Feminism or its Cousin?



Heyyyyyyyy Friyayyyy, whatagwan people! It’s been one kind of a min on this blog but let’s not dwell on my blogging consistency bad behavior….loll.

So you know, any week that there is no drama on Naija Social Media, is not a good week; it’s like all the village people gathered to just spoil it for those of us who like to just eat popcorn, sip and follow the drama. But you see ehnn, this week did not disappoint at all. The one that caught my eye the most was the drama that unfolded as a result of Presidential Aspirant Eunice Atuejide’s tweets about her stance on Feminism.

I read subliminal after subliminal directed at her; direct attacks on her, her Presidential aspirations, her marriage etc. I want to think the folks who decided to unleash are the feminists she does not want to identify with? I just tire. At some point I was like no wonder the poor woman does not want to identify with y’ all, like gaddem!! She can’t have an opinion that differs from y’ all? Should someone who just work up from a century long nap where to read all the bashing – I doubt they would want to identify with y’ all.

Damn! So some people said they don’t have a problem with her not wanting to identify as a feminist, but she should not have insulted/belittled/gave a negative connotation/made the movement seem derogatory per the examples she listed. Let me quote the part of the tweet they are referring to

I’M NOT A FEMINIST?

Na by force?

And who is a feminist?

                                                    My friend who won’t cook for her husband and kids cos of equality?

The one who always insults men becos she can? Ladies who won’t let men hold doors for them cos it diminishes their value? What does Feminism mean?

 

Yup, that’s what the poor girl said. To be honest, I think that a lot of Nigerian “Feminist” especially the women folk don’t know what feminism is all about. I have definitely not met/encountered all Nigerian women, but I have read thousands of dialogue online and listened in on debates about this issue, and 80% of these women have no idea what it truly encompasses. I probably don’t know in its entirety either beyond what Google, my dictionary, and several literatures tell me. Most of these women just want to identify with that book writer and what she tells the world she stands for. The problem here is it is one thing to tell people this is how I live my life; it is another thing to actually show that this is actually how you do live your life. I doubt there is nary a soul besides her husband and children, and perhaps domestic staff who really know if she practices what she preaches. You see how guarded her private life is?

I love a couple of her books though; ol girl is loaded with an imaginary mind.

 

Let me go back to Eunice for a second, she asked (na ordinary question she ask oooo) that “who is a feminist, the one who doesn’t cook for her husband and kids cos of equality?”  

There are women actually who will not cook for their husband and children because they claim to be feminist – I don’t know about you but I’m not sure how this behavior makes sense to you. I am a woman, wholly born a woman; therefore my maternal, nurturing instinct to cater/care for people is almost always 90% on. Does it go on Holiday sometimes or just don’t want to be bothered sometimes? Da heck yes it does, because before even being a woman, I am human first which means I have days when I am tired physically, mentally and/or emotionally and can’t handle catering to the people I absolutely love the most in the world (as it should be). Therefore what do I do?; either the hubs takes over the catering/nurturing or heck we pay people (nanny, chef/take out/food delivery) to do that which I (with the inborn nurturing) am temporarily unequipped to do.

NEVER in my life though will I ever not do these things for/to the people I love because I am a Feminist.

I don’t think the angry feminist see where Eunice is coming from at all. Eunice is not your problem; your problem is the misguided people who use the title feminism as a cover up for issues that have nothing to do with feminism.

 

She also said “The one who always insults men becos she can”;

Biko, if you are one of those who do this, you are the misguided people that the true feminists need to open a school for. If you, a woman has a disagreement with another woman, and you are able to resolve amicably; but given the same argument but with a man you now result to insults- at the same time beating your chest like King Kong , and shouting up an dan “I am a feminist, you think you can talk to me anyhow?”

If your fuse is short only when it comes to men over the very same issues that are nothing if coming from a woman – then you are the type of person Eunice does not want to identify with.

 

  Then she capped it with “The one who always insults men becos she can? Ladies who won’t let men hold doors for them cos it diminishes their value?

