Tag Archives: husband

Cheers to the new me!


I’m staring at King Aize’s picture of when he was 2 days old and I cannot believe how big he has grown. I can’t believe it. He looks so different. Now he’s hugging me, kissing me, babbling back at me, mimicking me, laughing with me and giving me flying kicks. He’s testing my patience, testing his limits, biting me, throwing things back at me and I’m learning to read his moods and daily learning what I can do to change how he feels when he feels moody or is throwing a tantrum. He just started that and it’s interesting to watch. Sometimes I let him have his way and other times I stand my ground. I’ve learned that he only bites me when he’s happy or wants my attention or wants me to play with him. He also bites me when he wants to make me laugh; I guess my reaction is hilarious to him. I love him. Too much!

I thought of re-starting this blog when I move into our new house. But its taking much more time than I expected and my head is bursting with ideas and stuff that I just cannot wait anymore. I am afraid that people will judge me but in my usual style, I cannot let people’s opinions stop me from doing what I want. I will do what’s best for me. I know the opinions that society holds concerning women living alone, divorcees, single moms and older single ladies but who society epp? Abeg!

Since I became a single mom, life has changed! It’s almost as if I am living a brand new life. The new me looks at the old Eseosa and marvels at her shenanigans and antics, her zest and her can do spirit. I still have vestiges of that, I think. When you have gone through a bad marriage like I have, lost yourself in order to please someone else and then have it all thrown down the cluttered, dirty drain, it can and does take its toll. Add that to being the parent of an active cruiser/toddler and you can see why the old Eseosa is to be feared and revered.

But I love my life. I love the fact that I know who I am. I know what I have. I have full confidence in my abilities as a woman and mother. Marriage will stretch your limits and I can safely say, it has helped me rediscover myself. I no longer see life through rose-tinted lenses. Black is black and white is white. Wrong is wrong and right is right. We all have the right to be happy. We all have the right to choose the kind of life we want. We all have the right to choose the kind of people we want in our lives. We should not live for someone else. We should make the decisions that govern our life. We choose our life’s path.

Adulting is freaking difficult o, moreso when you’re a woman. But since I simplified my life, I find that most things have become easy. I can genuinely say that I love my life. It’s almost as if I was born for this. Maybe that is one of the reasons Imoh is so mad. Oh well! In one of my articles, I remember writing that I was born to be a mother but I couldn’t say the same about being a wife. Single parenthood has come with its ups and downs but I have much preferred it to marriage. If Sister Queen hears that I said I was born to be a single mom, she will kill me. She is all about moving on and getting myself a good man. I am all about saving money to pay for Aize Lee’s fees come September. I know when push comes to shove, my support system will kick in but I have never had the talent of begging. In all my madness and skoin skoin behavior, I have never learned how to beg. Besides I can afford it. For that, God showed up. Thank you, Jesus. If not, it for red o.

The first step I think, to excelling at being a single mother is to have a source of income and live according to it. My precious son doesn’t know the difference, except that he enters buses a bit more (in my defence, I usually pay for 2 or 3 seats so he will be comfortable), he eats the same cereals, same foods and pureed fruits and generally the same standard of life he was born in. Not that he would notice o, he’s just one year old. All na serenren; to reassure myself that I have got this and God has got us. My dad died when I was 5. Am I not here, happy and healthy today? Na today? If my mum who was a trader could raise 7 successful children, what could possibly be my excuse? After all the better schools wey I go? God no go gree!

For some reason, it seems as if there are divorcees and single parents everywhere I go. I like to think God led them to me to show me that I am not alone and that it is not peculiar to me. A lot of them are doing very well and live super successful Iives and I go home motivated to do more and conquer more. Some are not doing so well and I go home, cracking my brain on what to do to improve the life and lot of women in Nigeria more. Imoh once said, his problem was that I was too strong and he was trying to tame me. These days, I am more likely to fight back if provoked, especially when it comes to women and children. I am more defensive. I am more ready.

I smile more. I laugh more. I am friendlier, much nicer. I notice more things, like the woman with a child on her back and a heavy load on her head while the husband walks by her side, pressing his ‘palasa’ phone. I am more eager to pay for a woman whose fare is incomplete in a commercial bus. I am generally a nicer person, I admit to women only o. Lol. But I expect that to change as time goes by.

