6 most important things to do as a Nigerian Lady before you turn 30 by Arikor Collins

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Hey guys….thought you might like this….first of its kind here but then again, it just might be what we need! This article by Arikor Collins is a reply to a certain Nigerian Girl and it certainly makes an interesting read….have a good time reading it ….and don’t forget to hit the comment button…and the share too 😀

Dear not-yet-30 Nigerian girl,

I duly received your earlier letter asking me what you must do before you turn 30. It was a very expressive letter, though only flawed with a couple of grammatical errors here and there. You are forgiven though, English has never been your father’s language.
Nevertheless, and in response to that, I shall be very brief with what I have to tell you, but if I happen to be long, please bear with me for it is how deeply this issue has touched me for the past three weeks that I’ve been having this argument with a very good friend as to the ‘unprecedented’ achievement of getting married before you turn 30.
I clearly detected the belated and relished tone of your letter. It might seem crazy what I have to say, but I would say it nonetheless. Let me go straight to the point. Forgive my brusqueness and mindlessness in replying you like this, for I’ve never had the ‘golden’ opportunity of experiencing what am telling you myself. So, see below the six most important things you need to do before you turn 30:
1. Marry: Because that is the only way you become complete as human. That is the only route to be acceptable to society. Things would get better if you get married, notwithstanding that your father might be richer than Bill Gates. The institution known as marriage remains the only fundamental basis of your worth as a member of our larger society. Don’t be like those incomplete women who tag themselves ‘feminists’ and ‘independent women’. Those ones parading themselves as independent women or feminists are nothing but some bunch of failed women! They are not truly speaking of the psychological torment they undergo on many sleepless nights when they don’t have any man to warm their beds. So, don’t emulate them. Marry! It doesn’t even matter that you have to throw away your father’s sweet-sounding and much-meaning surname to bear a husband’s own meaningless surname. Haven’t you noticed? the media is majorly overshadowed with subtle, yet powerful messages that being married is the fons et origo of feminine existence. You would constantly be reminded of your flower-like longevity as a woman. That he might be bad-tempered, randy and a serial wife batterer is of no significance. You would even be expected to throw away your own body’s autonomy. And if you are able to miraculously scale the hurdle of being accepted by his family members – most especially his mother and sisters, go to a nearby church and give the highest amount of thanksgiving ever given in that church. Haven’t you noticed that even church messages are heavily furnished with this marriage-mania? “My husband must not pass me by this year,” calls out that church’s crusade banner. “You must receive your heavenly husband by this month!” the preacher would triumphantly declare on radio. “I must get married this year!” the T.V would echo, while reminding you of the 3-day single sisters crusade being organised by the local church. But, that certainly is not the end of the matter, for a mother in-law’s arms were specifically created to rock babies. You know what to do. And where the babies have refused to leave wherever was their initial abode to grace your marriage, quickly go for a spiritual cleansing or to a very potent babalawo who would inquire into unfathomable depths to know what is preventing them from coming. It doesn’t matter the despicable things you have to do in order to have babies. When the babies finally decide to let go off where they initially reside to grace your marriage, and your husband is going about showing off his bloated ego of how he has made you a complete woman, suffer in silence sister. He is right. Lest I forget, remember to give him sons especially, or else mother in-law literally show you hell. Wherever it is you know sons are made, go to any length and give him because that is the only way his ancestry would continue. If you don’t give him sons, he might be publicly scorned, and where that happens, you would bear the brunt of it alone.

