Pastors & the temptation called woman

Okay, don't get me super wrong by the title. There are temptations called men too soooo I'm not coming for either sex per se, but the temptation that comes along with..

Raise your hands if you attended Holy Ghost Center, Ondo Town back in the mid to late 90's - early 2000's. I don't think anyone who lived or schooled in Ondo back then was unaware of Holy Ghost Center. It was THE place of worship for today's version of "awon omo wobe", or poshly put  The This Present House/Day Star folks; Yeah, this category of people. I am one of them.

So Holy Ghost Center just worked for the youth back then as a worship center. The crowd was young and hip, the choir was lit with their praise and worship, easily accessible with our towering heels, complete with Fan Yogurt parked dutifully outside after each service so we could buy frozen yogurt to cool our parched throat from all the singing and dancing, and stretching of neck to catch the eye of that guy or babe you fancied.
Then there was the Owner\Head Pastor of the church, Pastor A. Pastor A was quite older than the congregation, and had an easy going, gently, air about him. I mean he had kind eyes on him. He's definitely not the kind of person you see and are like why does this man resemble the devil like this. Or you just get turned off within seconds of meeting them and you don't want to be around them. He was nothing like this. He carried an air of fatherliness. He was just a nice person sha. I dunno how else to describe him. HGC Alumni, biko come and comment below ooo.

Bottom line is it was a good church with a good pastor and we liked our church jejely. Then one day it happened. We heard what happened, and We were all dumbfounded, distraught, sad, disappointed. Pastor A was having an affair with a church member. I can't even remember the timeline of this drama very well. I'm not sure if I was in Uni at Ado Ekiti back then or I had just left for the states. (Alumni people, biko what year did this drama happen?). What I do remember clearly were two things, I screamed NOOOOO, Noooooo., NOOOOO it's not possible. The second thought was wait, Pastor A was doing the kini??????wth! Pastors be doing this thing? Aren't they supposed to be preaching or reading their bible? What are they doing kini for? Why are they rumbling engines??? I mean, I know he had a wife and children but don't they retire from this aspect of marriage after the kids are done coming?

Yes, people, this was my thought process. Don't blame me. Besides the fact that this was almost 20yrs ago, I just sometimes do the most  when it comes to thinking about random sheeeeet all the time. Don't worry I'm working on it.

So anyway, back to Pastor A; I think the lady was a choir member or so. Mehnnnnn I was so disappointed. I didn't even have a one on one relationship with him but I just liked him from a distance. Pastor A ba nkan je. (Pastor A spoiled matter0
Needless to say, I believe that was the end of the Holy Ghost Center. The church did not bounce back after the scandal. It floated for a bit after that but I heard it eventually fizzled out. The devil visited a thriving church and took it out the one way it knew was almost a sure banker back then - infidelity on the part of the Pastor. If Pastor A had known back then, he would have denied the shege and have his attorneys tell us they are drafting a robust reply. We would have still been waiting almost 20 yrs. later while the church continued to grow.
The whole HGC issue came to my mind again yesterday as it does ever so often. Funny enough I still like Pastor A and I believe he made a grave mistake back then. I do not believe he was a serial wobe kinda Pastor, and has probably paid dearly for it. I wonder where he is today and wish I could get more info on him.

2 years ago, I attended a social event hosted by a church. I was invited by the pastor as we are sort of acquaintances.  After the event which was very nice, I walked over to say hello to the pastor, as in shey you can see I came ooo, so he won't accuse me of not coming for yet another event at his church that I was invited to.
We got gisting and then the reference to my looks started, and how pretty I am and always chicly dressed, and how do I handle all the men that come my way. I was like ahhhh Sir (But inside me I was like see this Pastor Wobe oo), I don't have men that come my way o, biko. I'm just ordinary and there are hundreds of correct babes in this town, who dash  me beauty. I was of course starting to feel a little uncomfortable, as I have always been around this pastor 'cos he always has this "appreciative look" about him that makes me believe he's definitely not thinking of Jesus Christ and how he died on the cross whenever he starts having that look. Anyways next thing was about Naija and how I'm always in Naija (I had just returned as a matter of fact) and I must like it a lot. Then fast forward to him saying he is going to be in Abuja in the coming month or so and would I like to accompany him - all expense paid. Me, trying to be as respectful as I can at this point in time upon discovering the devil is doing laps on this man; I jejely laughed it off and say ahhh no ooo Pastor so so so, I don't roll like that. His response was ahh I know I know, I can tell, I was just thinking maybe I can convince you. My gut feeling tells me this one is a serial chop\wipe mouth, wobe Pastor.
At this point in time I look around for the exit, glance at my watch, politely say my goodnight and walk as panla-ish as I could out of the building. The panla walk was to ensure there was no accidental twisting of my hips that could perhaps give him any ideas that I was simply playing hard to get.
I have since received several invites from the said Pastor to other events at his church. I have declined every single one of them and will continue to do so.

