Let’s not dwell on how long it’s been or why I suddenly disappeared, let’s think about VALUE instead.

My friend sent me a video the other day. It was one of those Instagram reels where a makeup influencer walks you through her GRWM routine. By the end of the video, the influencer announced that her custom makeup kit (complete with products and brushes), was available for sixty thousand naira.

Immediately, I cringed.

Not because it was overpriced (I think the price was fair and even generous), but my stomach turned at the thought of me spending that much on make up. It felt excessive and even wasteful.

Why?

I could buy one handbag for 120,000 naira and nod my head in satisfaction, but I cringed at the thought of spending half that amount on makeup.

What’s the difference?

Value – the importance we place on things. What they are worth to us.

We may not know why, but I believe there is always a story.

A bag for me isn’t just a bag. It is confidence, an armour and a reward. It makes me feel elevated, coordinated and put together. Makeup, on the other hand? I’ve never really connected to it like that.

For someone else, makeup is the “bag”. It’s their art form, their self-care, their power.

They may not understand my value for leather because a face beat gives them more joy, more confidence, and this is why value is deeply personal.

It’s not just about numbers because numbers don’t mean the same thing to everyone.

We assign value based on what resonates with us, what reflects us and we do this often; with things and with people.

Generally, the way we treat people reflects the value we attach to them.

We often show people love, respect, loyalty or the opposite, based on the value we’ve placed on them, not necessarily what they deserve. And this is where it gets tricky. Because how we treat others, often say more about us than it does about them.

The way we assign and attach value reveals more about us than the object of our value.

I hope you read this and introspect. I hope the next time someone cringes at the idea of investing in you, you ask yourself two questions instead of one.

Does this mean I am too expensive or could it be that I’m just not their priority?

Because while value could be personal, irrational and emotional, Value is also revealing.

With Utmost Value,

Chioma Nnamani.

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In a month's time, Edu Malaysia, Okenwa na China, and Emmy Thailand will be back to see ndi obodo, block our ears with “I Just Got Back” and hunt for umu asa.

They will wear white Polo and short knickers (because Nigeria is f***king hot mhen).

They will drive past you and the loud music from their hired cars will make you look around to confirm if you are still on the path to Odinaka's house or if you unknowingly entered a club.

****************************

It's evening, you are strolling past a popular joint with your cousin and like the sons of Sceva, they are gathered.

You try quickening your pace but it’s too late, you already hear "Nne, Asa, Mummy, Omalicha, Biko Bia".

You and your cousin walk to their table and genuflect while saying "Good Evening Sirs".

The 'Sirs' comprise of:

Emmy Taiwan: The real IJGB of the group and the one who'll pay for all the bottles on the table. He is wearing a face cap, white polo, short knickers, black stocking, white crocs and a fake 30BG chain.

He has four Samsung phones, no pouch on any and they all look new which makes you wonder if he bought them for Christmas.

Onyeka: Emmy Taiwan's cousin. He lives in Ghana but he always adds ‘yunno’ and ‘mhennn' to everything so it's easy to group him as an IJGB.

He has the brownest teeth you've ever seen, but who cares about tooth color when his money is mint?

Uche Southie: Uche lives in South Africa. He is gentle and always has this faraway look in his eyes. He just married his third wife in Nigeria after chasing away the first two because according to him "they were possessed with mami water spirit."

Nnamdi: The last and least "sir" of the group. He is not an IJGB guy but he rolls with them. Nnamdi lives in Lagos, sells babies wear, drives a Volkswagen Golf MK3 but rents a Toyota Corolla 2010 every Christmas (yunno, to keep up appearances).

****************************

Less than a month today, they'll gather the way I described and you'll call me a prophetess.

They are probably (already) in your DM asking your shoe size and you are smiling, not knowing the plan is to mia gi ka orange and focha gi ka onugbu (ask an Igbo person to interpret).

At this your big age, you are still falling prey to ndi 419, because you are looking for iPhone, Turkey gown and abroad husband.

This Christmas, please, gbado anya (shine your eyes). Don't allow a man who is probably working as a Gardener, Mortuary Attendant or Walmart sales-rep ghost you before the second month of 2025.

Udo✌🏾.

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Whenever I come across a bible passage I like, the next thing I do is go through my YouVersion Bible App and check out different translations/versions of that bible passage; not because I want to confirm their similarities, but to see if there’s a stronger unadulterated version I can use to drag God by the hem of his garment.

(I need you to read that last line like I’m talking about fight because that’s the aesthetic I’m going for. Ogwu!)

I remember the last time I fought.

We were in primary four and his name was Franklin. I cannot recall what transpired but the only reason I slapped him was because other girls gingered me to do so and I believe the reason he slapped me back was because the boys were saying “Franklin, if you don’t slap Precious Nnamani back then you are a goat” Franklin did not want to be a “goat” and that was how fight started.

At this time, I was at the stage of puberty and had two small molds forming on my chest. These molds weren’t noticeable by anyone except me - the carrier, but they were there nevertheless.

Now the only thing I remember about that fight was how Franklin almost sent me to my maker when he released a deadly punch that landed on one of my molds. Brethren, I don’t know if the stars I saw were actually stars or it was my life flashing before my eyes.

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I grew up watching movies where Olu Jacobs suffered heart attack. He would scream, hold his chest, and open his eyes wide like someone going into shock before slumping on the nearest cushion. The only difference between I and Olu Jacobs was that I did not see cushion to slump on, and if I dared fall, I fit hit head on top locker kuwa isi, so I staggered backwards and shouted “Jesus!!! Franklin!!” 

That was the last time I fought.

