Musings of an average girl

In recent times, this word, "Savage!", has become a part and parcel of our society. It seems the culture of respect and compassion is dead or at the very least, dying, giving rise to the culture of savagery. The social media while destroying geographical barriers seems to also destroy empathy and compassion. A successful lady posts a picture, captions it, "the taste of success" maybe, and someone comments, "is that why you are not married?". And others will laugh while hailing him to be a "Savage" and I wonder what happened to respect. What happened to thinking before speaking. We live in a society where people post pictures of their best and if they don't have it yet, they fake it. Infact, it has become normal to fake it until you make it. We are a generation of "slay queens" and "swag princes" exposing our inexpressibles on social media. It's fashionable and even commendable to expose your body. Indecent exposur

Tracy felt the hairs on the nape of her neck stand on end. She couldn't shake off the feeling that she was being watched as she came back from work this evening. She looked around, and finding no one paying ant particular attention to her, resumed walking. Still the feeling lingered. She quickly took a turn bent around a corner and looked around. Sure enough, there was a figure, apparently male, walking towards her. He was wearing a hooded sweatshirt and a face cap. From the distance, it looked like he was wearing a jacket too . "What a weird combination", she thought, then felt the cold finger of fear trace her spine. This is Nigeria, in the evening, but Nigeria nonetheless. Who dresses like this in a country known for its hot weather? She resumed her walk, but at an accelerated pace. She didn't want to wait to find out if her​ fears were unfounded or not. She got home and managed to convince herself that she had let her imagination get ahead of her. Maybe he wasn

I have been asked time and time again, why I write cringe-worthy/mushy romance/love stories. Hehehehe!! The reasons are quite simple. First, because I believe most love stories are mushy/cringe-worthy ---- when you take away the hustle and bustle, the friends opinion, the exes, the family interference and the economic situation. For instance, I know of a lady whose husband threatened to shoot the brother when he refused to support their intention to get married, when they were still dating. He said he would kill any family member who tried to deter them from getting married. That's cringe-worthy. It's love at it's most dramatic, most obsessive (most perfect if you ask me). I would stop at the wedding that everyone was forced to consent to, and not tell you that six years and two kids into the marriage, people are forced to ask if this is the same man who wanted to wipe out the world just to marry the wife, so that you can assume that they lived happily ever after. Second

         Ikó-vwa- Bridesmaids          Òghene rûró- God has done it         Âgbádágbruru- incomprehensible                  *                 *                 * It was a time when girls married at fifteen or at the very least betrothed at that age. But, Oghenegoma had still not had her first mensural cycle at 18. Her sister, Oghenekevwe had started having periods since she was 14, two years ago. "What is wrong with me?" She thought. "There must be something I am not doing right." Her mother walked into the backyard only to find Goma lost in thought, the bitter leaf she was supposed to be washing, forgotten. "Don't you know that I want to use that bitter leaf? Our in-laws would soon be here, and the food is still not ready. Your father will be furious". Yes, it was her younger sister's wedding day.    Goma quickly washed the bitter leaf and rushed into the house to help her sister get dressed. The other young girls who came to help, the

It was Friday, it was a beautiful day. I had just #400 with me, it wasn't enough to get me to where I was headed, but every time I look back to that day, it remains beautiful, like it had been specially blessed by God for me. I had borrowed #1000 from a friend to get me to where I was headed. I was to go for an interview for a position I thought was beneath me, but since I had no money to even feed, my friend told me quite bluntly that I was not really in a position to choose. I arrived the company premises, sat down for some minutes, before I was escorted to a consulting room. I entered and saw a man, light skinned, seated. He pointed me to a seat. He was the interviewer. I was nervous, no, not nervous, embarrassed to be in this position because of money. He asked questions that were necessary for an interview and others that I felt were very unnecessary. But then I thought, "ah, he's trying to get me to relax" because even a blind man could see that I wanted to be a