The Aftermath - An Epistolary

Dear ….. Erm, I don’t quite know what title to ascribe you now.

I’ve held this pen for quite a while now, dithering over what to write. I’ve always wanted to explain everything that happened a little better, but how do I start?
You see, I have absolutely no experience with heart breaks considering that I have practically no history with relationships, but I can totally imagine your present state of mind. I can imagine the hurt, disappointment, anger, the possible hatred and feelings of betrayal.
And yeah, I know, I caused them all.

I remember the night I dropped the ‘bombshell’ of wanting out. Even though I don’t think it should have been a bombshell, for it was a long time coming, i don’t expect it was any easier for you to handle. I was just too much of a coward to admit that I’d wanted out for quite a while and I did not quite know how to finesse the exit and not look terrible about it.
I’m sure your most prevalent question, right now, is ‘Why?’ Why did I leave? I know if you could find a way to ask me that question, without seeming desperate, you would. With that in mind, I can give you my answer now, before you ask; I don’t know. I absolutely do not.

I can’t explain how I came to not be thrilled anymore when you make those clowning, South Park themed jokes that used to get me in stiches. How did I lose total interest in embarking on road trips with you, when it used to be the highlight of my admittedly infrequent vacations?

Remember when you’d tell me I was an amateur in the kitchen, and then you’ll waltz in and prepare those mouth-watering, delicious dishes that made my house a main stay for the guys on weekends and public hols? I remember your veggie stew with ‘long throat’.
I used to love your cooking. I still do, to be honest. I just wasn’t enthused anymore to try to spend time with you in the kitchen while you worked your magic.

Remember how we’d forgo Friday night Turn-ups to stay in and catch up on old movies? Yes, I admit, I enjoyed lying down to watch chick flicks with you. And cuddle. I used to want to spend every moment with you. Where did that go?

I just watched the closing Ceremony of the Rio Olympics. I remember when we were giddy, watching the Copacabana beach scenes during the World cup two years ago, and swearing that we’d watch the Olympics together, live in Rio this year. Funny, we could just have afforded it right now. Life happens eh?

I could not explain it either, when I’d look at you now through the eyes of my friends and not feel an immediate oomph added to my swag. Remember how proud I used to be upon seeing the envy in their eyes? And how I’d smirk, preen and remark to myself, ‘yeah, that’s all mine’. When we’d dance and it would immediately become an exhibition for everyone else watching, and people would exclaim, ‘Ah, relationship goals.’ Yes, I still hate that goals word. But how the hell did all that wear off?

I can’t answer any of these questions, but I can definitely assure you of two things;

First, I didn’t give up easily. I tried. Not just because I wanted to stay so much, after all, you’ve been the best thing that happened to me recently, but also because I want to believe I wasn’t destined to end up alone, as I’ve always suspected. Remember the break? I wanted to miss you then. I tried to, so bad, but, again, life happens.

And no, there isn’t someone else. There never was. And this epistle isn’t to exorcise my demons so I could move on to someone else. Nope. You’ve set the bar way too high and probably no one, bar say, Angelina Jolie (remember we love her?) could even attempt to measure up. I mean, if I couldn’t stay with someone as awesome as you, who would I stay with?

I mean, who else would tell me on phone to say hi to my truck, and tell it that you miss it?

Damn, I really didn’t deserve you. Sally was right. I really am so jaded, I’m Jade itself

I still don’t know what to call you. I hate to acknowledge that I would one day use the word ‘ex’ to refer to you. I’m not ready for that, even though I know it has to happen.

Anyway, I hope this finds you well.

                                                       Yours ever in love,
                                                       (I don’t know, what do you call me now?)

For the Love of Beer

A few days back, I met someone awesome for the first time and we had drinks at a Café in Abuja here.
It’s known for having really good cocktails and coffee mixes on menu. She ordered a ‘dirty white boy’, a coffee, milk and cream mix, (I know, who the hell names these drinks right?), and I, a beer. Without being asked, I hastened to convey my love for beer but couldn’t quite explain properly what draws me to it and makes me choose it over probably every other alcoholic beverage, even over my beloved Cap’n Jack and Skyy (that’s really good vodka).