Now, I just cry in my closet and beg God to punish people, but I hear he’s a merciful God so he doesn’t punish just because you ask him to. It’s fine by me though, in case someone out there is praying same for me, at least I know God doesn’t bow to the whims of Men. He doesn’t fight just because it’s expected of him (he is not Precious Nnamani neither is he Franklin) and when he decides to go to war, he never loses.

I started this letter by quoting Exodus 14:14 (KJV) but I went through other versions and The Message Bible gave me this: “God will fight the battle for you. And you? You keep your mouths shut.

So, I'll leave you with a quote I stumbled upon….

Till next time,

Chioma.

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The bustling streets of Ejigbo, Lagos, hold a special place in my heart. It isn't just any city; it's playground of my childhood, where a part of me grew strong under the harsh Lagos sun. Here, it was a world away from the chaos I knew back home. Life was a slow melody, a sharp contrast to the Fuji house of mischief I came from.

It was just Aunty Uche and I, an only child in everything but name. I attended a Montessori School and my every whim was catered to - a blessing and a curse.

The only chore I performed was keeping the dishes and my socks clean. I can't remember how many school uniforms I owned nor do i remember washing any, but I remember the drycleaner and the "Togo woman" who came every weekend to tidy the house.

I was probably pretty. I represented my school in pageantry competitions, wasn't liked by senior girls, enjoyed the attention of senior boys, was the teacher's pet and once heard a parent who I've never met before tease her son with: "Ohhh is that Chioma? Your wife!" and her son, Juwon, who was infamous for his big teeth and nasty eating habits blushed hard and responded "Mummy stopppp, she'll hear you".

He wasn't wrong, I heard them. I stared daggers at Juwon, my gaze met his and a jolt passed between us. This time the heat that flushed his cheeks wasn't from shyness. It was something else entirely.

It was in Lagos I first greeted a man and he responded with "My wife, how are you?” I was confused.

Who is your wife? Why would you call me your wife? Why would you say a thing like that?

I was taught by Aunty Winifred in Sunday School about the power of spoken words, pronouncements that God himself could hear and make real. Why then would Mr Abbas, who wore one yellow polo from Sunday to Sunday call me his wife? Doesn't he attend Sunday School? Hasn't he heard about the power of spoken words?

He wasn't the only one. Uncle Timi, who lived on the same street took it a notch higher by stating blankly that he would marry me in future, and I should watch and see.

It sounded like a threat. A "We-Shall-See" with the dramatic finger snap.

My Aunt was there and I looked at her, waiting for her to run to my defense but she found the entire show entertaining. I cried so much that day, praying long and hard that I don't marry Uncle Timi.

I had never thought about marriage. I was too occupied with thoughts of Indomie Fan Club Excursions, Wafers Biscuits, Viju Milk and plotting on ways to trick Ife into leaving first position for me (Second position term after term was becoming embarrassing so I needed to act fast).

Even if I would marry, Why would I marry Uncle Timi, Mr Abbas or Broda Friday? Why would I marry old men?Barbie didn't marry an old man, why should I? The adults around me found my discomfort amusing so I tried taking it to God in prayer.

I would kneel and begin with "Heavenly Father, King of Kings, Eternal Rock of Ages" but the silence meant for reflection would morph into distractions. I'd suddenly remember “Egg of Life” and wonder why Part 2 wouldn't stop cracking, even though I've used white powder and tissue to clean the CD countless times.

I would remember my brother Somadina and wonder why he would sit still, watching Television and suddenly, we would notice blood trickling from his nostril.

I eventually gave up out of frustration, seeing that my prayers couldn't go beyond "Heavenly Father, King of Kings, Eternal Rock of Ages".

It's been over thirteen years and I still don't like it when men and women refer to kids as “my wife/husband”.

8 year old me was probably dramatic but she was really terrified, uncomfortable and had every reason to be.

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I randomly think about people in Afolabi-Obe Street and I wonder how they are faring. Do they still live in Ejigbo or have they moved?

I think about Voscan Montessori School and our prim and proper proprietress. I was the library prefect for a year and was just elected health prefect. I took my new badge and travelled home for the long vacation without any idea that would be the last time.

I wish I said proper good-byes to; Fumilayo (Who I called by her Ghananian name Akosua Bwaima), Juwon, Buchi, Ayomide Adeleke, David, Valentine, Chukwuma, and Ifechukwu. My headmaster - Mr Adesina Olufemi, Daddy Chuka, his wife who everyone called "Iyawo" and her delicious Spaghetti and Beans which I will never get to eat again.

I wonder if they still remember me, if they think of me the way I think of them.

On nights when I struggle with sleep, my mind wanders back and I imagine what life would have looked like had I been fully bred and buttered in Ejigbo.

I would certainly be a different person, moulded by a different clay. Yet amidst the unfamiliar, one thing remains constant - these stories would still flow, finding their way to you one way or another because writing has always been a language that I speak naturally. A beat that thrums within me.

It's been two months since my last letter and this silence has brought playful jabs and gentle prods. I take it as a good sign, a reminder that in your hearts, my stories have a home.

Weeks may turn into months but these stories would keep coming. My pen will not fade, I'll keep writing, because there's always a story to be told.

Till next time,

Chioma.

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First, Olumide Macaulay from SGIT tonguing another woman that is not Tiwa. This right here ruined my entire week. Many of us following the show have come to eulogize that relationship. Yeah, it’s only a show but then there are people like me who have followed and become so invested to the point where Tiwa and Mide’s relationship give us hope that love without nyama-nyama, cheating and mind-games actually exist.

I was already telling world people ntoorh, but the producers of the show came to show us that life is a pot of hot beans😐.

