Boys Don’t Cry, Girls Don’t Fly. – I

I sighed and rolled my eyes when my father broke the devastating news that my Uncle Kayode was coming to spend the ‘weekend’ with us. I knew very well that the weekend might turn into months, as this was not the first time. It just really shocked me and I constantly asked myself, does he not have a house? My dad awakened me from my thoughts when I heard him say. “…so make jollof rice for them.”

“Sir? Who is ‘them’? Isn’t it just Uncle Kayode that’s coming?”

“Where were your ears when I said he’s coming with his wife and kids.”

“Jesus is Lord. Daddy please what happened? Is everything alright in their house?”

Just then, my mum strutted in. I looked so much like her, it scared me. I was nearly her height, even though she was fairly tall. She was in her 40’s, but she looked way younger. She walked in wearing a cute knee length floral dress that showed off her long legs and pedicured feet. Judging by the crease at the corner of her lips, I could tell she heard what I said.

“Wuuuurrraaa! Elegbe ni e. You’re not serious. Don’t worry though, they’re staying for a weekend this time. As in three days.” My dad gave an affirmative nod so I decided to take their word for it.

I heaved a sigh of relief and dragged my feet to the kitchen as though it was a separate part of me that just didn’t want to move. Actually, that was the case.

As soon as the aroma of the jollof rice I was whipping up hit my nostrils, all my sorrows melted away for a quick second. Then I heard the gate opening. Back to square one.

Sigh. They’re here. Lord give me strength.

Don’t get me wrong, it’s not like I hated Uncle Kayode and his family, it’s just that they…stressed me. They were actually really rude to me, but being a Nigerian, Yoruba for that matter, there was no such thing. Only younger people had to be polite to the older ones, and it pissed me off. Respect is reciprocal. That one, is a story for another day. As I heard them entering the living room, I quickly reached into my imaginary bag of smiles and plastered a plastic one on my face.

“Good afternoon ma. Good afternoon sir. Tomi, how are you? Aww, hello Dami.” I spat out the greetings as fast as I could.

“Wura go and bring our box from the car.” Aunty Rolake said after ‘playfully’ pulling my cheek.

Wow you can’t say please?

And did I hear box? Who needs a box for 3 days??

I developed stress headache as I went downstairs to get their box from their car. I opened the boot of their Nissan and saw a medium sized suitcase.

Phew.

It was so much better compared to the last time I was told to bring ‘a box’ from the car. I ended up wheeling in one large suitcase and two Ghana-must-go’s. I wheeled the suitcase into the house and dropped it off in the guest room. I really wanted to run off to my room and rest, but the jollof rice was still on fire. I decided to ask my mum to help me finish it up, so that I could go to my room and sleep. With the plastic smile on my face, I walked into the sitting room and addressing my MUM, I told her I was going to sleep, but the jollof rice was on fire. She smiled reassuringly and was about to open her mouth to approve my escape, but my dearest Aunty Rolake spoke up.

Ahnahn Wura is it headache?” She awkwardly maintained unblinking eye contact with me. I decided I will not be intimidated so I stared right back.

“Ma? I don’t understand.” The plastic smile on my face was threatening to turn upside down, but I adjusted it, only for the sake of my parents.

“Ah Mummy Wura you are spoiling this girl o. This my daughter, Tomi, she cooks all the family meals. My wife and I are enjoying our old age. Even when she had malaria, she was still cooking. I think they are age mates?” Uncle Kayode said.

I was tempted to tell them that that one was their personal problem, but the smell of burning jollof rice distracted me.

Jesus fix it.

Welcome!

Hello everyone! Our names are Pearl Irabor and Isabelle Irabor, co-owners of this blog. We’re different, but we have one thing in common among many other things- we love art in all its diverse forms. This blog is a showcase of some of our work and we hope you like it! We’ll also be giving room for other writers/artists to showcase their work so if you’re interested, comment below, email us at busythoughts501@gmail.com or reach us on:

Twitter: @Pearl_____ (5 underscores, lol) / @Ebeita_

Instagram: @Pearl.i / @Ebeita_

POSTS IN CHRONOLOGICAL ORDER.

Below are the posts in chronological order for easy access.

“Trouble” – Isabelle.

