Many years ago I dated a White woman who used the same racist lowblow during arguments. It wasn’t a constant but it did happen a couple of times. Unfortunately I once had the misfortune to meet her parents  and it turns out the fruit doesn’t fall far from the tree.

Another seemingly common occurrence in certain mixed relationships are arguments that end with one spouse threatening to get the other deported. Obviously this would be an effectiveness scare tactic in a “love for papers” relationship, which makes me wonder why my Ex tried that.


We all know some beaches be cray.

On the other side of the wall, we can find various shades of people with strong opinions on mixed relationships.

Neo-Nazists and ultra-nationalists are fighting for the purity of their race and an unchanged cultural status quo. Apparently not only Lord Voldemort hates Muggles. #PureBlood

To be fair, I have to state that this is a point of view shared by both parties. Just last week, a Black woman on FB wrote about how having babies with White women is akin to propagating the mentality of slavery, and the Black man cannot be uplifted to equal status if we keep breeding with Whites (I’ve paraphrased her argument).

In addition Babcias and Ciocias (grannies and aunties) worry about the ridicule which is certain to arise from the hearts of neighbors. Going to market place becomes a bit too adventurous when the busybody living down the  road keeps asking why your daughter/sister married “the African”.

Not to forget the wellwishers who are of the stance that mixed race children are either an abomination or were selfishly brought into the world to live a life of suffering at the hands of other “single-race” children.

A Dantean image, isn’t it?

When one places the cards on the table and take a long look at them…

  • cultural differences
  • linguistic misunderstandings
  • social persecution
  • fear of loss of self and status
  • etc

the question appears in neon with a background of lightning – “Why do Black Men date White Women“. (Please do insert any race into the gaps and share some thoughts in the comment box).

I can only speak for myself and mine. I’ll make it short and simple.

Love is colourblind.

Regardless of what your eyes see and what your head processes, the battle is over and the search must end once your heart decides.

With love and in love we heal and thrive. We are nurtured and we are blessed.

Albeit fingers may be pointed and mockery may be disgorge from the lips of naysayers, when you find a good thing do not let it go.

Albeit family and friends may turn away from you, let it not matter if it drops on you in shades of Chocolate or Vanilla.

Albeit your head may claim it would be easier to bond with a partner of the same race, culture, colour and language, let your heart lead you.

Haters gonna hate anyway.



For most (single) male expats or tourists who travel to Poland, the juiciest piece of information sought at the start is “Where the girls at!? ^_^”

Every nationality has its own watering holes. Italians in their hundreds go to specific clubs in the city seeking Polki who have a deeply ingrained fascination for those brown eyes and dark hair.

Girls who prefer Spaniards know where to find them, and any girl who loves Arabs knows exactly where to hunt.

Although Black men arent so numerous in Warsaw, there are a also couple of clubs where all the #snowbunnies hang out. Some only want a taste of the stereotypical BBC. I’ve been told some Polish women have a desire to have mixed babies, the sperm donor to be discarded like used tissue paper when he’s proven his usefulness.

Which brings me to the issue at hand. Last week I saw a couple of posts on FB from Black women stating their disapproval, in one case – hate, of interracial relationships. One lady claimed not to be a racist but emphasized that she would never accept the existence of genuine mutual and unselfish love between a Black man and a White woman.

The comments (and the comments are always the best part of anything one finds on the Internet nowadays) were an assortment of comedic, vile and ignorant opinions ranging from “Black men only engage themselves in these affairs for the sake of acquiring citizenship ‘papers'” to “Black men chase White women with curves just because they want to tap that ass, at the same time making Balck women feel inferior by saying they are too phat, too thick”.

Someone claimed his uncles foolishly jumped on the bandwagon of marrying White women in the 70’s and, upon getting older and wiser, are now using their wisdom to seek better women, Black women (read ‘more acceptable by the family’) as mistresses back in the Motherland.