Secondly, Capitalism has been kicking my lirru behind. April has been crawling, Nepa has sent me out of the house my parents paid for, and in the most shocking way possible, I discovered that someone (that may or may not be me) can eat just twice daily and not die, Wow! Shocking!🤯

I’ve tried writing to you on five different occasions but only ended up with five incomplete stories that no one may ever get to read.

My phone shattered when I was doing kontet kreation, and then my office bestie gave me a tripod, another way of saying “scatter-everywhere-but-not-your-screen” (shout out to Princess). I made a post on Whatsapp and someone asked me to shoot a video where I talk about ‘boy and girl relationship’ and I don’t even know where to begin🤦🏽‍♀️.

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Wait! Do you people know that you can get herpes through kissing? (Laughs in disease) Anukwam that e no get cure.

So for you kissing anybody you see, you look into their eyes and the next thing, face dey approach face, you dey lock lips. Keep it up. Please don’t stop🙂

Tomorrow when we see nonsense around your lips don’t argue that it’s fever because we know fever and we know WHO YOU ARE!!

Also, for those of you that kiss people’s babies I want to warn you specially. Do not carry the eze ule that you use to chew garlic, drink Dr Iguedo and different things that cannot be mentioned to kiss someone’s baby. Babies are delicate and prone to infections. No dey kiss person pikin, don’t even peck, don’t blow kisses because your mouth may be smelling and you could just end up taking the poor child’s breath away. 

Go and kiss your mans and collect herpes. Leave babies alone. They did nothing wrong😬. I’m writing this because Chisom Nnamani, (the one that identifies as Chioma’s Sister and a dada carrying female) said during Easter holidays, in the presence of our Nigerian mother: “Chioma, Mummy’s hands are itching to smack the buttocks of her grandchildren. Do the needful and make her wishes come true” You can only imagine my mother’s reaction but that’s not the point. I’ve decided to grant their request but first, I’ll discuss with Chisom and Mama Chioma so that they’ll tell me the flavor of Grandchild they want; Black or White, Sweetened or Plain, In Holy Matrimony or Out of Wedlock. Then I’ll prepare adequately🌚. I don’t want you coming to visit and kissing my baby so that the baby’s grandmother doesn’t use the hand for smacking baby butt to smack your face instead.

Ebuka, I know you asked for a video of me talking about ‘boys and girls relationship’ but instead I gave you herpes. No, No, you just read that sentence the wrong way. I mean, I wrote about herpes instead. I deeply apologize. I’ll do worse next time.

Dear reader, you can send a newsletter request. Something you want me to write about. You can do this in the comment section or send it to the email attached to this newsletter chiomannamani701@gmail.com and I’ll happily oblige. Thank you for over 100 Substack Followers🙌🏼❤️

Adios for now.

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My own significant other has gone to work and once I’m done with this letter, I’ll use my King James Bible to ward off “the spirit of singleness” from the lives of certain people; Chi, Wini, Dimma Chukwuani, Michael, Miracle, Zeus etc.

As soon as I’m done with my intercessory prayer, I’ll go and pound yam for my man, pack it in a food flask and carry it to his office.

How are you singles coping?

Must be hard.

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How does it feel waking up cold, alone, without any message that begins with “Good Morning Sunshine”

How does it feel entering socio-medium and seeing everybody doing “I said yes/She said yes” meanwhile the only yes you’re saying every day is to Ndi POS when they ask you “Should I add charge?”

Everybody now has an opinion that is either making you think about your life, or wonder if engagement pictures just have a way of bringing out stupidity in people. It’s worse that they are using the Whatsapp voicenote feature to express this on their status. If it was typed, you could at least read it over and over again, try to understand what they are going through, and offer them a chance at redemption but NO, you are hearing their voices so it’s just easier to dismiss them as stupid.

In this trying time, as a single lady, you are probably getting an earful about “your mates and fellow women”.

You may also get an earful about your DMs and how you should try to respond to them so that in 12 months’ time you’ll cook bags of rice, fry coolers of meat and buy crates of drinks for a group of people that would attend your wedding empty handed, steal drinks and drag souvenirs.

If you’re a man you’re probably pressured and tensed because you also want someone that would sit on your lap, rub the back of your head in public, or worse, someone that’ll throw you into a laughing fit with her newsletter while you’re in the office, then bring you pounded yam two hours later. (Cruise. I’ve never lived as a man before hence I may not represent you people well, no vex).

So, what’s the point of this letter? There’s really no point because we no dey motivate for here.

If you like, allow pressure to give you high BP forgetting you’re just a young Nigerian that is not even under NHIS (in case you don’t know, drugs sef don cost).

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These weddings and engagements should make you happy, motivate you to chase your dreams, catch them and make moneyyyyyyy but no, you are oppressed.

Look at the skin of the people oppressing you, skin like milk but you’re using the same towel you use on your bum-bum for your face while complaining that Eva Soap is now 500 Tinubu Naira.

Look at the décor of their weddings, look at chandeliers, look at the quality of ushers, look at the dignitaries that’ll grace these events, look at the wedding cake, look at how bella naija is following them up and down.

Look at yourself again, this time slowly and remember that All good and perfect gifts come from God, the same God that makes everything beautiful in it’s time and when your time comes, e go loud!

Oh Shit! I don dey motivate🤦🏽‍♀️.

One of the most beautiful things about 2024 is that everyone is standing on business this year. Stand on yours as well and succeed, it mustn’t be marriage or love related.

Take care…🤸🤸🤸 Off to go pound yam for Dim oma.

With Shades,

Chioma😌.

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It was a Saturday and as usual, I had to go grind beans for moi-moi.

