We should all be feminists - Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie at TEDx

An Act of Kindness

A man was driving home one evening on a small country road. Work in this small Midwestern community was almost as slow as his beat-up Pontiac, but he never quit looking for a job. Ever since his factory had closed down, he had been unemployed. And with winter coming, he had reached a point of practical desperation.
It was dark, and he almost didn’t see the old lady stranded on the side of the road. But even in the dim light of day, he could see she needed help. So he pulled up in front of her Mercedes and got out. His Pontiac sputtered as he walked up to her, and he noticed that she seemed very worried. No one had stopped to help her for the last hour or so. She was wondering: “is he going to hurt me? He doesn’t look safe; he looks poor and hungry. This does not look good”. He sensed that she was frightened, standing out there alone in the cold, so he offered her some reassurance: “Ma’am, I’m just here to help you. Why don’t you wait in the car where it’s warm, and I’ll see if I can fix your car? By the way, my name is Joe”.
All she had was a flat tire, but for an old lady, that was bad enough. Joe crawled under the car, looking for a place to put the jack. He cut his hands on the hard rocks underneath the axle but was soon able to change the tire. As he was tightening up the lug nuts, she rolled down her window and began to talk to him. She told him that she was from St. Louis and was just passing through. She could not thank him enough for coming to her aid. He just smiled as he closed her trunk and started returning to his car.
“Tell me, how much do I owe you?” she asked. “I’ll be glad to pay anything you ask.”
To her surprise, Joe looked back at her and said, “If you really want to pay me back, the next time you see someone who needs help, you give them the help they need, and then—just think of me”. He waited until she started her car and drove off. It had been a cold and depressing day, but he felt good as he headed home in the twilight.
A few miles down the road, this same lady saw a small café. She went in to grab a bite to eat and take the chill off before she made the last leg of her trip home. It was a dingy-looking restaurant. One could tell business was not going well. Nevertheless, the waitress came over and brought a towel for her to wipe her wet hair. She wore a sweet smile, and even though the lady could tell the waitress was extremely tired, she was eager to please. She also noticed the waitress was nearly eight months pregnant, but neither the strain of the pregnancy nor the labor of the work was struggling just to make ends meet. She wondered how someone with so little could be so giving to a stranger. Then she thought of Joe.
After the lady finished her meal, the waitress went to get her change from a $100 bill, but the lady slipped out the door. She was gone by the time the waitress came back. The waitress wondered where the lady had gone. Then she noticed something written on a napkin, in the shape of a poem. It brought tears to her eyes. It said:
You don’t owe me a thing,
I’ve been there too;
Someone once helped me out the way I’m helping you.
If you really want to pay me back,
Here’s what you do;
Don’t let the chain of Kindness
End with you.
The waitress finally made it to the end of the day. Later that night, when she got home from work and climbed into bed, she thought about the money and what the lady had written. How could the woman have known how much she and her husband needed it? With this baby coming next month, it was going to be extremely difficult, especially with her husband out of work. As she lay down in bed, she gave him a soft kiss and whispered, “Everything is going to be all right. I love you, Joe.”
Take every opportunity to be kind. Ralph Waldo Emerson once said, “You cannot do a kindness too soon, for you never know how soon it will be too late.”
PLEASE take note that your act of kindness might not end up like this. As a matter of fact it may even be quite far from this BUT “You’ll reap if you faint not” ~Gal 6:9~

Her past haunts me!

So I recently found out the worst thing ever. My girlfriend (Similolu) of a few months whom I genuinely care for once dated my older brother!

She’s a sweet, decent girl or so I thought till I found out that my bad-boy brother had once been with her in her first year of Uni at Igbinedion University. He was also a student there after having left Unilag due to cultism issues. He had promised to renounce the secret society and in return, my dad sent him to the University in Edo to start afresh. She was a Level 1 student of Medicine when they met. He was already in his 3rd year of Economics by then. The Medicine department of the University had some challenges and therefore, Similolu had to go to a University in Ukraine to start her degree afresh.

