I always think of putting my hand around the neck of whichever stranger I’m sitting next to in the bus and resting my head on their shoulder. Sometimes the urge is so strong, I almost do it. 

With the corner of my eye, I size up my neighbor; a dark man wearing a black suit, probably in his early 40s. He’s on the phone going, ‘do not ever come to my house when I’m not around! Are you hearing me? Don’t try it again! Don't you dare’ For the first time, I don’t feel like resting my head on anyone’s shoulder. My neck is doing a good job holding it.

I begin to write this. I’ll wait to see if anything peculiar happens before I get to work. Waiting...

Something does. We get stopped by LASTMA (Lagos State Traffic Management Authority). They forcefully take over the steering from the driver and tell us all to get down. The driver and conductor keep asking, ‘Wetin we do? Tell us. Wetin we do?’

Everybody gets down. About three passengers try to find out what the driver did. Not me. I’m almost at the bus stop, so I walk the rest of the way, away from the drama and closer to work. I take the final bus to my destination.

I’m late.

Do you just go straight to work or do you fight tigers and lions just like me? Let's talk in the comment session till next week Wednessday; our next trip to work!

What do I even say now? I’m back? Who missed me? How have you been? What exactly? Truth is, all those will suffice for things I want to say but I’ve been away for so long, I don’t even know what’s proper anymore. If this were a house, there’d be so much dust and cobwebs in here, and maybe even rats. Ugh! How I hate rats. I remember a joke that says, if I found a rat in my house, I’d abandon it and get another house. That would have been me if money hasn’t been giving me the chase of my life. I deviate. Rats. When I was a kid, a rat gave me such a scare that I almost had a heart attack. Thank God for adulthood.



I’ve been adulting so much in the past weeks, I’ve almost abandoned my blog. At points when I began to think I had finally gotten it, I missed it again and started anew. This adulthood business should have been an option like MTN caller tunes. To grow up, press 1. To remain a kid and safely torment older people with your needs, press 2. It should have always been 2 for me.

What I've been up to? Majorly freelancing and applying for tons of jobs. I’ve been writing for clients I’m so thankful for and at the same time, hunting for a proper full-time job so I can have enough money to own a house I can abandon because I found a rat in it. (Be nice. This is where you throw back your head and laugh at my sense of humor abi you want me to go back to my hiatus?).

Freelancing isn’t the easiest, but at the same time, it isn’t the hardest. Some days, I can’t decide what’s proper to charge. Another thing is, I work from home, so it doesn’t always dawn on me that I have work to do till it’s almost late and I have to work to a deadline. Sometimes, I have so much work, they almost choke me and other times, I can’t remember what it feels like to work because there is no client in sight.



I also get contacted by clients who raise my hopes high and disappear into the air at the same speed they came. They ask for work samples, they say they like them and are willing to work with me long term. They tell me what they want and sometimes, give me something similar to read up and have an idea. It’s all going well, and I stop everything I’m doing and give my undivided attention. Then all of a sudden, out of nowhere, abracadabra, they are gone. No more messages and they don’t reply those I send them. These ones are straight from hell, and I imagine the devil told them impromptu that he’s about to close the gate and they have to return quickly. They are my greatest nightmare.

Then there are the crazy ones. Once, I got contacted to write a short story by one. Very eager to understand exactly what the client wants because it’s easier for us that way, I ask, ‘what’s the gender of the main character?' and the client replies, ‘yes’. Thinking he didn’t get me, I ask again, ‘Is the main character male or female?’ and he replies, ‘both’. I was in stitches.



Some think you are a magician. They want you to build them an ark, get all the creatures inside, and also stop the flood. And you know what, they aren’t even willing to pay well enough for all of that. The sweet ones only want to know what you think the ark should be painted, pay well enough for it and even tip you on top. These ones are a dream come true. Bless them.

Maybe I should do a proper post about the type of clients entrepreneurs meet. Tell me in the comment section if you want that. That’s basically what I’ve been up to. I’ve also been sending out applications for jobs. I check my mail first thing every day. Hopefully, I’ll get that dream mail soon. Till then, I can’t stop trying, can I?

Meanwhile, I’d also love to know how you are doing and what you have been up to. I’ll be in the comment section hoping to find out. I hope you are better now than the last time you read me. I’ll be here more often. Thank you for not giving up on this.

