The chemistry of desires.

Throughout my life, I have had more male friends than female friends– male friends that I discuss really intimate stuffs with, male friends that have crossed the best friends line but could never go beyond the grey area between more than friends and exclusive lovers, male friends that I almost dated. But at every point that I got into a romantic relationship with some other guy, or they got in a relationship with some girl, I would automatically detach myself from them, because how? How do you manage a lover and a best friend of the opposite sex? How do you not mistakenly dissolve your intimate friendship to something a little too much when you find yourselves alone, behind closed doors? How do you not rouse the suspicions and jealousy of your lover?

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I used to have a silent un-imposing opinion about this before, until I watched a movie where Sisi had a male best friend who Bobo knew and was very familiar with. Bobo was very receptive of Sisi’s continued communication and relationship with the bestie even after their marriage. Bestie will visit Sisi and Bobo for weekend Lunch, or Mid-week dinner; Bestie will call Sisi at any time, and Bobo will happily let her take calls. Sometimes, Sisi will even visit Bestie, and Bobo will not flinch. One day, Bestie had a terrible break-up, and called Sisi for solace– because that’s what best friends are for, right? Sisi informed Bobo who told her to make sure to see Bestie first thing after daybreak. Sisi visited Bestie as discussed. Vulnerable, hurt, serially heart-broken, Bestie soon found himself plunging down Sisi’s throat with his tongue. Sisi could not resist it– the chemistry had been untapped for too long. Sisi and Bestie got down. Friendship was broken. Marriage was destroyed. Happily Ever After was shattered, all in one flimsy turn of events.

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There are different schools of thought around this issue. While some believe that there is nothing wrong in keeping best friends of the opposite sex while in a relationship with someone else, in so far as you are mature enough to deal with it, others say: “what do you need a best friend for when you have a lover?” I think that, largely, it is near impossible to have a platonic relationship with someone of the opposite sex. Such relationships always turn out to be a budding flower waiting to bloom, or a disaster waiting to happen. And because desires are fickle and selfish, all it will take is one scratch, a slight touch, for us to be reminded of the raging blood flowing in our veins; of this divine blessing we have always had in our lives but taken too long to notice or admit or both. And this might not be such a terrible thing if you and bestie are single and willing to explore whatever comes; but when one or both parties find themselves in a relationship, I think that boundaries should be set.

Maybe we are grown ups and mature enough to handle these things, but I don’t think we ever get old enough to understand the chemistry of desires. And whatever it is that you do not understand, you do not over-exercise or abuse it. Will it not then be easier to stall these happenstances than nurse the grief of a stolen kiss or unplanned sex with the bestie?

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Share your thoughts with me; what is the place of best friends of the opposite sex in a romantic relationship?


© The Short Black Girl, 2018.


Moving On: Is closure a lie?


It is important to fight for what we want but it is also important to know what is worth fighting for and know when to move on from the battle field. Moving on is hard, difficult. I know. You ask yourself: have I done enough? Can I do more? Should I do more? Is it leading anywhere? Will it ever lead anywhere? What if I am near breakthrough? What if I am far from it? Will I even survive the journey, if it happens that breakthrough exists but it is too far off that it’s safer to think of it as non-existent?! Too many questions, and no credible answers; it is just you in a dark room, and your shadow staring back at you in silence. I get it, trust me.

And this is true for everything that we have ever waited for to happen; everything we have ever wanted so badly to happen. The job, the promotion, the interview, the congratulatory letter, the assent to our many years, months, days, hours, minutes and seconds of sheer effort. But more importantly, it is a numbing phase akin to relationships. You fall out with people you love often, and sometimes you try to salvage the relationship, which is fine. But everything eventually runs its course— some longer than others. And it hurts, but the journey must end where the road finishes.

The danger with not letting go when we should is we waste away fighting for a dead cause, we become increasingly unhappy because no favorable results are forthcoming, we are pre-occupied with the delusion of a happy ending that will never arrive, and lose sight of every other thing that can possibly go right. And it is a terrifying place to be in. Yes, there is honor in fighting for what you believe in, fighting for what you desire; but there is dignity in knowing when to drop old battles and search for new ones to conquer. 