I’m hurt because I have always loved God and put him first. I looked forward to a relationship with a like-minded girl and I thought I had found that in Simi. To think she once was was with my philandering, cheating , weed smoking, unserious brother is just a bit too much for me to bear. I love my brother to bits but the way he handles girls like things is absolutely appalling. He is known to treat women with disrespect. He uses and dumps them. He sleeps with them and then discards them right after. Simi once told me she went the farthest with a particular guy when she first got to Uni and to think that that ‘guy’ is Tunbosun, my older brother is really hard a pill for me to swallow.

I found out when she came to visit me at mine. My brother greeted her fondly, giving her a full bodied hug, lustfully admiring her telling her, ‘you’ve changed o’. She was awkward around him making me wonder what exactly ‘farthest I’ve gone’ entailed.

I know I sound judgmental, I also know I might not being doing What Jesus Would Do but I right now, I think I should just free her and let her go her way. I’m not looking for Miss Perfect but I don’t need someone whose sordid past is so close to home. I think I will constantly have the thought of them together in my head and it will lead to distrust of her, disrespect for her and eventually, contempt for her which will lead to me being repulsed by her.

Old things might be passed away but not when it was with my brother. I see the girls my brother has been with and I will not wish what they go through on my worst enemy’s sister. Imagining Similolu in those shoes just makes me mad…not at him but at her for having so low a self esteem to have dated Tunbosun, a self acclaimed and proud bad boy.

How could she?

Segun had been on my case for at least 2 years.

I met him one hot Saturday as I was waiting for a taxi on a Grogner Street in Iwaya, Onike. He pulled over and asked where I was headed. I don’t ever talk to people on the road but this day, the look of the mist on the window of his air conditioned car made it difficult to ignore him given the extreme heat I was exposed to.

I stepped into his car, grateful for the ride, yet determined to let him know I was no cheap girl that jumps into available cars.

“Thank you so much, Sir, for the ride. I normally wouldn’t do this but I have been standing outside in the sun for at least 30 minutes. The cabs come in trickles and are either taken or too expensive. No one is interested in going my way”

“Where might that be?” He asked, totally ignoring every other thing I had said.

“I’m going to Ikota but I’ll drop off once we get to any major road where I can find a cab”.

“You’re in luck. I’m actually going to VGC but I need to get to Surulere first. So I can either drop you off at a taxi park or you accompany me to Surulere and then I drop you off at your doorstep.”

Inasmuch as I was so eager not to overuse help being rendered, I opted for the latter option. I was in no hurry whatsoever to go my empty home. Mom and dad were on their way to Ikene for a week long engagement and my younger siblings were all in school. My best friend, Mololu had kindly volunteered to spend the week with me but she would not be getting to mine until Sunday night so that meant I’d be spending Saturday night by myself with only Larry, the dog and Mustafa, the gate man, for company.

I looked at my wristwatch, with its recently cracked screen and declared,

“Well, it’s just 1.00 and I’m not in a hurry so I’ll go with you”.

I got to meet him properly. His name is Segun, a businessman who was into the oil and gas sector. He had been working for himself in Libya before moving to Nigeria earlier that year. The Nigerian side of his business was only just growing and was already facing major challenges but a meeting he had in Abuja two weeks from our meeting would determine if a major stumbling block would be removed and his license would be granted. He saw an RCCG band on my wrist and asked me to pray along with him. I promised to.

As he dropped me off at about 4pm that Saturday evening, I felt like I knew him already. Segun was very chatty, divulging a lot so quickly. During those hours we spent together, I also found out that he has a 5 year old daughter by a white French girl he dated all through his university years in France. The lady had gone on to marry another Nigerian and they lived in Port Harcourt with his daughter, Amélie. His dad was long gone and his mom had raised he and his siblings by herself. I did what I do not ever do. I gave him my phone numbers and my pin and from there, we became friends.

The problem with Segun was with his way of showing concern and love. My primary love language is Quality Time and I’m not really the type to get all mushy too early. So it came as a bit of a rude shock to me when I received my first “love you baby”, 2 weeks from the day we met. I really didn’t know what to make of the message and it abruptly ended our chat as I did not respond. To be fair to him, I assumed he was simply overjoyed as he was granted all necessary permits we prayed for, that he spoke out of turn.