2. I said marry: Even though you might never have the slightest iota of ‘love’ for him, don’t worry, just go ahead and pretend as if you love him. Its just a matter of time. With time, you would learn to love him. His roof over your head, his wealth at your beck and his surname that you are now sharing are enough consideration for you to love him. Where’s the place of love in marriages today? After all, you are far better than those old sourpusses spinsters parading themselves as independent women. Those lesbians! Psychological wrecks! Do you know what it means to have your own man – whether he is the type that has hotter-than-fire loins? He might not even get to fulfill your emotional needs, but don’t worry, dear, you are married. That’s all that matters. The sex timetable is according to the frequency of his sexual urge. It is just one ‘fun-less’ boring routine like that. In the middle of the night, his hands would ‘mistakenly’ stray across your breasts. You instantly become awake. You immediately spread your legs as his plaything because you understand. The sex itself is a slapdash, lacklustre affair. When he’s sexually satiated, he rolls over to sleep without bothering to see the furrows of unfulfilled desires stealing over your soul. Don’t ever open your mouth to speak of how unfulfilled you are, sister, or else you would be sent back home to your parents – and consequently bring shame upon your family. Telling of how unfulfilled your emotions and needs are is only done by loose women – women of easy virtues. Or do you want to be labelled a nagging wife? And if he ever forces you to have sex against your will, that is not rape sister. The law backs him for that. He can demand the services of your body anytime he wants. Your body is his to be sated with pleasure. Its his right. It doesn’t affect him in the least that you might be famished after a tedious day nor that some ‘unhappy’ and ‘envious’ ones in the guise of feminism are advocating for your own rights, too.
3. You should marry: Even though you might be the one single-handedly feeding and housing the able-bodied man and your children from the meager salary you receive or the little business profits you’ve managed to pool, don’t bother sister. Just bear and pretend everything is perfect. Its just for the now. Even if tomorrow he gets a job and decides not to do his own duties of providing for the family as the head of the house again by making Madam Vero’s beer parlor as his place of permanent abode, don’t worry, just go ahead and continue doing the husband’s work, that’s marriage. Its for better or worse – however for better or worse as it suits the husband. He might even come back at 1am and is heavily smelling of a woman’s cologne – you knew this because he bought you the same type on your last birthday. She (side chick) might have even suggested he buy it as your birthday present – but don’t worry sister, he’s a man and would always be one. Bottom line is you are married. In any case, just remember to make ready your body for the night, in case the stud hasn’t gotten enough feel of his extra-marital concubines. Should you complain to a senior, more experienced wife, she would duly tell you of how men are lords in our society. “Don’t you address him as my lord?” she would coldly ask. That settles it. And when you meet the pastor in your perturbed state, he would joyfully tell your sorrow-laden soul that Mark 10:9 has finalized your case. i.e, “What God has joined together, let no man, trouble, pain, predicament, suffering (the list goes on) put asunder. He would quickly point out the bible portion in Ephesians 5:21-24, which requires you to submit to your husband, while stressing how important it is for you to be humble, gentle, and tolerant of your husband’s unsavory behavior. And where your confused mind is still seeking for more explanation, he would gladly guide you to 1st Timothy 2:11-12 which says, “Women should learn in all silence and humility; I do not allow them to teach or to have authority over men, they must keep quiet.” (Good News Bible).
4. Marry: Or if you don’t, there would be a very big problem. A very big problem. When at Tessy’s baby shower or Amina’s birthday party, and you listen to all the old girls effortlessly and endlessly mouthing out the ‘heavenly’ bliss their marriage has thus far fruited, you would become heartbroken I assure you. Even the mannish Amaka, whose hair was always cut short, and had little or no feminine charms would join in the gossip to point out your odd-one-out status as the only non-married member remaining from secondary school because she happened to have joined the league of married women. A bevy of them all, praising to high heavens their perfect marriage. However, Susan would never tell that the week-old bruises she’s manfully wearing were administered by her abusive husband, nor would Stella ever tell of how her ten-year old son, Junior, is gradually turning into a full-time thief by ‘taking’ money from