My thing is when a man of God is obviously being slapped around by the devil, or simply by greed and indiscipline, why do we women help them? I can't but imagine if we all said no to inappropriate advances from men like this, we would be helping in one way or another because at the end of the day they are human, and are prone to mistakes. But you know how they say, "To whom much is given, much is expected" and also "Uneasy lies the head that wears the crown". Can't we women/men receiving this advances just say NO?

When your wig falls your hand...........sigh!

I swear the silliest things happen to me and it's not even funny anymore. So I got dressed for work this morning and completed my look with my braids wig. As I was fitting the wig on properly I just remembered an embarrassment I suffered years ago!

So this happened many years ago when my neighbor (Isatou Jalloh) and I used to waitress at restaurant in DC. I did it for 2 weeks I think and I could not survive it. Isatou was the one who pushed me into it ooo as per 2 African girls with BIG dreams trying to hustle. Isatou knew all the jobs that legally paid well and she was hell bent on us trying everything. But that is a story for another day. I will probably write that story next. But anyway, I quit that job after one stupid, useless, ugly muteteh of a customer purposely glided his hand over my behind; and I turned and slapped him instantaneously.

Ohhhhh Lawd! I am already telling this story. Arrrrghhh.

Anyway sha, I quit that job that day, So Isatou's husband who used to work at Circuit City thought I was too soft and more cut out to work behind a desk in Customer Service etc. So he introduced me to his boss at Circuit City "Ndene" who hired me on the spot after passing the computer test and interviews.

This store was ways off from home, and I was in college also, and I didn't have a car so I had to always take the bus - the Ride On bus #10 if I remember clearly, the one going to White Oak. My routine was always to get on the bus, find an empty seat and sleep until I get to my stop.
I am one of those people whose sleeps as soon as she enters a car\bus\train; as long as I'm not the driver; but I would always, always wake up just as we are about to get to my stop. I don't know how I do this but this has always been the case and I will sleep soundly ehnn. Plus back then, in between working 40+ hours a week and taking a full load of classes I was always grateful for extra sleep whenever\where ever I could get it.

That's how one day I now wore a wig to work. On my way back I sat at the very last row because that was the coziest seat available for sleeping undisturbed. I rested my head gingerly on the head-rest thinking I was sleeping like a proper somebody.
We now got to my stop which was right in front of my apartment building, and I woke up. By now the bus was practically empty. I think there were like 4 or 5 people left on it. I made my way down the aisle to exit from the front door. As I was walking I was starring at the driver's rear view mirror and was like why am I looking funny and different like this? This sleep must have been something else.
Then..... GBAM.... YEEEEE...MOGBE..  My HAIR??? MY WIG??? WHERE IS MY HAIR??? Mo Daran!! WHAT HAPPENED??

You guys, my wig had fallen off and what I was starring at in the review mirror was my scattered natural hair.

Mehnnnnnnnnnn, I didn't even know what to do, where to start. I was trying to use my hand to cover my embarrassing tattered hair and also looking everywhere for my wig.

I refused to get down from the bus without getting my wig oo. Ahhhh wig of maybe $19.99 in those days, that cost more than my hourly salary. Hell na mehn.... this is a crisis right here and I was ready to call 911 or anybody with that my cell phone with an antenna.
The bus driver was now saying "Lady, you coming down or what, we ain't got all day!".
I was like come down oshi wo ni yen, without my wig? HELL TO THE NO. Oga driver, mi o bole oo, we are going to find this wig together. Thankfully he put the bus in park and decided to come help me find the wig.

Apparently this alakoba wig had fallen off my head into the narrow space between the back seat and the trunk of the bus, and you all know those buses don't have like cargo space in the back so that space was like terribly narrow. Oga driver had to wiggle the wig out.