So guys, there is a new column on my blog, and I've called it, 'A piece of Chisimdi.' Here, I'll be sharing with you unabashedly, my life experiences. I don't know yet what I want to achieve with this but I hope we find out in time.
The very first piece of me is below. I hope it makes sense to you. 

“Why are you gambling with your life?”

When I did not reply, she asked again, angrier this time, “Why are you gambling with your life? Come back home,” The line went dead in my ears.

Give it up to my mum to put a dramatic twist to everything. It was her on the phone complaining that it had been almost a week of my completing the one-year compulsory national service and I was still not home. Apparently, that was gambling with my life. Please do not try to understand it; you will fail.



From as far back as my memory started storing memories (see rhythms na), my mum has always wanted me near. She’ll tell me how far to go when escorting visiting school friends and 'how far' is near enough to hear her voice when she called. She’d call my phone ceaselessly when she got back from work, and I was out with friends or most probably Gabbey, my elder brother. My mother just seeks me out anytime I'm not in sight or in smell (I should totally do this comedy thing). That wasn't a major problem. It worked because I was an indoor person myself.

When I got into the University, it took a little over forever to find a church and to completely fit in as I was running home every weekend. I didn’t stay longer than a day or two after exams or the end of a semester. The thing is, there wasn’t much waiting for me at home. In fact, there was a lot not waiting for me. We almost only had the basic stuff and no luxuries, but it was my peace and my happiness.

You can try now to imagine my mother’s dismay that I was done with NYSC and almost a week later, I was still ‘gambling with my life.’ Do I blame her? Poor mother. How would she know that things were quite different now? I had met people, and been to places, and met a person, and had found happiness and peace away from home; home away from Home.

I’m home now though, have been for a while and it has been, oh well, home. At first, I was sad and heartbroken when I got back, but in time, I found the happiness and peace this place brings again. The order has been; sleep, wake, press phone, eat, press phone, sleep, bath, press phone, eat, press phone and press phone. Then repeat the order. I had been resting, post NYSC rest, and have only just woken up. Woken up to the reality that I just turned 23 and I’m very very far from where I thought I’d be.

I’m very unemployed but very alive though. I should probably be counting my blessings right?

Yours truly

I have a thing for good-looking men. One moment my preference is fair, tall, and masculine and then I see a thick, dark, not-so-tall gentleman with a clean haircut and I can't keep my eyes off. It's a new preference all over. No matter what the preference is at any point, 'good looking' must be on the menu.

I also have a thing for mystery men. I love men that have something about them I can't wrap my mind around. Men I don't know all there is to them, men I can't quite understand (not in a stressful way though), men that keep me wondering. This kind of men excites me. With them, there's always something new and even if not, it's never boring.

My love for good-looking men and my experience with them are quite spectacular. It's like nothing you see every day. As a result, I'll be doing a fun weekly series titled, 'The men and I' where I'll be sharing these experiences in fun ways. Names are going to be changed though. 

It'd be my pleasure to have you on this fun trip. The first episode is right below. I can not wait to read your thoughts in the comment section! Subscribe so you don't miss anything. 

I had just finished from CDS three weeks ago; NYSC khaki on, foodstuffs I had just bought in a shopping bag, I started walking home. When the driver of a red car parked along the road called out 'corper,' I wasn't sure if the car was there the whole time or he stopped because of me. I hadn't been paying attention. The moment I set my eyes on him, that changed. My attention was hooked.

Man was beautiful.

He asked where I was going and offered to give me a ride after I told him. 'You can make do with a lift,' he said like someone who had said the words a thousand times before but without as much as a feigned reluctance, I hopped in.

I was yelling to myself the whole time, 'I've finally met him! My own husband!' You see, when you ask married people how they know their partner is the right person, they say something along these lines, 'I just knew'. That was exactly how I felt. I just knew he was my husband, the beautiful man.

Predominantly, I do fair men but once in a while, I don't mind if their skin is coated with charcoal. That was once in a while. His skin was dark and even, the kind poets would call 'caramel' and his haircut was neat. Nothing fancy or dramatic, just neat.


There was something youthful about the stranger taking me home. His eyes were beautiful. They were bright and happy and lit up whenever he talked. His lips curled in the coyest way when he smiled. He was beautiful in every way. 'Handsome' would be not saying enough.

