An Evening of Many Days…

It’s Christmas eve as Ebun walked home from the hospital where she works as an intern pharmacist. Normally, hospitals are her least favourite. The irony, here she is, a hospital Pharmacist. Over time, she came to realize that it’s better being a worker in a hospital than a patient. Besides if everyone hated hospitals and stayed away, who will take care of sick people?

Her friend Biose always wondered why a cheerful lady like Ebun would choose such a depressing profession. At least, that’s what Biose calls it. But Biose would never understand that despite the hundreds of sick people that throng to the private hospital where Ebun works, She feels fulfilled when one person walks out hale and hearty, ready to take the world again.

That night, just before Ebun left the Gynaecology clinic Pharmacy where she has been posted for the past three weeks, the Pharmacist on duty asked her to attend to her last patient for the day before another intern took over on the next shift. The patient seemed pregnant. However on checking her case note, Ebun realized the patient wasn’t. With a Fibroid growth in a dangerous position and a HIV positive status, doctors seem afraid to operate on her. However, no one would summon enough courage to tell the patient.

“Help me”, the patient’s cries of pain and frustration echoed in Ebun’s mind as she took the few remaining steps towards home. “Pharmacist, e gba mi. I don’t miss clinic nor my drugs. Yet whenever I come here, the doctors say my PCV count is too low and they can’t operate on me. And when I go for tests, the other doctors say my PCV count is normal. Who exactly is deceiving me?”, she added just before Ebun handed her some prescribed drugs.

Ebun remembered how after the patient left again for HIV clinic to see if someone would consider her plight, the Pharmacist on duty had casually mentioned, talking to no one in particular, that no surgeon would take on the lady’s case because they think she has little chance of making it out of the operating room alive.

Ebun knocked on the door to her brother’s flat just then as her sister-in-law opened the door to let her in. The sound from the TV in the sitting room welcomed her home as the door shut firmly behind her. Ibadan is a cold city this time of the year.

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Of Maturity, Feeling Entitled and Commonsense…

So far, I have realized it’s easier for one to say “I’m mature” than for them to show maturity. And About commonsense, please don’t let anyone tell you commonsense is common. It’s a lie.

Let me start with the ladies. My dear on-fleek-on-fleek sisters. It’s Christmas, hope on fleek is not un fleek? But I have one very simple question to ask. I hear you all are “claiming” feminist these days. What’s feminism please? And please don’t come here and say that being a “manly” woman is feminism and being submissive is not. See ehn, you don’t need to shout what you are. Life is not a competition between men and women. We are here to complete one another. You are a woman. Be. Take care of you. And take care of him. And when he wants to take care of you, please don’t pull the feminist card. Let him. Let him be the man. And enjoy every minute of it. And if he doesn’t take care of you without you asking, then…

Anyways, back to Feminism, it is not about standing against men nor is it about being untrue to you just to please a man. Feminism is about you as a woman having the say in your own life. Argue in the comment section please.

However that a man should take care of you shouldn’t make you a liability to him nor should it make you a well-dressed beggar. Das how one girl stylishly told Fisayo to take her to Coldstone Creamery. Fisayo eagerly agreed. Shebi it’s to take her and she’ll pay for her buy. Only for Sister to say “ah ahn, you can’t buy ordinary Coldstone for me?” Sister if it’s “ordinary coldstone”, why can’t you buy for yourself with your own money? We ladies need to learn to appreciate little gestures and stop with the sense of entitlement.

My dear brothers, why is it that when we tell you “I like you”, then you begin to form Trey Songz. Brotherly, I like you is not equal to I want to have sex with you. Neither is it equal to I will do anything you ask just so I can be bae. Maybe for some ladies it is. But for me, it only means I like your attitude or personality. Nothing more. Okay, maybe more sometimes. One time I told a guy I liked him (i really did like more than his personality) and he decided to use that as a reason to start misbehaving. So I cannot like you and tell you without you using it as an opportunity to act like an asshole? Brother, where art thy maturity?

I know Adekunle Gold’s Orente song is blowing minds right now. Adekunle win for that song sha. E cash out wella. But you guys are missing the point of that song. The point is Orente will not complain when you have commonsense. And Commonsense in this case means knowing the right to do at a particular time without being prompted. Look at it this way, Adekunle did not have money but he had the sense to make bae happy, to think of her needs without her asking. He paid attention and cared. How will she complain? However, he also knows he has to hustle hard to be great so that bae will keep staying. Why else do you think he sang #Pick Up? But you, you are forming hard guy because you believe caring or loving is a sign of weakness. Be there o. The seizethebae gang are coming. They have plenty love and care to give on a platter.

All I’m saying is that let commonsense be your guiding force. Ladies, When you receive a gift, say “thank you”. Also #BoyfriendNotATM. Take care of you and your man. Earn your keep, no matter how small. It will earn you more respect.

Guys, man up. Take care of you and your ladies. Also, loving or caring are not weakness signs either. If anyone takes advantage of you because you are caring or loving, then they are the problem.