her purse and throwing a class-break snacks bash for his friends, nor would Vicky tell of her pubertal daughter’s well-known shameful conduct of being a runs girl, nor would even Jumoke tell of her well-known he-goat of a husband’s widely circulated rumor of impregnating 5 different women. They would only be telling of how wonderful and heavenly their respective families have been. You would become a mental wreck after listening to them and you don’t have your own husband. You see, there’s no problem with you having your own impish ‘Junior’ or a reprehensible character as a daughter. It’s just a mere price to pay for being married. You are far off better than any unmarried, and of course, unhappy spinster. It doesn’t matter the near-death experience of childbirth nor the fact that you’ve turned into a constant HBP in-patient of the nearby hospital for time without end because you happen to be a mother of stubborn children. Just marry. That’s all that counts.
5. Yes, marry: You are getting to 28 and you happen to be of the Igbo ethnic affiliation and no male homo sapiens is showing the slightest interest in you, do you want all your father’s ‘investment’ on your head to become a waste, if you don’t get married? Your mother would not longer hide her disdain for you remaining in her own house to share her husband with her. Just go out and marry anything. More so if you are of Bini customary origin and you are getting close to 25, 26 or 27 and no suitor is knocking on your father’s door, then my sister, that wicked old witch in your village really needs to be appeased. For beyond 30, your bride-price starts depreciating. You are of the Muslim stock and your father unceremoniously announces that you would be married off to Alhaji Danladi, you grandfather’s age-mate, immediately you turn 18. Alhaji Danladi already has 3 wives, but because you have been betrothed to him when you were born and Islam allows a man to have as many wives he wants (can control), you must marry him whether you like it or not. Don’t complain sister, just go ahead and play a subservient handmaid role in Alhaji’s house, because that’s what you would end up being. Alhaji being the omnipotent master. It doesn’t even matter that you might be in your 2nd year in the University then. And if by chance you ‘mistakenly’ like one very good non-Muslim boy in your class, don’t ever increase the mistake by falling in love with him, or else you would spell doom for yourself and your remaining sisters. Because your father would construe such ‘irresponsible’ conduct to be the ugly fruits of sending a girl to school, and thus would stop sending your other sisters to school. “Haven’t I said it that nothing good comes out of that their western education when given to girls? The girls would only turn out to become disobedient and rebellious to their parents!” He would angrily thunder in a family meeting. And all his 3 wives -your stepmothers – would speechlessly nod their approval in unison. It is inimical of a properly brought-up Muslim girl, they would all echo in their hearts. And you that your parents happen to be far down the rungs of societal ladder, or they are even classless, you are excused for getting married (or being auctioned off, to put it appropriately) to 60-year old Oga Monday at 14.
6. Last of all, you need to be married before you get to 30 sister. By all means marry! The reason is simply because marriage is the be-all and end-all of your existence as a woman in our society. Marriage is the subsistence of your societal standing. Society has made it so. It doesn’t matter that you’ve gone to school and learnt, learnt, learnt and acquired all the certificates in the world and you are now emitting book, book, book all about you. It would all end up in the house of something that parades himself as a man. It doesn’t sound okay to us that you labured to get a very good PhD. added to your name, without bearing ‘Mrs’. You see, when you write your name as Dr. Prof. Miss Tope Williams, the ‘Miss’ doesn’t fit at all. That you might have been a first-class student is of no consequence to us if you don’t end up married. If you happen to be reading this private letter and you are a Nigerian lady getting close to 30 and not yet married, sister, the witches and wizards in your village are seriously at work. Its time to visit that prayer house, native doctor or white-garment church. Let your prayer point all through be, “God, give me my own husband this year.” And if the lascivious prophet suggests that you personally come for a personal deliverance by 11pm in his bedroom or a spiritual bath at the nearby stream by 12 midnight, don’t worry sister. Its all for the good of getting married. It doesn’t matter that he gets a first-hand taste of what you are preserving for your future husband. After all, the thing has no meter. So just marry. Marry anything at all that happens to label himself a man even though he might not have the slightest inkling of what manhood is about.