To be honest, I am not sure this is a problem in this world – amongst the many other things women have to deal with today. The day oga madam (you know who) decided to tell y’ all she has a problem with this act of chivalry – a lot of the follow, follow/no sense of direction/of their own person shined their eyes that day. I am thankful for them because in this life, it is not everyone you accompany on a journey that you must remain with till the end. Every now and then you must reassess your values as you grow as a person, and see if it aligns with that person’s. if it doesn’t, rather than following blindly, please excuse yourself and chart your course. Simple. There are some matters in this life that are as simple as abc, and this is one of them.

 

Now, let me tell you how I feel personally, in no particular order:
 

I love being a woman.
 
I enjoy being feminine, girly, full of joy, laughter, pretty, gorgeous, with my nails polished and my make-up popping; my heels doing clack clack on the side walk as I swing my nonexistence hip and ikebe (but that’s a story for another day).

 
I love being a woman soooootay I refuse to lift weights in the gym cos I don’t want any visible muscularness on me; God already gave me some that be making me look like ponmo. In my mind, and as I told the gym guy, please don’t take me from ponmo to brokotor. He was like “whaaaaaa”.

Me: please just gimme another move to do biko and go and google brokotor when you get home.
 
I love being a woman to the point that I lOVE my fleshy, soft body. Let the men have their hard muscular body, Please and Thank you!
 

I love allowing the man wear his crown/sit on his throne. Whachu fighting about this for, please? Will you die if he were referred to as king and you a queen, especially when you have not had a gender change? Ahhhmean, really – NOTHING bad will happen to you if you were to just live and enjoy your womanly attributes without contesting with a man for his. No one, I repeat, no one will ever look down on you or think you are less of a person for wearing your queenly crown proudly. You actually are not going to get paid/accolades for declaring yourself a King either – NOTHING will come out of it either
 
I love letting the man be the man – change the bulb biko, change the tires if need be, cut the grass, pay the bills, lead our decision making as long as we ain’t ending up dead, mutilated, or living under the bridge – and generally as long as you have sense sha cos a girl can be sapiosexual; open the damn car door, and every door I will be passing through in your presence – thank you very much. Rub my feet If and when I need it, (I once dated a guy who thought it was disrespectful of me to expect him to rub my feet or give me a massage but his unfortunate being wanted a massage every single day!!!!, but that’s a story for another day)
 
Anyway sha, as we were saying before I got rudely interrupted by the memory of that ex:
 
I also ABSOLUTELY love being able to work, provide for myself, pay for my trips around the world, take care of my child, buy what I need for myself –man or no man/sugar daddy or no sugar daddy/”big god or no big god”.  
 

I love being able to do me without requiring a man to be available in other for me to do me.
 
HOWEVER, I also love having a man buy the heck out of gifts for me, understand my obsession with my birthdays and act accordingly – Please and thank you.  I love being catered to by a man physically, emotionally, Spiritually, Financially, and Massagically erry damn day; take me around the world sef- if I would like to, and if he wants to – I ain’t complaining.

 
I also love being able to buy the heck out of gifts for a man, and catering to him in all ways (go and listen to Destiny’s Child’s “Cater to You” again. If I want to take off his socks when he comes home – I sure will! And it will not diminish me or make me less of a woman, or less of the success that I am. My Queenly Crown and Robe will NOT even shift!

 
I also love being able to know how to change a bulb, use a lawn mower (or just hire someone), change a tire, open every door if I am by myself or significant other. Like no one will die if a man opens the door for you or even if you have some home training and hold the door open for him if the circumstances allow.

 
I love being able to throw a ball with my son, play soccer with him, show him how badass mummy is, and we have the time of our lives!! I love showing him life – in a way that teaches him your outcome in life is not based on the gender of who raised you.

 
I love being a mentally strong woman. You are going to have to try hard to break me. HOWEVER, on the days when it’s just too much, I love having someone to unload on – and how he just takes it all, let’s me vent, cry – whatever I need to do to be strong again. I enjoy being someone’s baby biko. Life is hard as it is without trying to be Arnold Schwarzenegger in any form, abeg.

 
I definitely do not want to be a member of the Naija association of feminist where aggression, anger, and shaming are quick to the surface; no, that’s not what I want to identify with.  If I were to identify, I would like to with those who saw Eunice’s post as a teaching moment both to her and the millions of young girls who may have been following the drama, and could really speak to what Feminism is really all about.