Lift your hands and voice to celebrate and help the woman in your life some time! Please! She deserves it! Honestly.

Cheers to the new me!


The Trouble With Love

This Love

This Love

I’ve always said my husband is gonna be the most pampered man in world history by a woman. Of course, this may be an exaggerated boast but you can guess the general picture. If you love music like I do, I’m sure you have listened to the song by Destiny’s child-cater to you. That’s the general idea. Now would be a good point to envy him. Yeah yeah.
But it hasn’t really worked out like that thus far. Oh, I date. I fall in love. I experience the ‘ooooh’ and ‘ahhhhh’ moments. The general love thing. Its about the words you tell me. Its about the way you treat me. Its about the look in your eyes when you look at me. Its about the things money can and can’t buy. The thing is, I begin to build my word around you bit by bit. Consciously and unconsciously, you become my happiness factor. My world begins and ends with you. Bliss right? Okay! fa-fa-fa-foul!

My first experience with love was when I was 18. If you gasp, get off my blog. My friend, I was in year 1 and 18 is the legal age for such things so give me a break. He was in year 2 and I thought the stars were in his eyes. He’d cook for me, walk me to class, and told me all the things I wanted to hear.

To cut that story short, it turned out he was dating 5 of us in the same class and the girl’s picture that he was told me was his cousin, turned out to be girlfriend no 1. I should have learned right? Lets talk about the obese medical student who made my sister gasp when she saw his humongous size (errr…she pulled me to a corner and warned me not to ever let him lay on me else I wouldn’t ever need to diet again as I would be squashed beyond redemption).

He was the most intelligent person I knew and he we dated for 5 years before finally having sex. If you were thinking his jingle bells were not working, sorry to disappoint you. All members of my family knew him and they came to like him. He was so courteous to them and gradually my neighbours stopped opening their mouths in shock whenever he came down from his car. The thing is, I never even saw his size. I never noticed that people would always stare at us when we went out. He was the love of my heart and that was that. When he left, I was so sick my sisters had to swallow their desire to prick him with a needle so he could evaporate and call him to come see me. Infact, beg him sef. He didn’t come which is good, cos I don’t think he would have left with complete body parts. My sisters? Never mess with them. Underline that.

“Eseosa, you mean after everything I did to you, someone can still break your heart? Don’t you ever learn?” That was the Idiot’s reaction when he learned that I’d just gone through another heart wrenching relationship and called me. I hope a more courageous girl has punched his lights out on my behalf. But that’s the thing with love.

“…like a drug that makes you blind, it’ll fool you everytime…” I titled this article after the hit song ‘The trouble with love’ by powerful vocalist, Kelly Clarkson. Its one of my favourites. The words are so real and if your love life has been topsy-turvy like mine, then you can totally relate. Love has fooled me many times. They say you can either choose to fall or not but somehow my brain doesn’t function that way. When love calls, I answer. “…I’m sadder but I’m wiser too…I swore I’d never love again…swore my heart would never mend…said love wasn’t worth the pain…but then I heard it call my name…”

I have sworn so many times to stay away from the monster called love. I get closer to my friends, we grab drinks and do the whole jolly good fellow thing. Problem is, my heart never gets the memo “…the trouble with love is…it doesn’t care how fast you fall…and you can’t refuse the call…see you’ve got no say at all…”. See the part about not having a say in it? That sucks!

“…that story always ends the same…Me, standing in the pouring rain…”
That how it always ends. With me anyway. Am I doing something wrong? Am I unlucky in love? Have I just been meeting the wrong guys? I honestly wish I could answer. But no matter the trouble that love brings, somehow we still end up craving it. Oh by the way, I’m in love right now (AGAIN!!!!!) so I’m keeping my fingers crossed. Wish me luck.

Forget the Bible, single girls are the enemy.

the enemy‘Shafe,I’m going on a weekend getaway. Eat your heart out’.

This was my personal message on my blackberry device. My cousins and I had planned a weekend girls-only getaway to the popular Peemos resort in Sapele. It was Wednesday and I couldn’t wait for the weekend. I needed the distraction as badly as a lunatic needed to relish “yama-yama” (refuse dump). My bags were packed and I was already daydreaming about it. My stressed and overworked best friend, Shafe would most probably be in his office (as usual) and I just had to rub it in. This I did with the above message and a picture of him as my display picture. Funny enough, after my long writing hiatus, for reasons I can’t explain(to be honest, 80% of the reasons are based on laziness, pure and simple), this simple personal message led to a lot of discussions, arguments and it has culminated in two articles. This is the first.