We must learn to love ourselves enough to suck up our prides, accept the sting of not being among the chosen ones and move on to other seeming ways forward. Yes, most times, we will crave closure; we will want a why, a reason that makes sense, that explains away our shame of being unwanted— but what if we don’t find closure? What if there is no why? Just a “it-is-what-it-is”? What if there is really nothing like closure, and “closure” is just a comforting lie our minds tell to justify our fears of moving on?


Have you ever had to move on from an experience? How did you manage it and how did you know it was time to move on? Did you seek closure before moving on? Please share your thoughts with me.


© The Short Black Girl, 2018.


Musings: Talk the talk, or nah?

talk the talk

Recently, my blogger friend, Temi, posted about the need to define boundaries, and gain clarity about what phase we are in when relating with the opposite sex in a would/might-be romantic relationship. After having hung out a couple of times and exchanged suggestive texts and discussions about our personal lives and our future dreams, it is very normal that we start to wonder: “where are we going?” and “what are we doing?”

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Over time, I have realized that there is a very thin line between the dating and exclusivity phase. A lot of times, people do not clearly define these stages. After a couple of dates and hang-outs, and a few accidental or (not-so-accidental) kisses under the mango tree, a lot of people would rather have the relationship evolve naturally than discuss through the evident changes and the growing intensity.

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I think both options can be risky, depending on how we look at it.

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If we decide to let a relationship evolve naturally, there is a tendency that a lot of assumptions would be made: unsafe assumptions, hasty conclusions. Even if both parties enjoy each other’s company, what one person wants and is able to offer may differ from what the other person wants and is willing to offer. On the other hand, if we decide to discuss these things with the person involved, there comes the question of “When is the right time?” I think that the time-factor is very crucial; it cannot be too early on in a situation-ship (because it can ruin the chances of a great friendship) and it had better not be too late (because well, I like to know where I stand, quickly too).

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Now, clearly, I am a staunch advocate of talking the talk. But I am yet to understand the concept of timing. Once, after I had sensed a little-too-much closeness with a friend—the constant calls, the almost-every-weekend-hangouts, and the works—and knowing I did not want to get involved like that with him, I decided to abort any such intentions even before he made them known. I had good reasons. He would buy me gifts, and question my not-calling… which was understandable. I would want someone I was interested in to be interested in me too. But, I clearly wasn’t on the same page with him, even though I did not know what page he was on. So, I chatted him and told him we couldn’t date. His response was utter shock. And then he called, and we talked. Thinking back now, it wasn’t a very pleasant experience for either of us, because I wasn’t entirely sure how to go about it, or what time was right but one thing was clear: I didn’t want to hurt him, I didn’t want to lead him on, I didn’t want to feel like he was investing in me and I wasn’t even willing to reciprocate. But he thought I should have waited, given him more time to form his intentions fully and make them known to me before aborting them. I didn’t think so. And in the end, I like to think we were the better for that experience.

So, I am thinking that going forward, I would not hesitate to make my intentions known regardless of how the person feels about my honesty; but I am open to learning and understanding the art of understanding people better. Be kind to talk to me friends:

  1. Would you rather leave a relationship to evolve naturally, or discuss your intentions through its growth (e.g. I would like to date you someday; I like you just as a friend but can’t date you)? And why are you more comfortable with your choice?
  2. If you would rather discuss these things, when do you think is the right time to talk the talk?


PS: I am loving this gif and picture thingy, I think I might get addicted to it for a little while! Hehe.

PPS: Image and Gif source- Google

Sending the warmest of hugs, and kindest of smiles your way today. ❤


© The Short Black Girl, 2018.

Flirty Friday: Shoot your shot or nah?!

Hello everybody, sum’n just happened righ’ now! Hahah. Who can relate to this? I had to open with that intro because I am here to rant. So, indulge me!

I have been feeling a lot like Simi in Joromi lately, and the urge to shoot my shot is not wearing down by the day. Let me give you the gist: there is this semi-hottie I have been having a silly crush on for the past something-years (it’s bad enough that I even wrote him a poem. No, two. Or was it three?! I am so generous, I always write them a poem. Haha). I met him in College (University) and we have been okay friends since then. He would call me about once every nine months, we would hang out, hold hands and check up every other day for about two weeks and then he would zone off into another planet to play hide and seek with his alien friends—until another nine months, of course!


And the truth is, well, I am over it. Truly. I have been over his dilly-dallying for about a year now—telling myself to not take anything he does seriously. Well, I haven’t been listening to me. And yes, I am lying, I am not quite over him.

So, what to do?