We got into a conversation or rather, I gave him a lecture on my life history. I spilled my gut out; my name, when I'm passing out from NYSC, what course I studied and where, where I work, where I'm staying, what I went to buy in the market and what I'd be cooking. I even told him how much my rent is! I all but told him I was wearing a short inside my khaki trouser to look fuller and I didn't know even his name the whole time. I just kept going on and on. After all, he was my husband, sooner or later he'd get to know these things so why not sooner?

He was dressed like one so I asked him if he was a banker and he affirmed. The only tangible information I got from him the whole time. It didn't matter though, he was my husband. I'd know everything about him in no time.

Finally, he got to my gate with my direction and I thanked him a third time, stalling so he could ask for my number. Nothing. End of lift, conversation over, yet we both sat in the car. It seemed the same thought was running through our heads. His; how to ask for my number, mine; when he'd ask.



He got a phone call and took it. I waited patiently. After the call, he still didn't ask. I thanked him again, the fourth time. I said I'd never thought I'd get a ride home, buying time so he'd ask. Nothing. Everything tried and no result, I opened the door slowly and said goodbye. He asked if he could stop by at any time to see me, I said he could.

'Idiot ask for the number already!' I willed him.

He started to drive away. Just when I thought it was the end, he stopped and called me, 'Here's my complimentary card, you can send me a message on Whatsapp.' Relief swept over me. Note that he didn't say I could call him, just Whatsapp. The average single guy doesn't say that do they? Well, at that point, I thought nothing of it.

The wait for him to ask for my number cured me of the infatuation a little and my pride came back. As casually as possible, I told him to give me his number rather, 'I'd call you.'

After he did, I realized I didn't know his name. He sensed my fix and said, 'Chisimdi you never asked. My name is Frank (not real name).' There was no point as I already knew he was my husband and I have no plans to save my husband's phone number with his first name. May God forbid. We bade our goodbyes and my heart was light as air.



When I was safely in and out of his sight, I flung my home training through the window and screamed to my housemates who cared to listen that I have found my husband. All of them 'cared' to listen though, I left them no choice.

This is point writers put the words that mark the evil twits. Here's mine, 'little did I know he was married.' The man got married last year but I didn't know all that then. I didn't know he just wanted to play around. I didn't know he'd say he wants to have sex with me in his car.  All I thought was, 'I've met my husband'. Poor me.

In Nollywood's handwriting, watch out for part 2!

Did you find this read interesting? Are you looking forward to the continuation or should I end the series? Let me know your take in the comment section. That's the only way I can know if you enjoyed this.

Note, everything written here is real.

Most of the time, I don’t go to bed earlier than 12 am because well, my phone and when I do, I sleep till I’m woken up. If nothing wakes me up, I can sleep till late in the afternoon.

Adulthood is everything I'm not ready for. It happened so fast, I had no time to prepare. One moment I'm a skinny taller than average teenager asking her mum why dinner is always eba and egusi soup and the next I'm a graduate running around for NYSC. How the fuck (read as 'hell', swear words aren't allowed here) did it happen so fast?

My first adulthood awakening was when I got a job in Lagos. As expected of a paid job or any job at all, there were responsibilities, lots of them. Responsibilities my young carefree mind didn't want and I said to myself again and again, 'I'm not ready for adulthood!' Sadly, this adulthood business has come to stay.

After being rejected by the radio house I was earlier posted to serve my fatherland, I got reposted to the State Library Board Uyo, Akwa Ibom as my place of primary assignment. This time, I was welcome with open hands. They made no provision for corps members' accommodation so I had to search for a place of my own. That search births this post.

At first, I thought, I want a fancy self-contained apartment with water, regular electricity, and a safe neighborhood. It has to be  properly tiled, located at the heart of the town and near my PPA at the same time. The house must also be affordable. Too much? I didn't think so.

I found an agent who'd take me to apartments available for rent. I didn't think having to pay for his transport fare was a big deal until I didn't like the first house, nor the second, nor third... nor any of them. That meant we kept going to the next available house and of course, I kept paying for the rides.