About four hours after, at 1 am, I got another message from him telling me how much he’s so into me and how he feels like he has finally found what he had been looking for and if I would be okay being a second mom to his daughter and how he wants me to meet his mom. I read it and responded with a “BRB”. Later in the day, we met up for a meal and then I explained how, though I appreciate his feelings, it was all too soon for me and I would appreciate if I am given a bit more time to be on that kind of level with him. In the meanwhile, I suggested that we remain friends. He looked a bit disappointed but accepted and declared that he was in no hurry and would wait for me however long it took me to realise my feelings for him or develop them.

Segun was extremely generous to me, almost worryingly so. Once he travelled and brought me an orange Hermès’ Birkin 40cm bag which retails for about $2000. I was shocked and despite loving nice stuff, I didn’t want to take it from him initially but I eventually did mentioning it to him that he really didn’t need to spend that much on me and he should focus more on growing his business.

Mololu usually saw one Harrods or Neiman Marcus shopping bag or the other and was always encouraging me to “stop fronting and say yes to Segun before a sharp girl does”. I guess because of the manner in which he approached me, it made me a bit overly cautious since this his asking out was more like a proposal and he seemed so sure of his feelings for me. I slowed things down a lot and outrightly refused to meet his mom for the first three months. I didn’t want to get carried away at all and kept praying and taking things slow. Despite our living so close to each other, I hardly went to his and since I come from a relatively strict home, his visits were sparing as well (of my doing).

About six months after we met, work commitments took him away from Nigeria for a long while. During that period, he would come to Nigeria at least once a month, bombarding me with all manners of gifts. Even when he was not around, he’d randomly have flowers delivered to my office.

He would send handwritten letters by DHL and whenever anyone was travelling to Nigeria, he would have them deliver something to me, however small. There was a time he sent me a bottle of Lucozade because I had lamented that the Nigerian one tasted different. When it came to giving, Segun was without fault. But in my opinion, there was more to consider than how generous a man is.

Sometime, five months ago, Mololu was sent to England for a training to last 3 weeks and she used the opportunity to shop and ended up having 2 extra boxes. She complained over the phone to me telling me the airline was overcharging her and then, partly because I felt it right to help and partly because I had ordered somethings which she was bringing for me, I decided to ask Segun if he could help out since I know he always travelled light and never uses the extra allowance granted to him. He accepted to help bring the extra boxes and I gave her his hotel address to drop them off a day before her flight. He was due in Nigeria a week and half after.

My suspicion was first roused when, upon his arrival, he took the bags to Mololu’s in Ogudu, instead of as I expected, bringing it to me and having us sort ourselves out. I asked for the favour. I mentioned to him that my stuff was included in the box so it came as a surprise to me when he drove all the way to hers the next day to drop the boxes off. When I asked him why he did that, he said the boxes were quite heavy and that he was going that way and decided to drop them off. I had more questions but felt since I was not his girlfriend, there is a limit to the questions I can pose without looking funny. My pride got in the way and I decided not to mention it anymore.

The calls reduced. The texts were shorter. The usual “love you” closing went missing. ‘Mololu too reduced her communication with me. Then one day, she drove to mine and after lunch asked the most random question, ‘Are you and Segun in a relationship?”. She looked like she had struggled to ask that question but at the same time, as though that was her aim for coming to mine.

“Why do you ask?”

“Nothing at all o. Just wondering ’cause you have known him for a while and you said you were praying a while back for direction and was wondering if maybe God said no since you are not dating him”, she mumbled.

“Omololu, did I say we are not dating?”

“Oh sorry. But I kinda know you are not”

At this stage, I know she and Segun must have spoken about our relationship status and so I decided to cut to the chase.

“Did Segun mention it to you himself?”

She looked down and playing with her perfectly manicured nails, said yes. I had noticed she brought a brand new car to mine with a new plate number. She had the black of my Hermes bag too. Wow! I didn’t want to believe what I know just had to be the truth. It was written all over her face. I don’t know where I got the strength but I said not a word after that. Awkwardly, she picked up her bag and car keys. I noticed then it was a Hyundai. It must be the Sonata she always wanted ever since it was released last year. She would always point at every 2011 Sonata she saw on the road and say she’d one day, get it.