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Well, I have tried many things really. Tried to shoot my shot many times to no avail. I would call on some random occasions just to “check up” but he would barely pick his call and later tell me- when he eventually finds the graciousness to call back- that he was terribly busy or he honestly did not see the call! (Maybe some of you would remember this post, but I swear it wasn’t entirely about him. You gotta believe me. Haha!) This was his excuse well into a good part of last year before I gave up on fantasizing about him. And then came late 2017, he asked to hang out and we did (Ps: he came late! He always comes late!), and we talked about a lot of nothings. He talked about himself a lot and we had a seemingly okay time that day. But he never said anything about liking me.

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We did not talk for another two months or so, until a mutual friend talked about how much Mr. Confuscious was so into me and how I should give him a chance. And I was there like: wait, what? How? When? Where? He never said a thing to me! But because I still nursed the good ol’ crush and because, well, 2017 was the year of shooting the shot, I gave him a call before the end of the year, inviting him to some event—with hopes that we would get to talk and I would squeeze some confession out of him.

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And guess what? He bailed! What guts, right?

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So I am still here—partly nursing this crush whose flames are taking too long to die off, partly lying to myself that I don’t give a hoot about what he does and partly wondering what exactly happened when, where and how… and why it is/was so difficult for him to make up his mind about me.

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In the spirit of Februariness, which always reeks of so much more love than other months in a calendar year however much we try to ignore it, talk to me:

  1. As a lady, would you shoot your shot with a guy/ have you ever tried to?
  2. If so, how would you do it/ how did you go about it and what was the outcome?
  3. If not, why not?
  4. And guys, popular opinion has it that you hate to be asked out because you would rather be in charge– doing the asking, toasting and stuff. How true is that?

PS: Shoot your shot (as far as I understand it) means asking someone out or telling someone you like them.

PPS: I used to hate interspersing paragraphs with pictures because I thought they got in the way; but seeing what Temi who blogs here did with a recent post, I couldn’t pass up on the opportunity to do same, even if just once! So, thank you for the inspiration Temi. ❤


© The Short Black Girl, 2018.

Lost and Found (III)


Because you follow this series, and because it is your birthday today, I dedicate this post to you. Happy birthday Everybees. Have a good one!


Mauerbauertraurigkeit. You have found a name for your ailment; the desire to push people away even when you really like them. You have not talked to family in more than a week, you have refused to look at emails, and you have barely been talking to Sam. You just want to be left alone. You have been working hard on bonding with your environment and working on yourself. You have started a new blog, Adrift, but this time, it is anonymous.

Your first post was a note to yourself: “Untangle yourself from the shackles of the past that failed, forgive yourself for wanting things that never came or being impatient for the ones that are yet to come, nurture your space with words of encouragement and faith every day. Make time for God, make time for knowledge, make time for yourself. Importantly, be happy for others. Light finds those who find happiness where their neighbors find joy. Darling, believe this, light will find you.” It didn’t receive any likes, but there had been an anonymous contributor saying: “Amen”. It gave you hope. Ten more posts have followed; each post unclogging the dumping ground that is your mind.

Sam and Gbemi used to be an item but you are still unsure of how to feel about it. You had found out on your first date two nights ago when you teased him about how you thought she liked him. You do not know why you got mad, but you did. And that was the single thing that had ruined the rest of an almost perfect Wednesday night, and your chances at being more than friends. A lot of jumbled thoughts had popped into your head upon hearing the news: one is the fact that you think maybe it is a sign that Sam finds every new girl attractive… just until the next new girl pops in; second, is that you feel sorry for Gbemi, and you do not want to imagine the humiliation she will be put through if she finds out her ex is going after the new skirt; third, is the fact that he finds it easy to pick and drop girls as he chooses in the same work environment suggests that dating is perhaps a game for him; fourth, is that you feel threatened that they are still such good friends. How?; and fifth, is you were mad that you were mad—because, he did nothing wrong by being honest about a fact you cannot change, but you were human about his attempt at honesty, you hated him for it.