If a house is cool, it's far from my PPA. If it's close, electricity is not regular. If electricity is regular, there are lots of touts living in the neighborhood, the kitchen is the size of a window and it isn't tiled. If it has every other thing, water enters the room when it rains. There was one we had to travel the world before we got to the place the lavatory was built. Phew!

At the end of the day, I was tired, hungry, unhappy and had spent a fortune on transportation. Right now, I've finally gotten a place. There's light, water (it's almost like I'm living by the riverside), it's tiled, neighborhood is great and it's not far from the library.

Don't merry yet. You know what they say about everything that has an advantage having a disadvantage? Well, let's talk about that. I'm living with men, I have to go to church service every other day and I have to cook a storm at least once in two weeks.

Let's talk about that in my next post yea? Till then, Love and Light (in Adesua's handwriting LOL).

When they say check on your strong friends, I'm a huge example. The funny one, the one who always has something to say and there's no dull moment with, who makes sure everyone is fine and all things fall in line, isn't always the happy one.

For the longest time now, I've been at a place. A place where I feel like I don't know what I feel. A place I feel lost and alone. A place I no longer see the point of it all.

Being at this place came with feeling purposeless, weak and blank. It came with feeling useless, having self pity and crying at every chance.

I can't exactly say I grasp why I feel this way, I can't say I don't. It's probably because I'm not where I think I should be right now. It could also be because I've sent out a lot of job applications and there hasn't been a positive response, not even from the one I've been most hopeful about.

NYSC is frustrating and that too can be why. It could also be because I feel I've lost control of my life with so much procrastination, mental and physical laziness, self pity and a whole lot.

Sometimes I think that this place I'm in now is where people get to and they commit suicide. Because it doesn't make sense anymore, everything. Because it all seem to have stopped, and there's no further.

I've decided to fight my demons and get out of this place. To take charge of my life, work towards a purpose and be happy again. I've decided to channel all the energy to my own thing and do some of the things I've always wanted to to.

The thought makes me happy and I can say I see light, at the end of the tunnel. It's not a big beam yet, but light is light.

I'll live.

I've done some things in this life that make me want to disappear in shame at the thought of. Things that make me question if civilization is actually for everyone, me especially.

Until I travelled to Lagos last year, I hadn't seen or tasted pizza or cold stone ice cream, entered an escalator, had an Uber or Taxify ride, used a microwave, or even been to a cinema. Where am from? Abia (don't read as cave)! I don't blame my lack of exposure entirely on living in Abia though. For one, people there use microwave, there's a cinema (built only recently though) and the rest? Well, I could have gone to a nearby town or something. It's simply inexcusable!

This is me shamelessly being shameless and 'filterlessly' sharing the times I let down myself, family, friends, neighbours, blog readers, nation and people I'll meet in the future during my stay in Lagos. In advance, shit happens.

1. Escalator

I think this here is very common. Only a few people use it for the first time without doing a live comedy performance almost as good as AY and Basketmouth's. So you see, this isn't so shameful and mine was nothing major.


I had gone to the Silverbird in Surulere with my cousin to see a movie, my first in life, and we had to use the escalator. I guess my cousin noticed my hesitation as he suggested we use the stairs instead but no, I wouldn't have it. A spartan dies but never surrenders and besides, I can do all things through Christ that strengthens me. So off we went to conquer the world.

First I paused and watched what others were doing. Step in, stand at a place as the thing goes up and step out at the top. Shikena. Simple something. Oyibo people and their dumbness. I thought it was even one big technology. Mtcheww. Let's go there!

The closer we got, the more it dawned on me I could fuck up so I told my cousin, 'It's my first time o'. He said it wasn't a problem. When it was time, I jumped in, held him with one hand and the handrail with the other. I either missed my footing or it was the newness of the escalator but there was a struggle for balance. It must have looked like I was learning a style of dance. As I was holding my cousin, he too was caught in the struggle. 3 seconds later, stillness. Balance. I don't think anyone noticed. At the top, I jumped out and away. Phew. Enough technology for one day!

This was the day!

I was looking very good yesterday and was aware of it. Makeup on fleek, bob wig not falling hands, khaki jacket tightly secured around  the waist so there'd be no telling how horribly the  trouser fits, I strode off to Akwa Ibom State.

Isn't it a pity that good looks can't get one a good day? I had the baddest day in the history of bad days.