To cut the very long tale short, my best friend Omololu and my 2 year old toaster are now together. Segun drove to mine 2 weeks after Omololu did and said somethings to me. He first of all apologised. He said he was not sorry for moving on but sorry that it had to be someone I knew simply because of the sake of his consideration of my feelings and not because it was wrong. He said, as I never for once, declared any form of feelings for him during our almost 2 year friendship, he does not feel he had wronged me in any way. He said he would always be grateful for meeting me as, through me, a door of everlasting joy had been opened to him and he would like my blessing as he walks into it. I was weak.

To be honest, I’m not hundred percent certain which hurts more, the fact that I’m losing a really nice and eligible suitor, that I lost him to a ‘friend’, the sneaky way it happened or the fact that I almost executed the deed for them by creating an enabling environment.

I really wanted to know how it all happened and so I demanded the tale, not from Mololu, but from Segun himself. He told me that the week before he travelled, when he saw her at mine, they had got talking whilst I was in the bathroom and she had mentioned she would be off on training and that she would be doing crazy shopping for her new apartment. They had a few ‘moments’ that day but they did not exchange numbers. It was the day she brought the bags to his hotel that the sparks went flying. She had gotten to his hotel at about 12 noon and they went to out together and he dropped her off at her hotel at about 9pm. Early the next morning, at about 5 am, he drove down to her hotel to take her to the airport himself and from their journey, they got even closer. According to him, he knew that morning that he was ‘home’. That conversation sounded painfully familiar and I couldn’t help my grimace. At that juncture, I held up my hands and told him I was satisfied with the information he furnished and that they both have my blessing. He hugged me and left.

That evening, Omololu updated her status with these words “Those that wait on the Lord will rejoice. I rejoice. Behold, my Boaz!”. His picture was her DP. I remember that picture. I took it with his iPhone whilst trying out an app. Each day, a new picture of him would be put on display. There was even one of herself, Segun and his daughter. She had firmly ingrained herself in his life.

Due to how serious I know Segun is, it came as no shock to me when she told me they were getting married and she really wanted me to be her chief bridesmaid though if I felt I could not do it, she would understand. According to her, she was doing that for the friendship we once shared which she hoped we could revive. I refused. But not before letting her know that I could be counted on if she needed any assistance.

At about 12 midnight, I got this email from her,

“Sweetheart, I love you. God knows I do. I apologise for how I might have hurt you but despite all, I would be a liar to say I would or could elect to do things differently if given a second chance.

Oluwasegun has brought me the type of joy I thought was only for the fairy tales. But through him, I have my very own fairy tale. I love him with all my being. I know I might come across as insensitive and selfish. I am sorry. But please, try and find a place in your kind heart to let go of any hurt you might be experiencing and enter into a place of happiness for me, Omololu, your sister and best friend since our Corona days. It should not be heard that we are fighting over a man and remember, my darling, you never were in a relationship with Segun.

You never took the plunge, you shielded your heart from hurt and refused to commit to anything. I know you babes. When you truly love a man, you have no time for such long due diligence exercises. If you want to be sincere with yourself, you would admit that Segun never did anything to your heart. Your heart did not skip beats with the sound of his voice. Your body never quivered with the touch of his hands. I understand you two never even kissed. You clearly never felt love for him.

However, I cannot discount the friendship you shared. Till date, he still goes on and on about how you are the only friend whose loss moved him to his core. I can testify too of your level of regard of your friendship and respect for him. But my dear, friendship and respect are not solid foundation enough upon which to construct a marriage. You knew this and this is why you stalled. What did not grow in 2 years would most likely never grow.

I hope you understand that the aim of this email is not to throw in your face the fact that Oluwasegun and yourself never had anything concrete but to let you take a proper, honest and dispassionate look at goings on. If you do, forgiving me would come, naturally.

I can’t stop loving you dear. I am sad that the vow we made to each other 16 years ago to be each others’ maids of honour even if one got married first would not be fulfilled. Please, re-examine your heart and find a place in it to forgive me.

