AVOID THE 'D' ON A SUNDAY MORNING

This is a story of how I learnt to avoid the 'D' on a Sunday Morning.

So I attended Covenant University (I don't know if I had stated this little detail prior to now) Good school, serene environment, pretty decent (unlike what some bad belle people think). In each halls of residence, the blocks of rooms are known as "wings". There are about 7 wings in each hostels, A-G. Now unfortunately for me, my room happened to be in D wing which brings me to my story.

On this fateful Sunday, I was ready to leave for the 7am first service at the university chapel. The hall was bustling with the kind of rush associated with Sunday mornings, ladies were struggling to leave the hall for fear of being locked in thereby marked absent from service which entailed serious consequences. We had to sign out of the Hostel before leaving for the church service (attendance to all events especially religious ones are really strict in Covenant University). 

After searching fruitlessly for the D wing attendance sheet for about 15 minutes, I figured I should ask around in case someone I didn't know was in possession of  it, so I proceeded to shout at the top of my voice "Please oo where is the 'D'!!!????". (Readers, I swear to you, I said that with no suggestive intentions in mind) but the hall became as silent as a graveyard and all the bustle and rush seemed to come to a stand still.

After an awkward moment of people staring at me with puzzled expressions, someone a coursemate of mine, I'm guessing in an attempt to kill the awkwardness said "ahan Oshokoooooo!!!! You can't be looking for the 'Dee' on a Sunday Morning, One simply doesn't look for the 'D' on a day like this."

Looking back, that was one very funny incident that I can't help but blush at. It happened, and I can tell you that I have learnt not to look for  the 'D' on Sundays-Or any other days at all.

Your Naive Friend,
Peace Oshoko.

This is to all willing viewers, those who I have to force to view and potential viewers of my blog. So based on logistics, (Okay I really have to stop saying that) Based on the fact that I am very open to constructive criticism, I have received from feed-backs from you guys stating that my articles or pieces so to write, are a bit too long for your perusal. Taking this into consideration, I have decided to cut-down on writing long stories to encourage easier reading.
I also want to use this opportunity to thank you guys for sharing in my various stories, thank you for reading and thank you for laughing at me. Cheers!

Your Naive friend,
Peace Oshoko.

A VISIT TO THE MARKETPLACE

I do not like Markets, I do not like them because they are always crowded with people and I’m claustrophobic in nature. I do not like marketplaces particularly because they are noisy as a result of the never ending multitude of women haggling and in haggling; they seem to always feel the need to raise their voices thereby giving me a headache. I detest the marketplace, for the reason that they are messy and they stink, you can literally perceive the foul stench of damaged tomatoes and pepper, frozen food, which are not frozen anymore due to  unstable electricity  and rotten fish {oh and I hate fish too!} Ultimately, from this overview I'm sure I have very well established my abhorrence for the Marketplace and its activities.

As a result of my “Market-Phobia”, I always found a means of escape from my mom when it was time for one of those visits to the market, at times I would feign sleep, other times I would just lock myself up in my room and she would knock on my door till she is weary and mildly frustrated from knocking at a door that won’t open itself, and on some of my defiant and petulant days, I would tell her that I just don’t want to go. Random fact about my mom is that she loves to cook, she’s a caterer and so that kinda explains her love for the kitchen and its’ activities. So with ones’ love for cooking also comes love for shopping for the ingredients to cook with… right???

On this very fateful day, my luck had run out as I happened to be in the car with my mom while coming back from an event, and she decided to stop at the market, “Egbeda Market” precisely to buy food stuff, that day she got me good! All the same I still had to try so I grumbled something about being sleepy, when I said it; I knew that I sounded pathetic, and unbelievable. It was a weak attempt really; Mother saw through my act and just gave me this look, her face full of amusement and told me to “come on! Will I jump out of the car and help her out?” then she added that I better wipe the sleep off because we would still have to cook dinner together.

Our first stop was the dried fish section, as stated earlier, I do not like Fish, they stink so badly and they make your mouth stink as well after eating but all the same we had to shop for some stinky Titus fish! After that we went to the "Eleran" section of the market to purchase Cow meat. As we approached the tables of the men who butchered and sold animals for a living, shouts of "auntie mi!” “Mama!" or "my customer!" filled the air. I was amused because I'm sure my Mom didn't purchase meat from each and every one of them which left me wondering where the show off love and familiarity was really coming from. 