The greatest barometer, as far as our society is concerned, is whether at the end of all your endeavors as a woman, you have a husband to ‘gloriously’ crown your efforts. Therefore, if on the voyage called life and on the path to greatness, you perchance forgot to marry along the line before you clock 30, you should be gravely sad and depressed for life should not be worth living in your case. Well, I think that’s about it for now. Until then, thank you for your understanding.

Yours Solemnly,
Arikor Collins Ogonnaya,
@CollinsOgo.

Do you agree with Collins? Let’s know what you think.

Arikor Collins Ogonnaya is Nigerian Writer and blogger. He tweets as @CollinsOgo. Feel free to “attack” him there…:D

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Crush or Love? Episode VIII

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Read Previous Episodes Here
Bassey Odiete
I poured myself a glass at the bar and prayed U.D would be too drunk to remember the slap. She couldn’t have slept with him, could she? Of course she had. How could she? I took a large gulp as the images of her red dress, her supple breasts, her scent and her pouted lips tormented me. I had to get over her. I knew I wasn’t going to. I had to have her again and again.
The night was the longest as I sat and schemed on how to get her attention once more. Surely she still wanted me between her curves and smooth patch. I felt myself growing hard at the thought and stood up to take a cold shower. I didn’t need two heads thinking for me today.

The first light of dawn had me going for groceries at SPAR. Dropping a bag at her house at 8am and tagging it anonymous, I waited patiently for her call. Of course the old Gateman promised to have it delivered immediately and had nodded with enthusiasm as I tipped him with high notes before leaving. U.D was walking out of the house as I drove in at few minutes past 9am.
“Hey early bird” I called partly hoping he didn’t remember the slap. He looked rested. He must have been too drunk I concluded.
“Hey bro” he shook my hand as he walked up to me as I stepped out from the car.
“Going out”? I returned the firm slap of his hand.
“Yes. I have got a date” he said and shone his teeth in bright smiles. I was green with envy but smiled too.
“With Funke I suppose?” I asked fishing.
“The very same” he said entering his Rover.
“Have fun” I called after him hoping he would not.
A plan began to form in my head.
****
Funke Dayo
Another knock sounded on the front door and I held my bathrobe tight to my chest. I mouthed a silent prayer against the forces of Emeka Douglass.
“Who is that?” I called rather loudly at few minutes past 9am.
“Na Musa Ma” it was the old Gateman and I felt relief rush through me as I opened the door.
“One man say make I give you” he said handing me a basket.
“Who?” my eyes suspicious of the gift.
“I no no Ma” he said
“And you collected it. Go away with it” I dismissed him and closed the door. It had to be Emeka. It just had to be him.