Yours now and always,

‘Mololu.”

The tears came pouring down. I couldn’t say exactly why and they were not asking. I felt sorry for myself. I felt sad because I really wasn’t crazy about Segun but we could have made it work, I guess. Omololu now was benefitting from all the prayers I invested in Segun, all the fasting. That, more than anything hurt me. I would have married Segun. I just needed him to pass one more test and voila, I’d have said yes to him. I never thought he’d stop loving me. I never though I’d lose him and certainly not to my friend, my supposed best friend.

***

I eventually decided to be her Chief Bridesmaid and muster strength to be happy for her. There was no faking the look of intense joy on her face when I told her I changed my mind. She jumped on me in her usual boisterous fashion, laughing and crying at the same time.

God has been helping me. It has been hard. Especially when I see the look on Segun’s face as he looks at her. He never looked at me that way, I must confess.

His business has been doing greatly and he is sparing nothing for his wedding. His daughter, upon Omololu’s request, will be both the little bride and the flower girl. Omololu’s nephew will be the ringbearer. Her Eli Saab dress is absolutely beautiful. Segun flew us both to England to get it. She asked for a size bigger and I suspect she is pregnant.

With each day, the feeling of hurt and betrayal gets slowly taken over by happiness for her and hope for my own future. I still haven’t met anyone worth reporting on and despite this, I have joy. Not happiness, but joy; joy that all will turn out well. But for now, I still can’t help from asking myself each time I look at Omololu, ‘How could she?!‘

Making Love With My Husband Is Now Very Irritating

I used to be a happily married woman. But many things have changed. My husband is no longer the man I got married to with so much joy, laughter and dancing. We have been married for 10yrs now, during which I stopped going out and cut off my friends. All I do is work, clean, children, shop and sleep.

 In this 10yrs, my husband has lived like a bachelor. At first, I fought him for this becos I wanted attention and to be loved but with time I withdrew emotionally and this got to the bedroom. Things got so bad that I feel like crying whenever he wants to have s*x with me because it would be brutal, as if it's a blue film. We dont do it often, but whenever he wants it, the thought of having s*x with him was very irritating. 

 However, irrespective of my feelings, for peace sake, I'd do it sometimes half drunk. Despite my efforts to endure all these, he would insult me, beat me, even in front of my mum on several occasions. But I endured becos as a father to my 3 young children he is father of the century so I kept saying it will be selfish for me to leave the marriage. 

 The kids need their daddy because he is a good father but I don't want him because he is not a good husband, he doesn't satisfy me in anyway... either in the bedroom or other dealings as couple. But I kept putting my kids needs first, to my own detriment. The issue is...... when I celebrated my 40th birthday, my husband did not really care or plan to take me anywhere which did not bother me. 

Over the years, I have learnt to start focusing my joy on other things so I have been really happy. On the weekend of my bday, a male colleague at work invited me to lunch as a birthday treat and also thank me for being there when he was going through his divorce. So I asked my husband if it was okay to go since this was on Saturday. He said its fine becos he knew the man and knows the guy was just a friend, so for the first time of my 10yrs marriage, I went out.

 Surprising, when I came back, he started calling me all kinds of names. I was shocked because  he had never been that jealous - becos he believed no man was going to be interested in me as I have stopped taking care of myself. That nite he beat me up mercilessly and I decided enough was enough! That day I moved out of the house. He never believed I could do that becos he knew how much I loved my kids..... but to his greatest shock I did it. 

It's been 5 months now since I left, and I can say my life has changed. I get help financially from family. But sadly, life for him has been miserable without a partner, a companion, someone to make me feel like a woman in the bedroom. Now he too is crying everyday that he wants me to come back home. The kids want us to come back together. 

Strangely, now that I'm now even living with him, I see him more. He stopped going out and wants to spend all his spare time with me. Am confused becos I kind of love my life right now; other 'good' men are already showing interest in me. I'm missing sex so so much and anything can happen. I am still young and very s*xy. 