“I have never understood the politics of staying friends after a break-up.” You write in your eleventh post, Questions “Because how, how do you mute your feelings for someone that once meant the world to you? How do you start to see a person as just friends, after sharing naked truths and naked desires? How do you look at the person’s lips the same when they talk? How do you not want to grab them in the hallway or the elevator, when you are both alone and the atmosphere is charged with unburied history, to revisit the taste of their kiss or feel the swell of their longing for you in your bare hands? Where do you stow the memories? What do you do with them? Do you trade them during a friendly dinner and laugh about how good your bodies once fit together but not anymore? I think that just friends is a term ex-es use for “hanging there, waiting for a miracle, a second chance”, and that to me, is a terrible waste of time. And a silly attempt at fumbling with the truth. We love who we love, regardless of break-ups; and acting as just friends does not make everything okay. In fact, it makes absolutely nothing okay. And in the end, you still love who you love!”

Sam has been wanting to talk but you have been avoiding him. You have refused to let him drive you home, and you have refused to pick his calls. It has been two days, but you are yet to come around. He is worried about you, worried you are going down the dark-mood lane again, but he doesn’t understand and your honest thoughts are too un-made to be shared with him. But when he knocks on your door on Friday evening and refuses to leave until you let him in to have a talk about “What’s been happening”, you oblige him.

“So what’s up?” he asks, a sullen attempt at playing cool.

“Truth or truth?” you are terrified of what he will think of you once he knows what you think of him.

 He smiles. “The whole truth.”

“I like you, a lot–” You start, as you perch yourself in a corner of the room as far from him as practicable. “And it will be nice to know you better, but I have been somewhat unsettled since you told me about Gbemi. I appreciate that you told me about what you had before, but it is clear that she is still into you. And this whole friendship gig you guys have got going on will not help matters with her. Sam, I cannot start a relationship with you under this kind of circumstance.”

He pauses for a while before responding. “Don’t get me wrong Grace, Gbemi and I never dated, I only said ‘we were an item’. What we had started pretty randomly a year ago; flirting, chatting and it graduated to sex. There were no commitments, just two adults having fun and she knew it… until I noticed she started to develop feelings. I never liked Gbemi, not like that and while I am aware that she likes me, I am not encouraging her to have any ideas about us being together. I guess all I am saying is we have never been more than friends; yes, friends with benefits at some point now turned friends without… but not friends turned lovers turned exes turned besties. We are just friends and you have absolutely nothing to be worried about.”

You stare at him, incredulously. “Is that supposed to make me feel better?”

He frowns, shakes his head, attempts to touch you but then he does not. “It isn’t supposed to make you feel… You know what? I will let you rest now. Maybe we will talk later.”

“Good idea.” You respond curtly, not looking at him as you move from your standing position beside the bathroom to the door, holding it open to show how quickly you want him gone.

He is half way out the door when he stops to look at you one last time. “You know I cannot tell you what to believe or what to think of me, and I can barely amend my past to fit the present. But I care about you. I will not tell you lies so that you feel comfortable with who you think I am, no. This is me baby. I have been a boy before, reckless and careless; but now, I choose my mistakes carefully. And I am choosing to have faith that you will come around and give this a chance to be what it can be. But if I am making a mistake, so be it.”

“Good night Samuel.”

He nods. “Good night. Baby.”

You slam the door against his shadow. Then you find a corner and cry. You don’t know why.


Mauerbauertraurigkeit- the inexplicable urge to push people away; even the friends whom you really like.

Source: Dictionary of Obscure Sorrows


© The Short Black Girl, 2017.

Musings: When will boys grow up?

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I think that when people are genuinely interested in you, they will go the extra mile; and their efforts will have nothing to do with how worthy or unworthy you are of their attention. Because they are INTERESTED IN YOU. No excuses, nothing. You will know, because they will be active about it. If for any reason you have to question their interest, then maybe there really is no interest to be questioned in the first place.

I was chatting with M earlier in the day and we talked about boys– their back and forth, here and there, dillying and dallying. And then I saw this quote that got me thinking “amen somebody!

If you like a girl, tell her. If you want to be with her, tell her. If you don’t like her, don’t be in her face. If you don’t want her, why drop hints? I am a fan of setting things straight from the go-go and maybe that is my flaw. I like to know where I stand and I like my friends to know where they stand too. If I like you but can’t date you, I let you know upfront; and if we decide to stick it through the friend’s zone, we both know it is what we signed up for. If I like you and can date you, I give you my time and attention, not because I don’t have a life, but because I have chosen to make you a part of the life I have. I do not understand people that are undecided about how they feel. This moment, their interest is obvious; the next, they are off into thin air… claiming to be either busy or just very-very-busy. Really?

