machine
The poet, the singer, the builder, the lover, the one's who's in between
The one turned gay, the gay who played straight, the one who became a woman
The one who made me sit on his knee, play dress up, or scream out his name and
the one got my heart but had to get away
I forgive these men, all these men, give all my pain away
But this is for the next man, who comes, if you're just as messed up,
Please stay away

Ps: in case I still have injuns reading my journal, the above was meant to be a poem, not real!

Of Mice and Men

As you know this is an old post, but its so relevant because guess what?! Valentine is almost upon us again and the marketing franchise is at it again! So here something old becoming new, written when I was blue but now I'm brand new! (see what I did there?)


Ahhhhhhhhhggggggggg!

I'm TIRED of being alone!!! There! I said it! Now will everyone stop telling me how I should go about getting a guy or why I don't have a guy and simply introduce me to a guy. I mean I keep getting friends saying things like 'Oh and I know this guy, you guys would have been so good together BUT he's gay, engaged, unserious, not a Christian, an atheist, a player, short, bald, ugly, dirty, mummy's boy, fat, skinny, has pimples, Igbo, Hausa, Yoruba, Congolese, a fisherman etc...'(Which makes me wonder, what kind of friends do I have that they have such men in their circle?)

These friends are dating relatively normal men but when it gets to me, suddenly, all the men they know are Quasimodo incarnates! With friends like these who can avoid being an old maid? Shelf here I come! Just stick a 'repossess' sticker on me, cos at this rate, sell-by dates won't help. So I say it again, if you can't help me, don't point out my 'problem' ok or I'll be having yah! Anyways here's another poem, its been a while abi...sorry, been busy trying to get into Notre Dame! (you get?) Enjoy! One can never know what goes on in the mind of a man.

There never seems to be enough co ordinates between their thoughts and actions! Moreover, with the whole 'idea' that they are ruled by the contents of their pants and not their heads, that would seem quite right. (Accuse me of generalisation, if you will, I'm just quoting the common consensus) Therefore the whole mechanics of the 'Who, What, Where and How' (I presume, y'all know that a wise man never asks a woman 'Why?') is something that needs fine application to be able to get anywhere in a relationship.

And as I'm not the best when it comes to that (I only talk the talk ok, never been able to walk it) I leave it at this...

It is an abyss
This thing we call us
You not understanding me
I not reading you right
We come together, we fall
You rise, I crawl
We both speaking
Neither heard
We could be registered members of confused dot com
I'm reaching out but can't see
Your fine form of telepathy
You say my words aren't plain
they have more than they say
I wish your yea would be yea
So indeed, my nay would be as it says
But we'll keep second guessing wanting to know,
though not revealing
It is indeed an abyss
This thing called us

I know some of the lines are groan worthy but as I always say to my dear friend 'Millie'- Deal with it!