Not all wounds are visible.

Not all wounds are visible.

I am one of those people who see depression as a far-far destination. Like how does something this minor break you so bad.
But I forget sometimes and have to remind myself, “Slippers get size”
If anyone says a matter is hurting them, instead of disproving this, perhaps we can try to find ways to offer relief? maybe?
Faith found a way to explain why as plainly as possible. I thought I’d appreciate the effort and spread the much needed awareness.

Phaytea's Pulse

You can never really tell where it hurts….

Over the weekend, I read about the case of a man who told his driver to stop abruptly on a bridge, after which he got down from the vehicle and plunged into the lagoon immediately . He was reportedly taking a call when this happened. He was a doctor.

I screamed!!!!

This is just one out of the numerous cases that happens around the world. We hear about some and others are blown away with the wind. This is an intense piece for me as I cannot begin to imagine what transpires within those nano seconds before ……. (dark space).


August Alsina’s song ‘Nobody Knows’ comes to mind. Nobody really knows the pain behind that smile…..

We only see the surface and assume we are all fine. The flashy cars, picture perfect lifestyle, fancy job titles, pictures of vacations and lunch at…

View original post 635 more words

Mogbo moya

My fanciest clothes are always out on the weekends

I don’t struggle with ironing. For a fee, Ahmed who lives in front of the compound makes sure I’m wrinkle free.

I usually babysit Gboyega’s car during the weekends too. He was recently transferred to an out of country office, has not found need to ship his car over, and would not sell because he had the car done up to suit his taste. It’s a 2015 Toyota Avensis. Considering how ugly I thought the earlier models were, I never thought driving an Avensis would excite me as much as the thought of the weekends do now.

My name is Dasola,  and this is how I spend my Saturdays.

I usually wake at 5 am because I prefer to fix my breakfast before my traditional run (usually starts up as run and ends as a long walk).I’m kitted and out the door by 6am, God forbid I forget my earphones. I “run” and I’m back within the hour, shower and have my breakfast. Ordinarily I’d have my laundry sorted while Mercy,my young Igbo friend whose mother fries akara across the street, cleaned the house. But recently Mercy begged for her brother to do the washing, for a token of course. She sounded like he really needed the money and since she has never stolen anything from me before now, I thought I’d oblige her.

“Bia Nwoke,  as you can see, I’m only letting you go through my stuff because your sister is my girl. This is lagos, if I shout “ole” we will lynch you and then ask questions later,you understand?” I tried to sound stern and pull off the little Igbo I’d picked while warning Mercy’s brother. Mercy was behind me and I caught her from the corner of my eye nodding in agreement.

So now that the usual chores are out of the way, I take the time to go grocery shopping and buy supplies for my workplace if need be.

Whatever the case, I make sure I’m home by 3pm, to head out at 4pm.

You see, the reason my best clothes are out in the weekend is because I have a habit.

I’m a gate-crasher. I’d gate-crash your parties, weddings, whatever event.

I have been doing this for so long now that the bouncers know me. Some of the caterers and the servers too. I’d blush and find it embarrassing, except that it’s a really good rep if you asked me. It means your “invitation only” event already has me on the list. It means that no matter when I show up, the waiter at your event has small chops saved for me.

I am a huge fan of Owambes. I figured if someone already paid for entertainment there is no need for me to go and spend money at a bar or lounge or whatever, buying drinks and forming “living the life”.

You may wonder how I hear about what events may be happening. When the bible said all things work together for the good of those who love God it wasn’t playing AT ALL!

Instagram comes in handy. When your fancy pre-wedding pictures come online, I find out if I know somebody that knows somebody. When I do find, I holla at them for details.

Fortunately, I have the most non-judgemental friends, they always indulge my habits and provide these info willingly. If they use it to yab me behind my back (I have heard a couple of gist,*rme), consign them really!

Also my hot cake caterer-turned allies also help me with details and what not. Sometimes I’m even spoilt for choice (Ha!I know right!).

Anyways, today is a beautiful sunny day in the city, and my face beat is so fleek you can cut through a crowd with the wings of my eyeliner. I’m feeling particularly good about today’s event. My favourite dessert person is catering the event,  and I cannot wait to dig in.

My inner fat girl is coming out to play but looking at my reflection, you can never tell. I smile at my reflection and as the highlight on my face hits the mirror, I feel it’s ray hit all the way across town.

Her Weakest Strength

A good heart”.

That’s the name they gave to her condition.

She was without a doubt the kindest person you may never meet, and the honesty in her words flowed like melted butter.

She didn’t kid herself into thinking that she could wish away the evils of the world, but she was hopeful enough to believe in the good in everyone.


That was her name.

And unlike the amber-coloured vessels in Chemistry, she didn’t hold any volatility within. If anything, she wore her heart on her sleeves.

It’s a nice accessory” she responded every time a friend commented to that effect. “What I am trying to say is XYZ has no reason to lie to me. We are not even close enough for me to care

Oh, Amber! This was the problem.

Reuben walked into your life in perfect order; saved you from an embarrassing situation, defended you a second time without knowing your first name and helped you meet an urgent need.

He was your Knight in shining armour, even if you claimed to not subscribe to clichés.

Ruby, that was your pet name for him, would never lie to me” that was your defence every time someone pointed out a situation didn’t add up.

Every time he called you beautiful, you believed him.

Every time he promised to do better, you believed him.

Every time he said he loved you, you believed him.

Not because on your own you felt the need for a sense of validation, but because in your books all his goodness had crossed out his tiny flaws.

What are humans without their flaws?” you jokingly ask.

You were right in believing Ruby, Dear Amber.

He did mean those things every time he said them to you.

He never intended to do you wrong. He got carried away and forgot to mention his engagement.