Readers, you know the most fascinating thing about following my mother to the market? I'll tell you, It is all about watching her price Meat or other "price-able stuff'" because I know there are certain stuff you can't price however, the ones you can price, My God! Trust my beloved Mother to cut down prices in half or less than half. It gets so bad to the point where I start to feel sorry for the traders who are trying to make ends meet. After being told that a particular price of meat was 4000 Naira, my mother picked the Slab of Meat up, turned it up and down and scrutinized it with so much disdain, apparently this is another trick used by buyers to tell sellers that their merchandise is not all that and they would rather buy elsewhere thereby causing the seller to reduce the price or give out a discount. 

After the meat inspection, she proceeded to inform the Meat seller that she would not be paying more than 1500 Naira for that piece of Meat, according to her after all, it was all bony, and few flesh. At the mention of that price, I indignantly just exclaimed "Ah Mommy!” Mother glared at me and told me in my local dialect to shut up so that she could get a good bargain, in her words, money wasn't easy to come by and when i had my own family, i should take a cue from her bargaining Prowess.

I was already frustrated about staying too long in the market and then there was also the paranoia that I would smell of stinky fish or meat by the time we were done, so I just wanted her to pay the Man the Money he asked for because we had the money and more. 

I left the Market impressed with my Mom because in-spite of the Meat seller's objections, resistance and in the end, profuse begging, Mother was assertive and unwavering, and consequently we ended up paying 1500 Naira for a big juicy piece of Meat.

I learnt that day Prudence, Resolution and the art of Bargaining from my Mom, and it don't matter the level of your buoyancy, you should still try to cut down prices, because prices are not always what they seem.

Your naive Friend,

Peace Oshoko.

  

THE STORY OF THE LUBES

 Disclaimer!!!

Okay before I start on this story, let me first note that if you aren't above 18 years old leave quickly o! moonwalk off my blog now before I taint your unsullied minds.

Someone recently told me after a heated debate with him that I sound "unbelievably innocent", later in the privacy of my cloak room I would try to decode what those words meant and finally come to a suitable conclusion. What he was actually trying to say in a subtle manner was that I might be one of those hypocritical young ladies who are familiar with the ways of the world in some sense but pretend to be naive and oblivious of these happenings. In his defense though, I can understand why a twenty year old who is ignorant about relationships, dating, and sex related topics can be unbelievable in our present perverse society.

Preamble over! let's start the story;  I have a very good friend at the office, her name is Joanna, fondly called "Jojo" by many, she is beauty and brains bound up in one slender body lol! Joanna's Godmother owns a respectable Pharmacy store just opposite the office, so we sometimes stroll over to buy stuff, or "play  with G-mama" {Jojo's pet name for her God mother}. G-mama's Pharmacy is very foreign looking, unlike any pharmacy I've seen in Lagos {so I don't know what pharmacy stores on the island looks like, sue me!}. During one of our numerous visits to the pharmacy, my eyes caught some colorful and pretty shaped bottles on a shelf and on subsequent visits to the store my eyes would somehow wonder to that particular shelf and I would just stare in awe of the colorful bottles. {I love bright colors!}.  

Unknown to me, Jojo had been watching me for a while as I stared at these bottles, one day she had to ask me why my eyes were always glued to the same shelf whenever we were at the store, I decided to be honest with my friend and so I admitted to her my fascination for those fancy bottles, I was just gushing to her about how pretty and well packaged the boxes were, then I guess she asked me if I knew what those "pretty bottles" were used for. I hadn't really thought about that aspect though, but at that point, after briefly thinking, I came to the most absurd inference that it had got to be an "edible gel" like one of those really yummy foreign candies that Yankee kids snack on {after-all G-mama's pharmacy had a foreign aura}. 

 My beautiful friend looked at me at first like "this girl has got to be joking" but my very clueless and confused expression convinced her that Peace Oshoko was not joking. Jojo laughed at me o! she had a good laugh at the whole situation, and she went on about how i was "so cute" I was still looking like "okay why are you laughing now"? Jojo then explained to me, in very sketchy details, the function of the "Lubricating Gel". Yeah! you heard me! it was a freaking Lubricating Gel used in the act of sexual intercourse, then i asked her who actually makes use of the "Lube" {that sounds more funky} I wanted to know if it was the woman or the man that made use of his product. Jojo then threw the question back to me and asked me who I thought made use of it. Readers, that was how I messed up again and told her with my award-winning Obama-Confidence that it had to be a woman's thing. Jojo burst into another round of laughter, she didn't need to point out the accurate answer because right there and then, I figured it out.