I stood by the the noisy blue engine (grinding machine), warding off flies, staring with fascination as the beans turned into a smooth paste and watching "Igbo-woman" use a wooden stick to press the beans in the machine.

It was a Saturday routine. It was not my first Saturday but the process still fascinated me.

Sometimes, I imagined putting my hand in the engine. I imagined "Igbo-woman" using her wooden stick to press my hand into the grinding machine and I often wondered what would come out.

Aunty Jemima passed.

She wasn't my biological aunty but she was older than me so I was expected to automatically see and refer to her as "Aunty".

Jemima was pretty and it wasn't because she was light skinned. She had a small frame but she wasn't short, she spoke fluently and her voice was sweet to listen to. She carried herself delicately but she was also confident and seemed firm.

I was 13. I read a lot of books, I didn't speak much to elders unless spoken to but I was very assertive and observant.

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I knew Aunty Jemima was in school because older women in our street including my mother, would often smile widely at her and shout "Aaahhh! You don come back? How school na?"

I thought about "School".

Not Great God Academy but "School".

I thought about all the campus babes I read about in Nani-boi novels and I thought of the cult guys too.

I wanted to "go-to-school". I wanted to wear fine clothes and attend lectures. I wanted to take selfie with a friend using the flower-crown filter on Snapchat (My Nokia Asha 205 forbade it). I wanted to always plait attachment, come out on Saturday morning and have people smile widely at me and ask "You don come back? How is school? Eyaahh, Welcome!"

I wanted to be Aunty Jemima.

Years later,

I entered "School"

School wasn't what I thought it would be so I wanted to finish. I was eager to finish. Life would definitely be better after school.

My younger sister Chidimma thought I was enjoying. She would often ask with keen interest and a glint that was too familiar "Chioma, how much is your allowance, Do you live alone? How many times do you go for lectures? What are the lectures like?"

I always answered and told her not to expect anything interesting but ofcourse, no secondary school student ever listens to that.

The sweet part of life had to be after Uni.

I just needed to finish.

(Lori iro)

I couldn't wait to live alone, have a job that would give me ezigbote ego, a fine kitchen that would be filled with different cereals and provisions, a dry-cleaner who would come every Friday to do my laundry and return my clothes on Sundays.

I couldn't wait to drive my own car and own silky wigs.

I just needed to get this degree first!

I got the degree and as I was defending the degree, I could see the immediate future and I was not seeing car, I was not seeing silky wig, the only thing I saw about dry-cleaning was me becoming the dry cleaner.

I was seeing red oil rice and ijebu garri.

I finished my service.

I got the independence I've been begging God for, got my own apartment, got a job but I see cereals and I increase my pace.

I see silky wigs and I turn the opposite direction.

I see dry-cleaner and I genuflect while greeting them.

A bag of pure water - 500

1 kg of gas - 1,500

One cup of garri - 300

One cup of egusi - 500

Bread😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

My darling bread!!!! - 1,400

Data/Airtime - Omohhhhh

Are we cursed or are we the cause?

I wish I could go back to age 13 and plaster there.

I wish I could whisper into Chioma's ear as she stood admiring Aunty Jemima and say;

"Chioma, face the beans you came to grind, no dey look Jemima o! Carry that moi-moi on your head and run home. Chioma Nnamani, agbazina speed!"

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I didn't join you people o because I decided to turn a new leaf😐. I decided to embrace peace, focus on softness but world people no gree.

I don't know if this 2024 slogan was carved out for House Agents or they decided to take it personally but whichever, they should better be guided because…

I've never encountered agents before now neither did I know it could be a full time business but honestly, I'm thinking of joining them maka na those people are cashing out.

Cheiiiii!!!!!

I mean just imagine me as an agent. (You may not see it clearly because you don't wear glasses, but with everything they did to me throughout January, I can see it clearly).

Agent Chayoma!

Agent Chiomi!

You are looking for an apartment and then someone refers you to an Agent.

"The agent's name is Chioma, Just tell her Felix sent you, I've already told her about you. So call her, she is expecting your call."

You, a proper ewure, JJC, onukwu would then bow in humble adoration, with grateful chants of; Thank You Sir, God bless you Sir, Thank you so much, I'm grateful Sir.

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Why are you grateful?

Oh, I forgot

Oga Felix said he already told the agent about you, and you should make sure to call his name while talking to the agent. This must mean his name carries power! His name carries Fire! When his name is called vacancies appear, agents tremble, people pack out to make space for you and most importantly, Agents refuse agent fee!!!

So you talk to Agent Chioma and reference Oga Felix 15 times in 3 minuites reminding Agent Chioma by proxy that she'll have to milk you very well so as to give Felix his cut without her money being affected.

Kpele my dear, Weep not, Don't blame yourself.

Stand in front of the mirror and chant "I am not stupid, I am a special breed, I am a survivor" twenty times (twenty because it has to be more than the number of times you mentioned Felix on that phone call) and after that, your sense will come back from vacation.

You tell Agent Chioma your specifications.

There must be water, there must be light, and there MUST be proper security. You understand that the last statement may be taken for granted and she may tell you to recite Psalm 127:1 therefore, you go further to explain; "There's a high tendency of working and closing late in my office, I move around with my laptop so if I come down from shuttle, the distance to my house has to be very short in an area where I won't be nabbed."

Agent Chioma tells you she lives in that particular street, that her house is the blue gate close to the mainroad before the borehole after the mosque in front of the stream. She tells you she has been in this business for eleven years therefore you should 'wetuo obi.'

You minus 11 from your current age and you double blink because oshirike.

The Next Day.....

