You are responsible for you.

random olio

I have wanted to frame the quote: “You are responsible for the energy you bring into this home.” I think of that idea often. It can translate into so many other places. “You are responsible for the energy you bring to this company, this job, this friendship, this marriage.” We are each responsible for our own energy. Do you think about that before entering or responding to a situation? Do you put yourself first, and think responsibly about the state of your energy before helping or saying: “Yes” to others? It will matter and help or hinder your ability to respond appropriately.

You are in the driver’s seat. Sometimes I think we forget that. We think “well I could not get out of this situation, it happened, it was bad timing.” Sometimes that might be true, but other times we have a choice, and we either forget, or do not…

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How often do you act like a victim?

random olio

I was thinking recently how so often in life we act like victims. We want everyone to wallow in what we do not have, what transgressions have hit our days – the “poor me” mantra. Think about it, how many times do you think “poor me” and want to tell others so they can potentially get on board with your poopy and negative day? How is that helpful?

There are a lot of things I could share about my life that folks would think “wow how do you do it?” I lost my parents when I was 16 (mom) and 21 (dad) and that has meant that a lot of my life has been parentless. You could call me an orphan. I do not have a large extended family. I have a sister and brother, and of course my husband’s family, but as families go mine is small. I could…

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Why are men so bottled up?

The quest by the modern woman to know what her man thinks and get him to talk has been derailed by the lies peddled around in the name of psycho-analysis.

One of such lies is the movie “Think like a Man Act like a Lady.” My problem with all such prescriptions starts with their titles.

We give too much credit to the man by presupposing he thinks at all and take too much liberty to assume there’s a ladies’ art.

God recognised the reticence of man but had to get the conversation going by asking him to name the animals in the creations story.

But the parsimony of man is seen in the syllables of the given names of animals: Cat, Dog, Cow, Lion, Whale, Panda…even at that, he must have refused to name some animals but when God asked for his assignment to…

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Do I wish s/he was clad in gold?
To yank me from past & present cold?

Do I wish s/he gushes honey?
To hush my hungers no matter how funny?

Do I wish s/he’s had no pains?
So I could eat only from gains?

Not so!

Do I want made?
Am I made?

Life is all dirty,
And with no pity,
Even when it has gold to serve you,
It wraps it in drenching dirt. & you
Can only have that gold

By breaking away from gripping cold.


One of my Major “Weaknesses”


I am utterly incompetent at resigning and taking what I won’t enjoy from deep within me, simply because I fear that what I really want may take long in getting to me. Getting what I love may cost me some good time. In fact, most times it does. But I always would prefer to wait for it than settle for less. Talk about a chameleon saying he cannot alter the dignity in his walk simply because the forest is on fire. Or the lion saying he can never eat grass, even if all eatable animals die out of the jungle. It’s not really pride, no, not the bad pride if it is pride at all. It is just how it is.

So I was at this A.Y.A roundabout in Abuja. Most private car owners are part-time taxi drivers nowadays, and surprisingly they strive for passengers even more than the real taxi operators. One pulled to a stop before me. He already had a passenger in the front seat. None at the back but before I join him, I needed to be clear on something. So I bent down.

“Please sir, how many people will you be carrying at the back seat?” I asked.

“Why do you ask?” he replied.

I didn’t take any offence that he shot a question to mine.

“Well sir, if you’re going to have four people seated at the back I may not join you.”

He measured me for a while and, “Enter”, he said.

He was about the fourth person I diplomatically told not to think of stuffing me in his back seat that hot afternoon. The others didn’t see what he saw apparently. But he saw something surely. He saw, I presume, that I knew what I wanted and I was ready to wait for it. And get into a front seat or, missing that, sit with only two or one person at the back seat. I do that, once I’m not driving and I have to join a taxi or a bus.

Once, I was in the overly people polluted Lagos. I never found it okay to stand in the BRT buses when I could simply wait and get a seat. It amazes me how people get to sardine themselves into taxis and buses. Even aged and pregnant women shock me with this oddity. And they enter and begin to expect someone to get up for them, out of pity? Is it that there aren’t enough to go round? Of course there are. Perhaps people mismanage time and must have to make up in spite of very avoidable discomfort. We can make this life sweeter by taking little steps. In the case here, if I have to get to someplace and I must have to take taxi or BRT, then I set out early enough, yes, or late enough, to provide me the time needed to get a good seating.

I do that. And it’s not just with transporters. Nearly every aspect of my unique life gets its spin with this congenital idiosyncrasy. It’s just one of my weaknesses to so very rarely take what I won’t enjoy from deep within me.

So I wait, guarding my loins with creative patience, and indeed I get my desired flames in time.

Me, Wining, and Whining “Babes”


“As a born again Christian, do you drink wine?” It was a ping. A broadcast? Gosh! I should have sighed. Normally I clear BB-broadcasts with more promptitude than I use in deleting those junk messages from network providers. Not this one. Something about it tuned up my loins. “YES”, I pinged back and the YES tickled me with feeble fingers. I felt I should add some “milk” of the “word”, for this seeming “babe” in Christendom.

There are quite many “babes” in the kingdom you know: Babes who rely mostly on the “milk” dribbling from pastors and pull-pits. As for me, I think I matured past that milk as I matured past my mama’s. I take the meat of the word. In fact I take it raw, or verily dried. I needed to add some milk, or perhaps it would pass as meat of the word now, for this babe. So after pinging the YES, I quickly added, “Cos Jesus did”.
“Lol, lol, lol,” my inquisitor pinged instantly. You understand “lol” right? Well, it took me some pride-swallowing to learn that it means “laughing out loud”. “Yes, Jesus turned water to wine but there’s no record of him drinking the wine”, the babe added. 
“Should I show you some scripture?” I pinged.
“Go on Pretty Pastor”. Oh no, of all the offices I dream to furnish, a pastor’s isn’t one. But I launched on, like a heated man on a wife in heat.
“First of all,” I pinged, “for anything to be called wine the thing MUST be alcoholic otherwise it’s just ordinary fruit juice, elevated by the subtle criminalities of advertising, to indulge religious biases”.
“I disagree”, the babe pinged.
“Well, you can research the word wine”, I ended on that, and picked on the koko. “Darling, I drink wine. I enjoy it. Jesus did too. Now, leave all the NOTES your pastor makes you read as Bible. Go to the real Bible. Tell me about Jesus and wine, after reading that ‘the son of man came, eating and drinking …they called him a drunkard’ ref. Matthew 11:19, Luke 7:34”. The babe slipped away, after confirming I guess. It took me near 30-minutes of read but un-replied pings before I finally got “I have read it o jaare”. I thought more pings would come but no, so I headed for climax.
“Now ask me the wine question again.” I pinged. And I didn’t wait before I ejaculated thus, “hmmm, I never even drink reach my elder brother Jesus sef. And I am supposed to do more than he did lol. If I have to stop, it won’t be because religion o”.
“Lol, lol, lol, Cooonstaant!” came the reply-ping. “Yes daaarling, you want more?” I pinged, laughing inside, shaking-my-head for how preachers inject their favoritisms into the many and multiplying “babes” of religion. I laughed, reflecting on what my Elder Brother said in Matthew 15:9, of how “their worship is a farce, for they teach man-made ideas as commands from God”. *hisses away* 
Someone should pass me some wine abeg.

by Constant Ngozi