At home today, nursing a bottle of Star, the words came to me. I’d just come in from the shopping complex close to my house, where I’d walked to buy tomatoes (thank God it’s cheaper now). I was thirsty, so before cooking, I opened this bottle, and sans glass, stood in front of the fridge and chugged down almost a quarter of the contents in one swallow.
I belched loudly, smiling. The ice-cold goodness had travelled straight down my gullet, cooling my parched tongue along the way and hitting my stomach with authority and command, generating that spine tingling feeling from that often glossed over spot, you know that part, back of the head, a few metres from your neck, just under the sharp point we called ‘Ogor’. Only three things give that feeling – the hum from a barber’s clipper on your head, a Beer, and very good, sloppy, …. Err… ‘brain’?

How do I extol beer further? Tough, but I’ll try.

Ever walked into a Bar on a hot afternoon during the heat wave and a visibly sweating, from-the-freezer, cooling-the-air-round-you cold bottle of lager is placed before you? I’m sure your thirst gets sated even before you drink.
Or perhaps I can tell you about Beer’s worth as a conversation enabler? Smoother of pathways, leveler of class, first of its name? I kid you not. See below:

• Want to ask a legal but unofficial favour from a colleague and don’t know how to approach him? Take him to a bar and Buy him beer. Thank me later.
• Going to a party and don’t know most of the guys you will meet there? Go with a case or two and carry it into the party late. You’re the MVP from then on. Or at least until some other guy, probably named Buchi, buys an even bigger case and brings it in, but there you go.
• Offended me, and don’t know how to say sorry? Just take me to a good bar and buy me cold beer. Sometimes ‘brain’ works, too, but only from a specific gender, and in specific dynamics. You’re safer and surer with beer.
• Worried about meeting your Significant other’s brother, favourite male cousin, close male friend(s)? Venue is inconsequential here. Just buy beer.
• Got enough Balls to attempt to meet the proposed father in-law? Err…. Maybe not always a beer here, just in case he’s that guy for whom no one is good enough for his baby-girl. He’ll turn the beer to prosecutorial evidence.

All the above is on assumption that they all drink beer. I do, in case you’re wondering, even though I’m sure you aren’t. If they don’t, don’t bother, they aren’t worth the trouble. Wait, I jest.

Seriously though, Beer is healthy. Surprised? Beer has less calories per serving than alcoholic Wine or sugary soft drinks. In fact, moderate and responsible beer consumption has been proven to have nutritional value and is actually good for you on the long run.

Can I take a minute to Say hello to the ladies who drink beer? Especially in our gender defined society? I like it a lot. I’ve always opined that my life partner must be a left handed, artistic, geeky yet sexy, smart, freaky doctor, preferably not from my tribe, but above all, enjoys beer. Tall order, I know. Maybe that’s why I sometimes feel I’m probably doomed to die single. But there’s something uniquely appealing for me about a woman that drinks beer, and writes, and draws, and is a nerd, a freak, a…. Buchi Shut up.

I do need to point something out though. This post isn’t for those who use alcohol in general as a means of escape, or as a tool for working themselves up to abuse either themselves or others, especially domestically. That’s despicable and we the association of Beer drinkers disassociate ourselves from those ‘arrants’. Nor is this for those who, despite their medical condition, refuse to stay away from alcohol. If you belong to these groups, please desist and get help.

This isn’t also for those without self-discipline who expend all their money on alcohol, or for those who, every Saturday or Sunday evening, head for their favourite spots, with shirts often unbuttoned, flabby, pregnant bellies open for the public’s unsolicited viewing displeasure, and sit down to quaff cartons of beer, enough to run a bottling plant for a day. You people make us look bad. Stop already.

Nope. This is for the blue and white (even brown) collar workers, artisan, entrepreneur, writer, geek, teacher, and of course, the doctor. I write this for the Bar owners, who are pillars of the community much like Moe in The Simpsons. I mean, where else would Homer and Apu go? This is also for those watching football in Bars (and trolling, just doing ‘bants’, not griping like @Sirkastiq on twitter about Arsene), the average Emeka, Musa and Funke, who, after a hard day’s job, enjoy relaxing to a beer or two, who are creating value, unwinding, socializing and forming bonds with like-minded lovers of beer.

So, tell me, what’s your poison? Are you a wine connoisseur, Hennessey enthusiast? You like Jack the Captain? Or are you like me, do we all love that cold, rich, smooth, sometimes brown, sometimes green bottle of soothing awesomeness, which contains just the right amount of bitterness to keep us going?

Are we united in our love for Beer?

The Best 24 Hours of my life

Let me tell you about the best 24 hours of my life. It was the day I met you. I’d decided to marry you that day, six full months before I finally did propose.
I was initially reluctant when Uche, my brother asked me to turn up that Friday night, and I almost didn’t go. The week had been long. Running startups is hell.