I didn't take that bus again after that day. I started taking a longer route on the Metro bus. The embarrassment was just too much.

Today I held my wig in place with like 8 hair pins. Affliction must not rise a second time!

Xoxo
Savannah


May your enemies not come in the form of a bear

**trying to catch my breath.
So last year my co-worker told me how there was a Bear freelancing on the golf course right next to our parking lot at work. There is really nothing separating our lot and the golf course. One moment you are on grass, the next, cement.

Since that day sha before i come out of my car i look left, right, front and back; even up sef cos that bear was eventually found sitting on a tree on the course watching animal control looking for it for a whole 2 weeks since it was first spotted.
Anyway i look everywhere o and plead the blood of Jesus and sprinkle imaginary Holy Water, Blood of Sprinkling and Anointing Oil before i power walk from my car to the entrance of our building.

Today, unfortunately i was busy singing and dancing to Ayan Jesu's CD when i parked and i just walked out like a normal person would. I was halfway from my car when i heard movement far behind me.
All i saw was a black person moving kind of fast; I was like haaaaa mogbe modaran! The Bear must be chasing this person ooo iwo olorun, haaaaaaaaa SEUN RUNNNN, RUNNNN, RUNNN oo Mama Mayo. Eran igbe will not cut your destiny oooo RUN.

My people thats how i started running oo.... shouting Jesus, Jesus, I'm fasting oooo don't forget oooo Jesuuuuus
Hummm, only for me to enter the building safely and turn back to see a black woman outside the door looking at me like i was crazy.
I opened the door and was like why were you running???? She said "ohh i was doing my morning jog around the parking lot".

Hummmm, just let me face my work this morning. I dont know who goes jogging in their work clothes.

Toothpick or Cucumber, Does Size Really Matter?


This is 2016, and we are all going to have to get with the program. We can have conversations about sex, and nobody will die from it. I think sha.
Sex is not food, yeah yeah we know. All my spirikoko people say that, therefore we acknowledge that ahead of this conversation so you all don’t have to remind us.
I’m here watching an episode of NCIS and for some random reason I remember this girl I had met in Port Harcourt some years back. So now, boo at that time felt married women were the only ones I ought to hang out with because apparently they are all saints. It was a major issue having single friends then because they were not mature enough, could not advise properly, did not have the right type of experience….yadi..yadi…yah.
It was during this period of befriending married girls that I met this very beautiful girl. When I say beautiful, I mean BEAUTIFUL like she could have been mami water (Mermaid). I’m dead serious. She’s a bit younger than I am, and had married early. Her husband was a Naija-Delta big boy and spoiled this girl with all the best money could buy. I mean she had the latest version of several cars, her house was every woman’s dream home; wardrobe to die for. But her husband was physically humm, hummm, I’m thinking of the right words to use here without disrespecting God’s creation. Let’s just say the man get as he be.
Of course the story of why she married him had to do with money. He spotted her while she was still in secondary school and the man intended on dying on top her matter. He sought her parents out and doled out major dough to a family that was struggling with the promise of rehabilitating the entire family. She had no choice but to marry him. She did, bore a daughter for him and decided to focus on finishing her degree in college.
One day, my home girl and I met her sitting at the VIP section of a lounge with another man, a hunk of a man, and their hands were in every place but in the air or in their pockets. I wasn’t sure of what to make of the scene as my other friend who introduced us was not shocked at what we walked into. During the course of a few weeks, we always saw her with this same hunk. Apparently she met this hunk of hers at a wedding she attended in Abuja which he also flew in from Port Harcourt for, they had a one night romp in Abuja and the rest they say is history. In short sha, he was servicing her.
So one day I had to ask her what was going on because I knew she was married to Oga one kind..one kind. She spoke kindly and full of gratitude about her husband, about how he changed her life, and that of her entire family and she did love him but mehnnnn his penis was like a toothpick.
I swear I fell off the stool I was sitting on from laughter because I was not expecting that from her at all. Ohh boy! His penis is like a tooth pick? Did you not know that before you married him? These were questions I asked and she was like the courtship was short, no premarital testing, and the way the man usually tucked his oversize shirt and under shirt in his pants always made it look like there was considerable coverage in that area.
I sat looking at her in shock, scratching my weave. I started throwing all manner of solutions to her: couldn’t she have tried different sexual positions, viagra, pump (I wonder if there’s anything that actually physically pumps a penis)?
I mean, couldn’t she just lay there and imagine it was Idris Elba with a cucumber that was on top of her? There had to be something she could have done besides having a “service friend”? Usually when I hear of major indiscretions like this I try to be neutral, so I tried putting myself in her shoes – not judging, and also ask myself is sex really that serious? Especially if you have a spouse that is great in all other areas, would I be bold enough to have a utility service man if my husband’s penis could be likened to a tooth pick? I mean God forbid bad thing abeg. (Dear God, please don’t let this be my portion, because of all these things I write… I beg you..I beg you....I really really beg you in Jesus Name, Amen.)
But on a more serious note, is it really that bad? Does the size of a penis really matter? Would you creep on your man if he had a toothpick instead of a cucumber? You know how some people say the size doesn’t really matter, it’s what the owner can do with it that matters. Can anyone please validate this?
If your man were to be a great person but this was his one shortcoming, couldn’t you just live with it? Abi God forbid bad thing for you too?