Now, I don’t expect that everyone would care to do things right, but I think we should respect people enough to let them know where they stand, really. Tell them, point blank, what you want from them. Let them let you know if it is what they can offer: Is it sex? Is it a relationship? Is it a get-to-know-you-better-and-see-what-gives thing? Is it ‘just-friends’? Spill! And act it! Everyone is busy, but we all manage to make time for the things that count. So, you decide what counts!

I think that when people matter to us, they matter to us. And that is that. If we have to doubt it, then maybe they don’t matter and maybe it is time to leave them the hell alone.

© The Short Black Girl, 2017.

Conversations with Marvin: The deal about honesty.

Me: I think honesty is the most important thing in a relationship.

Marvin: No, I think it is Love and Respect. You love someone, you want to forgive them quickly even before they apologize. You love someone, you find it hard to get mad at them. You respect someone, you consider them and their feelings even though you are only responsible for what you do, not how they feel. You love someone, you spend your living days having their back, trying not to hurt them. You love someone, you believe in them until there is a reason to stop believing. I think we lie to ourselves when we say we want honesty. Because we can handle love and respect, but we can never truly handle honesty. We don’t know how. The world we live in is not made for honesty.

Me: I don’t agree with you. I do not kid when I tell you I want honesty. I want to know every grain of truth that there is: about the past, about everything. When I love you, I give you the whole damn truth and I expect the same. I want to know about the girl you kissed, the girl you almost cheated with, the atrocities of your past, everything. When there is honesty, we give ourselves a chance at forgiveness. A chance at new beginnings.

Marvin: Would you really want to know how I kissed that hot girl in my office because you and I were not on talking terms? Would you have the patience to hear about how she kissed me more than I kissed her because the man in me wanted it but the soul in me knew it belonged with you and no other? Would you want to know my loins stirred with lust after I saw some thick set woman walk by? Would you want to know my ex visited and although we didn’t revisit the bed-times, I had wet dreams about her? Would you want to know? Can you handle it?

Me: Yes, I would want to know. And it should not be your business if I can handle it or not. Your responsibility is to be honest, and my responsibility is to make do with that information however best I can process it. If I resolve to forgive you, it will be my prerogative. If I resolve to leave because it is too much for me, then maybe we shouldn’t have been together in the first place. I think people who feel self-righteous about their ability to hide the truth are in fact selfish egoistic bastards. You are not afraid to tell the truth because you are concerned about my well-being, rather you are afraid because you worry about how I will begin to see you and how my feelings for you might change; how you might stop being the guy I love and dote on and start being the one who hurt me, the one who cheated.

Marvin: That is not true… and I am not saying I would not be honest with you, all I am saying is that I think beyond honesty, love and respect are the most important things in a relationship.

Me: All I am saying is if you love me, you will respect me enough to be honest with me; or even better, respect me enough to not do those things you would not have the heart or humor to be honest about.


Honesty is the fastest way to prevent a mistake from turning into a failure

-James Altucher

Honesty is a double-edged sword, and I think that in all sincerity, there will be times in each person’s life when we will contemplate on the perks of being honest and the perks of keeping our mouths tight shut– because we are humans, and more often than we may wish it happened, we are not always in control of our bodies or the things we do and/or say. We have “wants and desires” and then there is “the way that things should be”, but the path of life is not all rights and lefts, or rights and wrongs, or blacks and whites. Some days don’t come with choices, they impose their will on us and leave us with the torment of whom to tell the story to.

And this is not just about romantic relationships…

Recently, I was honest about something to someone very dear, and (surprisingly or unsurprisingly) I expected to get a certain kind of reaction, which I did not immediately get. I was thinking (quite self-righteously) to myself “I could have lied! I damn well could have lied but I chose to say the truth, so I deserve to be cut some slack” but really? Now, I see that thinking the way I thought then would amount to me trying to rationalize dishonesty, like everyone does it, so why not me?! But of course as we already know, the ubiquitousness of a thing doesn’t redeem it from savagery. It remains what it is!

What do you think? About the role of honesty in romantic relationships, or other relationships for that matter? In light of the abundant ways that people can now cheat (it gets as bad as you cheating and not even knowing that you are), or the fact that, increasingly, it seems as though there is no reward for or gain in being honest. Should we even expect a reward for being honest? Should we spread the dirty linen wide and clear in front of our partner’s eyes, unthinking, uncaring? I think yes, despite the consequences.

