5 minutes in my head

Missed call from Mom. I should call her right back. Hmm, I wonder how her fundraiser event went. I’ll ask her. Speaking of funds, I’m running low… When’s my allowance due again? Ok I can get by ’til then.
What happened to my money though? Oh yea those massive weekend sales. I shouldn’t have let myself get carried away like that. Ooh but those dresses, no one could have resisted…
I’m so going back for that black Coach bag…
…trimmed with brown suede…
I mustn’t!
…with the silver buckles…
Lord, I’m hopeless.
…And a thousand little pockets…

Gosh this hair keeps falling all around my face! I’m taking it out tomorrow! Oh wait I have classes. Ok I’m free tuesday. First I have to make a hair appointment though. Hmmm, braids or extensions? Extensions. I’ll get it done like Sam’s hair.. Sam! Yikes, I’m supposed to meet her for dinner. I’ll just text her that I’m running late. Oh wait there’s that missed call from mom. I better call her now…

BB messages. I’ll read ’em later.
Or…. I could just open this one from Ral, the gist looks juicy. Haha, I was right.. Very juicy. I’ll need to Skype her.
Binta has a sick update again? I’ll check with her later. She probably just broke a nail or something; drama queen.
Where was I…? O yea I was gonna call mom…

Oh my, that baby is GORGEOUS! My ovaries just gave a standing ovation. Dear God, remember what we agreed? About my babies? Oh good, you do, thank you.
Aww she’s smiling. She likes me..she likes me. I’m such a baby magnet. I wonder what will happen if I grab her and run.

I would be on the evening news…

“A young woman earlier today snatched a year-old child from her buggy and dashed through the streets. When she was apprehended by the police she had this to say, “would you just look at her?”. The Authorities took one look at the child and all went “Awwwwwww”. Spokesperson for the neighbourhood police released a statement saying: We understand the motive behind this irrational act and have decided to let the culprit go with a warning. The victim was utterly adorable”.

Haha, what’s wrong with me? I wonder if other people sit around entertaining themselves mentally the way that I do?

Speaking of entertainment, I wonder what movies…

Is that my phone? Great. She’s not gonna believe that I was just about to call her back.


Blog… Interrupted

Alright people, I’m breaking this spell once and for all! That’s right. I’m bounding in on a white steed, cyber-sword brandishing. Shield, buckler, shining armor all in tact; slashing away at thickets and thorns to revive my Sleeping Blog with a kiss of life/true love’s first kiss (whatever, y’all remember the story).

When I started this beauty, I promised you my dears, that I would nuture it, enrich it, update it every once in a month, yada yada. Oh how I’ve failed you my Omlettes (Erm, sounded better in my head). I walk in here and see the sadness that I left behind. There’s a virtual tombstone at the start of the page with an inscription that reads: “So young, filled with promise, now we’ll never know” or something similar. (Knock yourself if you scrolled back up to check)
Some of you clock in every once in a while, choke back tears, say a word or two- heads bowed, drop your virtual wreaths and stroll away.
Well, this is a blog-resuscitation/blog-revival. Call it what you may, I’m back!
Some friends insisted that in order to obtain clearance to proceed, I would have to state chronologically what exactly I’ve been up to in the past four months. They wouldn’t take “this and that” for an answer.
Well, here we go….
I flirted with the idea of dropping out of school, I studied anyway, welcomed a dashing distraction, wrote the bar exams, threw a little party, took a loooong vacation, did some charity work, shopped a lot, learnt how to ride a power bike, bonded with my family, lost and mourned one of the lovliest persons I’ve ever known. May I interrupt myself for a bit to indulge in some wishful thinking; it wouldn’t be such a bad idea (would it?) if death were to be kinda temporary. In this world, Blog sites won’t be the only things getting a second chance at living. Every once in a while, a loved one would get “voted” back to life based on say, public opinion. The good Lord would consider how many lives were touched in the aspirant’s lifetime and how much emptiness their absence caused. And then Galaxy Zwingina will be back here in a flash. Sadly, all we can do is miss them till we heal.

Continuing: I set my priorities straight, ditched my dashing distraction, brushed up on my french, passed the bar exams, got into NYSC orientation camp, got grossed out by it (still getting grossed out by it), counted down the days till my exit from said camp (still counting)…
Ladies and Gentlemen……. Omalone.

School drop-outs are made, not born.