I know am not a saint in all these because I am stubborn with a bad mouth sometimes. Please I want peoples views on this. Give me your candid opinion. How can I go back to a man who makes love to me violently (even thou I enjoy it sometimes)? I still feel irritated sometimes whenever I imagine him on me. Why cant I just remain a single mother? What do I have to loose if I remain on my own? Please be sincere with me.

My Rape Experience

I feel dirty. I feel used. I feel like jumping off this building. Every day I wake, it is the same thought that goes through my mind.

My childhood was that of a typical teenager. I played with my friends when the time was available, but I always remembered that homework was important. How else would I show I studied after school?

I had gone on a holiday to stay with my Aunt and it was one of the best holidays ever. She had promised to have a small party for me as I turned 13. I looked forward to the weekend as my birthday fell on a week day.

I had woken up and now that I remember I wish I never did. The day went on as usual and nothing ever pointed to what would happen. My Aunt had asked me to buy biscuits from the stall around the corner from the house. It was getting dark, but not too dark for me. I always ran to the stall and back. I asked Paul my cousin who was younger than me to accompany me. As we chatted, that was when I looked up and saw them; five hefty looking boys. They hit Paul on his head and he passed out. I screamed for help as they grabbed me. I wondered what the matter was. I was only thirteen. Did I take what was not mine? I turned to look at Paul, he looked lifeless. The slap across my face brought me back to reality. I begged for mercy as they tore my clothes, laughing and calling me names. I shut my eyes. My legs hurt as they forced them open and I heard them say ‘Na me go start‘…

That was when I opened my eyes and saw the half naked body over me and he hit me across the face for daring to open my eyes and just then I felt the sharp pain as he rammed into me. My scream stopped half way. I felt him being pushed away and a different one continued. All five of them violated my body. I felt nothing. As they ran away leaving me in my blood, I crawled home to get help for Paul.

I still feel nothing years after. All I see is black. My aunt warned that I tell no one. She secretly took me for all the tests available. Yet she said, tell no one. How can I tell anyone that I had lost my virginity to five boys? They would know how dirty am. I am stained, tainted. I am no good. I have no value. I am ashamed because I know it is my fault.  I want out. I hate boys! I hate the girls who have never felt this pain. I hate the world.

He cheated, she stayed: Part 5

It's too soon for me to say how this will all turn out. There are still times when I am suddenly appalled to realize that I am married to a man who could do to me what Sam did. But here's the thing: Sam is appalled—and ashamed, too—and he was appalled and ashamed even when he was with Daphne. 

Meanwhile, I do know this: Much as I am loath to admit that anything good could come out of his affair, our marriage now is, in important ways, often better than it ever was. Sam doesn't dismiss his anger in hopes that it will go away—and he's getting better at pinpointing some of the vulnerable feelings that the anger, like a guard dog, protects. And I've begun paying attention to the parts of him that I fell in love with 12 years ago, and that I never stopped loving, though I let them get buried beneath piles of laundry and dirty dishes. I even try to gaze at him adoringly, though sometimes it comes off more like a crooked grimace. "I'm trying!" I tell him. 

A few weeks ago, I came across the push-up bra in the back of my closet. It embarrassed me—so emphatic, so blatant, more like a prosthetic device than an article of clothing. Yet I couldn't bring myself to throw it away. 

So I tried it on for Sam. And it turns out it still works, still makes my breasts look amazing. He liked it. 

But then, in the middle of sex, I slipped away, unable to stop myself from wondering: Did he touch her like this? Were her breasts bigger than mine? What did he say when he walked through the door of the hotel room—at any of the 21 different hotels where they had sex? 


Sam held me while I cried. Later he asked how long I thought it would take until I was over it, and I had to admit I had no idea. Forever maybe. Or tomorrow.

Then he did something for me that I wasn't able to do for myself. He pulled me out of that ugly, bleak chapter of the past—our past, now—and back into the just-fine present. He said, "I am with you now. I love you now. I want to make our marriage really good again, starting now." 

I blew my nose, took a deep breath, and found myself in his arms—the arms of someone utterly familiar to me, and also completely new and unknown. Which, it turns out—even after all the shock, the hurt, the betrayal—is still where I most want to be.