 
But as true naija style, we go overboard with EVERYTHING! Over sabi is everyone’s middle name. The oyinbos that started Feminism are probably clutching their hearts in one corner as they read the attacks on Eunice. There are somethings in this world that when they become a thing ehn there must be a world notice board somewhere that says “Nigerians are not allowed to be a part of this thing, I REPEAT – NIGERIANS CANNOT COME NEAR THIS – please and thank you.  Lolllllllll.

 
I am thankful I didn’t grow up in a home where I had to be anything less than great because I was missing a third leg.
 

Lastly, I appreciate those true feminist who work tirelessly to give women a platform of equality in having the same entitlements as that of any other gender with the same qualifications. I never want to be told I should not earn as much as Mr. Opkokobiorko simply because he is expected to carry more responsibilities in his home (especially not in this American life day and age where the bills are split 50/50).  I don’t want to be told I can’t study this or that because……………… (This reminds me of that one’s mother who said I could not have a Master’s Degree cos her son does not have one – these kind of people are the problems in this world, not Eunice).

 
I don’t want to be judged based on sexism; or endure sexist exploitation, or oppressed in any way because I don’t have a 3rd leg.
 
Hats off to the true feminists who without dragging another woman, have brought about a persistent and progressive transformation of the human society, globally.
 

 P.S., it’s okay for me to feel this way – different from you – to not agree with you – to understand what could possibly have influenced Eunice’s thought process on what my fellow Nigerians call Feminism; it’s okay. Just hiss if my post has angered you, and just waka pass. You can vent in the comment section where I will delete any derogatory comments or go to your SM platform and vent there, but make sure you include a link to my blog so it can direct much needed traffic to it. Either way, my blood pressure is fine, I have back to back owambe this weekend. My weekend is gonna be LIT!

 

 

Sweet Jesus.........Shit Happens










Humm see ehn, I'm not the person to see all kinds of things on the news. It's either I get tempted to give it a try (cos as per Naija now, a trial shall convince you), or I will never ever go near that thing/place/person. I'm totally extreme, no middle ground whatsoever.

So that's how the other day I saw in the news about this man that Dr's had to perform surgery to remove backed up poop from the guy. I promise you this is super legitimate. So the poop weighed like almost 30pounds FAM! 30 Pounds! That's like my weight loss goal right there.

That's how I started imagining oooo that maybe the reason I can't lose weight is because I also have backed up poop, cos you never really can tell. I bet no one ever really thought there could be 30 pounds of poop in them, so don't give me no side eye biko.

Anyways sha, as I've been struggling with my recently gained weight AGAIN, I started to think more and more that boya o, just maybe o, I might be carrying around like 20 pounds of shit inside me. That's how I found myself at Super Best Store buying Garden Eggs cos I wanted to make Garden Egg stew, then I remembered I had run out of Green Tea at home and as per an Asian\Spanish store they usually have a good array of Teas. I now went to the Tea aisle and looked at all the options available. I didn't see the one I was familiar with but I saw one that I swear was calling my name. I bought the tea and went home.

Next day, I had 2 cups of the tea at work and was just normal. Until later on at home sha. Wahala wah beh. Mehnnnnnnnnnnnn
Listen, throughout the night I was singing Lord Jesus........... take the wheel; Sweet Home, Sweet Chariot... coming for to carry me home. I must have sung the song like 10 times before I realized, "ode ma ni eh, se is the song not Swing Low...Sweet Chariottttttttt; ewo ni ti Sweet home"

FAM, I have not been alright since I drank that tea yesterday. I am now convinced that even if I don't have 30pounds backed up somewhere, I have at least 10 pounds. Even my eye is turning me now as I can't even see straight. I made it to work today but I can't for the life of me understand why women keep running out of the loo after I've been in there for like 2 minutes. I mean... it's can't be that bad na. No?

I'm just thanking God right now that there is no Go-Slow on my way home, cos I've run out of songs to sing. Jesus already warned me not to call His name into this matter cos He didn't send me message.

Eh ma gbami bayi oooo.

Anyone ever had to deal with this before? Do share..

Click here to read the Story about man with almost 30 pounds poop

XoXO
Savannah

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