I- https://busythoughtshere.wordpress.com/2014/07/30/trouble/

II- https://busythoughtshere.wordpress.com/2014/07/30/trouble-2/

III- https://busythoughtshere.wordpress.com/2014/07/31/trouble-iii/

IV- https://busythoughtshere.wordpress.com/2014/09/01/trouble-iv/

V- https://busythoughtshere.wordpress.com/2014/11/08/trouble-v/

VI- https://busythoughtshere.wordpress.com/2015/04/05/trouble-vi/

VII- https://busythoughtshere.wordpress.com/2017/03/18/trouble-vii/

 

“Boys Don’t Cry, Girls Don’t Fly” – Pearl

Intro- https://busythoughtshere.wordpress.com/2017/04/23/boys-dont-cry-girls-dont-fly/

I- https://busythoughtshere.wordpress.com/2017/04/28/boys-dont-cry-girls-dont-fly-i/

Titi.

Ibadan Drama: WHTBA – https://busythoughtshere.wordpress.com/2014/07/31/ibadan-drama-what-happens-to-bad-asses/

Ibadan Drama: AATAB – https://busythoughtshere.wordpress.com/2014/08/01/ibadan-drama-always-answer-the-awon-boyss/

Respect Your Temple – https://busythoughtshere.wordpress.com/2014/08/03/respect-your-temple/

Boys Don’t Cry, Girls Don’t Fly.

My name is Wuraola. Wuraola Adeniyi. I am Nigerian. I am female. My life has been planned out for me even before I was born. With God’s plan, I have a choice whether or not to align myself with it. With society, my choice is taken away. I must get married. I must have a job. I must be quiet. I must be caged. I do not have a voice. I am an outcast and a disgrace to the family for stepping out of the box I have been placed in. Little do they know, that I am claustrophobic.

His name is Opeyemi. Opeyemi Ajayi. He is mixed. Half Nigerian, half French. He is my best friend only because we have the same hate and disgust for stereotypes. All his life, he has been taught to be an emotionless beast. He must be a hunter. He does not have the right to be weak. He is his own support system. He must take charge of everything. He cannot be raped. He must always be strong. He is viewed as feminine, and his sexuality is questioned just because he develops interest in ‘feminine’ tasks. Little do they know, that he is about to take the world by storm, with or without its permission.

This is our story.

Respect Your Temple

Rather fascinating heading,isn’t it ? Sadly,I’m not in the most comforting mood so I’m going to be super frank right now. We say we run the world. We let the males run our lives and we say we run the world. I’m not a sexist but that’s just dumb.
We say we own the men. Without us,there would be no man. Why then do we cause our downfall ? Why do we do stupid things we know are only stupid ? What do we act then forget to think at all. Few minutes,I saw something so terribly haunting. It just pains me that of all people,a girl child would do that. Don’t you know ? Doesn’t she know ? That because we are female we are already written off by some many others,especially our kind. Doesn’t she know ? That she’s expected to do just that . That she’s expected to fall and do dumb things . That she should make a mockery of herself. Doesn’t she know ? That our temple should be respected. Its a delicate piece of ourselves . Its not even the jar or the cookie or anything referring to the box,its simply our self worth,self respect. Respect for the Temple.
I don’t know who I’m referring to right now but all I know is. Girls ! Women ! Females ! Do we really run the world ? Do we need to stoop super low to run the world we think we own ? Are you destroying our temples ? Our dignities ? Self worth ? All in the name of running the world. Are we ?

-Titi

Ibadan Drama – Always Answer The Awon Boyss

Awwn ! So I heard y’all Busy thinkers really loved my story and I’m getting nominated for the Etisalat fiction prize of No Amount. Because no,I wasn’t nominated. Anyway,back to my Tamss story. Just grab one popcorn and fanta ’cause this is some real drama.
When I say ‘awon boys’,I do not mean all these yeye Ibadan children posing as ‘Aje pakis’. Translation : Eaters of Pako . They’re really ‘Aje butters’ . Eaters of butter. I mean children who never had as much as pako to eat. From their mothers’ wombs,they’ve been hustling !! Sadly,my dear friends. Tamms didn’t know that when awon boyz call you,you answer them. If they call you fine girl,smile at them . Say ‘Ese sir’. If they pull you,you’ll say ‘Sorry,ema binu. When I’m coming back’.
She didn’t answer them. The only thing on Tamss mind : Let me get to Fikun. When she answered them,she said things like,’Excuse me,don’t touch me’. ‘Idiot’. ‘Stupid people’. My babe went as far as calling them ‘Ignoramii’. The Awon Boys crew got pissed off. And Tamss *bursts into tears*

Epilogue –
Tamss didn’t see Fikun that day. She just couldn’t . Not in that state.