This is another story of naive ol'me, growing and making new discoveries for myself in our fast evolving society. 

Hope you had a nice read!

Your naive friend,

Peace Oshoko.

MY FIRST LAGOS TRIP ALONE

Disclaimer!!!!

I wasn't born with a silver spoon o!!! Before you people will now be saying that this girl is too "butty". As a matter of fact, i was born into a not-so-comfortable financially family, in a Nigerian-ghetto neighborhood (which explains why my slangs are tight!) but the Lord did his thing in our pockets. lol!!!

However as i stated in my last blog post, My Sister and I grew up under very tight protection from our parents, so we hardly ever went out to visit people but on rare occasions when we did, it was in the company of either or both of our parents. Prior to this time I had never attempted a trip via public transport alone. Which brings me to my story!

Earlier this year during one of my NYSC CDS (Community Development Service) we had to visit a public secondary school at "Onipetesi". Now I didn't even know where that place was located at. I was busy thinking to myself "Onipetesi! where is that? is that the name of a place or the surname of a person?". actually several thoughts came to mind other thoughts included "How am i going to get there? "I don't even have enough transport fare on me", "What if the place is close to "Obalende", or "Sango Ota", or some really far place like "Yaba"?. This thoughts were spun from the fact that I don't even like going on long distance trips because of this motion sickness- claustrophobia thingy going on with me. (I'm a special child like that). 

And so it came to pass that on that day my Daddy dropped me off at Ikeja Local Government secretariat where my CDS held, My fellow CDS members waited for my dad to leave before they brought up the Onipetesi trip. I was livid, because I sensed a spiteful aura around my CDS colleagues, I mean, why wait for Mr Oshoko (my dad) to leave before bringing the trip up? they knew well enough that my daddy would have dropped me off at Onipetesi if he was aware. 

So, we set out as a group, and I was particularly grateful for that, (even though I would not voice it out because I also resented them). It turned out to my pleasant surprise that Onipetesi estate was just a 50 Naira bus from Ikeja. 

Then again, my joy was short-lived. It was time for us to disperse to our various abodes, that was when I knew I was in for a very turbulent day. First of all, I had to ask someone, a corp member like myself to show me the bus to take to my house (as if the niggress knew my house), I told her I was going to Baruwa sha, so she directed me to enter an Iyana-Ipaja bus and then she assured me that I would be able to locate my way home from the bus- stop. We actually entered the bus together and everything seemed like it was going to be alright for a moment.

Or so I thought. On getting to the Iyana-ipaja bus-stop, I gave a hearty wave to my friend who had helped me out and with Obama-Confidence, trekked the road. After what seemed like a long trek, I realized that I didn't know where the bloody-hell I was going to. I am not a pragmatic thinker and so I started to panic on the road. I was visibly alarmed and I didn't know what to do, I was fighting the tears because I didn't want typical nosey Nigerians to start telling me how I should "stop being a baby", or how I should "learn to start being independent". After walking aimlessly to and fro, wondering how on earth  would be able to cross the express road, some "good Samaritan" sighted me from across the vast main road and crossed over, and then asked me in his poor English if I needed help in crossing. I was skeptical about accepting this man's help because he looked rough, like all these "agbero" conductors. I had no option and before I could even say "yes please" the man had grabbed my hand and led me to the edge of the road, he looked left and right briefly and then we both ran across the road. I thanked him profusely and I would have offered him money but i didn't have enough on me, then he pointed to some very vague place and told me to take a "Keke-Napep" (tricycle) to my bus-stop, then he proceeded to ask me for my phone number, I just walked off, now with the conviction that human intentions could never be genuine.

I still had one issue now that i had been able to cross the road, I still had to find my way home. I looked round and I saw a group of "Okada" men (motorcycle riders) so with Jesus Joy in my heart, I skipped to the "Okada" park and i demanded to be taken to "Egbeda". The men looked at me for a second like I was nuts, (apparently no one took a straight bike from Iyana-Ipaja bus-stop to Egbeda) for this reason, they were convinced that they had met a "mugu" so I was charged N1000 to Egbeda, but I had only 700 naira, still they agreed to take me to Egbeda for that price. I was grateful for that then, but now I realize that they could have taken me to Egbeda for even 200 Naira. Nothing else mattered to me but the fact that I just wanted to be out of that strange environment.

The Okada man dropped me off at Egbeda and then from there I found my way home.

That was my first Experience with public transportation in Lagos alone. I think I handled myself pretty well. Don't you?

Your Naive Friend,
Peace Oshoko