Another knock soon sounded again as I climbed back into bed. I let the person knock some more. My phone rang afterwards. I broke into smiles and went down to open the door.
“Okay?” it was U.D leaning against the door with raised eyebrows.
“Hey” I left the door opened and hurriedly brushed my hair with my hand thanking God I was dark skinned. The blood rushing to my face and tensed air leaving my body told me I was falling for him.
“So you are just waking up” he said as I turned to face him. All smiles and heart beating fast.
“Emm, nope” I said waiting for him to take me in his hands unconsciously. He approached me and I stood still. I stopped breathing the moment he bent to plant a kiss on my dry lips.
“Someone is yet to brush” he said as he bit my lower lips. I pushed him away totally embarrassed.
“Silly” I slapped his hand resting lightly on my hips.
“I have brushed na” he feigned seriousness as I walked back up to go brush.
“Haba! Come na, Oya na” he ran after me and in playful rush, I ran up. He pursued.
“Open this door” he said hitting the door of my bathroom. I rushed to my brush and minutes later poured out my mouth content. Rinsed my mouth and checked my reflection in the mirror before I opened the door to see him fold his arms across his broad chest.
“Are you done? Can I get my kiss now” he asked as I looked over his shoulder to nowhere in particular. I was giddy with excitement.
“Maybe” I said almost shy but holding my head straight. He shouldn’t know that he affected me this bad I thought.
“That is just enough for me” with that he brought his head down and my breath caught in my throat.
“Are you excited?” he asked in a whisper. My heart beating fast.
“Yes” I answered softly as his lips claimed mine. The minty flavor soon diluted as he deepened his kiss and pulled me close tugging my night robe at the waist. Unconsciously, I raised myself on my toes and pressed close to him; his hand positioning my head and brutally assaulting my lips just before sucking them into his. A moan escaped me as my hand traveled to his neck in abandon.
In a swift movement, he lifted me up and dropped me on the bed still kissing me.
“Your heart is beating so fast” I informed him quietly as he stretched his length against me.
“How you make me feel” he replied before planting his lips on mine again. His hands had found my belt and tugged my robe opened. Barely covered in flowery panties and white lacy bra, I studied his expression as his eyes traveled the length of my body. He seemed to be contemplating what to do with the offered sacrifice as he teased me by planting wet kisses directly on my nipples.
“Let’s get breakfast” he jumped off abruptly. I looked at him with pleading eyes but he looked everywhere else except my eyes. I knew deep within me why I wanted this. The moment I had him, I was simply going to lose interest. Perhaps I wanted this so bad because I was afraid of losing myself to him. I pushed the possibility of love aside. Surely I was incapable of love.
“What do you have in mind?” I asked getting out of bed and throwing my robe on the bed. He watched quietly, his throat clamping hard. I walked seductively to my wardrobe and took more time in finding a pair of leggings and provocative blouse. Wriggling my butt into them, I wished I could see the look on his face. Turning to face him, I saw him fix his stare on my back and smiled.
“You know you have got to stop wearing these” he said in thick voice before heading out. I followed him minutes later, wearing my blouse and combing my hair into a bun.
“Smells good” I said stepping into the kitchen. He had eggs frying while he grated carrots in the pan that revealed lots of onions and chili.
“I am a chef baby” he said lightly. The dark countenance gone.
“And what is chef baby making?” I joked coming to stand beside him.
“Breakfast baby?” he joked back.
“Need help?” I asked
“Yes, squeeze the oranges” he said as dropped the grater in the sink and squeezed my breasts.
“Hey! Stop that” I beat his hands away.
“I told you to stop dressing so sexy” he said without missing a beat and went back to the egg.
Minutes later, food down, we stretched lazily on the big couch.
“When are you going to the office?” I asked reminding him of the workload.
“Up for all night?” he asked as he brushed my hair.
“No” I replied.
“We go soon then” he replied turning down the volume of Rihanna’s Rude Boy.
“I am not ready” I made to collect the Remote.
“So you dance” it was a rhetorical question.
“I was in a good mood” I defended knowing he was referring to his welcome party. I couldn’t tell him Bassey was here before I came to pick him up plus the look on Bassey’s face when he barged in on us was disturbing. He looked hurt. I didn’t dwell on it though. It was done and it was past.
“Will you marry me?” he suddenly blurted out.
My body turned cold and jumped out of his arms like I was stung.
“No” I answered so fast my head spun.
“Why” he asked sitting so calm.
“Because I slept with your twin brother” I replied eyes blaring.
“And I told you it didn’t matter anymore”
“I am older than you” I found another reason
“You are not”
“I don’t know you well” I found yet another reason
“You are out of reasons. We will get married in two months”
“I am not and you are joking” I laughed yet afraid. Somehow, he looked so serious and determined.
“I am not going anywhere Funke. I am not going to have sex with you just so you can have me out of your system” he informed, eyes finally resting on me.
I caught my breath.
“Yes, Funke. You are that obvious”
“I think lives would be better if it we don’t complicate it”
“And you think having sex with every man is not complication?” he asked and it felt like a slap. I blinked.
“You need to leave now” I stood up.
“Don’t get all tensed up” he said
“I am not. I want to have sex with you and be done with it. Getting married to you is out of it” I stated evenly.