You meet with Agent Chioma in the area she directed you to. The area is quite a distance so you begin to wonder if the supposed house is close because you told this Agent that the accommodation must be close to your office, nothing more than 100 naira keke (seeing that in the state you reside, they don't know what 50naira is.)

You go anyways. You see Agent Chioma, she is a lady in her early thirties, she is light skinned (or so is her face) her veins are green, her knuckles are black. She is wearing a shiny black wig that looks like it could make your skin itch just by close contact.

You politely greet and she warmly responds.

Agent Chioma: The house is close but not very close so we'll take another shuttle but before then, the inspection fee.

You: Inspection Fee? I don't understand

Agent Chioma: You have to pay to see the house first.

You: I can't pay na, what if I pay and I don't like the place what then happens to the money?

Agent Chioma: Then you have to try your best to like the place. That's how it's done dear.

The inspection fee is three thousand naira but because of you I'll collect too-faive last. Keke to the place is 150 so that means for two of us, it's 300 except you want me to lap you…

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You: (visibly irritated) Lap who? Madam why are you calculating this one for me, aren't you paying your transportation?

Agent Chioma: No ooo! For what? No bi you dey find house? If not for you would I be going there?

You: Wait ma! I'll pay you inspection fee, pay your transport and still pay you agent fee if I end up liking the house?

Agent Chioma: (offended) Nne stop making me repeat myself. Haaaa! It's like you came to this town new o! Why are you asking obvious questions?

There are two girls that are ready to pay for this same house but I just told them to hold on because Felix said I should consider you urgently. Nne, Biko if you came out to waste my time abeg let me know so that I'll call ready people.

You bite your lower lip in restraint because you're stuck and on a timeline with very little options but regardless, you abuse the woman in your heart and say to her no wahala, I go pay you.

She flags down a Keke, and after some minutes of receiving cool breeze the Keke stops at an uncompleted building.

You sit tight thinking nwoke keke wants to urinate but he sits tight too, only Agent Chioma comes down and beckons on you to come down and pay.

You do so and wonder what is going on.

You both enter the building and she shows you a room, the only completed room in the building.

Agent: Nne this place bugodi hot cake. People are rushing here. The room is spacious, water is running, there is kitchen sink, there is wardrobe etc

You: But this is the only completed room in this compound na. So I'll now be the only one in the compound? As gateman abi wetin?

Agent: No na. People will still move in o. It won't be only you. If you enter just be locking the gate, if you go to work lock the gate, when you come back lock the gate. Nothing dey happen. I'll use chalk to write your phone number outside the gate, so that if anybody wants to check out the house when you're not around they'll just call you on phone. You fit even dey put eye when the builders come back to start work. Yunno, I'll even give you the landlord's number. (The witch looks around the barren compound with hands on hips).

The place di very beautiful. You'll see the beauty when they finish the whole building.

So nne, my inspection fee.

Me and Agent of Darkness:

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I know the year didn't begin today, or yesterday, or the day before that. However, Igbos say “It’s whenever one wakes up that is his daybreak” (translate it in Igbo if you can), so judge mildly.

This would be my first time writing to you raw. Usually, I type and edit everything on my notepad app and then do a Ctrl-c and Ctrl-v but here I am, writing without knowing exactly where this story is headed, writing on a white background with the green 'publish icon' staring and daring me to. It feels good to be unsure and not frightened. Hopefully this won't be the last time.

How Are You?

How are you finding 2024? Is it looking promising? Are you already warning the year to respect itself or Are a 2000 baby that can't see 2024 without remembering that the last two digits would be your age this year🙆🏼‍♀️. I understand my dear, you don dey enter mid-twenties, must be tuff. I'm not even 'advanced' like you yet body dey pepper me. Ndo.

How are you?

There’s this colleague of mine that whenever she's asked the above question she gives a sad smile and responds “I'll be fine”. I honestly don't know how that makes me feel but I just smile and say “Please be fine” and then, there's my roommate who doesn't dare respond with that line because automatically, a probe and investigation will follow.

How am I?

Oh! I'm fine, thank you for asking.

“He gives bread to the eater and seed to the sower" can be translated any way the Holy Spirit wants you to understand and that has been my story this January.

I noticed I've grown above fear. I think of loosing sometimes, but I don't fear it anymore. It doesn't really matter, what matters most to me is trying. I think about winning most times and it keeps me going and has pushed me to actual victories. I've also learnt that sometimes, you’ll have to take detours to meet your dreams and it isn't such a bad thing.

Yesterday, a male colleague told me he finds me intimidating. He said I give off the vibe of “all these career, independent women wey no send man message.” I was amused because the last time I heard this was in Secondary School so I indulged him, explained that I am career driven, independent and DO CARE about men BUT NOT ALL MEN (na there I fuck up). Uncle colleague saw me this morning and while we shook hands as we exchanged verbal pleasantries he whispered, Can I kiss your hand? and when I responded

He walked to his desk with a ‘nawa o’ on his lips. I thought about my conversation with him the previous day and it made more sense.

I've also had to learn the hard way that some people will constantly put you down, make you feel small because that's the only way they think they can be visible. That's the only way they know to ‘shine.’ Some other time, I'll tell you the story of one man I met who just couldn't believe my age, my confidence and my degree so he decided to put me in my place.

Last but not least, Village People coming in the shape and guise of House Agents. These people have finished me and have given me stress induced acne. Me!!!!! Pimple!!!!! Ahhhhhhhhh!!! My hand no dey comot from my face again😐. Bad Bad Bad.

I'll give you the full gist in my next newsletter but until then, make I press this one wey I just touch.

Please, Be well❤️.

Love,

Chioma.

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Dear Chisom, since I'm not around to give you a hug, I’ll write about your exploits instead and hope it makes you smile.