The Bank is my favorite Abuja club, so of course we drove to Amino Kano, on Wuse II, sat down at the Pre-club spot, aptly named ATM, ordered my customary starter – a chilled bottle of Star. I opened my Nook reader and, forsaking the Ngugi I’d just copped, I opened the lighter Jack Reacher, It was a Friday night after all. Jack’s always the Man on Friday nights.

Mild commotion directly behind me. Four girls took up the table before ours. I didn’t care initially, until you loudly ordered for the coldest bottle of Star they had in stock, to the laughter of your friends who had all ordered cocktails. I turned. The lift of your eyebrows at me confirmed you were the beer drinker. My smile was tiny, but I hoped my approval showed.

It did. You walked up to my table. A five-eleven, hourglass-figure apparition, with eyes that seemed to have a permanent box of laughter and mischief parked inside it’s garage. You’d seen my Barnes and Noble Nook, you said. You wanted to know what I was reading. To test you, I said, ‘Lee Child’. Your Immediate response of ‘Jack Reacher, Which one?’ Intrigued me. We talked books.

Of course, the mischievous Uche suggested we merge tables. We do, and I immediately start having fun. We share a final bottle of their coldest Star. Of course you cheated me, a gentleman, I let you drink more.

My premonitions begin when we get into the club and I ask what you’d like to drink. You reply. ‘Jack’s the Man’. We obviously share a love for Captain Jack Daniels. We dance, crazily, closely. You’re the Ginger Rogers to my Fred Astaire.
We are having fun. So much fun, your friends snicker when we danced gangnam style like we’d rehearsed it.
When your Tipsy colleague asked if your cobwebs might finally get some cleaning tonight, I pretended not to listen. Didn’t want to hope too much.

Tentatively however, I tell you I don’t want the night to end yet,
You then ask me, eyes dancing with laughter,
‘How good are you at FIFA?’
I say, ‘very’.
‘Come over to mine for the rest of the night,’ you say. ‘But I won’t put out.’
I didn’t mind one bit. I’m game.
I hand my keys over to Uche and tell him to get home. You throw me yours, saying ‘I call shot gun.’ I don’t mind. I like to drive. You’re ticking boxes I didn’t even know I had, left, right and center. Even when you say ‘Don’t touch the radio, its mine’ I smile, It was déjà vu. I’d said it countless times to my friends. But you make good. The first song you play is Little Big Town’s Sober. We sing along.

The drive to Lugbe seems very short. For once, I did not complain about the streetlights that were off on Airport Road.
I don’t remember much else about the drive. I do however remember not feeling weird at all about you having Men’s clothes ready for me to wear at home. Tongue in cheek, I offer to share a shower. With those damn eyes twinkling with laughter, you say, ‘I won’t put out remember?’ Kicking me to the visitors bathroom. Afterwards, I sit at the PS4 console in the living room waiting for you.

You come out smelling of Jasmine so faintly, I almost put out my tongue to taste it. I’ve always loved its ability to soothe and I knew I would definitely enjoy cuddling with you. I was so distracted by the scent and the not so modest tank top that I almost lose at FIFA. Laughing (again that damn musical sound) you tell me start up managers have  more time on their hands than doctors. I call you a sore loser.

My upteenth surprise, I arrange the couch to sleep, I was already happy enough with my night so far.
You re-enter from the bedroom and say, ‘I lied, I will put out.’
I grin with anticipation. And for good reason. Damn you were good. Your head game, dope. Remember that time you said, ‘Look Papi, No hands’? You near triggered an explosion right there.

You woke me up after dawn with a nickname –
‘Hey, Tonguey McTongueyson, Breakfast in Bed?’ I smile at the compliment and say Yes. ‘Then you’re cooking’ you said.’You like to cook remember?’ I laugh. I did cook.

After breakfast, I set up your new Kindle since you had refused to. ‘Nerds like you should do nerdy Stuff,’ you said. I introduced you to the ebook world. When we lay silently together for two hours, you in the crook of my arm, and me ignoring the cricks, both of us reading books, I knew I was lost.

So I ran. Mumbled about work, demands of running two different startups, teething problems I say. I planned to not see you for another two weeks at least, or at least that was what I had in mind before i found myself back at your place that same night, mumbling something about being in the area.
But I knew, I knew right then I was gonna marry you.

The best 24 hours of my life. It hasn’t happened yet, but I hope it’ll happen exactly this way when I meet you.

Which is when?
Where the hell are you?