“I won’t have sex with you until you say yes” he insisted stubbornly.
“You will and very soon too” I challenged excitement coursing through me.
“We will see. Meet me when you have bathed at the office” with that he planted a hard kiss on my lips and took his leave.
Sitting down heavily after I heard his car drive out, I knew it was time to weigh my options.
****
U.D Odiete
“I can’t believe I just asked her to marry me. What was I thinking?” I asked myself aloud as I drove to the office. Was it just to spite Bassey? Did I really want to get married? To Funke? I know we were good together and the feel of her body against mine felt so good. Too good. I smiled as I remembered the butt wriggling and white lacy bra that had her pale nipples poking out. It was quite a sight and doubted if I was going to keep my hands off her for long.
The slap still rang in my head. Bassey must have been pissed but it felt good to be the one desired now. The pent up years of resentment; having him steal my women were over and it would seem Funke was the kind of challenge he needed to break his pride. I found myself enjoying the feel. Almighty Bassey panting after a woman that wanted me. How the tides change. It was petty but it felt so good.
If there was one thing I was sure of was this: Funke Dayo was one hell of a lady and I was going to get married to her in two months.
****
Bassey Odiete
I waited all day for U.D but he was nowhere in sight. The suspense killed me. Did she get my gift? She would have called me if she did by now. My phone buzzed just then and I picked it with alacrity. It was Susan. Another booty-call. I dropped the phone with distaste. She was spoiled goods. The images of what could be happening got me fired up and I drove to the house on surveillance.
I drove past the house and looked out for either of their cars. I didn’t see any. I parked a block down and walked to the house. The old guard broke out in smiles as he opened the gate just in time to see me.
“Oga, welcome” he smiled looking at my hands.
“Is she home?” I asked.
“Madam don komot” he answered still looking at my hand
“She komot with somebody?” I poked.
“No o” he answered walking away.
“The man wey come here unkor?” I asked some more.
“You know Oga, I no no you. I no fit dey tell you everything about my Madam. You know how ei go look” he looked at my hand again. I smiled. He needed notes.
I made out with some and he broke into smiles with his brown teeth showing his appreciation.
“But Oga, you know na”
“I know” I waited.
“One man come. The man look like you small. He komot then she too come komot later”
“So they didn’t go together” I asked
“No”
“Did you give her the basket?”
“Eheeeeen, I give her but she come give me” he scratched his head.
“She didn’t look inside?” I asked now furious with the corrupt old man.
“She just say make I take am. So I take am” he said opening his palms as he explained.
I had heard enough and went back to my car. Where did they go to? For how long were together. I was going crazy. I had to see her soon.
****
Funke Dayo
The quiet office had most of the staff finishing their designs. U.D and I worked oblivious of time. Yawning as I stretched at past 7pm, I suddenly remembered I had not eaten save breakfast.
“Hungry?” he spoke my mind.
“Famished”
“Dinner at my place?” he suggested finally looking at me through tired eyes.
“Sure” I answered.
“Just few minutes”
“I hope Bassey will not be be home” It was a question.
“Do you care?” it was harsh.
“Yes”
“You shouldn’t have slept with him then”
“Don’t speak to me in that tone”
“You are having dinner at home with me. If you have problems with it, deal with it before we get there” it was almost a command.
“Why doesn’t it bother you? It is weird to want me after knowing I slept with him” I wanted to annoy him.
“What is weird is getting married to you in two months. I am weird alright” he closed his work and got up.
I stood scanning my witty mind for a reply but came out empty.
“Ready?”
He didn’t need an answer. Few minutes later, we headed home.
****
Bassey Odiete
I waited at home to tell U.D that I knew what he was up to. Trying to make me jealous wasn’t going to work and I knew he wasn’t with Funke. That thought died the moment they both exited their cars and walked towards the entrance with U.D taking her hand in his. The old man must have fed me wrong information.
“Hey” it was U.D.
“Had fun?” I asked underlined with meaning.
“More like work” it was U.D. He looked like he was enjoying the charade. I winked at him and he winked back. Funke barely smiled and looked largely uncomfortable. I liked the fact that she was uncomfortable. It meant that she still remembered my worthwhile administrations.
“How are you?” I asked her squarely.
“I am good. You look good” she complimented. I smiled. Perhaps he didn’t satisfy her.
”Dinner” it was U.D and she followed him to the kitchen with hands on her waist. His voice was heard ordering the cook and followed the cook to his room with the food trolley. I sneaked to the kitchen. Her back to me, I dropped my hands on her waist and she turned to face me. Her eyes angry.
“Get your hands off me” she moved but backed into a corner instead. I blocked her path with my body.
“You look good Funke”
“Don’t touch me” she said and I moved to let her pass. She rushed out of the kitchen just as she bumped into U.D.
“Oh” she said relaxing as she saw him and I saw the look in her eyes. It looked like she really cared about what U.D thought of her.
“Was going to wait for Dad but I might as well as say it now” it was U.D holding her on her waist before stealing a kiss. I blinked.
“What?” I asked right before Funke looked at him momentarily confused. Then it hit her.
“No” she shook her head vehemently.
“Yes” he said rubbing her nose with his.
“What?” I asked wondering why she was so uncomfortable.
“We are getting married in August”
“The hell you are” I retorted hotly.
It was never going to happen.
Never!