BASED ON TRUE EVENTS.

It was a sunny Saturday afternoon in Akwarandu House - a compound known across the street for it's tribal uniqueness (If tribal uniqueness meant having just Igbos occupy the entire nine rooms in a semi face-me-i-face-you compound, alas! Akwarandu House was indeed unique).

This particular Saturday afternoon, a certain mother of four known as Mama Chioma came out of her one room apartment carrying a stool "Chisom! Chisom!! Come here let's start o!" She yelled as she beckoned on her third child who was engrossed in a game she was playing with other children.

You see, this mother of four was a very trendy woman but you wouldn't notice by merely looking at her, she probably preferred mere mortals beholding her full glory by looking at her children but that's another story entirely.

It was her third child's turn that fateful day and Mama Chioma came out with her tools; Hair cream, Combs, Hair beads, Wool e.t.c ready for work but something was missing!

"Where is Chisom?" "Oh!" she muttered when she saw her playing with other children in the compound. "Chisom come let's start"

The little girl knew her mother planned on making her hair today but why now at the climax of this game? 😩 She grudgingly got up, went to meet her mum and they started. Now Mama Chioma was known far and wide for her meticulous way of living. She believed anything worth doing was worth doing well and she was going to apply the idiom to her daughter's hair.

As Chisom sat on the mat and her mum above her, laps cradling her small head and strategically putting it in position, the little Ajantala started thinking of something she could do to keep busy. She looked at the box of bead by her side and with a sinister smile across the corners of her lips, it was obvious she didn't need to think further. She got the box and began distracting herself with the beads and their bright colors.

Mama Chioma got to work, luckily for her it was Saturday and other people were outside engaging in various chores so there was no room for boredom. As she laughed and spoke with two other neighbors, she felt a gentle tap on her laps but didn't pay much attention to it, Chisom was probably just seeking attention she thought.

The tap came again, this time Chisom looked up and pointed to her nose. Mama Chioma was confused so she placed her ear closer to her child’s lip to hear her clearly and understand what she was saying but this child kept pointing to her nose. Mama Chioma wanted to continue with the hair since she didn't understand what her 4year old was trying to say but Chisom kept tapping persistently.

"Mummy Bead n'imi" Chisom muttered in Igbo but her mum didn't understand so she repeated it again while pointing at her nostril. "Mummy, Bead n'imi".

Mama Chioma looked at the beads littered on the mat, looked at Chisom's right hand and saw three beads, looked at her left hand and followed the direction it was pointing to - her nose and she knew immediately.

The entire compound was thrown into pandemonium with Mama Chioma at the center of it.

"This girl has killed me oo Somebody bring torch! Somebody bring cotton bud! This girl egbugom!" As they pointed the torch into her small nostril, a red colored bead which looked like it has found a new home was sitting pretty.

They tried using cotton bud but it only inched the bead deeper.

At this point, Mama Chioma was shedding premium tears. Everybody seemed to have a suggestion and analysis bearing the implications of any suggestion that goes wrong. Mama Neche brought a tissue "Oya Chisom blowwww" Chisom blew with all her strength yet bead did not come forth. Wahala Pro-Max!!!

In that moment nobody knew where Papa Chioma breezed in from but we'll forever be grateful he came for in his lungs lay the solution to the problem.

He held Chisom's head, looked at the nostril where the bead was, positioned his mouth in the ‘bead-less nostril', blew mighty air into the empty nostril and the force of the air sent the bead in the other nostril flying out.

I am from a proper Nigerian home so I really don't need to say much about the beating that toddler received after our parents thanked Jesus for victory. However, that event marked the end of bead in the Nnamani household.

Happy Birthday Chisom! I pray your children no go do you wetin you do us. Amen🙏🏾

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The universe would not flinch.

Mama Emma would still wake the whole yard with screams of "Useless Man! You must kill me today!" which is always accompanied by sounds of punches and slaps.

Bilikisu would still enter Broda Ferdinand's room to 'greet him' only to come out twenty minutes later with beads of sweat around her forehead.

Oga Sunny would still play Osadebe's Osondi Owendi on loudspeakers.

That akamu woman would still shout "Buyyy Akamuuuuuu" dragging the 'U' like it would make people rush her and the tray of white ogi on her head.

The universe did not flinch. The earth and the people in it were moving like normal, as usual.

They didn't notice you almost choked on your tears last night and the night before because you were struggling to understand what the principal meant on the assembly when he said "It is with deepest regret and sorrow we announce the passing of one of our brightest students, Samuel Ayese who we lost to sickle cell anemia during the holidays, He would forever remain in our hearts."

Samuel Ayese, the short petite yellow-eyed boy you played with and yabbed consistently everyday since primary 2.

Samuel, Died?

Samuel and Died in one sentence didn't make much sense to you.

Smile-Smile Samuel. Always showing off his white teeth and bouncing with gusto.

Samuel that called you 'nerd' the very first day you wore your glasses to school and laughed at you while coughing hysterically when he realized you didn't know the meaning of the word nerd.

That day, you were infuriated but you didn't know what really infuriated you - the fact that he still didn't tell you the meaning after laughing at you or the fact that you didn't know the meaning of a four letter word despite bagging first position every term.

You'll remember the day Samuel told you he wanted to be an engineer, how you made a mental picture of his small head in a helmet, commanding instructions and overseeing a site, how you laughed at him with that image in mind until his yellow skin turned red in annoyance.

The last time you saw him was last term. The day school vacated and all the SS1 students gathered on the football field, each student dressed in mufti to collect the second term result.

You still remember what he wore that day and for a very long time you would always remember - pink trouser, white polo and grey sweater with zip undone.