What's in a Name

Oh, Just Recently, my name ended in 'Matters' 

Not surprising, The U.S Civil rights was in tatters. 

Wasn't the first time though. My monikers often are varied 

I've been Bland, I've been Bama, whichever motion was carried. 

I was born of a script, initially coded to birth a Trend, 

Never knew I was to become a Unifier upon whom causes depend. 

My name is myriad, it evolves, my only constant is a symbol 

Apt, I represent a canvas upon which reactions gambol 

Keyboard Warriors consist my most common Conceptors 

Impressionable Millennials, my most common receptors. 

My name changes can befuddle an observer. I am Agatu today, 

Tomorrow, I'm a herdsman. Aggressor tomorrow, Victim today. 

With surprising clarity, therein lies not my confusion. 

Neither is my short life span the reason for my disorientation 

Nor is it in the ease with which my new names are chosen, 

For I'm as useful as the middle ranked witch in a coven. 

But, Have you ever been trapped in a futile circle of purpose? 

Only if you're a Vice-President or a social worker, I suppose. 

Then why must I end at my name? Why must my skin be shed? 

Constantly being  forgotten and replaced by another trend? 

I suppose some could call me a rallying cry for many an Issue. 

But I know better, I assuage consciences. I'm a feminist's tissue. 

Be calm, I know, I will introduce myself. Don't be a nag. 

You know who I am. I'm your latest fad. I am a HASHTAG.

The Traitor named Hindsight

Dear Sir, 

I am writing to tell you that I have learnt my lesson. Really, I have. I am sorry. I am even sorrier that I didn't learn earlier. It's all the fault of Mr. Hindsight. Yes, Hindsight, that annoying Mr. Right. He's a traitorous bastard. I have now discovered a lot of lessons he should have taught me that he didn’t, until it had become too late. 

Sir, Hindsight is not a Christian. If he was, he'd have known that one does not ask questions during indoctrination. One only takes what one is told, hook, line and sinker. I should not have asked you all those searching questions during my training and induction. What did I need the information for? Did I want to do the job better than you? Foolish Hindsight. He should have stopped me then. Just look at foolish, naïve me. Asking Smart questions you had no answers to, was your son not seated there? Did he ask any? I was a foolish boy sir. Was I supposed to be smarter than your son? I have learnt that lesson now. Hindsight just told me. The fool. 

Who gave me the right to win Rookie of the year award? That coveted accolade that only went to the superstars who clocked outstanding figures and performed in exemplary fashion, an award you never dreamt of winning, even after spending over five years at entry level. I now went to win it. My foolishness is probably from the village, sir. I'm sure Hindsight was collaborating with the old women in my village. That's the only explanation, otherwise I would not have worked hard enough to do so well and show you up. Hindsight should have told me that the corporate world in Nigeria is like those Chinese martial arts movies I watched as a kid. You can never be better than your master. I have also learnt this one now sir. 

Sir, Hindsight will not go to heaven. Where was he when I was preparing that well publicized brief that was so good, it redefined our way of working, when you were on vacation? Why did he not advise me against preparing and executing such a flawless sales strategy? He should have advised me against doing so well, I would impress the visitors from the global office during that employee fair. I should have known that I was stressing you by forcing you to smile and extol my virtues to top management when in actual fact you were not happy about it. Imagine making you smile reluctantly. Was I planning to induce constipation and add to your already well documented list of ailments that made you leave the office almost everyday around lunch, and hand over responsibilities to me? Don't mind me sir. I have learnt from that foolishness. But only God will judge Hindsight. 

Oga, see, about that beautiful corper in the office last year, that was attracted to me, sorry. Na Hindsight fuck up. The foolish man. Why didn't he tell her to ignore your marital status, Children and humongous beer gut? Why did she go and like me sef? And so what if I was a clean, handsome, smart young man with excellent potential? Because I was unmarried? And so? Who eligible bachelor epp? Hindsight should have told her that it takes work staying married, being a father, and having to remember all those mundane vows and responsibilities, hence you deserve the refreshing affections of beautiful young females whether in the workplace or no. Oga sorry. I should have curved her. What does a young man need love and happiness for? Hindsight should have told me its only a prerogative of older men who have seen a lot of unpleasant things in life, like school fees and sleeping next to the warmth of a wife almost everyday of their lives. It's his fault, along with his friend, Youthful, whose surname is exuberance. 