It just occurred to me how easy it is to drop out of school.
You’re now wondering why such crazy thoughts are “occurring to me”.
I’ll tell you.
I have this big ass text book right in front of me. Permit me to digress for a minute, why is my spell check underlining “ass”? Pray tell, what is so inappropriate about donkeys?
Anyway, this big donkey textbook in front of me has tinier prints than the footnotes in regular textbooks (I kid you not). The pages are thinner than bible pages (I exaggerate not) and very many! And sadly, the introductory part and index don’t take up a lot of them.
Most annoying is this, the author it appears, reveres everybody’s opinion… On just about any issue.
“Lord Denning thinks the sky is blue, a Nigerian Professor disagrees believing it grey, the mai ruwa on my street agrees with Denning on blue and my dentist is like screw them all it’s bluish-grey”

About 30 pages of this intercourse, and bam! the aforementioned crazy thought is conceived… This is how most school drop-outs are made.

I never gave it much thought before now. The dropping out process, that is. But someone inside my head imagined many a stage to it; permissions to be sought and obtained (from dropping out authorities?), flipping a hated lecturer the finger and swaggering out the school gate, then a showdown with the parents/guardian/benefactor of the drop-outee…(Let’s call him that, shall we), and then a little dropping out party for good measure… A bonfire of his big donkey school books perhaps.

At this point in the dropping out process, some brothers and sisters in his faculty are probably walking home from the library or from church, or from the church library. Cradling their textbooks, or bibles in the crook of their arms. They stop for a minute and shake their heads pitifully in an exaggerated Nollywood fashion, they say “*insert judgemental phrase of your choice*” and then walk on by.

At the final stage, the drop-outee must acquire one, some, or all of the following; a piercing or two, tattoos, spiky hair or dreads, local slangs, must learn to chew gum without control and smokers must learn to tuck cigarettes behind their ears.


As I have just realized, it’s neither as difficult as I imagined nor as clich├ęd.

Now here’s how simple it really is…

30 pages into the afore-described textbook, I get up, shut it and walk out of the library. I chill and get by for weeks. When exams start, I stay back in my room and play solitaire.

Weeks later.

Dad: When are you expecting your results?
Oma: Oh I forgot to mention it, I dropped out of school.

See? Easy.

This thing that I made

I ate something yesterday, something that I made. No wait, i made something yesterday, something that i ate. I can’t tell you what it is, not because I don’t want to. I would tell you what i made, if i knew what it was called. After I’ve told what it is, could you help me give it a name? It’s for my Grandma. (I’m coming back to this)
As all good narratives go, I should start by giving a brief explanation as to why I went about making things, names of which I do not know.
Here it goes…
Yesterday- Saturday happened to be what i call my cheat day. It’s the one day of the week that I get to cheat on my diet and not feel guilty about it.
Sometimes I go all junk, other times I get creative with my culinary skills. And then once in a while, I get very……. VERY creative.

These past months, I’ve had Saturdays of homemade buttered potatoes, sinfully made seafood rice, any-kind-of-pasta with well, any-kind-of-cheese… One time I even made something that bore a striking resemblance to pizza!

Yesterday’s however, was out of this world. I came up with something so spectacular that it hasn’t got a name.

I was armed with:
A stocked refrigerator
No Idea what I wanted to eat
A creative mind
The need to outdo myself

My ingredients:
Potatoes, Chicken, Tomatoes, sweetcorn, cabbage, carrots, green pepper, red pepper, seasoning, salt to taste.

I bet you thought I was finished, ha!
Eggs, flour, peas, olives, celery, onions, garlic, soy sauce, Tabasco sauce, barbecue sauce, chili sauce, something brown in a glass jar, something else that looked like black pepper, and of course more salt to taste.

I’m not going to torture you with details of what order the ingredients went in, or what colour the vapours bore.
Suffice to say that I might as well have donned a pointy black hat and taught myself to do “the laugh” while tending my boiling cauldron.
2 hours, 5 minutes and 17 seconds later, the meal was ready. I dished some for myself and went ahead to assault my tummy, seeing as I had no other option.

To my pleasant dismay, It didn’t taste bad (i usually have this effect on food) but I got a “strange feeling” that the brown thing in the glass jar was er…… honey.

After my lunch, I warmed up grandma’s plantain porridge and went up to rest from my ordeal. About an hour later, i went into the kitchen and saw Gma’s lunch untouched. Shouldn’t she be hungry by now?
And then I saw her at the dinning table digging into a full plate of my…. adventure.
(Of course meaning, Oh my God, Where’s the food…. I don’t use swearwords)
“Grandma that’s not your…”
“You’ve got to teach me how to prepare this!” interrupted she.
(Again, meaning Where’s the food *adjusts halo*)

“So what is it called?”, she asks

She had to be joking.

She wasn’t.

“Gma I’ve forgotten, it’s Spanish. I’ll ask my friends”.