But then, it is easier said than done.


© The Short Black Girl, 2017.

About Caution: “When trouble sleeps…”

Mariam is furious. She sits, stands, paces the small room, claps her hands together, hisses, then sits again… the cycle has continued interestingly for the past 30 minutes.

“But shouldn’t he have called? Not even one damn call. In fact, it is over!” Mariam fumes.

Lara is livid too. “Wait, and he didn’t say anything yesterday? Not even ‘sorry’. Not ‘let me explain’, or ‘it is not what you think’?”  She questions, rhetorically. “What insolence!” She spits. The look on her face! You would think she is the one hurting.

You. You are just there, indifferent. Confused. Pitiful.

It all started yesterday when Mariam had stumbled upon her boyfriend’s phone, unlocked, lying carelessly in the sitting room almost as soon as he stepped out for a boy’s hangout. He had forgotten it in his haste. What bliss! She had dutifully grabbed the phone… And what she found thereafter had left her a mad black woman. Different pictures of half-naked girls whom he claimed were just friends, text messages from girls asking for money, recharge cards, and the likes; names like sugar, honey, bobbylicious and stuff in his contact list… in fact, she had recounted so much more you refuse to remember. Unexpectedly, Dotun had returned to retrieve his phone about 10 minutes after only to find a weeping Mariam in charge of it. She had pounced on him at once accusing him of being a cheat and a lowly lying scum of a man. But he had been too much of a gentleman (or an arse, as Mariam put it) to exchange words with her. He only picked his phone up and headed out of the house.

He didn’t return home last night.

You want to pack her in your arms, or be a girl and tell her to move on because she deserves better, but you know you wouldn’t mean any of those things, if you did or said it. Because maybe she shouldn’t have snooped around in the first place- ignorance is bliss, and what you don’t know can’t kill you, right? Because for all you know, trouble dey sleep, na yanga go wake am. Besides, what did she expect to find (or not find)?!

“There is a hand behind every curtain… and a knife in every hand.”

-Raymond Feist


©The Short Black Girl, 2016.

Perks of being a girl?

Perks of being a girl? Really? I have had to broach on this topic, albeit subtly, on more than one occasion, and I am yet to fully submit to the notion that girls are having it any easier than guys in life. There are many dimensions to this argument, but i’ll focus more on the relationship angle. The first jarring moment on this issue had been at a girl’s hang out, where we launched on the discussion of relationships, and it was only natural that we moved on to weigh in on who suffered the toughest moments, the guys or girls?

For centuries, the male folk have been known to do the ‘wooing, asking, and chyking‘; and the female folk have had the liberty to ‘tune in’ or ‘turn smack down’ on their advances. Money would be spent, time will be made, words will be exhausted– but in the end, if sisi doesn’t think bobo is the one, no show. And that sucks! And if bobo doesn’t back down, sometimes, sisi will play the acceptee to drain bobo’s money. There goes the Maga, abi? Believe me when I say I know how much of a heart-smart that can be. So let’s say 1- 0.

Moving on, imagine that sisi actually thought bobo was the one, and they got things on. First date, first kiss. Sisi is a good girl, so she doesn’t want to have sex– but bobo can’t deal. He says it means she doesn’t love him. He says he wants to marry her, so kini big deal? Sisi thinks about this. She prays about it too. A few weeks down the line, Sisi gives in and bobo smashes. Sisi is head over heels– the boy is good, but the sex is better. Bobo sticks around too because sisi gives good head and knows a couple of magic tricks in bed; plus hey, sisi can coooook! So, yes, bobo sticks around. It is looking like happily ever after, until something stupid happens– like cheating, like lying, like bobo just being a guy. So 1-1 abi?

But hey, really, is it that simple? The way I see it, we all have our moments. Girls are more poised to being cared for, protected, fought for, granted concessions; but it doesn’t always happen that way. Guys are more poised to being feared, respected, pleased; but it doesn’t always happen that way. Why? Because life! An average guy would do as much to get in a lady’s pants, as an average lady would to help a guy spend his money. An average guy would do as much to win a girls heart, as an average lady would to make a guy stay in love with her. I mean, it goes both ways, right? Girls are cheated on, guys are cheated on. There are just as many ‘yoruba male demons’ as there are ‘yoruba female demons’. Equation solved, no?