Xoxox
Savannah
 

Would You Return Extravagant Gifts From a Suitor?


Heyyyyyyy y'all, So I'm continuing to post write-ups that I've supplied other blogs here for you guys who never got to see them!
It’s October 15, and it’s my birthday. I wake up to see a barrage of birthday messages on my phone; mbok, Naija people una no dey sleep? Ahn…ahn, it’s all love though and I love you all back. Among the birthday shout outs was a message from a toaster. Now this toaster is a little bit on the older side, around the 10-15 years range, but was a single man looking to settle down again.
Let’s call him Kashamaawo. Kashamawo has been on my case for donkey years and my response has always been “bros, you are a bros and I want it to remain that way. I cannot venture into that age gap, too much for me plus I don’t want to be that boo that’s got a boo.” Bros, will always say, “okay I hear you.” He will go date someone else to my relief, and since they all don’t work out he will come back saying, “Savannah now, I won’t be going through all this heartbreak if only you would say yes to me.”

Anyway, this is my birthday and I have to go to work as usual so I get ready, in high spirit, fielding phone calls and texting as I open my door to leave my house. Right in front of my house is a big ass red bow on top of something. The bow is so big I can barely tell what’s underneath it. It turns out to be a car. A brand new, ochara, chassis Toyota Camry. My handbag flies off my hand as I walk towards the car in shock and apprehension, wondering who, where, how, for who. A man comes out of another car parked in my neighbor’s parking spot; he’s holding a white envelope and walks towards me. Are you Miss Akinsolo/Akinlo/Akinsoro/, I’m sorry Miss I don’t know how to pronounce your name. I turned and gave him that – “is it my father’s name you just butchered like that” look – then said “why are you asking?”
I be Naija girl now, we don’t claim our own selves until we know why. Too much stories that touch the heart these days.
The man proceeds to say well if you are, this brand new car is for you courtesy of Mr. Kashamaawo, Happy Birthday.

I freeze where I am, not sure if I should cry, scream, be happy, be frustrated, I mean how do I explain this to people. Why on earth has Bros Kashamaawo resulted in using such an expensive gift in winning me over? I then tell the car man, biko I do not want. Please take it back and tell Kashamaawo thanks but no thanks. I get into my Passat and drive to work, still wondering if my head is correct for sending the car back. I mean, can’t I just accept it and still maintain the bros\sis relationship? Would this sit well with my parents? The boo? Abi over reading of the Bible is worrying me? Because any normal thinking young woman would not return this gift.

Kashamaawo calls but I refuse to pick up. He pings but I don’t bother opening BBM. More and more calls but I refuse to answer.

Fast forward to the afternoon, I leave work early and get home only to find another big ass bow on another thing again in front of my house! This time it’s a Mercedes E400 4MATIC! If you know this car, you’ll know it’s a badass car.

The same car sales man comes out of his own car with that envelope again; Miss Akinlo/Akinsoro/ Akinsolotu, I am so sorry ma’am; I will get your name right soon. Mr. Kashamaawo felt you were offended with the Toyota so he decided to send this Mercedes instead. I hope we got it right this time around.
At this point, I’m weak. I just walked around the car in amazement; I opened the door to see the inside, and mehnnnn it’s the fully loaded version. I quickly shut the car door and walked towards the entrance of my house, turned and told the sales man, No thanks, please take it away. I quickly entered my house before I changed my mind.
2 minutes later bros Kashamawo starts calling incessantly but I refuse to pick up.