Lesson :
1. Don’t try to be a badass for Ibadan street boys. Don’t even try to half an ass for Lagos street boys either. Or else,Tamss’ case will be an A* compared to yours.
2. Just be generally sensible. No PC or Cab. Don’t even try that revealing outfit. Except of course you live in Lagos. In IB,they strip people naked o .

-Titi

Ibadan Drama: What Happens to Bad Asses

Xoxo. This is kind of a personal experience spiced with Knorr Chicken cube and Onga. Don’t miss the flavour and Aroma.
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Cuddling her teddy bear,Kush.She was so darn happy. Everything was just doing fine. Her bod,the diet,the medicines,the boys,the weed. Especially a boy and a lot of indomie et grass.

—– Fikun : Tamms. Hey ! Do you want to hang out ?
Duuuhhhhhhhh ! Babe was already smiling.
——- Tamss : Sure. Where ?
——– Fikun : The mall.
——- Tamss : Awesome ! Be there soon
—— Fikun : Yes,you are.
Nawa for this kain Awesome love oo.

Okay. Darn it. Tamss was going to turn up for this nigga. She dressed up like she was going to the Bahamas for an MTV bash.My babe wore an A line gown. In case you didn’t know,an A line gown is short in front and long behind. But Tamms own.. *sealed lips* A minus. The front was barely at her thighs. But wait ! This babe get mind oo. For IB City ! Not like she had her own Pc . PC is Personal Car or Personal Computer. You do the math. Anyway,to complete the look sorry The Tammss Meet Bad Ass Look,she wore Sandals to show her almost perfectly pedicured black nails and Sunglasses toppered with Tomato red lips. Ewooo !! Even Rihanna would be like :O. She even left her Afro red. Damnn ! Ibadan streets will be buried today oo. All this hotness. *faints*

———————-
Several Estate houses and Her Estate Main gate’s later….

“Fine girl,fine girl. Answer us. Fine body. Sexy girl. Ifeoma”
“Chinedu ! Ewhhhhh ! See fresh body”
“Nnne,Let Angel come and carry me.”
“Ifedioma ! You look tanterlising.”

————————-

“Fine girl joor. Wambi naa ”
“O tie answer wa.”
“Mama oo ! Eleyi ti poju”
“Kileyi ! Kubirat ! Shalewa ! Omo to shan bi omi odo”.

————————-
“I swear,na Allah send you to me today”
“Yaa ! I have flenty pmoney. I will pfofide efverything you want.”
“Yaa ! You mustu marry me oo. You too fine. Levvme giff you ha ride.”

xxxxxxxxxxxxx

But Tamms is a natural bad ass and bad asses don’t talk to street boys..
Comment if you want to know what happened to Tamss before she got to Fiks 😉

-Titi

Trouble -II

Lolu let go of my hand and picked my bag up. He started walking towards a shiny black harley davidson. “You drive that??” “Yeah. Sexy no?” “Totally”,I replied with my mouth open. I slammed it shut and continued towards him. He handed me the helmet and attached my bag to the back of the bike. “What about your helmet?”I asked. “Don’t worry, my head is made of steel. Besides no cop ever gave a rats ass” “Darris d truth” “What?” “Haha, that’s the truth. I just like to use a naija accent sometimes” He looked at me for a while and burst out laughing. “That’s rich”he said. Laughing a little, I replied,”How? You don’t think a tush girl like me can have a naija accent?” “Who said you’re tush? Just because you’re light skinned and pretty doesn’t mean you’re tush” “You think I’m pretty?”I replied, batting my eyelashes at him. “So not the point! And it wasn’t even a real naija accent”he retorted. “Yeah, yeah, whatever!”

Still giggling I got on the bike after him. I didn’t know what to do with my hands so I just held down on the seat. “What are you doing? Put your arms around me!”He exclaimed. “Do you know how that sounds?”I replied, but complied. And wow, what a nice tummy he had. Hard and soft at the same time. Shet mehn, I could feel the pacs and it felt goood. “I can feel you checking me out”he said, smiling. “You wish” “Anyway, you gotta get closer, or you’ll fall off”said Lolu. “I’ll be the judge of that!” True to his word, once he revved up the engine and started forward, I nearly fell off. I saved myself by grabbing him tight, around his middle. I thought I heard him mutter, in a slightly strained voice, “not that close….” You don’t have a DD cup for nothing! And tiny waist too. Feeling sexy and smiling to myself, we thundered down the roads of Ibadan.

*******