Fatherhood

Fatherhood

Two nights ago I woke up to the sound of a newborn crying.

As I climbed out of the depths of REM, I asked myself why there was a little child crying in my bedroom. Of course it took less than a second to be reminded of the source of the tears, and the identity of the owner.

My daughter is now 4 days old, and I still look at her in wonder. And shock, albeit the positive kind.

This beautiful child is mine. This little willful Poo-Monster is part of me as I am a part of her.

Her smiles make my heartbeat quicken, and her wails make me hurt.

Each time I carry her, I wonder if I’m doing it right. I hope I don’t drop her. I pray she likes my singing, and adores my scent.

The way her big brown eyes search zigzag…

The way her tongue sticks out when she’s hungry…

The way her slim fingers and strong legs lash out when she’s hungry…

She’s mine.

And she’s here to rule the world.

I’m not afraid…
of bad decisions
nor of left turns at crossroads
Be my winters cold
or my Harmattan dry
I’m not afraid to be alone

 

I’m not afraid…
to fall in love,
of butterflies or one-night stands
sleepless nights
or unreplied lines
I’m not afraid of a broken heart

 

I’m not afraid to let go
I’m not afraid to say no
If push comes to shove
and I set it all on fire
I’m not afraid to go home
PC11

Fake Naija Love 2.0

…although at the beginning our Twitter convos were stimulating…vibrant…colourful, it was a completely different story when I finally met these ladies.

Good or bad, call it as you may, but one thing the human race can count on is with me – “what you see is what you get”. I’ve had Ex-side babes from the Cele church I attended in the 90’s (do NOT ask) proclaiming “Toks, you still haven’t change!”. Seriously speaking, I really don’t know what these gehls want me to change. #Flawless

Why are you so certain a different version of Fake Ajebutter wouldn’t be worse? But I digress…

My dilemma with Slavic females was how to stop attracting the crazy ones, my Naija problem turned out to be…eh…well…ghen ghen.

For some reason, the Twitter babes I met in 2012 pretty immediately took me for husband material. Either that or every Naija babe over the age of 21 can’t stop dreaming about donning a white dress and dancing Skelewu with her bobo after drinking bottles of Pink Lady and Hennessy.

This Naija marriage hunger is so deep that ONE month after we parted ways (she believed in chastity till marriage, I didn’t) one of them got engaged (wedding ceremony a half-year later…this life ehn).

I thought she was my side chick *, unknowingly I was HER side guy.

* Note – My best friend, Simi, says one can’t have side chicks if one hasn’t got a main chick.

Another lovely Nigerian lady began DMing me suggestions for names of our future kids…while I was still busy wondering how to convince her to send me nudes. We had yet to meet at the time.

What can I say, I like nude photography.

Long story short, over the years the dating game has served completely different dishes in different countries. I kept finding myself in the midst of Oyinbo babes who just wanted to have fun, but just a year in Nigeria and I was suddenly someone’s dream hubby. Women can be quite confusing, wouldn’t you say? They never know what they want (snigger).

Naturally, there are always exceptions to every rule. My Twitter TL is filled with  Naija ladies who are totally hedonist, while most of my Polish female friends are either married or in long-term relationships.

In 2014, I came to the conclusion that my Exes were right – my heart was filled with corruption on GEJ levels, and I would never find love if I kept going down that path. At Christmas I went to Notre Dame in Paris and prayed the prayer of a sinner…who kinda enjoyed his sins, but would like to be a better man.

Guess what happened on January 3rd!

I went on a date and the rest is history.

Christmas Day 2012 I told my mum I’m bringing home a wife in 2015, and I intend to keep my word.

Fake Naija Love 1.0

Some days back a Twitter trending topic took the world by storm. Although it was related to men from my motherland, lads and babes from all over the globe still put in their tuppence.

How influential we Nigerians are…

Everyone knows about us, and many have loved a Nigerian at some time in their life.

The topic, #WhatNigerianMenDidToMe, has allowed a lot of people share both hilarious and worrying stories about their experiences with Naija guys.

Many of these tales are love stories with sad endings.

Worst part of it – most of them do NOT surprise me. The others had me in stitches.

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“@ChiMo___: #WhatNigerianMenDidToMe expected me to be her … “

7 6 52

This hashtag and tweets on Naija Twitter made me ponder the pros and cons (and the hurdles faced) of a relationship with Nigerians.

Since I moved to the EU upteen years ago, I’ve constantly found myself in the weirdest relationships. A couple of my Exes stated that I brought out the worst in women, seeing as they “behaved normally” (sic) in relationships with other guys (from other nations).

Most of my Exes hate me (and were quite often cray cray), so that feedback is obviously totally unreliable, right?