2 hours later, my doorbell rings, and I open it only to see the car sales man outside my house again! Behind him was an even bigger bow on a Range Rover Sport. I immediately started shouting ohhhh myyyyy Lordddd; next thing I felt was someone (my mum) shaking me and talking: Savannah, Savannah, Savanahhhhhhhhhhh, won’t you wake up? It’s past 7am o, what kind of sleep are you sleeping like that…ahn..ahn, come and help me look at this picture I want to use as my Facebook profile picture.

Mcheww, so wait o, I was just dreaming this entire time? No Kashamaawo, no Range? Mehnnnn….

Dear Lovies, what kind of extravagant gifts have you received from toasters, even from the sugar and splenda types.
Xoxox
Savannah

 

Getting closure after you've been dumped!


Heyyy Lovies, this is one of the articles I wrote for Bella Naija, I'm reposting here for those of you who didn't catch it there.. enjoy.!
Closure in a relationship is having an honest, meaningful, non-spiteful, non-condemning discussion with your significant other about why the relationship has ended\needs to end. Closure helps you learn from your mistakes. It teaches you why your relationship did not work out. In many cases it is needed to facilitate the healing process. It just sets one’s mind at ease. And no, that whole “it’s not you, it’s me” ish is not what we are talking about here.
I don’t know if this is a Nigeria thing, or a Black thing – probably not, but I will stick to the audience I am familiar with. Donkey years ago I unfortunately had this experience of being in a relationship that ended without any warning. It was there one day and the next….poof like vapor it evaporated. No warning, no words, no actions, nothing, just gone. One day I had a boo and the next I was boo-less. I swear ehn, that was just wickedness in high places.
See, there is absolutely nothing wrong with the other party walking away from you. As I always say, “The person will be very alright abeg”, it is the “How” the walking away is done that I have an issue with. I personally feel if you walk away from someone you are dating, especially a relationship that has spanned a few years, without so much as a good bye, you are a coward. Plain and simple.
There is everything wrong in not giving your partner some closure. The absence of this near drives the victim crazy, and that is very unfair. Now, I can understand if you walk in on your partner in a telling position with another person; no explanation really needed there.
However, you cannot go to dinner with your person tonight sans any drama, and then you delete their number tomorrow. I have really tried to rationalize this behavior and I can’t seem to understand why you would like or love one person this minute, and without any apparent issues you drop off their life without as much as a single reason.
I remember when this happened to me a long time ago, I was super relieved he was gone because I didn’t enjoy the relationship one bit, but I was miffed at the disappearing act. This nearly drove me crazy. Fast forward to many years later, this guy sent me a message asking me to forgive him for that single act. Mehnnn…I did not respond to his message o, & I have no intention of doing so. In fact, I deleted it immediately. Guilty conscience is such a terrible thing, robbing people of their peace since days of Moses. Let him continue to ponder on what my decision is. I know what my decision was many years ago. You ain’t robbing me of my sleep.
I’ve heard from a couple of friends in the recent past who have had the same poof experiences with guys and to say these ladies were tormented by the unknown reason is putting it lightly.
I know some people will say the person doing the walking away may have chosen that option in other to avoid a messy situation because I know some ladies can go real cray..cray in a beat. It is generally a painful process for at least one half of the two. Nonetheless, a process that I believe one should go through. Believe me when I say you stand to benefit more and grow better if you know. This does not however mean you would hurt less at the reasons if you knew. You could possibly be angrier if you knew why, than if you did not. No one grows wiser without some information.
Unfortunately, in most poof-be gone cases, no matter how much you beg the other party to tell you why, they still wouldn’t. At this point, it’s time to obtain that closure on your own, by coming to terms with what was lost. But really I would consider this loss an absolute blessing. Let your inner strength be the propeller to move you forward.
Closure can take minutes, or even years to find; but one of my favorite things to say is this: “A journey you do not embark on you cannot complete”. You must embark on that process so you don’t take all that garbage into the next relationship. The most important thing is letting yourself heal without that person or a rebound person. Know that you are going to be okay by yourself and everything about your love life will fall into place sooner than you know.
Until then, may God shield us all from all the he/she “demons” walking about o. Amen!
I really want to hear your closure stories, please share. I sha hope they don’t include burning someone’s clothes, slashing tires, egging someone’s car or wrapping the car in shrink wrap o.
 