You remember vividly because you asked him why he wore pink trousers to which he responded "All na baff-up" and you replied "Mushin-Barbie" because he always had the last word in every banter and you didn't want him winning this one.

You'll remember that day and you'll wish you didn't yab his 'baff-up'.

You'll wish you didn't walk out in anger when he opened his result sheet and you saw 1st position underneath his name and 2nd position in yours.

You'll cry for days wishing you congratulated him and pretended to be happy for him, same thing he has been doing for you for the past six years. You'll cry and cry but it won't change anything.

It's another morning.

Your mother would expect you to hurry up with your breakfast so that you'll join Mr Adeshina in his car - the lawyer living in the next compound whose children attended your school - she always hurried you to join their car so she won't have to give you transport money.

You'll go to school and Samuel's seat would be empty, he won't be there to mock your slim body or the shape of your forehead whenever you made 'thread'.

No. The universe won't wait or halt for you to grasp this new reality. The world won't stop for you to adjust, to mourn. It'll just be another day.

The sun will rise, the sun will set and if peradventure you run mad, your mother would cry and blame the witches from your father's side of the family for her misfortune but when she's done weeping, you'll just be another mad girl roaming the streets of Lagos.

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I always never understood how I inspired anybody and for years, I've been quick to dismiss such statements with a nervous chuckle while saying "Abeg o! It's not that deep".

It was a hot afternoon, a very hot afternoon and I can't seem to recall the exact cause of the heat - the fact that I was just served breakfast or the Sun that shone in a way that screamed "I am the blideee" - however, I remember the days that followed that intense heat.

I remember the "Chioma, I am proud of you" that threw me into a sobbing fit and made my entire being quake - 'Proud of who? Proud of what?'

I remember recounting all the things I felt had gone wrong in my life in 2023, trying to think of something that had gone right but finding none, not even one thing, which wasn't a surprise because I wallowed so much in expectations that weren't forthcoming hence the blindness and oblivion to blessings that surrounded me.

I remember thinking I was in serious trouble the day I opened my journal and saw that I hadn't achieved any of my numerous plans for 2023 and I may not even achieve any. 

I had groundnut, I had milk, I had sugar and I ALWAYS have garri. I measured all in appropriate quantities, poured in a bowl and drank myself to sleep, because ije nwanyi aburo Baby have you eaten?

Hey,

This Is A Love Letter.

The fact that you got the notification of a newsletter from me and you are currently reading shows You have something some people lost - Life.

The fact that you understood everything you've read to this point is a sign that you should be grateful for sound mind. You should be appreciative that your brain is not mmiri-mmiri like that of the strange young man that held my hand in Ogbete main market, refusing to let me go and insisting I was Nneka, his sister that ran away from their village seven years ago with her Togo boyfriend (that guy sha🤦🏽‍♀️).

Hey,

Be kind to yourself, walk your journey and respect your process because comparison is often a thief of joy.

Your plans for 2023 fell through, okayyy? Now you feel unworthy, small and think of yourself no less than a failure. What about 2024? What is stopping us from carrying those plans over? Why do we constantly put ourselves on a timeline and play the role of our own executioner?

Again I ask, Why?

You may not be where you want to be but you're definitely not where you used to be so if you're looking for a sign then here it is, Be Grateful, Be Well, Kwechiri, Go again. I’ll do same and when next someone says; You inspire me, I'll smile, bask in the warmth of that compliment and respond; I am glad.

Love❤️,

Chioma.

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I had written a lot on the board, so much that the letters were beginning to appear faint. A sign from the white board marker which indicated many things - protest, warning, and a plea to refill.

I had my ink bottle with me but I wasn't going to because I needed my students to catch their breath. I needed to catch my breath.

Attributes Of Honesty.

I wrote, underlined on the board and wondered if these children who were probably still basking in the euphoria that came with scaling common entrance, moving to a new and higher grade understood the meaning of those words.

ATTRIBUTE.

I watched them as they moved their heads in a sort of monochromatic Up and Down way - Looking at the board, Writing on their note, Looking at the board, Writing on their note, again and again and again and ....

"Who can tell me the meaning of Attribute" I asked them.

"Characteristics" they all responded simultaneously

"I know but I need you to explain a little deeper than that"

They didn't say anything. Ghen Ghen! This class had the most vocal and confident students. They always had something to say - onpoint or off

point - na you sabi. They must talk.

"Okayyyy, what are the Attributes of your Civic Teacher" I asked with a hand on the hip.

Their roar and instant squeal immediately made me regret using my innocent self as scapegoat to explain something they didn't teach in community secondary school Ihuokpara.

Chioma who send you, who send you?

"She wears glasses everytime (see her head, if I no wear am how I wan see road teach you). “She likes copying plenty note

"She is very funny (Yes na! Destiny yess! That's why I asked you fundamental human right and you wrote 'Right to sing'. Keep laughing inu? jisike)

"She has tiny handwriting "She is a fine teacher "She can teach. "Her voice use to change. Sometimes it's deep, sometimes it's normal "Her facial expression is comical"

Aaaahhhhhhhh!!!!

“It's alright class. It's enough. I can see you all perfectly understand the meaning of attribute, A Sound Clap! (As i dey talk am, I dey weep).

I walked back to the staffroom twenty minutes later clutching my note with both hands and thinking of how I offended Ndi Jss1.

Which one is her voice use to change?Whose voice use to change? Eeehhhhh?Jss1 - 1, Kopa - 0

No be una fault, na Clarion call I blame.

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I know, I know.

Na bad thing I do and I promise to do better😈 (read it again)

I saw a fine clean Papi today on my way to church. Fine suit, clean car, well trimmed white beard, grey hair that is greying properly, skin skinning.