Have a happy Christmas people. Remember, let commonsense be your guiding force.

Another Christmas Come

Story not available. Try again in January.

Okay just kidding.

Every Thursday I post a story or another here is a lot for me. I’m still a very pen-and-paper person. So keyboarding everyday of the week, *phew*. Now add every Thursday writing to it. However you always inspire me to keep writing because somehow my stories keep you entertained and in your reading and leaving comments, I find the strength to keep at it. Besides, it’s change season, right? So, I’m learning.

Today, I won’t give you another story I made up in my ever-churning mind nor one that someone told me in a gist. Today I share with you my earliest memories of Christmas.

Usually Christmas (and New Year’s) were days when my Dad was rarely around, occupational hazard of being an auditor/accountant. Holiday season meant work and end of the year reports and audits. Back then, Christmas was a Sagamu affair which was where we lived until 2000 (Story for another day). So Mummy would take me, Kenny and our younger brother ID to Daddy Sho’s house which is not far from our family house just so we don’t spend the holidays alone.

Daddy Sho is Daddy’s Uncle on my grandmother’s side and their relationship was more of that of an older brother to a younger one. We always loved it there because we didn’t do any work around the house except eat, watch TV, play and do battle with Knockouts. Even though the Shosanya’s children were a lot older, when it came to Knockouts, age was nothing but a number.

Christmas then was usually a large affair. For three reasons.
1. Uncle worked with CBN which meant always boxed up; at least that was everyone’s belief.
2. Uncle was (and is still) a people person. So everyone was welcome to celebrate Christmas with him and his family and by the 27th of December, we all left.
3. It was an opportunity to meet relatives we hadn’t seen in years and to socialize.

And for us kids, those were days when Chickens were in trouble although days later, we would queue up to use the toilet. The evenings were much more fun because Suya nights. Imagine peppered Suya on a stick barbecued by the Aboki at the corner, made to sizzle and drip every time you chew into the meaty substance. The three days we spent at the Shosanyas, we looked forward to the “owo odun” we received from guests just so we could add them up later in the evenings to buy Suya at Ajaka junction.

“Why spend everything on Suya”, you ask. Usually taking the money home meant mom would “keep” it for us and asking for it later meant body go tell you scores. So we spent. EVERYTHING!!

It was also the period we got introduced to and get to play board games; Ludo, Snake and Ladder, Scrabble and Monopoly. Needless to say, Kenny was a Monopoly champ. Even my cousins were afraid to play with her at that age. Omo yen good gan. I still think she’ll make a business mogul if she ventures into business though.

What I miss most about those days was the sincerity with which we all shared and gave. It didn’t matter if you brought N20 or N200 to the Suya table, we shared equally. We played without the why-are-you-playing-with-her-are-you-mates halo hanging over our minds. There was no hush-up-your-life or “don’t let people see your happiness” which as adults now plague us.

I guess that’s where life comes in. We all grew up and realized life isn’t the utopia we lived at Christmas. That sometimes in life, we will fall and be too wounded to stand up and get moving again. That we will do battle with people. That we will do battle with things other people scaled through with almost no effort. Heck, we grew up realizing sometimes you do battle with yourself. But that’s life too.

Merry Christmas in advance everyone. And I look forward to a beautiful 2016 with you all.

P.S. This could very well be the last article for this year.

There is Love in Sharing?

*Singing* share a Coca-cola with… *insert friend’s name here*

Now replace “Coca-Cola” as seen up there with your boo’s name. Did you just say “Ehn?!”

When I heard this story, my jaw dropped. Literally. So I decided to share.

Here goes…
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A scene was playing out at The Peppersoup Place where Damola had dashed in quickly to get a hot spicy plate of the local delicacy. Two ladies were shouting each other down as a guy, dressed in casual tees and Jean watched them both with amusement dancing in his eyes.

“Boyfriend snatcher!!”, screamed one of the ladies, “leave my boyfriend alone”.

“Your boyfriend?” Lady B laughed hysterically. “abi our boyfriend? He can’t be YOUR boyfriend when you invited me into his room with you and had a threesome. And please, don’t even give me that excuse of ‘it’s because we were drunk’”.

“It’s not your fault na. If his friend who had asked me to bring a friend in the first place hadn’t cancelled at the last minute, why would I have allowed you near my boyfriend, lest to talk of getting drunk together.

By that time, everyone at the place had tuned their ears to the juicy drama unfolding before their eyes. All the while, the young man with laughter in his eyes kept watching, enjoying the scenery ne, without any thought to breaking them apart.

“Leave my boyfriend alone!!”, one shouted, punctuating each word with a clap in that way women in this part of the world are wont to.

“Leave who? Mo se se bere (I have just started)”, the other replied.

At that point, more people had gathered around the scene. The guy spoke just then.

“You two better stop this nonsense right now or I’ll post the sex video of all three of us on social media…”

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