My friend pinged me almost immediately after I put up the picture and asked if Shafe was a married man. I answered in the affirmative and she told me that if she were his wife, she’d beat the crap outta me and that even if she saw her husband in her dreams as my display picture, she’d fight too (err…babe, in reality or in your dreams, I’d beat you black, blue and purple. Just give me the where and when. Ok, bye *flees through back door*).Though she said it in a humorous tone, the underlying seriousness could not be mistaken. I told her he was my best friend and she told me that space was reserved for his wife. I reminded her that I never said I was his best friend. This was what started the discussion(it has still not ended) which eventually led to the issue of single girls and their married friends.

As a girl in her late twenties, I happen to have quite a lot of friends who are married. While being married is a desire that used to be a priority for me, it has moved down the scale due to some unforeseen circumstances (won’t tell, don’t ask. And yes, I still want to get married o). But then I still dance my heart out whenever my friends get married. I’m thrilled and excited for them. It also breaks my heart, it really does, when some of these marriages end up in such disasters that the couple never want to see, much less speak to each other again. The very mention of the other’s name is anathema to them and I sometimes end up in the middle; a position as uncomfortable as a boil on one’s ass.

When these ladies get married, it seems they join a club. One that probably has as a motto ‘single girls are the enemy, forget what the bible says. The devil is a woman and she is single’. This motto becomes so ingrained that it becomes a personal mantra to them. They pout and make faces when they see single girls, including their friends and keep asking annoying questions like ‘when you wan marry now’. ‘find one man marry now’, ‘you never tire for single life’ and the clincher ‘you single girls sef’. Oh, you can trust me; my answers are almost always equally as rude.

Now I get it that they are trying to protect their husbands from the single ladies and all that. Okay, that’s a lie. I don’t get it at all. You want to do that, go to his office and pass the memo around. Go to the banking hall and forbid single ladies from attending to him. Go to the gas stations and forbid single females from selling fuel to him. Forbid nurses, sales girls, stewardesses, customer care agents, computer operators, police women, etc from coming around your husband. If you can, please do. But not the friends, who worked tirelessly for the success of your wedding.

When my close friends get married, I never appear in the photo album. Except you count the ones where I appear doing their bridal make up, serving food, giving out souvenirs, tying their mother’s gele, cleaning their dad’s shoes, berating the photographer for being late, shouting at the people in charge of food, decorating the car, and picking up the money from the ground when its spraying time because they can’t trust anyone else to do it, all with mismatched bathroom slippers, a banging headache and last night’s make up on my face. And I wouldn’t have it any other way. It doesn’t matter whether I was too busy to take my bath or not. All that matters is that the wedding is a smashing success.

Fast forward 3 months after the wedding, I have officially become ‘you single girl’ and she gently breaks it to me that she doesn’t like the fact that I still call her husband by his first name. An air of superiority settles on her and suddenly my friend has turned into a stranger. Oh well!Let’s not even talk about the married women who meet you at the supermarket or salon, take one look at your ring finger and looks up at you with malice, disgust and derision. A woman you’ve never met! If you’re wearing a short dress that day and her husband happens to be with her, may God help your soul, her eyes will continually shoot daggers at you punctuated with long hisses.

I know men cheat mostly with single girls, but don’t they also cheat with married women as well? I know that single girls sometimes go after their husbands, but then more often than not, it’s the men that go after them. If this is not marital insecurity largely based on trust and self esteem issues, then my grandmother won a medal in long jump at the last Olympics. But then my friend did say my perspective will change when I get married, we’ll see about that.

Sisi Clara, don’t put me in a box.

I remember it like it was yesterday. We had just been put into groups for our up-coming seminar presentation and I was standing outside the seminar room, straining my eyes to see the list of names above the heads of other people in front me without my glasses. It was first semester and though we were all just getting to know each other and forming tentative friendships that would or would not last for the duration of the post graduate programme, I was already one of the most popular people in class.