Woh!

You can just tell he eats enough fruits and vegetables, sits in an air-conditioned office 24/7 and is living soft life. (How did I ascertain all this you may ask, by looking at his face! Look at your face in the mirror today and tell me what you see. Me? I've accepted my own truth🚶🏼‍♀️).

I know older men are not my spec but at this point, age might just be a number because oginidi!

Back To The Story....

I was walking on my own o, facing and moving towards my salvation when I heard a car honk and multiple "Hello! Excuse me".

First and foremost, I tried to decipher if I had seen the face before because this man is a "Daddyyyy" and not the usual "Ndi broda" toasters that has sworn not to let me live my life in peace.

Secondly, as an akpuruka babe that I chose to be, I walked towards the car window and the AC coupled with perfume that hit me had the intention of knocking me down but my God is a solid Rock.

Let me reiterate this here, Ubiam ajoka! Poverty no good at all!!

I greeted Papi and the following conversation ensued:

Me: Good morning Sir

Papi: Good morning my dear. I'm so sorry I pulled you off route but I couldn't resist.

Me: Excuse me Sir, Do I know you? I came across because I was contemplating if we knew each other from somewhere.

Papi: Oh no dear, I saw you and I thought "Wow! who is this clean girl? She's so clean and beautiful. I want to get to know her" and that's why I called you.

Me:

Papi: Yes. My name is Doctor hkkbhhjnnbb, what's your name?

Me: (mutters my name inaudibly while thinking of my next line of action)

Papi: "Are you a corper? Wow! niceeee! What's your state of origin? Can I get your number? Can I drop you off? Just to ease the burden of walking to your destination off you. You are too pretty to be stressing like this.

(In my head) Yes Sir!

I know I'm too burifu to be in the trenches but as my papa no bi Dangote, or Adeleke won't I find a way to be okay?

Bett excuse me sah, you want to be my sugar daddy🥺?

That would be nice o! Very Nice....

Shebi I can just listen to your family problems and you'll wire me money after, Nothing more (can definitely do less).

No?

You already have a therapist.… You want me to rub your tummy, Your beard too?😳

Scratch your back, you scratch my back?

I am not a small girl and shouldn't pretend not to know what you're saying?

Chineke nna!

Papi I am an obele nwa o😭 Nwa twenti-wan years!

I don't know what you're saying Sir🙄.

That man is just a stingy person abeg.

I think I struck a good deal - Listen to your family problems, Wire me money. It's a sweet deal and puhleasee🙄 it's a sweet deal for both parties.

Anyways, I'm not bothered, another one will come.

Stingy Man

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…………………………………………

I woke up this morning and haven't left my bed since.

 "Since when?" It's been Two hours Fam and I still haven't left my bed, except of course to warm the beans I prepared yesterday that I barely touched because of too much pepper. I still wonder how I made such a careless mistake.

"Ose ebenile!" 😩

I also left my bed to pee, but that doesn't count because duhh, Am I supposed to hold it in because I want to make a point?🙄

 I had to wee abek!

Woh, Stop trying to analyze the accuracy of my initial statement, you'll only miss the point.

……………………………………

Ever since 'Balablu' rigged his way into victory I've been mopping like a hungry cat.

I've always felt unproductive but these days I feel the emotion intensifying.

Swiping carelessly on Instagram, checking out the brand I work with and admiring how consistent the graphics team has been with purple and pink.

"Nicee work guyssss!!" I mutter in my chest because I still haven't brushed this morning and I don't want anything ungodly entering my nostrils.

I suddenly feel a tingling in my stomach, and it's not the type I felt when my crush of three years told me "I love the gown you wore to church this morning, it's beautiful" 

That boy really gave me butterflies, however, I digress😒.

This tingling wasn't a tingling.

It was a knot and a "Shey you dey whine me ni" feeling.

Turns out they aren't following the content calendar I created for the month in it's entirety. Even the Pinterest images I sourced for were replaced.

"Wetin dey occur?"

"Are these people managing my services or what?"

"Abi I'm not doing the work well?"

"Should I just quit before they sack me?"

"I need the money but if my services are anything beneath amazing then I should just go and start selling ice-block"

                   💡

Ice-block business is actually a "not-so-bad" idea because the heat in Asaba is on a Tufiakwa level. 

In addition to the current Balablu situation, ice-block business would really be nice. 

My Tagline; 'Cooling the tongue and mind of angry men'

My target audience and target customers would be:

1. People who don't pay light bill.

2. People who pay light bill but don't have generator.

3. People who pay light bill, have generator but don't have money for fuel. (My Ice-block would be cheaper than fuel🤞🏾. That's my mandate!)

4. My former coworkers who didn't follow the content calendar. Na them push me into this business 😒.

5.  You that will read this story without commenting. 'You go chop ice-block tire'😤

On a more serious note, I'll just ask them WHY and hope they tell me;

"It was just too good that we didn't even know where to start from"😣 and if not, I'll sulk for some hours, learn from whatever mistakes noted and work towards attaining perfection.

Why Because….

I am Chommy Chocs.

Self-sabotage and low esteem has nothing on me.

      Till Next Time….

           (Smiles in ice-block)😌..

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In case you are wondering Wetin bi this one again? This is Ada Nnamani’s Newsletter and you my friend, are in for a long thing (no need for explanation you’ll understand very soon). I would have shared puff-puff, plantain and okpa but you haven't subscribed yet and until you do the needful, it's only 🌽 agbado you’ll eat from dusk till dawn.

So……

Dearest Gentle Reader, (even though some of una no gentle)

Subscribe to read my stories and support my work.

Thank you.

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