I don’t know all there is to be known about being human, talk more of being in a relationship; but I can talk about the little I have heard, read and seen. So, in the end, I think that trying to analyse who has it easier, is like trying to put joy and suffering on a linear scale of some sort. We are who we are. We have our joys, and sugar-moments. People love us, we love some back, others we can’t. And we love people too, some of whom love us back; others who don’t, because they can’t. And it is simply what it is. There are perks of being a girl, yes! But we are human, so we hurt, break, fail, and fall. Life doesn’t exempt us from its woes. And no, you don’t even want to get me started on how colourful our pains can be. No, you don’t. But these are just my thoughts…

What do you think? Do girls have it any easier than guys? What are the perks of being a girl? What are the perks of being a guy? Please share!


PS: Yesterday, Miniscule Diary turned TWO years old. Yayyy! Thank you all so much for sticking around, for believing in me, and for reading my almost-touche-cliched posts. You all are beyond amazing. Thank you. For yesterday. For now. For everyday.


© The Short Black Girl, 2016.

Secrets of a Virgin Girl (6).

See here for previous episode.


This is a long post. I am sorry I couldn’t make it shorter. I hope you grab a bottle of whatever feels good, settle into a comfortable seat, and enjoy the read. Thank you.


Visiting for The Weekend.

You must meet Pastor Johnson, at least, hear him out; mama emphasises over the next few days, recounting how often he has been to visit her with gifts and provisions since the weekend party. Who e epp? She impresses upon you, how she is certain that he is interested in you, and would make a good and caring husband. At the same time, she bombards you with questions about “this new man” that has happened upon you like a Miracle. “Is he AS or AA?”, “What does he do for a living?”, “What tribe is he? You cannot marry Igbo or Hausa o!”, “What qualification does he have?”, “Where are his parents?”, “Is he ready for marriage?”, “Can he afford your bride price?”, “What is his religion sef?!” Many more questions like this that mama has asked you about Sogo, but you have chosen not to say any more, telling Mama she would meet him soon and find out for herself.

You visit Sogo for the weekend, a month after his visit to Lagos. You have missed him terribly. You arrive at his apartment something around 2:00pm on Saturday. He welcomes you with the cheeriest smile your eyes have ever seen, his apartment bursting with the smell of freshly made Vegetable soup, and the heady feeling of James Morrison’s “you give me something”. You melt inside a little; as you fall into his arms for a good number of seconds, allowing the ambience of everything around him abide with everything inside you. He is wearing those pair of jeans that you like like sin, but thankfully, his chest is enclosed in a blue round-neck tee shirt. He heaves your small box up, into a room beside the kitchen, and soon returns with two glasses of wine.

“How have you been my love?” he asks.

“Good; even better now that ‘m with you.” You respond, honestly. He smiles and raises his glass to cheer to that. You chuckle. “Your apartment is…” you pause, scouting for the best word your head can provide “…your apartment is beautiful.” You eventually say, settling for the most simple word.

He smiles again. “Gracias mi amor! So I have just prepared Rice and Vegetable soup. Eat first, or take a shower first?” You decide to take a shower first. He shows you to the room where he dropped your bag earlier—the spare room—and plants a kiss on your forehead before leaving you by yourself. You melt inside again.

In thirty minutes, you are all freshened up, and changed into a flared polka-dot knee-length gown. You join him in the kitchen, where he is cleaning up. You help him serve the food and take it out onto the dining table, where you eat in companionable silence. The food is exquisite, and you fall in love with him, even much deeper. When you are done, you both wash up the dishes, and move to the sitting room—your head on his lap, his hands in your hair. You tell him about Pastor Johnson, and mama’s insistence on you meeting him. You talk about mama’s concerns for marriage; and how she is infinitely eager to see if he, Sogo, really exists.

You do not mean to scare him, but these issues are weighing too heavy upon your mind, and you feel the need to let out your steam. He listens, patiently, un-disturbing-ly; and you reckon again, for the umpteenth time that that is what you love most about him. He listens, unlike Pastor Johnson, the supposed “right choice”. By the time you are done, you are seated upright facing him. You put your face in your hands and sigh heavily, apologising for talking so much, so long, so soon; then you ask him to tell you about him—his week, his toasters, and admirers. He smiles and takes your lips in response. You did not see it coming.