Whether they liked me or not, the fact was everyone knew me. Or they thought they did. She was one of the more elderly people in class. Probably in her forties, she was one of the people who looked at me in a way I really couldn’t decipher-kind of like a mixture of disdain, pity, malice, disregard and loads of dislike. And we had never even said a word to each other. I breeze into class with my mega watts smile and hug everyone who found me good enough to talk to. She wasn’t one of them but you‘d probably guessed that already.

Back to the story, she stood near me, trying to find her group too. The people in front of me moved away into class discussing their various topics and I had space to move closer. I was jotting down my topic on research methodology when the guy beside me spoke. “Princess, you look so nice this morning. Fine girl, how body?” I smiled and greeted him in return. He then went on to tease me on how he’d like to marry me if not for the fact that he was taken. I burst out in laughter and that was when she spoke. “Marry who? People like Princess no dey fit stay for husband house o”. My jaws dropped. My laughter died.

I’d like to say that I ranted and raved about the kind of people that could stay in husband houses to the yeye woman but that would be a lie. I couldn’t say a thing. I was speechless. I didn’t even hear the man’s reply. Blood had rushed to my head and all I could hear were her words. My eyes followed her as she moved away like she hadn’t said a thing. If a friend hadn’t come to drag me away for one reason or the other which I can’t remember right now, I’d probably still be standing there.

But she wasn’t the only one in my class who had put me in a box. Throughout first semester, people complained when they were put in groups with me. They figured that since I was tattooed, loved short dresses, loved to rock my full natural hair, loved extra big earrings, loved to laugh and goof around, would never raise my hands to answer any question in class except when called upon by name, laughed instead of contributing to discussions and arguments; that I had to be a ‘blockhead’. That my head was big for nothing and that I had a rich father who had nothing else to do with his money and so sent his spoilt daughter to get a Masters degree. Yes, someone actually told me that. Rich father? I laugh in Chinese. If only they knew how I was moving mountains to pay my school fees while trying not to close down my business from the heavy expenses.

But wait. Must I wear a suit to class? Do you have any idea how hot Nigeria is? Must I answer a question? Is it by force? Must I wear maxi dresses and tie my head? Must I try to fit into your perception of what a young girl should be? Must I come to night class when I have a house simply because that is what others are doing? Exactly who can stay in a husband’s house? Do I have to wear long, shapeless gowns for people to see me as a wife material? If so, then how come pastors end up been divorced? Why judge a book by its cover? Why not get to know me before drawing any conclusions? You just might be suprised.

Well, suprised they were when exams came. No one wanted to sit with me, even my friends except a girl who was my course mate during my bachelor degree days. She blatantly refused to sit with anyone else. By the time we were done with the second paper the next week, it was as if the world had shifted albeit in a very subtle manner. Everyone looked at me with new found respect. Some actually brought academic problems to me. Me? The generally acclaimed olodo of the class? Empty rectangle head? Okay o. It was only a few brave friends who owned up to the fact that they had judged me wrongly. Others never did but at least, they respected me now.

By second semester, it was a whole different situation. No one judged me by my playful demeanor anymore, hell, they even seemed to like it. I doubt there was anyone that didn’t end up as my friend by the time final exams came. Including sisi clara who could stay in her husband’s house. And eventually I was convinced to attend night class for a few days although I ended up sleeping on a desk and eating bread and eggs at 2am. Mad fun, loved it.

I still face those challenges; at work and at play. I have realized the merits of dressing appropriately but that is if my head does not shake that day. But even on days that I am dressed like a member of Deeper Life Assembly (no offence meant), one look at my tattoo by the people I meet and we are back to square one. Sometimes I wonder if the tattooist drew an empty head with two small circles within instead of a butterfly and have to look at it again just to be sure.

When I see people and I’m tempted to judge and put them in a box, I give myself a mental knock on the head. Pot calling kettle black. But I’m confident enough to be me and I appreciate it when others are as well. I own who I am and I’m always true to myself. Notorious for saying what I like and doing what I want, I have come to understand that some people may never see me as being good enough. I have also come to understand that it’s human nature to see a person and draw certain conclusions. But please draw your conclusions in pencil and be open hearted enough to truly know the person. Who knows, you might need an eraser. Yes, you just might be suprised!

Eseosa Princess Ogbeide