It was my first time wearing my NYSC uniform out and strangers smiling at me and occasionally calling out 'corper shun' to me was new and kinda flattering. A few helped me find my way around. I wasn't sure if it's the people of Uyo that are just very nice or it's the corper charm but whatever it was felt good.

When I got to the office of the radio house where I was posted as my place of primary assignment, they redirected me to their radio station. Disappointed but still hopeful, I 'reversed' and headed to their station. 

4 kekes and 1 wrong route later, I got to a junction I had to take a bike. Boy, it felt like we were going to Nollywood's famous evil forest. Bush, severe erosion, stream, bush, more bush, pathway, bush, name it, we passed them all. If someone at their office earlier hadn't warned me I'll pass bushes on my way there, I would have thought I was being kidnapped (though such kidnapper would have been at a great loss).

When we finally got there, I heaved a mighty sigh of relief. The receptionist, a pretty lady in a 'not so serious looking' corporate outft, was very friendly. She asked how my ride was and chuckled when I told her I almost thought I was being kidnapped. She apologetically asked me to wait for the Human Resources Manager who she said was in a meeting and collected my posting letter.

While I waited I thought. I really want to work in a media house but this isn't exactly what I have in mind. Where will I live? Will I go through this journey on a daily? How much will they pay? Will they let me rebrand their social media pages that look a mess? How will I cope with it so far away from town?  So I contemplated, I take the job, I take it not, I take it, I take it not, I ta... .

The receptionist interrupted my thoughts. The HRM is out of the meeting. She's sorry, they don't need corpers for now. Choi! There I was  thinking of what choice to make when there  was no choice at all. She handed me back my posting letter and 'REJECTED' in all caps stared back at me eye to eye, unflinching.

I said alright as causally as I could and waited while she called a bikeman to come pick me. I resisted the urge to look at the letter again as it felt like if I did, the disappointment I was trying hard to hide would show.

Back to the junction for half the money I paid to get there, I took a keke to the town, went into the nearest shop and bought a very chilled drink. One thing led to another and I found out the state broadcasting station, AKBC was just 50naira away. It was almost 4pm so I decided to rush and find out if they were still taking corpers. In my hurry, I forgot to take  my balance.

I was told at AKBC they've already gotten  as much corpers as they need. Now, I was very irritable. The 'coper shun' business became very annoying and I wanted to scream to anyone who called out to me, 'Leave me alone! Stop coper shuning me!!'

What was left from the money I began the day with wasn't even enough to take me home. At the motor park, I borrowed money from a guy in the bus and made a mobile transfer to him.

I got home by past 8pm tired, hungry and frustrated. No one has ever had a worse day. I deserve some accolade!

• 
  

At a point in my life, all I wanted were boobs. Big, fresh softness that would wobble every time I walk. I thought about it, I worried about it and I even dreamt about it.

"As you get older, your breasts will get bigger. Have patience," my mother would say.

Guess who didn't listen. Correct! I. Does she know how long growing up takes? There's no way am waiting that long! I sought advice from my equally flat chested young peers and got all manner of it in a bid to transit from flat 'chestedness' to a mini Nicki Minaj. One was to rob my palms hard together till they become warm and afterwards, gently massage my breasts. I hurried home very excited. Possibly more excited than Mark Zuckerberg after he created Facebook.

I tried this 'exercise'. Daily, I robbed my palms so hard together they hurt, yet nothing. When it didn't work, I resort to prayers. Every night before I slept, I asked the Lord to make his daughter busty.

'More boobs, Lord Jesus and I'll sin no more.'

Each day, I was the first to wake to see if the 'miracle' had happened. Nothing! Well, if the Lord won't make my boobs bigger, I'd do it myself. So I began to pad up. I'd add things to my chest to make it look bigger: socks, singlet, panties, anything! One day, one of my 'breasts' slipped and unknown to me, I was walking around with just one boob. When I found out, I died. Well not really died but it was near it. Warning: Do not try this at home! Of course, that was the end of padding up for me.

If you are wondering what happened to my boobs, a miracle did. I discovered foam bra!

That's a long time ago. My priorities have greatly changed. Now I think of things like being a better person, getting a good job, being independent, getting closer to God, sleeping less, being a better cook, etc.

What's the point in killing ourselves over things we are desperate for now that we probably couldn't care less about tomorrow?