One comment touched me, right before I could read no more. Although it might have been a fictional anecdote, I know this scenario occurs in various forms in diffferent societies the world over. Unfortunately, I have had firsthand experience in this matter (with an Ex).

The lady wrote that she had a friend who married a White man. Whenever marital difficulties surfaced, as they are prone to do, the husband resorted to flinging vulgar and wounding racial slurs at his wife. I’ll spare you the details. Think Kunta Kinte. Think 12 Years A Slave.

To be continued…


Fatherhood Moments of Bliss

When Zoë…

(in no particular order, but I’ll leave the best for last)

  • falls asleep in my arms.
  • wakes up in the middle of the night, sits up in bed and talks to herself till she sleeps off. Well I do hope she IS talking to HERSELF.
  • doesn’t cry during bath time even when water flows down on her face.
  • stinks up the room but there’s nothing in her nappy, only memories of a fart.
  • gives me a panda-hug just because.19559-Panda-Hug
  • sleeps throughout a flight.
  • sleeps throughout a wedding ceremony.
  • sleeps while I’m trying to kill a boss on Xbox (you catch my drift regarding sleep).
  • 13e84e85f54e9e266500d77500cd5435
  • shows interest in books.
  • dances and sings on beat to the music in her head.
  • entertains herself in her playpen as long mommy/daddy smile at her once in a while. File_000.jpeg
  • shares lunch with me and we don’t even make a mess.
  • lets us dress her up without breaking a sweat.
  • gets tired of throwing her toys on the floor just to see how fast I can pick them up.
  • gives me a big wide smile when she sees me in the morning or when I get back from work.File_000 (1)
  • wakes up in the morning and goes to bed at night healthy, happy, and hearty.

A Globetoddler Globetrotting

Next week Wanda and I went are going on our 2nd international trip with Zoë – Easter in Paris. Yaay!

Weather forecast predicts a bit of snow in Warsaw over the holidays…while it will be 8 degrees warmer in the City of Lights. I’ll take that as a sign of forthcoming blessings ^_^

Quite a few travel blogs have confirmed that the Paris métro and Venice bridges have one thing in common – they’re mostly NOT baby-friendly. Which means there’ll be a lot of heavy-lifting done while trudging up and down numerous steps.

An ideal scenario with a baby that’s practically getting bigger daily.

Fortunately, the alternative in Paris, i.e. travelling by bus, is much cheaper than the gondola.

Come what may, we’re looking forward to a hassle-free trip. IMG_20160317_001334IMG_20160315_202328

Love Don’t Care

Click to listen >> Love Don’t Care



My amazingly talented sister has released a new single.

Perfectly timed for Valentine’s weekend, this song will make you hug that special someone for a few minutes longer than usual 😛

Beautiful music from a beautiful soul with a beautiful voice.


Daddy Duties

  • Baby baths (#notears shampoo? Liars.)
  • Diaper changes (2.5kg* of poo in one week)
  • Nursery rhymes and lullabies (Stinky Winky Bąky Star)
  • Feeding and burping (the Chinese would be pleased)
  • Fashion styling (future Top Model)
  • Dozens of pictures and videos captured and saved in Clouds
  • Baby ID and Baby Savings Account, because #ModernFamily and #WinterIsComing

These were some of our adventures in the first couple of weeks of Zoë’s life. It’s not been easy on Wanda playing the role of mother, wife, and housewife all at once…but someone’s got to do it 😛

Fortunately, the Ideal Woman found me; I’d like to pen in an offhanded thank you to the trials and tribulations I dated between 2004 and 2014 – 10 years of roaming the wilderness, and I ain’t even Jewish.

Being a parent is just as complicated and magical as I’d always imagined. In addition, Zizou had a double medical checkup today, and all the results were positive.

My daughter is healthy and my wife loves me.

Dreams do come true.

Instagram – @Zoe.Temilola or @FakeAjebutter

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.

“@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?



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?


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…


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.



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.”

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.


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.


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.


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


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
may be,
farther away
than a heart could reach.

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

Yet, and again
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.