Right?

ex-girlfriend-meme-17

For example – I’ve dated a suicidal girl (I still worry about that one), a lesbian (I got engaged to that one), a sociopath (who turned out to be married, and got her husband to try to kill me), a single mum (who proposed me pali in exchange for a mixed-race baby), a stalker (6 months post-breakup) etc.

2014 was a really weird year.

The number one question  has always been WHY? Why date females with behavioural traits that automatically cancel out the possibility of happiness? Q2 – Am I too Nigerian/African to build a happy loving relationship with a European?

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I found out today, on Nat Geo, that there’s a variant of a human gene named DRD4-7R – the adventure gene: “…is carried by roughly 20 percent of all humans, and is tied to curiosity and restlessness. Dozens of human studies have found that 7R makes people more likely to take risks; explore new places, ideas, foods, relationships, drugs, or sexual opportunities; and generally embrace movement, change, and adventure.”

Taking into consideration my bizarre love life (w/o looking at my TL or Wall), it’s obvious my 20’s were spent nurturing this gene.

Then I turned 30 and realised how totally empty my life is.

I travelled to Paris for my birthday and, while sitting and drinking alone under the Eiffel Tower, I made a promise to grow up, settle down, and fulfil my amazing destiny by 2015…but I wasn’t expecting all the personal and emotional disaster 2014 would bring. Somehow sha, one survived.

Towards the end of last year, I began following more Nigerians on Twitter and it became obvious why it most probably wouldn’t have worked out with the few Nigerian girls I’ve dated over the last few years.

Imagine that – relationships with Oyinbo gehls were cray cray, relationships with Naija babes were woh-woh.

You see, I met them on Twitter and…

TO BE CONTINUED

Lessons learnt by a Fake Ajebutter Naija Boy in Paris

Don’t set a Naija girl loose on Champs Elysee with your credit card.
Don’t let a Naija girl choose the restaurant you go to in Paris.
Don’t say YES when a Naija girl asks “Won’t you buy it for me?”
Your ego has NINE lives. Your bank account doesn’t.
In fact if you no dey Naija-government-connected-level rich, don’t take a Naija girl to Paris.

Simi is The Only One.

Because.

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A true Parisian doesn’t wait for the green light at the pedestrian crossing.
A true Parisian is too cool and too busy to waste time waiting for something as mundane as traffic lights.
If there’s no car moving your way, keep walking.
If there’s a car moving your way, keep walking.
I’m pretty medical insurance is costly in Paris, as a result drivers do not want to hit anyone.
You can see it in their eyes – “If these people want to die, they should jejelly wait till they go back to their villages.”

Skull1
Did you hear the rumour that the French don’t speak English?
In Paris they do.
Some more fluently, some less.
However, if you do not understand any French, you might as well just hang around the tourist zones and hope for the best. They’ll only speak English if you speak French, but some Lost-in-Translation difficulties are encountered along the way.

44a

If you live in a non-Euro spending country, do not convert into your currency while looking at prices.
Your heart will skip beats and your liver will want to fail.
Unless, of course, you’re Naija government-connected-level rich, in which case the number of zeroes after the Naira shouldn’t be a hindrance.

5a

Don’t go to Paris with your boyfriend/girlfriend/spouse if you have wandering eyes.
Or if your partner is a bit unattractive or/and jealous.
Paris is full of beautiful women of all the rainbow colours and ice cream flavours.
You will look. You will dream. You will cheat in your mind.
Unless you’re mentally stronger than yours sincerely.
Unless you already have a gorgeous human specimen at your side.

Fran11

One thing you should certainly take from this list of advice is…make sure you see Paris at least twice in your life.
Once for pleasure.
Once for love.

If you’re lucky enough to do both at once, you’re luckier than many.

Bonne Année et Bonne Santé

2015a

2014 in review

The WordPress.com stats helper monkeys prepared a 2014 annual report for this blog.

Here’s an excerpt:

A New York City subway train holds 1,200 people. This blog was viewed about 4,100 times in 2014. If it were a NYC subway train, it would take about 3 trips to carry that many people.

Click here to see the complete report.

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Touch a Life

A toddler’s hand
swallowed whole
in a mother’s hand,
a life created
a destiny born

Is your path
adorned with stones
or Potholes
that never go dry?
Or Samaritans

The good kind,
masked behind
the faces of strangers around,
with rock-solid shoulders
and warm embraces

Does your reflection
tell stories?
Of unquenchable hope
and tunnels that end
in bright light and better times

Will you be my brother,
my sister? My Friend?
If at The Gates I were asked
For one among many
Will I proudly say your name?

Nubian Queen

Dark and distant
Home
may be,
farther away
than a heart could reach.

Be as it may
That
I’ve lost my place.
One looks in the mirror,
an unknown face.

Yet, and again
Butterflies
remind me
dreams and desires
are free as the sea.

But one knows,
The Landscape
of her body
The Pith of her skin
could be home for me.