Time went by so fast and he didn’t get the chance to explain he was already taken.

He showed up on his wedding day asking you to elope with him, so that he can do right by you.

Good intentions never resolve the issues, Dear Reuben.

Amber hasn’t been out of her room in 3 weeks. We know she is not dead because we hear her singing. We know she is still sane because we hear her sobbing.

Ode to the Pink Panthers

Its the International Women’s day 2017 edition, and it has been very colourful on the web pages, and on the radio ( I can’t tell how many times Shaggy’s “Strength of a Woman” has played on the radio today) and in the conversations.

I love the idea of being a woman being celebrated. I got caught in a few arguments from the “men too” troupe, who wanted to know why Men didn’t have their own day set apart for celebrating (They should be grateful we let them have birthdays 😁)

There has been so much citations on the victories and travails of the womenfolk, but while I was praying for all the women in my life today, I didn’t necessarily count the victories that are very evident.

I counted the victory of the woman who relentlessly kept up her children’s standard of living, in exchange for her peace of mind.

I counted the victory of the woman who didn’t resort to violence but chose to forgive every time she came in contact with the one who abused her.

I counted the victory of the woman who in spite of her agonizing stillbirth, determined to get pregnant again, and birth a child.

I counted the victory of the woman who looks nothing like all the tears welled up inside her.

I counted the victory of all the business ventures who refused to be backed to the corner by contrary forces.

I counted the victory of the woman who in spite of running her family goes on to achieve all of her dreams and goals.

I counted every woman who chooses to support other women in every way they can.

Their stories make this day special.

Their stories give us a colourful aspiration.

Happy International Women’s Day! Because you are worth it!


Maybe it’s because I woke up to the news of people, including my friends mom, passing.

Maybe it’s the sincerity I felt when she said to me “thanks for coming”, and I asked her why, under estimating the value of my presence.

It’s the earnest way she replied “having you around lit up my weekend”.(Her exact words.)

It has to be that.

I’m so used to having my mother so strong and independent (I sometimes blame my  disinclination to be mushy on her), that hearing those words from her resonated in me.
I didn’t think she was a brick without feelings, but I assumed she never felt lonely or missed us, her children.

I was wrong.

I have never thought it weakness to express feelings of loneliness or even mushiness,  but it has become even more validated in my life, the need to express them.

I aim to constantly grow and review my ideals. I’m going to call my mother more, make her visit more, visit her more. Less of the “taking for granted”, more of the “memory making”.

Make the most of this time that we gave together before the Lord calls her home.

Because shame on me if there are obvious characteristics and more potentials in the beautiful woman that I don’t help her explore and express to its fullest.

In the meantime,Thank you Mammy! For not coddling me.

😘😘😘, Jemjem.

Halfway Across The Friendzone, Turn Left

I feel it ever so gently.

It’s not creepy stealthy even though I am asleep; instead it resonates all the unspoken affection. The strokes are soothing, I snuggle up closer.

I’m a light sleeper, and I figure you know this by now.

You must have felt me wake,  but I try my best to maintain my breathing.

I’m safe here.

It’s pretence but it’s safer because I am afraid of the possible outcomes; the play out of events when my eyes spring open.

The decisions that would have to be made.

The unspoken that would have to be heard.

I’m too much of a coward to brace this yet.

Unconsciously I let out a soft sigh, and I swear I hear you whisper “it’s ok, I’ll wait.”

One Nigeria.

Before I went to bed last night, my friends uncovered something that may have been evident to even more people. It was clearly beyond speculations.

Nigeria’s celebrated artiste Innocent Idibia aka 2 baba, formerly 2face, had spread word about organising a peaceful protest/march in the metro cities of Lagos and Abuja,Nigeria on Monday 6th of February, 2017(today). The aim of this protest was/is to demand good governance, Accountability and efficiency from our leaders.

However, on the morning of Sunday 05th February, 2017, 2face (my preferred of his names) released a video retreating from anchoring the march. In his words “… the intent of the march is not worth the life of any Nigerian…”

He was evidently looking harassed and upset, but I assumed it was because of the lack of support and interference of ignorant  (if I do say so myself) Nigerians and law enforcement agencies.

It was until a picture from a wedding he performed at the day before (saturday) that it became clear, obvious that he was bullied into backing down.

And na there I come vex.
There are so many things wrong with Nigeria, and I am tired of blaming it on the leaders alone. It is stark evident that the issue with this country is more about the people than the anything else.

How does someone stand up to do what is right, and long overdue and you applaud his efforts but undermine his suitability as a frontman because of his personal life decisions which affect his sense of social and political  judgement in no way?

My (Our) theory is that he was picked up by the law enforcers (hence the non-outfit change) and threatened some more.

If Nigerians weren’t feeble and feckless, maybe he would have called their BS and still championed on today. Alas,we are who we are. If not that I haven’t lived anywhere else to base my judgement on fact, I’d have said that we were made up of a bunch of Judases in this country.

I am glad people still showed up in those cities and made their voice heard.

He who has ears, let them hear.

Shame on all the police men who were in the way of expression. Denying democratic citizens of their right.

Shame on all the sleazy politicians who had a thing or two against the protest to say. If it is not pinching you, Sir, IT IS PINCHING US! if you don’t know what we are talking about, we made a list for example;

And you know how back in school, the example was always the easy stuff. Same here o! Same theory applies to this our little list.

A revolution cannot happen until we change our lipservice ways as citizens of Nigeria. A revolutionary also is not signing up to be a saint, there is no need to condemn his flaws and disrespect his mission on that account.

I’m tired of being Nigerian, can you tell?

And even worse, those IPOB jokers are brewing fantasies. Ugh!

Aluta Continua.Pro Unitate!