Sir, I know Hindsight is not my friend. If he is, why did he not warn me not to issue a query to Omolola, that new female staff with the big Ikebe? If she came late to work five times in a row nko? Who cares if she did not complete any of the tasks I delegated to her even after doing half of them for her? Why did my so called friend, Hindsight not tell me that a lady like her needs extra hours every morning to do her squats so her Ikebe would remain attractive to you? I can be very foolish ehn, I shouldn’t have asked her why she came in from lunch 30 mins late. Didn't I know that lunch with you is like having a presidential lunch? Sorry sir. Remember what I said about my village people. It's Hindsight and those old women at work.

Hindsight came to my house today sir. He told me that I shouldn't have performed very well when I was sent to relieve that Regional Manager in Uyo. I now foolishly went to break sales records upandan, surpassing even your own. He should have told me you wouldn’t like it even though it was not your region. Me sef, I can overdo. Must I be great? But you see why I am not happy with Hindsight? Its his fault. He did not accompany me to Uyo. 

I quarreled with him today sir when he told me I was not a good employee. He said If I was, I would have carried your bag everyday, made your coffee even though you had a secretary, I should have given you credit for all the innovations I brought in. I could have kissed your ass in different ways, while acting like it tasted like Skyy's Passion Fruit flavoured Vodka. I agree that I should have done all these. After all, that’s what you told Julie, that new Corper you took out to lunch yesterday. But you see why I blame Hindsight? If he had told me all of these, I would have been a model employee, instead of an asset to the business. Who needs assets these days sef? At least If I had been good, you would not have put my name up for retrenchment when the company asked for redundant staff to downsize. Imagine the stress I gave you, making you lose your most talented subordinate. Who will now do that mountain of work you assist my life with by dumping for me to do? I have learnt sir. I will do better where next I work. 

P.S I have told Hindsight not to come to my house again, except with his twin cousins, Forewarned and Forearmed. 

Yours Forever and Ever, 

Now humble ex-Employee 

I wished for a Happy ending

In the Beginning, I met you, albeit reluctantly. 

Dislike – My first feeling. You're privileged, was my perception. 

I'm Street, I say, Never met privilege I didn't bully. 

Surprise, You were steel, encased in flighty velvet, was my realization 

Quickly, I liked. Very much. My re-orientation, very rapid. 

Who would want to bully that? I am definitely not rabid. 

My bleak cynical curtain of Loneliness, in the face of love's brightness, began to part, 

Hope was at last shining through it. Alas, my heart wasn't after all, an Icebox. 

My renowned empire of cynicism fell apart faster than the North under the Starks. 

Jade used to be my Moniker because previously, I disengaged faster than detox. 

The depth of feeling this time would put paid to that, I felt. 

Mush was creeping in on me, like Curry, just before shooting threes, 

Telling me, it's time to let go and really feel, or so I felt. 

It looked like time to man up, to let go of the meaningless freebies. 

And so, I felt. I opened up. I loved. I mean, What was there to not love? 

The witty conversations, becoming my movie buddy, the epic Friday nights, 

The silly things began to matter. Misgivings over Val's day began to devolve. 

The camaraderie I felt when you chugged down your first cold glass that night, 

Sharing a beer took on a whole different meaning. Now I was home. 

Like Lebron, I might finally be winning a championship in my home. 

I was giddy. Expressively, 'tell-everybody' giddy. 

The feeling was unfamiliar. Happiness filled my heart to bursting. 

See this happiness ehn, its sneaky. It trickily glossed over everything, 

Selling me a building with a structure so dodgy. 

Much Like the Trojans, I refused to look my gift horse in the mouth, 

Disregarded the psychological incompatibility. What was it worth? 

Ignored the apparent sexual imbalance even though it was innocence versus experience. 

Until the inevitable doubts surfaced. Intellectual lack of parity made felt its presence. 

And while my excitement dimmed, your contentment increased. 

The little things became big burdens to execute, or so I deduced. 

Your fully bloomed joy became sticky vines round my neck, choking me. 

While my disengagement took root, your confusion was germinating. 

'How can you not love anymore? Our compatibility seems so true. 

I don’t want this to happen. I wouldn’t know what else to do. 

Why would you want to leave when it feels so good to tarry? 

Or has staying in love become too big a burden for you to carry?' 

My lady, I am but helpless. We saw forever, but Fate saw temporary. 

Thought it wouldn't happen, but She can be finicky about a prophecy. 

How did the feeling exit me so fast? Perhaps I'm jaded and Nature is right. 

If so, If my name is indeed Jade, the future really doesn’t look so bright. 

So, 'What next now?' You ask. 'What are we to do?' 

It's the end, my friend, I loved you, but I'm leaving you.