His kiss is gentle, assuring. You are getting more used to this, as you pull closer to him and press into his firm ribs. His hardness scrapes your thigh, as your nipples tickle his chest. You know at that moment, that the inevitable is about to happen. You stiffen a little as thoughts shuffle in your head. You do not know how to do this, but you do not think too long about it; you cannot even think. Mama’s voice floats in your head now. You know you should not be doing this. This temple, your body; do not do it. You forcefully take your mind off the voice; off everything except the heat, his heat. You stay in the moment—and watch fate unfold.

He stops then, for a heartbeat, and you wish he had not. He looks into your eyes as if asking for permission to see into your soul. Your eyes glisten with a shade of emotions even you cannot completely decipher. “I—I have not done this before” You announce, almost in a shade of whisper; as if needing to explain the undecided expression in your eyes. His eyes soften, he does not say a thing; rather he pulls you into a long tight embrace, that says so much yet so little.

“I don’t know what you’ve done to me Omolara, but whatever it is, please don’t stop.” You smile into his neck. “I love you Omolara. And I want you in every way, but this can wait… until you are ready.” You nod your response, but it is at times like this that you wish he were not that sensitive to your unspoken thoughts.

Just then, you catch a glimpse of what seems like a pack of cigarettes lying recklessly on the side stool. You stiffen and pull out of his embrace. “Is that Benson? Do you smoke?” you ask him without ceremony.

“Yes. You didn’t know?”

You are a little angry. “I didn’t know? You fucking didn’t say!”

“Omolara,” he shrugs “you didn’t ask. I had no idea that it mattered to you. Besides…”

“Don’t excuse yourself Sogo. We have been talking for months now, and you never saw it fit to tell me about it. Were you hiding it from me?”

“Hide? What? No!” he sighs. “Omolara, I am sorry. I swear it probably just skipped my mind. I have no issue telling people I smoke, I just don’t say it without being prompted. It’s a habit I have grown used to.” He tries to touch you. You flinch. You hate smokers. You cannot stand the smell of cigarette puffs. It irks you. You only know the name of the cigarette because mama used to sell it in her supermarket when you were younger. “Omolarami,” he continues “if it matters to you, I don’t do it too often, I really only smoke when I am stressed.” And then you remember that he had told you he had been working on a particularly rigorous case the past week, one he just finished and won (as usual) the previous day. You know that had been one very stressful week…

“How many packets did you have this past week?”

He clearly did not see the question coming, so he hitches.

“Don’t attempt to lie to me Sogo, or I’ll be gone for good. I cannot stand a lying smoker!”


“Sticks or packets?” you prompt.

“Packs” Your heart beats in blues. You do not know how much that is, but it is much!

“Two? Two packets?” You are angry. He is silent. You both seat at opposite ends of the small sofa, recoiled. You are angry because you are worried for his health; because he did not tell you about it ever- not the first day you told him to tell you everything about him, or the subsequent days when you asked him about his habits and must-dos. If you had known earlier, you would not be here playing love with him.

You break. You are breaking. Sogo is everything you should not be doing, but you love him. He lied to you! He did not lie, he just never said! Not saying is lying! But you have not told him you watch Pornography and touch yourself! I used to! You still have not told him.

“I used to watch Pornography and touch myself.” You blurt out your confession before you change your mind.

“What?!” comes his response. You are ashamed and even angrier.

“Sorry I never mentioned. I think I should get going now.” You stand up to leave, because you do not know how to look him in the eye after what just ensued. You wish he would pull you back like they do in movies, but he does not. And each second takes you farther from him and into the room; where you begin to pack up and change in tears. You are fucking angry! This is not how this was supposed to end. But maybe it is for the best. Maybe this is goodbye.

He comes in without announcing, five minutes later. You are half-dressed, half-naked.

“Shit! Get out Sogo! You could have at least knocked!”

“I still love you.” He says. Arms and legs crossed as he leans against the door in defiance of your last order. You back down on your rage and make yourself sit. He joins you and repeats himself “I still love you, habits and mistakes inclusive.” And then, he hugs you tightly. “I would not promise the smoking would go away, but I would try to work on it. At least, stay and watch me try…”

You stay.

The rest of the weekend seems to fly, and on Sunday afternoon when you are about to leave, he promises he would be in Lagos to visit your parents the next weekend if that is okay with you. You jump into his arms, and scream that it is! You return home excited. Finally! At least, maybe mama will let you rest.


© The Short Black Girl, 2016.