Blooming Woes



I was a late bloomer.


My much younger version was just a late bloomer at everything. From math to boobs, it took forever for everything to fall into place. I just felt I was a natural born olodo, it explained everything really but nonetheless I couldn’t understand what being an olodo had to do with my boobs not growing when girls my age in my dorm and classroom were already wearing a brassiere.


I was 14 when I starting becoming body conscious. I can be so aloof and very unaware of the world I’m in. My joy and pride back then were in books. I loved reading novels and totally immersed myself in them and used to win prizes for best student in English and English literature so I guess I was not a central olodo. Anyway sha, maybe because of all the reading and mentally teleporting myself to another world constantly, I didn’t realize on time that I was the only one without boobs, and the only one who was not menstruating at that time. It was as if we all went on one long holiday with zero boobs and looking like bamboo sticks; but everyone returned 2+ months later with curves and brassiere (those white cotton ones with lace at the top), and Always sanitary pad. Some even had boobs that could feed a whole nation..ahn..ahn. Everyone except me.


On resumption day, we would check out each other’s provision cupboard stylishly to see what we all brought and those of us besties would merge our provisions together because in boarding school, provision alliance was the key to surviving until the end of the term. I saw the tins of Peak Milk, Milo, Cabin Biscuits & what not, yes….yes, but what were these fuke fuke green and white sanitary pad packs prominently displayed in the cupboards? I swear I believe each girl did this so that anyone passing by would know she had gone through this transitional rite of passage phase. Everyone except me that is.


Upon realizing that I appeared to be the only one without an Always sanitary pad and a white brassiere, I cried myself to sleep almost every night. I then decided that I would join this elite group of girls by all means. I spent every moment I had eaves dropping on conversations about boobs and periods and hips and how to grow these things. Then one day I heard some girls talking about an insect that spins round and round on sand, and you can’t really see it unless you dig for it. All you see while it spins is the circular movement in the sand. For the life of me, I cannot recall its name. Until I heard this gist, I had never heard of this insect before but by the description, I knew I had seen those circular shapes in sand before but never gave it a thought.  Apparently, you take the insect from the sand, and you put it on your chest where the boobs ought to be and let it hang out there for a bit. Repeat on the other side of the chest because you know we don’t want one boob now abi. Then you discard of the insect.


When my dad came to pick me up for the holidays I was super elated to hear we would be spending the weekend at our country home in Ondo town before headed to our Lagos home. I knew there was no way I would find that insect in Lagos because there was no sand like that where I lived so Ondo was the place to find it.


I found this insect under the palm trees in front of our house. I took it to the bedroom and sat staring at it, trying to sum up the courage to put it on my chest. I picked it up many times and thought to myself, Savannah you must do this thing otherwise you will graduate from secondary school without boobs. You will be the only person in the assembly hall writing WAEC with no boobs. Is this how you want to go down in history?


The more sensible part of me remembered her father is a Pharmacist and mother a trained nurse; haven been exposed to many talks on health & medicine I should not try this because my parents will kill me should I catch some disease from this thing riding on my chest.   


The latter prevailed. I returned the insect to its abode.


Then 2 days before school resumed I had a brilliant idea to cut into pieces an old Ankara cloth that belonged to my mum. I cut it into round shapes, took a couple of her bras and started practicing. I would stuff my bra. There was no way I was returning to school without boobs. No way at all. I returned to school and no one even said anything about my new boobs and the fact that there was nothing there when I showered in the presence of other girls as was customary in my school, but there was a soft rise under my uniform when I was fully dressed. I went through all this trouble and these people did not even notice! Hiss.


Then one day the Senior Prefect whom I had been secretly dating showed up in a classroom where I used to go hide to read a novel in other to escape corporal work. He then decided he wanted to kiss me for the first time. He kissed me lightly and then his hands gradually moved from my shoulder trying to proceed to the boobs. Yepa…mogbe…my eyes flew open kia kia at the realization of what was about to happen, and I ran. I ran from that classroom like Forest Gump and didn’t stop till I got to my hostel. I’ve never run that fast in my life, not even on Inter-House sports day. Touch my boobs and then find out they are pieces of cloth?? I don’t think so, not in this 1996 abeg.
Lolll.....

What stories do you have??
Xoxo
Savannah